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As Mr. Lang was waiting trial, he was not in one of these cells, but in one of large dimensions, and containing more conveniences.

As they entered, he was seated at a small table, with pen, ink and paper, engaged in writing. He did not at first recognize his child, but in a moment sprang to her, and clasping her in his arms, said, “My child.”

Such a change in him needs some explanation.

After being committed to prison, his first thought was upon the change of his condition from what it formerly was; and his first resolution was to reform. He thought of the deep plots he and his companion had laid to amass a fortune; but, supposing that the latter would be convicted, and condemned to serve a long time in confinement, he concluded that that scheme was exploded.

“Yet,” thought he, “if there be none on earth I can call my friends,–if my family forsake me (yet just would it be in them should they reject my company),–of what avail would my reformation be, except to a few dogging creditors, who would jeer and scoff at me at every corner, and attempt to drive me back to my present situation? It might be some satisfaction to them to see me return; but what feelings would it arouse within me,–with what hatred would I view mankind! No; if none will utter a kind word to me, let me continue on; let the prison be my home, and the gallows my end, rather than attempt to reform while those who were once my friends stand around to drive me lack by scoffing remarks!”

Such were the sincere thoughts of Mr. Lang. He would return, but none stood by to welcome him. A few had visited him, most of whom had severely reflected upon his misdeeds. They opened a dark prospect for him in the future. “Now,” said they, “you must here remain; receive retribution for your evil deeds, and a sad warning to others not to follow in your steps, lest they arrive at the same goal.” Was there encouragement in this? Surely not; he deemed them not the words of friendship, and he was right in his judgment.

“Why did you visit this dark prison?” inquired Mr. Lang.

“Because you are here, father!” was the artless reply.

“And could you forgive your father? How could you seek him, when he forsook you?” Mr. Lang could not make this last observation without becoming affected even to tears.

Julia seemed to take courage; new energies seemed to be imparted to her. She felt an unseen influence at her side, and a holy calmness resting upon her soul.

“Prison-walls cannot bar you from my heart, though in the worst place on earth. Though friends laugh me to scorn when I seek your presence, you are my father still, and ungrateful would I be did I not own you as such!

“In thinking of the present, I do not forget the past; I remember the days of old, the years in which we were made glad;–and you, father, when free from these walls, will you not return again to your family, and make home what it once was? To-day I will see Mr. Legrange; he wants a clerk, and, by a little persuasion, I am certain I can get you the situation. Will you not reform?”

She could say no more; yet her actions spoke louder than words could possibly do, and her imploring attitude went home to the heart of her parent. He, for the first time since the commencement of his wayward course, felt that the hand of sympathy was extended to greet him, should he make a motion to return. And why should he not grasp it? He did. There, in that prison-cell, upon his knees, he promised to repent and return.

“Pleasant residence, Miss!” said the gate-keeper, as our heroine left the yard, and then laughed as though he had committed a pun that would immortalize him from that time forth.