f the word love; and I still believe that, had I met you
earlier in life, your influence would have caused me to become a useful
man and an ornament to my profession. But it is useless to talk now of
what cannot be recalled. When I left this village, years ago, I was
equally indifferent as to whither I went or what I did. I felt no wish
to return to my wife; and, had I been then inclined, I well knew the
just contempt and scorn I should meet with, although I believe she had
once loved me. But I knew them to be a proud family, and I felt certain
they would never overlook the disgrace and sorrow I had brought upon
them. I have never since seen my wife, but I lately learned that she,
with the rest of her family, removed to a western city some years ago.
Since leaving this place I have wandered far and wide, never remaining
long in one place. My mind has never been at rest, and, for that reason,
I have been a lonely wanderer all these years. But my dissipated habits
have done their work, and I feel that my earthly course is well nigh
ended. I have dragged my feeble body to your dwelling, with the hope of
obtaining your forgiveness 'ere I am summoned into eternity.'

"While listening to him, I had seated myself at my father's side. As
he concluded, I said to my father, in a low voice,--'If we forgive not
our fellow-mortal, how can we expect the forgiveness of our Heavenly
Father for our many sins?' I rose from my seat and extending to him
hand, said,--'You have, Mr. Almont, my entire forgiveness for all the
sorrow you have caused me, and I hope you will also obtain the
forgiveness of God.' My father also came forward, and, taking his hand,
granted him his forgiveness. When he finished speaking he seemed
entirely exhausted. My father led him into the adjoining room, and
assisted him to lie down upon his own bed. He also gave him a little
wine, which seemed somewhat to revive him. Observing that he rapidly
grew worse, my father summoned our physician, who was an old friend, and
knew all the circumstances connected with our former acquaintance with
Mr. Almont. When the physician arrived, he expressed the opinion that
death was fast approaching; said he,--'I do not think he will see
another sun rise,'--and he did not. He said but little, and suffered but
little pain; but he sank rapidly. His mind was clear to the last. A
short time before his death, he turned his eyes, over which the film of
death was gathering, to my father, and