from that senseless canvas, but from the bosom of God where you are at
rest! He whom you have seen at the wretched task of mending his boots,
and who devotes his life to the concealment of his poverty,--he is your
descendant, your son! If the gaze of his fellow-men tortures him, before
you at least he is not ashamed of debasing toil! glorious ancestry! you
have fought the foes of your native land with sword and pen; but I,--I
have to contend with unmerited shame and mockery, without a hope of
ultimate triumph or glory; my weary soul sinks under its burden, and the
world has nothing in store for me but scorn and contempt! And, yet, have
I ever stained your noble escutcheon? All that I have done is generous
and honest in the sight of God;--nay, the very fountain-head of my wo is
love and compassion! Yes, yes!--fix your glittering eyes on me;
contemplate me in the abyss of poverty where I am fallen! From the
bottom of that pit I lift my brow boldly toward you, and your silent
glance does not force me to grovel in the earth with shame! Here, in the
presence of your noble images, I am alone with my soul, with my
conscience;--hero, no mortification can touch the being who, as
gentleman, Christian, brother, and father, has sacrificed himself to
duty!"

His voice ceased; and for a few moments he stood still in the midnight
silence, looking at the antique portraits as the last echoes died away
in the lofty apartment, with his arms stretched toward the pictures as
if invoking the beings they represented.

"Poor, senseless creature," continued he, after a while, clasping his
hands and lifting them anew to heaven, "thy soul seeks deliverance in
dreams! Yes; it is, perhaps, a dream, an illusion! Yet, thanks, thanks
to the Almighty that allows even a dream to fortify me with courage and
endurance! Enough: reality once more stares me in the face; and yet I