“Her dispositions are perfect,” continued Father Fabian.  “Oh, in the last hour, if the soul is right before God, how vain appears all human learning! how little the wisdom of ages! how less than nothing the splendor and grandeur of riches!  Soon—­very soon, that ignorant and poverty-stricken old negro, who, like Lazarus, has been lying at the door of the rich, great world, humbly thankful for the crumbs she has received, will be endowed with knowledge and wisdom; she will read and have solved mysteries which the greatest sages of antiquity, and the profoundest philosophers of modern times have shrunk from, overwhelmed with the vastness of their conception.  She will have looked on the face of Him who suffered for her, and be, through his divine mercy, and the merits of his bitter passion, admitted into eternal rest.  Oh faith, mistress of learning!  Oh humility, without which the learned shall not enter heaven!  Possess our hearts—­reign in our souls for ever.  But go now; tell her I will see her in the morning, unless she is beyond my reach.”

It was a clear, soft evening.  The sky, as the sun declined, was filled as with the brightness of flashing wings, while the golden light broke in ripples around the isles of cloud that hung over the deep.  The flute-like whistle of the blue-bird, and the odor of violets, and young budding leaves, were in the air together—­music, light, and fragrance, like harmonies from the spirit-land, blending softly together.  The earth was clothed in its new garment, for spring had risen from the grave, and its resurrection was glorious.  Over the ways of the city, and in the suburban lanes; in the glens and dells of the forest, and the distant slopes of the blue hills; over the mounds of the silent dead, where the germs of infinite life are planted,—­where, like pearls, lying beneath the earth-billows, they will sleep in their sealed shells until, from the eastern gates of heaven, springs the eternal dawn, which shall gather them in, clothed with new light, to be set amongst the crown-jewels of God,—­the sweet clover, the tender grass, and wild flowers were springing together.  In flowed all this sweetness down to the depths of May’s soul, as she walked along, and led her feelings sweetly up to that clime of which the fairest and purest of earth-born things are only the gray shadows; and rejoicing in nature and high hope, she came in sight of Mabel’s cottage.  She saw the child who lived with her, and called her grandmother, playing about the door, and beckoning to her, inquired “how she was?”

“I’se right well, missy.  Granny’s asleep.”

“How is she?” again, asked May.

“She’s heap better, missy; she bin sleep dis ever so long.”

“Very well.  You can play out here a little longer; but don’t go away, and I will go in and wait until Aunt Mabel wakes,” said May, giving her some ginger-bread she had bought for her.  The child, glad of its freedom, remained watching the birds and clouds.