he knows
not yet the exact manner of it--at least, it will be the end of his
long course, and then remain only the reward and rest. He has now
nearly arrived at a long-desired period, and he finds all the
sweetness of that immortal hope which first dawned upon his soul on
the seashore beside far-distant Alexandria. It seems as if that
glorious faith could only be known in its perfection of consolation in
such a dungeon, and awaiting such a doom; and promise after promise
from the word of God comes upon his memory, making that living grave
"all glorious within." Yea, it will be a blessed change. To-day he
will be done forever with sin and sorrow, and to-morrow he will be
"where the wicked cease from troubling." To-day he will take farewell
of a world lying in wickedness, and to-morrow will behold him a
companion of "just men made perfect." To-day he will quit his dungeon
and miserable garments, and wear to-morrow a crown of glory and robes
of righteousness.

As these promises and hopes crowded upon his mind, his meditation was
disturbed by a long, low, sullen roar, which seemed to shake the
ground he rested on. He started up with anguish and terror in his
face. He listened. Again it came, distincter than before, with a
sharper, deeper cadence. He shuddered visibly, and his face grew paler
in the dim light, and large drops of sweat broke out upon his
forehead. The third time it was repeated, and then all was silent. He
listened long, with strained ear and eye, which seemed to pierce his
dungeon walls; but he heard no more. He sunk back, and covering his
face prayed in an agony. Now, too well he knew what was to be his
doom. He had heard the voice of his executioner. It was the desert
lion roaring for his prey. Now he remembered that in these caverns
were confined the Christians reserved for martyrdom, and, in still
lower cells, the wild beasts to which they were to be surrendered in
the bloody amphitheatre. It is no wonder that mortal terror, for a
season, took possession of the soul of the aged Christian. He shrunk
with unutterable horror when he thought of the savage beast, rendered
fiercer by protracted hunger; of the crowded amphitheatre, the gazing
eyes, the exulting shouts, the unpitying human hearts. It was long
before he could bring himself to look beyond these and upward to Him
who sat enthroned on high and watched tenderly the falling sparrow. He
was a Christian hero, but he was also a man. His sensitive human