couch of suffering, an avenging spectre. The long, blood-stained bandages surrounded her head, her glossy full curls no longer formed a dark background, upon which to throw in relief the lustrous, soul-bearing eye. The skillful hand of a good Samaritan had carefully, but surely, shaved the proud locks from the sick girl's brow; and, oh! that pale and emaciated countenance! How each deep line of suffering carries captive the belief of her hearers, as, with returning consciousness, the stricken girl whispers in their ears, bent close to catch each word, "James Mordaunt was my cowardly assailant.” And, to that guilty soul the whisper is a knell of ruin, fearfully distinct; but now, returning night; and then returning day; no relief! He has no need to send his messenger to the hospital, that he may learn the progress of her battle with death. The faithful chroniclers of each day's history of the nation did not exclude the cause of a friendless girl from their columns. Each day the eyes of a whole nation were directed to her case; and say not that this watchful care failed to arouse the ambition of skillful surgeons and experienced nurses. Human sympathy may be strong, but human sympathy ever becomes stronger when an honorable ambition hands the wheel. While there are imitators of Our Lord and Master, there are none of His perfection.

Two months after Sarah Graham first became an inmate of the New York Hospital, James Mordaunt was seated in his law office. Taking up a morning paper, he read as follows:

“The young female at the New York Hospital, whose case has excited so much sympathy, we are happy to learn, is now pronounced

out of danger from her wounds, by the attending physicians. Fears are, however, entertained that she will not recover her reason in some years. While the body has conquered death, the struggle has been too severe for reason to maintain its throne. The poor girl wanders in her mind. It is understood that, at last, her friends have found her out. A Mrs. Louisa E. Graham, attracted by the published accounts of the affair, has found in this young female, an only daughter, Sarah E. Graham, who left her home, unknown to her mother, about eight years since. This is the first trace the bereaved and deserted mother has received of her lost daughter. And now the daughter knows not the mother. The case is a sad one. Mrs. Graham says she has always believed Sarah was enticed away by a young woodchopper, at the time paying his attentions to her, but whom she has never seen since. Mrs. Graham then resided, and still resides at a small village in the State of Rhode Island. We have learned that she is very desirous that her daughter should have the benefit of treatment in the New York State Lunatic Asylum, at the city of Utica. Her means will not warrant the expense. It remains for a generous public to decide the matter. Contributions to the fund may be left at this office."

James Mordaunt arose from his seat as he finished the reading of this article, and paced his office in deep thought. He felt that he had gained an extension of time, like a man who has lifted his note with borrowed funds, and postponed the hour of the fatal protest.

The funds requisite for enabling Mrs. Graham to gratify her wish were handed in to her on the day following the appeal for them. One prominent firm dispatched the following note to the editor:

Esq., EDITOR OF, ETC.,

NEW YORK, 18-.

DEAR SIR: You are hereby authorized to draw on us at sight for any and all sums necessary to bear one year's expenses of Sarah E. Graham, while undergoing treatment at the State Lunatic Asylum, at Utica.

Yours truly,

BLODGETT, JOHNSTON, HASTINGS & Co.

XXXVII.

Bell and Charger.

"GOOD bye," said Mrs. Clara Griswold, as Bell Mortimer left the cabin of the Cayuga Lake steamer, which she had visited in company with her brother Frederick.

Mrs. Griswold had been spending a few weeks with Bell at Aurora. To Clara the visit had proved a disappointment. Knowing that Bell Mortimer's happiness was locked within the iron bolts of a prison, she had felt that the pleasures of her visit would flow from sympathizing with her cousin. The result had proved a strange and wide contrast. We go back to the second day of her visit. It was a lovely morning in April. The sun was not yet above the eastern horizon. Two white horses, of almost matchless beauty, caparisoned with the trappings customary for ladies, were pawing the gravel walk within the yard, in front of Bell's home. The groom with difficulty restrained the impatient steeds. Soon the front door opened, and Bell Mortimer made her exit, her face radiant with smiles, and the rich color which health and the exercise of arranging her riding-habit had given. She was followed by her lovely cousin, Mrs. Griswold.

"James, how are the horses this morning?" said Bell.

"Perhaps, Miss Bell, you can howld Charger, but Misthress Clara had better take Jolly. He's the lad that will aise up a bit with those little white hands she owns. Whoa! Charger!"

James had no further time to talk, for the horses gave him trouble enough to keep them quiet. Bell, gracefully throwing her habit over her left arm, ran down upon the walk, and seized Charger by the bridle.

"Good morning, Charger," said she, patting his gracefully curving neck.

The noble animal quickly whirled his body in a half circle, and stood gazing intently for an instant at Bell, bending forwards both of his ears, and opening wide his nostrils. He then gave one or two slight tosses to his head, when Bell again addressed him:

"Charger! what frightens you? Do you know Bell?" Continuing to pat his neck, she began a soft, warbling sound. The horse was evidently accustomed to this caress, for he immediately placed his head upon Bell's shoulder, enabling the fair girl to press her cheek softly against it.

"There, my noble friend; I thought you had not forgotten Bell."

She then took a few oats from the groom, which the horse ate out of her hand.

"Why, Bell Mortimer!" said Clara, "how dare you act so? I should be afraid."

"Charger is one of my best friends, Clara," replied Bell. "Fred says I have bestowed all my heart

upon him. This is because I am sure of his affection. See how he loves me.”

Tying the bridle to the saddle, so that it did not impede the animal's movements, patting him upon his head, and repeating the soft warbling, which the horse no sooner heard than he began to evince his affection for her, Bell gave Charger his head, and walked backwards to the carriage-block near the path. Having gained the top of the block, she stood motionless, with her eye fixed intently on the eye of the horse. Charger stood watching Bell with a most intense gaze, occasionally pawing the ground with his fore-foot, but not for an instant taking his eye from Bell's. She then clapped her hands twice together, and uttered the single word

"Charger!"

The animal bounded towards her, and in two leaps was at the block, in proper position for Bell to mount. Before mounting, Bell untied her hat, and laid it upon the block. She then leaped into the saddle and rode up to Clara, who stood watching her proceedings in perfect amazement.

"Come, Clara," said Bell, "mount your horse, for we must away before Fred is up, or he will think his company an infallible necessity to prevent us from breaking our necks."

“But, Bell, you are not going without your hat?” said Clara; and, gathering up her habit, she started to obtain it for her.

As soon as Clara had gained a position between herself and the block, Bell patted Charger on the neck, and reaching her arm forwards with the large end of her whip, she pointed to the hat.