CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE READER IS PRESENTED WITH A VARIED PICTURE.





TOM has passed a restless night in jail. He has dreamed of bottled
snakes, with eyes wickedly glaring at him; of fiery-tailed serpents
coiling all over him; of devils in shapes he has no language to
describe; of the waltz of death, in which he danced at the mansion
of Madame Flamingo; and of his mother, (a name ever dear in his
thoughts,) who banished him to this region of vice, for what she
esteemed a moral infirmity. Further on in his dream he saw a vision,
a horrible vision, which was no less than a dispute for his person
between Madame Flamingo, a bishop, and the devil. But Madame
Flamingo and the devil, who seemed to enjoy each other's company
exceedingly, got the better of the bishop, who was scrupulous of his
dignity, and not a little anxious about being seen in such society.
And from the horrors of this dream he wakes, surprised to find
himself watched over by a kind friend-a young, comely-featured man,
in whom he recognizes the earnest theologian, as he is plumed by the
prisoners, whom he daily visits in his mission of good. There was
something so frank and gentle in this young man's demeanor-something
so manly and radiant in his countenance-something so disinterested
and holy in his mission of love--something so opposite to the
coldness of the great world without--something so serene and elevated
in his youth, that even the most inveterate criminal awaited his
coming with emotions of joy, and gave a ready ear to his kindly