saved, but himself he could not save. When death, and hell,
and darkness, are driving man to madness, to whom should he
turn, but to him who took from the grave its victory, from
death its sting, and from hell its prey?--to Him who died and
rose again the third day, in order that death, and hell, and
darkness, should never more drive men to madness."

On the evening of this day, Mr. Lacy received the following
note. It seemed written at once with difficulty and with
rapidity, and in parts was somewhat illegible.

"If you still wish to see me, Mr. Lacy,--if you are not
wearied with vainly seeking admittance to one who is not
worthy to wipe the dust from your feet, come to me now. You
spoke to me to-day, though you never turned your eyes towards
me. I looked into your face, and it seemed to me as if it had
been the face of an angel and when your lips uttered the words
that my hand had written, I hung upon your lips. It was as a
voice from Heaven; my heart melted within me, and I wept; not
as I have often wept, for my eyes are worn out with crying;
not tears that scorch the eyelids as they flow, but tears that
seem to loosen the iron band that binds my temples, and to
melt the dull hard stone in my breast. I came home, and knelt
by my bedside--my Prayer-book was in my hand: I opened it, and
these words met my eyes, 'The order for the Visitation of the
Sick.' I closed the book, and read no more. Mr. Lacy, I am
sick in body, and sick at heart. Will you come and visit me?
You will not question me; you will not ask me why my sorrow is
like no other sorrow; but you will pray for me, and by me.
Perhaps you may say some words like this morning's--not words
of comfort, words of hope, but words that will make me weep,
as I wept then.

Ellen."

The next morning at twelve o'clock, Mr. Lacy was at the door
of Mrs. Denley's house. His Prayer-book was in his hand, and
as he entered, he slowly pronounced the appointed blessing,
"Peace be to this house, and to all that dwell in it." Mrs.
Denley led the way up stairs, and opened the door of the room,
where Ellen was lying on a sofa, supported by cushions. Her
face was paler than the day before, but a sudden flush
overspread it as Mr. Lacy entered.

"You are welcome," she said, extending to him at the same time
her thin transparent hand. "It is kind of you to come, and
kind of you (she added, tuning to Mrs. Denley, and to Mary
Evans, who were standings by,) to join in these p