blessed with but little sleep, and that unrefreshing. It was past
eleven o'clock before Adelaide had breakfast on the table. This
over, she, without even dressing Anna or arranging her own person
sat down to her novel, while he gave himself to the most gloomy and
desponding reflections. He feared to go out lest the first man he
should meet, should prove an officer with an execution upon his
person.

About one o'clock, sick and weary of such a comfortless home, he
went out, glad of any change. Ten steps from his own door, he was
met by a constable who conveyed him to prison.

Several hours passed before his crushed feelings were aroused
sufficiently to cause him even to think of any means of extrication.
When his mind did act, it was with clearness, vigor, and decision.
The walls of a jail had something too nearly like reality about
them, to leave much of the false sentiment which had hitherto marred
his prospects in life. There was, too, something deeply humiliating
in his condition of an imprisoned debtor.

"What shall I do?" he asked himself, towards the close of the day,
with a strong resolution to discover the best course of action, and
to pursue that course, unswayed by any extraneous influences. The
thought of his wife came across his mind.

"Shall I send her word where I am?"--A pause of some moments
succeeded this question.

"No," he at length said, half aloud, while an expression of pain
flitted over his countenance. "It is of little consequence to her