“Pause, sir, I beseech you, ere you give utterance to such dreadful thoughts!  Think of the countless mercies which you have received at his hand,—­weigh them well in a balance with your sorrows, whatever they may have been, and you will find the measure of your blessings tenfold.”

“Your words are as balm to my calloused heart; yet listen to me, and judge if my cruel fate would not engender a dark distrust in a purer heart than mine.  My child grew in strength and beauty,—­grew to be like her who had left us; she was the pride of my luxuriant home, the main spring of my life!  Yes, I could realize it then, while I could yet gaze upon her face and dream of heaven; but other days drew near.  It was in her twentieth year when my Natalie knelt before the altar—­a bride.  She had given her hand to a noble-hearted American gentleman, upon whom I looked as being worthy of my darling’s choice; and as she placed one hand within his, she took the hand of her father with the other, and whispered,—­’you now give your daughter to another, yet it shall only serve to bind me still closer to my father.’  I was happy then; and when two years later, I pressed my daughter to my heart, and bade her adieu, for the first time, without a thought that it might be the last, I was happy; and when I pressed a kiss on the cheek of her infant child, and grasped the hand of my noble son, her husband, I was happy; for so full was my cup of joy, that I had forgotten the drop of bitterness which I had tasted therefrom.  But, alas! it was not so full to overflowing that there was not room for the draught that was to be my portion.  They sailed for America, to visit his home, when, after the settlement of his estate in this Western world, they would return to make glad their father’s home; that day has not yet come!  A year elapsed, and I had no tidings of them, yet I would not permit the thought to dwell with me that I should never hear from them more, and another year passed on before the despair entered my soul, which has been to me a burning flame ever since.  I gave my possessions to the keeping of another, and left my native Italy, to cross the deep, if I might learn of the fate of my children.  I went to the place he had told me was his home, but I met with only strangers there.  I inquired for the noble vessel in which my child had sailed; she had not belonged on this coast, and thus were my earnest inquiries repulsed, day after day, with a heartless—­’we can give you no information.’  I travelled from place to place, in hopes to get some clue to the mystery which hung around my lost ones; but, alas, that was not to be!  I sought in vain.  It was then a change came over me; I hardly knew myself.  I concealed my name, and lived a recluse, never disclosing to any one the history of my sorrows.  But I could not live thus, and I endeavored to divert my mind from this state of frenzy, by making use of the talent, for which, in my heart of stone, I would not thank