Do give him one, sir,' said I, 'it may be of some com fort to him.'

I

It

will, to gratify you, madam,' he replied, in a civil, but very cool tone, as he went off and came back with a lemon. The poor man looked so glad to get that one lemon. was the last attention his poor worn out body required. "I looked back once more, to see the young boy, only seventeen, on the cot just by the door. He was ill with lung fever. My heart ached for him. I promised him some chicken tea next time I came, as I put the three peaches I had left in his hat by the side of the bed. He is my Benjamin. Somebody ought to pet him, thought I, as I looked at his clear, mild blue eye, and saw the patient smile on his lips.

"Six months more, and some of those men were back to their regiments, some had died. The poor man who was so anxi us to have the lemon, died the next morning after I saw him.

"But this hospital," added Mrs. Edwards, "isn't a type of them all. It is one of those improvised hospitals, so deficient in comfort, system, and convenience."

Kate Howard reads in an evening paper a report from the last battle field. Among the missing are the names

RICHARD DOUGLASS,

FREDERICK HOWARD,

FRANK CARLeyn.

Among the six hundred who were sent on in advance to make that perilous and almost hopeless attack, poor Frederick Howard was not missing, as the evening paper said. In the Morning Herald he was reported killed. He was Kate's only brother. Among the remnant of that noble company, he never came back.

"Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell;

They that had fought so well

Came through the jaws of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made
All the world wondered!
Honor the charge they made,
Noble six hundred."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

BACONIAN PHILOSOPHY ILLUSTRATED IN A LITERAL WAY.

"The heart-the heart that's truly blest,

Is never all its own;

No ray of glory lights the breast
That beats for self alone.

And though it throb at gentlest touch,
Or sorrow's faintest call,

'Twere better it should ache too much,
Than never ache at all."

“Through passionate duty love flames higher,

As grass grows taller round a stone."-PATMORE.

WINTER and Spring passed slowly with Nepenthe, but midsummer came at last. There was a vacation in the School of Design, and she went in the country to spend a few weeks. She travelled over the same journey along which she once rode under Carleyn's protection. The mountains, the bridge, the river, Mrs. Titus' house, looked so familiar, and there was Levi Longman, as large as life, standing in front of Mrs. Titus' door. Hard, cold, cast-iron features like his, seldom change. There was no wear and tear of feeling or sympathies in his case. His broadcloth was of one long-established fit, bidding defiance to elegance or taste. Still he taught the young ideas in Titusville how to shoot, and to shoot up straight, without branching out in any centrifugal or fanciful direction. His circles of thought and instruction were all square-he couldn't make anything, either of solid reason i or solid wood, without having a line and angle in it somewhere. He was a character. If you could see him walk only across the street, you would never forget that striding, straight-forward, angular walk. His motions were all angles. If there was a line of beauty, he always moved in right angles to it.

And there was Mrs. Titus, sitting in her little front window, looking out as usual for the coming stage.

Nepenthe soon became domesticated with a pleasant family, and was really attached to the children belonging to it. There was one, the youngest, pet and darling of the house. bold, always bringing her bunches of clover, dandelions, ribbon grass, cowslips and buttercups.

One day, as she sat sewing in her room, she heard the voices of some young girls talking merrily in the adjoining room. One of them had evidently been visiting the city, and her companions were asking her questions about the news and the fashions. It was a lively chat among lighthearted girls.

"Did you hear anything, Nellie," said one of the oldest, "about that young artist, Carleyn, who took Ernest Titus' portrait ?"

"Hear anything! I guess I did. Every body was talking about him. But, girls, you needn't set your caps for him any longer. You had better let your minds get consolidated down, as Miss Prudence Potter used to say when we curled our hair for some party, or begged her to let us go off sleigh-riding with the boys. You must hang up your harps and walk on the bridge of sighs, for they say he is going to be married soon to Miss Elliott, a great belle in the city-Miss Florence Elliott.

I saw her at the opera one night, in one of the private boxes. She had on an ermine opera cloak, a white hat and feathers. She was elegantly dressed, but somehow I shouldn't think of marrying her if I were a man. She looked so haughty and proud, as if the air ought to be sifted for her special breathing. But it is a generally understood thing. She is certainly very much in love with him. I went out a great deal while was in the city. I was only there ten days, and Jane says she thinks I saw more and went around more in that time than she does in a whole year. People who live in the city think they can go around to see the stars and lions any time; so some of them go very seldom. But we country folks do up everything in a week, and it is pretty hard work, being out so late every night.

"I went to one wedding reception. Florence Elliott was there, dressed in white satin trimmed with point lace, with white natural flowers in her hair. There was a great crowd there. There were a thousand invitations. There were three ushers-every thing in style. I never saw such a

profusion of flowers. There were flowers in every possible place, recesses, niches, or tables. I lost my aunt once in the crowd. As I was a stranger, I felt awkward, and stepped back in a recess behind some curtains to look at some flowers. Hearing low voices near, I looked around, and I could see Florence Elliott, and hear her talking very earnestly in the conservatory. She had some violets in her hand. I heard a gentleman--I suppose it was Mr. Carleyn—say to her in a low tone, with earnest manner, 'I have come to urge you to fulfil the promise you half made me yesterday.' My aunt came for me just then, and introduced me to a Miss Kate Howard, a very lively young lady. But I am sure of one thing--Florence Elliott is completely fascinated with Carleyn. I passed her with the same gentleman once after that in the crowd, when he seemed to be inquiring about some absent person. I heard her say, 'I don't know where she is staying now. I believe she has left town. I suppose you know she is engaged to Mr. William Nicholson, I am sorry for her sake that she has such a very unhappy temper. We took some interest in her, because she was poor. She will do very well to marry him. Nepenthe is a girl of quite good natural capabilities, considering her origin;' and then, as she said this, she flirted her fan with such a queenly air, and coquettishly twirled her bouquet.

"I saw her once before, a year ago, at the Academy of Design. She was beautiful then-she is more beautiful now. Her complexion is clearer and brighter, her form more full, and her voice sweeter. It seems as if a beautiful soul must dwell in so fair a temple. But she'll never make Carleyn happy.

When I was at school four years ago in the city, she was there too. I was one of the small fry, and of course of no account-but then I had my favorites among the big girls, as we used to call them. At school she was selfish, imperious, domineering, extremely overbearing to all those she thought not rich enough to move in her set. She had to be the leading one in all the charades, tableaux and private theatricals, or she would take no part. She was in a perfect rage once, because in one of the dramatic readings the part of Portia was not assigned to her. No man can ever change her. But where do we see a couple with both equally agreeable? Refined men of real genius and real worth are

apt to get haughty and unamiable wives.

But it must be her beauty suits his artistic taste. I should think he of all men would admire a beautiful face."

Just then Mr. Titus came in with some large bundles in his arms.

I saw an old New York paper to-day, Eliza," said he, to Mrs. Titus," and I happened to read the marriages, and the very first one I read was Frank Carleyn's."

Mrs. Titus actually dropped the bread she was toasting, dropped it into the fire, as she exclaimed, "Are you sure, Timothy? And who has he married?"

"I think it was a Miss Ellet, or something like that." Ellet-no," said Mrs. Titus. 'Wasn't it Elliott? The girls were talking to-day about his paying some attention to a Miss Elliott. It must be she."

"Perhaps it was," said Timothy, "but I think it was Ellet. Any how it was Carleyn-Frank Carleyn. I'm sure his name was plain enough; the lady I'm not so sure of—I never heard her name before."

"No matter what her other name was, she has a better one now, and I hope she deserves it," said Mrs. Titus; "she is a very happy woman to get him. I never shall forget how feeling he was when Ernest died. If he should go to housekeeping, wouldn't I like to send him some of my nice cream, and some of the big blackberries you get on the mountain, Timothy."

'And some of our nice Lawtons too," added Timothy.

"You must be mistaken, Nellie, about seeing Mr. Frank Carleyn at that reception in the city," said Kate Lamont. "I am sure Mr. Carleyn joined the army more than a year ago. He may have married Miss Elliott before he went, but he couldn't have been in the city when you were there, for it was just about that time I read his name in the Times among the missing,' and this morning there's a Frank Carleyn, company G, reported killed. It may have been some other Carleyn you saw at the reception. I think there is a Mr. Charles Carleyn in the city. He may be a cousin of Frank's."

Nepenthe felt as if her soul had been stunned and paralyzed by some great earthquake. Her heart stood still. She couldn't move to close her door without being observed, so she sat still.