commenced stuffing his pigeon holes with sundry documents, collected during his morning tour, or left on his table while absent.

Unless for business purposes, he was no close observer of autographs or searcher of mysteries; and this afternoon he had a will to execute, a title to finish, and some money to let out on bond and mortage, so he thought no more of an old picked-up letter which by some strange coincidence had fallen from out his other papers and was lying beside the one just signed "Caroline Stuart."

CHAPTER II.

PRUDENCE POTTER'S DISCOVERIES-THE DOCTOR'S COMMENTS

"Through the closed blinds the setting sun
Poured in a dusty beam,

Like the celestial ladder seen

By Jacob in his dream."

NEPENTHE'S eleventh birthday came; the old houso looked older still, the door-plate still bright, the shadow of the maple swept gracefully over the stones without. The shadow of a great sorrow rested within; far above the maple boughs, rolled the gloomy clouds; down through the waving green shone the gentle stars.

The house was of faded brick-no marble front attracted carriages or callers. Now and then a rag-picker's establishment passed leisurely by. The house looked neglected, slats and shutters were broken, and the paint was worn off the door, all the wealthy people had moved up town. In that narrow, dull street, one cool autumnal morning, walked an old lady who was carried by there a child the day the house was finished. Accustomed for fifty years to daily walks in the green fields about her country home, where nearest neighbors were half a mile distant, this visit to her city cousins was no trifling event in her hitherto eventless life.

It was a long way hither, and now the hoarded savings of years had paid her journey's expense. She must see all to be seen, know all to be known. She might never come

again-she had so long watched the growth of each tree in the old apple-orchard and the coming and departure of each venturesome fly in the old perpetually scoured kitchen.

She could better canvass particulars, than comprehend generais; she was no lion-hunter, no star gazer, no searcher of chief attractions; she revelled in minute details. Her favorite theme was exercise, upon it she theorized and practiced. She always walked daily as far as the old elm tree in the country, but since coming to the city, while riding one afternoon in an omnibus she had lost her money so carefully tied in her silk handkerchief, so that her subsequent expeditions were on foot. But one day, led by curiosity to join a pedestrian crowd in a procession to the Tombs, she had lost her old pocket-book and her new spectacles from her pocket, and ever since that much lamented catastrophe she only walked a short distance from home. One morning, tired of looking down into her cousin's little yard, on the weakly grape vine, and closely-cut yellow grass, she started out for a tramp. Dear me" thought she, "if I only had my new spectacles," as she paused before the old green door, to be quite sure from the closely curtained and silent looking windows, that no eye was observing her cu riosity, she spelled the letters, "S, T, U, A, R, T-Stuart-nothing but Stuart. Couldn't they afford silver enough. for the whole name? Is it Doctor, Captain, or Squire ? James Jones married a daughter of one Mrs. Stuart. wonder if she is any kin to this Stuart. I'll find out some time, and tell her, I know Mrs. Squire Jones; my couisn's brother's wife, called on her once, but she never returned the call! It may be the same family, they have a large circulation of relatives in the States."

46

The old lady had three rules for action:
Never to go out in the rain.

To be always ready for her meals,

And to get her money's worth.

I

After many walks, she concluded there were no gentlemen about the house, therefore no name but Stuart. This conclusion was satisfactorily established in a most natural way. When looking down from her cousin's third-story window into the rear of the old brick house through her new spectacles one Monday morning and examining the clothes on the line, a favorite amusement of hers; she could tell

which were bleached, which unbleached, which new and which patched, and how many sheets there were in the wash, "No men, no children," said she, as she put in her head and drew off her spectacles.

One day as she passed she saw a doctor's gig before the green door. The door plate was not as brightly polished as usual, the Autumn leaves not brushed from the walk, and the pot of violets always set under the open window was not to be seen somebody must be sick, and she had lived in that street two whole months, and not known who it was, nor what was the matter-she must call and see that afternoon, going home first to dinner-it was now twelve, by the old clock on the brown church on the corner-but it rained that afternoon, and it rained for three days, and so her curiosity waited.

In

Morning came again, and the sun shone through folded curtains into Mrs. Stuart's room. It lingered upon her pillow, as she turned uneasily after a restless night. her sleep she had murmured faintly, "Must I drink this bitter cup "when all alone she drew from under her pillow the letter brought by the postman the day previous. Holding it in her trembling hand she read once more, the most brief, the most cruel letter a strong man can write to a frail suffering and helpless woman.

Another day passed and the invalid was a little better. The violent pain in her head was soothed, she could sleep longer. "I have nothing now but this poor child to live for," thought she, "It is my duty to live. I must try to

trust."

She had awaked but recently from the delirium of fever, she could not think long on any subject, but texts of Scripture, and snatches of old hymns passed pleasantly through her mind, as if some angel having charge, was giving her famishing spirit morsels of comfort, as she could bear them. "Up to the hills for strength," seemed singing itself along the chords of her soul, and her crushed spirit was becoming wondrous hale and brave, as it climbed on eagle's wings those sunny hills.

While her thoughts were soaring upward for strength and consolation, a tall form closely shawled and bonnetted, holding tightly a green umbrella, emerged from her "cousin's "

house, and passed quickly up the street, and paused at the green door. Looking up she exclaimed

"There isn't that providential, the door is open on a crack, I will go in quietly as I would call on an old neighbor at home; knocking always disturbs sick people;" pushing the door open and seeing no one, she walked as rapidly up stairs as her new creaking shoes would allow, and stopping before the door of the room whose closely curtained window had so long attracted her attention, she gave three successive knocks with her umbrella handle, to save stretching her new silk gloves-and was answered by a feeble 66 come in."

Going up to the bedside with a preliminary throat cleaning, she exclaimed—

"You are sick, ain't you? very sick?" "Yes.

I have been ill some time."

You are more poorly than I thought for; I saw the doctor's gig before the door, and I thought it was heathenish not to come and see you-but I didn't know how dreadful poorly you was. My name is Miss Prudence Potter ; I'm used to sick folks. My family died of consumption. When I first went to take care of

I

took care of all of them. brother Simon, he looked about as you do, he lived two How long have you been so dreadful

months after that.

miserable?"

"I have been confined to my room about three months," said Mrs. Stuart.

"Three months," said Miss Prudence; no wonder you're wasted to a shadder. Did you inherit consumption from your father or mother?"

"From neither," said Mrs. Stuart faintly.

"Did you catch cold and get it? I suppose the doctor calls your disease consumption; you look consumptive; your nails are hooked over, people always have consumption when their nails are hooked. Then you are very thinthere are great holes in your cheeks, and I dare say you would look worse if you were sitting up."

"My physcian says my lungs are not diseased. I believe he thinks they are sensitive; but with care I may recover." "These doctors don't know much more than we do. They are not sure," said Miss Prudence. "People used to live a great deal longer than they do now, and they didn't

have much to do with doctors either. Have you ever lost any brother or sister?"

Yes, one of yellow fever," said Mrs. Stuart. "How long since he died?"

"About a year," said Mrs. Stuart. "Where was he buried?"

In New Orleans, where he died." "New Orleans ?" said Miss Prudence.

Orleans! in the ground?”

"Buried in New

"We have not yet ascertained," said Mrs. Stuart.

"I hope not in the ground," said Miss Prudence, "for. I have been told you can't dig any where there without soon coming to water—they say coffins are often found floating about the streets. I wouldn't have a friend buried there for any thing; I should never have any peace or comfort. It's heathenish to bury a body so."

Miss Prudence didn't see that Mrs. Stuart's pale face was growing paler, but after some more talk about New Orleans, burials, etc., she suddenly took from under her shawl a little cup, covered with a white paper. "I have brought you some currant jelly of my own make, from country currants, fresh and nice; I thought perhaps you would relish it. I didn't know as you could afford such things. You can keep the cup carefully for it belongs to a nice set of chany, my mother's wedding set. If you should need a watcher, I'll come and sit up with you any time except Saturday nights; that child looks young and inexperienced-she don't know much about nursing; I could give her a few valuable hints, I know so much about consumption. But don't be discouraged, I've seen people look as bad as you do, and live along quite a spell. While there's life there's hope.' If your feet should swell, (they often do in the last stages,) they should be bandaged; I'll come and bandage them, and you mustn't see much company, it's very bad for you."

Miss Prudence had risen, and once more approached the bed, exclaiming, "Why, what makes your hair so grey? you look as if you might be young," when Nepenthe came in, and, starting as if surprised to see a strange face, placed a bottle on the mantlepiece. Child as she was, she noticed her mother's pale face, and wished the stranger would go down stairs or somewhere else, and let her mother rest. But