ngo,
a bishop, and the devil. But Madame Flamingo and the devil, who seemed
to enjoy each other's company exceedingly, got the better of the bishop,
who was scrupulous of his dignity, and not a little anxious about being
seen in such society. And from the horrors of this dream he wakes,
surprised to find himself watched over by a kind friend--a young,
comely-featured man, in whom he recognizes the earnest theologian, as he
is plumed by the prisoners, whom he daily visits in his mission of good.
There was something so frank and gentle in this young man's
demeanor--something so manly and radiant in his countenance--something
so disinterested and holy in his mission of love--something so opposite
to the coldness of the great world without--something so serene and
elevated in his youth, that even the most inveterate criminal awaited
his coming with emotions of joy, and gave a ready ear to his kindly
advice. Indeed, the prisoners called him their child; and he seemed not
dainty of their approach, but took them each by the hand, sat at their
side, addressed them as should one brother address another;--yea, he
made them to feel that what was their interest it was his joy to
promote.

The young theologian took him a seat close by the side of the dreaming
inebriate; and as he woke convulsively, and turned towards him his
distorted face, viewing with wild stare each object that met his sight,
the young man met his recognition with a smile and a warm grasp of the
hand. "I am sorry you find me here again--yes, I am."

"Better men, perhaps, have been here--"

"I am ashamed of it, though; it isn't as it should be, you see,"
interrupts Tom.

"Never mind--(the young man checks himself)--I was going to say there is
a chance for you yet; and there is a chance; and you must struggle; and
I will help you to struggle; and your friends--"

Tom interrupts by saying, "I've no friends."

"I will help you to struggle, and to overcome the destroyer. Never think
you are friendless, for then you are a certain victim in the hands of
the ruthless enemy--"

"Well, well," pauses Tom, casting a half-suspicious look at the young
man, "I forgot. There's you, and him they call old Spunyarn, are
friends, after all. You'll excuse me, but I didn't think of that;" and a
feeling of satisfaction seemed to have come over him. "How grateful to
have friends when a body's in a place of this kind," he mutters
incoherently, as the tears gush from his distende