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asleep amid the roar of Broadway, which my open windows freely admitted.

Before I had finished my first nap, I was awakened by whispering voices, and saw Ben standing by me, pale, and anx-iously searching Kate's face for information. Her eyes were upon her watch, her fingers on my wrist.

“Pulse good, Ben. We need not be alarmed. It is wholesome repose,—much better than nervous restlessness. He can bear the journey, if he gets such sleep as this.”

“Humph!” I thought, shutting my eyes crossly. “Why don't she let a fellow be in peace, then? It is very hard that I can't get a doze without being meddled with!”

“I was just distraught, Miss Kathleen,” said Ben; “for it's nigh about twenty hour sin' he dropped asleep, and I was frighted until conshultin' ye aboot wauk-in' him.”

I burst into a laugh, and they both joined me in it, from surprise. It is not often I call upon them for that kind of sympathy. It is generally in sighs and groans that I ask them,—most unwilling-ly, I am sure,—to participate.

Kate wrote, some time ago, to our dear little Alice, begging her to join us in the Green Mountains, for it makes us both unhappy to think of that pretty child under iron rule; but her aunt re-fused to let her come to us.

VI. C— Springs. July.

I AM here established, drinking the waters and breathing the mountain air, but not gaining any marvellous benefit from either of them. When I repine in Ben's hearing, he sighs deeply, and ad-vises me “to heed the auld-warld prov-erb, and 'tak' things by their smooth han-dle,' sir; there's nae use in gripin' at thorns.” Kate, too, reproves me for hin-dering my recovery by fretting at its tardiness. She tries to comfort me, by saying that I ought to be thankful, that, instead of being obliged to waste my my youth in “horrid business,” I can lie here observing and enjoying the beautiful world. Thereupon I overwhelm her with quotations:—“The horse must be road-worn and world-worn, that he may thor-oughly enjoy his drowsy repose in the sun, where he winks in sleepy satisfac-tion”;—and Carlyle: “Tenfeldsdrückh’s whole duty and necessity was, like other men's, to work in the right direction, and no work was to be had; whereby he be-came wretched enough”;—and,“Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness.” Then I ask her, if it is not the utmost wretchedness to have found that work and felt its blessed-ness, and then be condemned not to do it. To all this she replies by singing that old hymn,—I make no apology for writing it down entire,—perhaps you do not know it,—

“Heart, heart, lie still! Life is fleeting fast; Strife will soon be past,” “I cannot lie still; Beat strong I will.”

“Heart, heart, lie still! Joy’s but joy, and pain’s but pain; Either, little loss or gain.” “I cannot lie still; Beat strong I will.”

“Heart, heart, lie still! Heaven over all Rules this earthly ball.” “I cannot lie still; Beat strong I will.”

“Heart, heart, lie still! Heaven’s sweet grace alone Can bring in peace its own.” “Let that me fill, And I am still.”

“Heaven's sweet grace” does not fill my heart; for I am exhausting myself in longings to walk again,—to be independent. I long to climb these mountains,—perverse being that I am,—principally to get out of the way of counsel, sympa-thy, and tender care. Since I can never so liberate myself, I am devoured by de-sire to do so. Kate divines this new feeling, and respects it; but as this is only another coal of fire heaped upon