more than half the indications of affection which
that would disclose. But you trust to the probable; your pulse does not
beat any the quicker, nor do your nerves tremble. You may have similar,
nay, how much stronger proofs (if you will) of the confidence with which
you may trust God, and Him, the compassionate One, "whom he hath sent,"
in spite of all the gloom in which this life is involved. That certainty
for which you have just now asked will only be granted when the darkness
is passed away; and then you will 'rejoice in the light of his
countenance.' And, further," I continued, "there is yet one thing which
I wish to say to you; and I feel as if I could say it better in this
darkness; for I will not venture to say that I should not manifest more
feeling than is consistent in a hard-hearted metaphysician. Yes! it
is on the side of feeling that I would also address you. You will say,
feeling is not argument? No; but is man all reason? I firmly believe,
indeed, that man is not called upon to do any thing for which his
reason does not tell him that he has sufficient evidence; but a part
of that very evidence is often the dictate of feeling; and genuine
reason will listen to the heart, as not always, nor perhaps more
frequently than otherwise, a suspicious pleader. If, as Pascal says
so truly, it sometimes has its reasons which the reason cannot
comprehend, it has also its reasons which the reason thoroughly
understands.

"You were early an orphan; you do not remember your mother; but I do;
ah, how well! I saw her the last time she ever saw you. You were
brought to her bedside when she was in the full possession of all
her faculties, and deeply conscious that she had not many hours to
live. She looked at you as you were held in your nurse's arms, smiling
upon her with to me an agonizing unconsciousness of your approaching
orphanage. She gazed upon you with that intense look of inexpressible
affection which only maternal love, sharpened by death, can give; she
looked long and earnestly, but spoke not one syllable. As you were at
length taken from the room, she followed you with her eyes till the
door closed, and then it seemed as if the light of this world had been
quenched in them for ever. 'I charge you,' she said at length, 'let
me see him again.' I made a motion as if to recall the attendant
'Not here,' she added, laying her hand gently on my arm, and I
understood her but too well. You know whether I have in any deg