In the quiet home of Mrs. Griswold the unhappy Stella found many things calculated to bring that consolation to her wounded spirit which she so much needed. It was the first care of her kind protectress to keep her mind occupied during the day always with some useful employment, while their evening hours were enlivened by cheerful conversation in which Norman joined them as often as his business would permit. That she might not seem ungrateful for their kindness, Stella strove against her grief, and endeavored to interest herself in all the plans formed by them for her improvement. Each day she would insist on being permitted to take an active part in the duties of the household, playfully asserting that she should have to run away if they would not let her work. Once a week, Mrs. Griswold accompanied her on a ramble through the woods, or to the sea-shore, where their souls communed with Nature and grew strong in gratitude to the Creator; and with the birds, the winds and waves, and earth's innumerable voices, hymned his praise. These visits to her favorite haunts exerted a healthy influence over her mind, harmonizing her feelings, and leading her thoughts to the contemplation of higher and holier things than life's cares and trials. Occupied in this agreeable manner, the days flew more rapidly than she had anticipated they would when first separated from her father, and three weeks passed away before she had realized their presence. But during this time she had not forgotten her unhappy parent, or ceased to mourn his absence. On the contrary, she went to see him very often, and thoughts of him were mingled with everything she did.

One day she set out earlier than usual, to go to her father, but on reaching the gate, the keeper having had more company to attend to than usual, that morning, and feeling somewhat irritated in consequence,

VOL. II-21

seeing her approach, his vexation was increased, and he harshly refused her admittance, telling her not to trouble him again with her visits for a month. The poor child was stung to the quick by this refusal, and she went back weeping bitterly, and feeling very angry and miserable. Mrs. Griswold, to console her, reminded her again of the blessings she still enjoyed, and after a great while succeeded in soothing her grieved spirit; but she was not as cheerful as she had been for several days. She pined more for her father, and seemed restless and uneasy, and was often heard talking to herself, and saying, "Poor father! he'll miss his Star so much! It is too bad! How can I wait so long?" But she struggled hard to control her feelings, and to appear calm and contented, because she disliked to distress others with her sorrow.

Another three weeks passed away, but more heavily than the three previous ones to the suffering child. She yearned, O, how her heart yearned to be with her father again. Yet she must be patient another week. One afternoon, Mrs. Griswold observing that she was paler, and looked more sorrowful than usual, asked her if she would not go and walk with her. She assented, seeming very thankful, and they set out for the woods. In her usual mood every tree and shrub, every flower and leaf, were objects of interest to her, and nothing but an injury to her stronger affections could render her insensible to them. But this time she took little notice of any thing, and entered into no conversation till they reached a tiny woodland stream. This she seemed to regard attentively, sometimes smiling, and sometimes with her eyes filled with tears. After a while, turning to Mrs Griswold, she said pensively:

"This little brook does sing so sweetly! I wish I could make out what its blue waves are saying. That sweet murmuring sound, I can not tell you what queer thoughts it gives me. When I listen to it a long time I seem to go out of myself, and float away off somewhere into a bright bright realm where only the beautiful dwell. It is very queer, but it always was so. I remember the first time I stood by the great sea and heard its deep voice, how it made me feel! I could not bear to have any one speak to me for a long time after. That strange moaning sound, I heard it in my dreams many nights, and it was so deep it filled me almost with terror; and yet I did not want to get away from it. I told father how it haunted me, and he said it always haunted him just so; and yet he told me he loved the sea, loved it better than any thing else in the world, except me, and he hoped to die on its shore where 'the roar of its waters might lull him to sleep; that's the way he said it; and then he told me if I should be with him when he died, to have him buried in the sea; and he made me promise to remember it as his last request, and I promised. "But," added Stella, "I wonder what has made me think of that to-day? I have not thought of it before for a

long time.

Poor father! I dreamed of him last night-a strange dream. It is three weeks since I saw him last, and I must wait another week. Oh! how can I be patient so long? It seems to me I ought to be with him now; I feel as though something had happened to him, and yet I don't know what it can be. Perhaps my foolish dream last night has had something to do with making me feel so gloomy to-day."

"You must not distress yourself with imaginary fears, my dear," said her kind friend, and called her attention to a cluster of beautiful wild flowers growing close to the margin of the brook. But the instant the poor child saw them, uttering a sharp cry, she sank down trembling at the feet of Mrs. Griswold, who, thinking she had sustained some personal injury, raised her up tenderly, asking her if she was much hurt.

"No; ah, no!" said Stella, "that is not it. I am not hurt at all, but my poor father! I must go to him; he wants me―he is calling me; did you not hear him?”

"No, child; I heard nothing," was the reply. "What do you mean? What nonsense is this? If you talk and act so strangely I shall think you are losing your senses; I heard nothing at all."

"But I did," answered Stella, in a voice hoarse with emotion. "That voice, it cried Stella! Stella! I never heard it but twice before-once last spring, when father was in trouble, and last night, in my dream." "Tell me what your dream was?" said Mrs. Griswold, kindly.

"It was about those very flowers which you just showed to me. If I had not seen them, I should have thought nothing more about it; but now I feel right here," and she placed her hand on her heart; "I feel that it means something, and I must not wait, but go quickly to see my poor father."

"Who taught you to believe in dreams?" asked her friend. "It seems to me you have too much sense to put faith in the empty vagaries which haunt the brain in the still hours when reason sleeps."

"No one taught me to believe in them," replied Stella. "And I do not think I do, any more than any one else. I have tried to think nothing about this one, but it was so strange, it seemed so real and lifelike, that I can not get it out of my mind."

"Well, tell it to me, and we will turn our steps homeward, and, if you like, go round by the prison and visit your father."

Stella thanked her for her kindness, and then, with a deep sigh, she said, "Perhaps you will think it a very foolish dream, but I will tell it. I was, I thought, walking by the side of a brook which looked very much like the one we have just left, when I came to some flowers growing close to the water, and they were exactly like those you showed me. I stopped, and was looking at them, when I heard some one call, 'Stella! Stella!' I looked up, and at a great distance, standing on the edge of a

dark gulf, I saw my father. He was looking at me, and his face was very sorrowful, till I started to go toward him; then he smiled, and pointed with his hand across the black gulf; and as I looked in that direction, I could see that on the other side of it the shore was very beautiful. There was a soft light over it, which made the flowers and trees appear far more brilliant than ours. I saw many persons walking there, and they had on loose robes, some of which were pink, others blue and purple, and some pure white; but unlike any thing I ever saw here. While I was looking at them, I heard a heavy plunge, and looking down, I saw that father had fallen into the gulf and was trying to climb up on the other side. Terrified, I was going to cry out, when some thing attracted me to look up, when I saw a beautiful figure like a sky lady, and her face when she smiled looked like my own mamma's, only it was brighter. She was hovering right over the gulf, and seemed to regard father with great interest for some time, till she was satisfied of his desire to get up higher; then I saw her take hold of a little golden chord, around her neck, and removing a clasp she let it down to him, and he did not seem to be blind any more, but saw it, and taking hold of a ring that was in the end of it, very soon I saw him walking with mamma on that beautiful shore, and she gave him a little white tablet, on which he wrote something, and then he threw the tablet across the gulf to me, and I caught it, and there was written on it this sentence, Death is not an eternal sleep.' I thought it was very strange he should write that, for I had heard him say just the contrary; but it made me very happy, and he looked so happy himself standing there with mamma, that though I was alone myself, I could not wish him back. I knew this was only a dream, and I have tried to forget it, but the brook made me think of it, and when you showed me the flowers, I heard the same voice calling me, (or thought I did,) that I heard in my dreams, and I was frightened; it may be only a foolish fancy, but it has made me very anxious to see my poor father."

She did not believe

Mrs. Griswold was not a superstitious woman. in dreams or omens; she thought, as every sensible person should think, that reason was given us as a guide, and that whatever is not in harmony with its laws should be regarded with suspicion. But two or three incidents having occurred in her own history, by which she had seemed to receive impressions of coming events, inclined her to be more charitable than many others, toward those who do have faith in things unsubstantial as a dream of sleep, and though well convinced in her own judgment that Stella's vision was but the offspring of an excited imagination, she yet believed it would be unjust to tell her so, without giving her an opportunity of testing its reliability; and showing by positive proof, the absurdity of her apprehension, which had grown out of it.

They were not long in reaching the walls of the prison, and on arriving at the gate, they were met by the same keeper, who had before refused Stella admittance. Recognizing him, she started and drew back, timidly, but the keeper observed this, apparently, and opening the gate for her, he said kindly, "Come in, my little girl, you must not be afraid; I have been sorry, every time I have thought of your little pale face, that I did not let you in the other day. I was cross to you that time, for I felt vexed I had so many to wait on; but you'll forgive me, wont you?"

"Oh! yes, sir," said Stella, advancing, "if you will forgive me for being angry, and wishing something bad might happen to you."

"That I will," said the keeper, "for I don't think you were much to blame, if you were angry, though the Bible does say some thing about our praying for those who despitefully use or persecute us; but it's not natural, it seems to me."

"Christ," replied Stella, "prayed for the Jews, when they were putting him to death. When I think of that it seems very wicked for me to be angry with any one because they deny me a favor, and I have been very sorry that I was angry with you for refusing to let me see my father." "Well, you are forgiven, child, and I am glad to see you again. You are a queer little girl, and I like you, though it's not many children I like very much, now a days; they are all so pert, they have no respect for any one. But you are not like them; come along now, this way, love," he said, taking her a different route than she had taken before. "Your father is in the hospital; he has not been well since he came here, and the other day we had him removed to the sick ward. He has asked for you several times, and I should have sent word to you had I known where you live; but I was in hopes you would come yourself, and so you have. Will the lady who came with you follow us?" he asked, seeing Mrs. G. had stopped in the hall.

Answering for herself, she said she would wait there, where she was, for Stella's return, as it might disturb her father, to have so many around him; and then, seeing that the lips of the fair child trembled, as though she wished to speak, but could not for her emotions, knowing well what it was she desired most to say, she turned to the keeper and asked if the old gentleman was very ill; if he thought him in danger. The keeper directed a mournful glance at Stella, then with an ominous shake of the head, and a meaning look at Mrs. G. he said, "He'll be better soon, madam, do doubt of that, he'll be better soon, we hope." Stella had watched him intently during his reply, and knew as well what his words implied as her friend. She remembered to have heard the same answer years ago, when she asked if her dear mamma was very ill, but she did not quite understand it then; she did now, and as she left her kind instructress, she gave her a look which spoke volumes. It told her