CURE OF A HYPOCHONDRIAC.

The Doctor, perceiving it was in vain to talk or try to reason with her, assured her that as long as there "Why, no, Sally, you don't look as if you was dy- was life there was hope, and told her he would give her ing. What is the matter? How do you feel?" some medicine that he did not doubt would help her. "Oh, I sha'nt live till night," said Mrs. Woodsum, He accordingly administered the drugs usually apwith a heavy sigh; "I am going fast." proved by the faculty in such cases, and telling her he would call and see her again in a day or two, he left the room. As he went out, Mr. Woodsum followed him, and desired to know in private his real opinion of the case. The Doctor assured him he did not consider it at all alarming. It was an ordinary case of hypochondria, and with suitable treatment the patient would undoubtedly soon be better.

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to ask what is the matter, Mr. Woodsum. Don't you see I am dying?"

Mr. Woodsum, without waiting to make further inquiries, told Obediah to run and jump on to the horse, and ride over after Doctor Fairfield, and get him to come over as quick as he can come. "Tell him I am afraid your mother is dying. If the doctor's horse is away off in the pasture, ask him to take our horse, and come right away over, while you go and catch his."

Obediah, with tears in his eyes, and his heart in his mouth, flew as though he had wings added to his feet, and in three minutes time was mounted upon Old Gray, and galloping with full speed toward Doctor

Fairfield's.

"My dear," said Mr. Woodsum, leaning his head upon the pillow, "how do you feel? What makes you think you are dying?" And he tenderly kissed her forehead as he spoke, and pressed her hand to his

bosom.

"Oh, Samuel," for she generally called him by his Christian name, when under the influence of tender emotions, "Oh, Samuel, I feel dreadfully. I have pains darting through my head, and most all over me; and I feel dizzy, and can't hardly see; and my heart beats as though it would come through my side. And besides, I feel as though I was dying. I am sure I can't live till night; and what will become of my poor children?" And she sobbed heavily and burst into a flood of tears.

At length Doctor Fairfield rode up to the door, on Mr. Woodsum's Old Gray, and with saddle-bags in hand, hastened into the house. A brief examination of the patient convinced him that it was a decided case of hypochondria, and he soon spoke encouraging words to her, and told her although she was considerably unwell, he did not doubt she would be better in a little while.

the mind needs to be administered to as much as the "This is a case," continued the Doctor, "in which body. Divert her attention as much as possible to cheerful objects; let her be surrounded by agreeable company: give her a light, but generous and nutritive diet; and as soon as may be, get her to take gentle exercise in the open air, by riding on horseback, or running about the fields and gathering fruits and flowers in company with lively and cheerful companions. Follow these directions, and continue to administer the

medicines I have ordered, and I think Mrs. Woodsum will soon enjoy good health again."

Mr. Woodsum was affected. He could not bring But, alas! his sunshine of hope was destined soon himself to believe that his wife was in such immediate to be obscured again by clouds of sorrow and disapdanger of dissolution as she seemed to apprehend. pointment. It was not long before some change in He thought she had no appearance of a dying person; the weather, and changes in her habits of living, and but still her earnest and positive declarations, that she neglect of proper exercise in the open air, brought on should not live throughout the day sent a chill through a return of Mrs. Woodsum's gloom, and despondency, his veins, and a sinking to his heart, which no lan-in all their terrific power. Again she was sighing and guage has power to describe. Mr. Woodsum was as weeping on the bed, and again Mr. Woodsum was hasignorant of medicine as a child; he therefore did not tily summoned from the field, and leaving his plough attempt to do anything to relieve his wife, except to in mid furrow, ran with breathless anxiety to the try to soothe her feelings by kind and encouraging house, where the same scenes were again witnessed words, till the Doctor arrived. The half hour which which we have already described. Not only once or elapsed, from the time Obediah started, till the doctor twice, but repeatedly week after week, and month after came, seemed to Mr. Woodsum almost an age. He month, these alarms were given, and followed by simirepeatedly went from the bed-side to the door, to look lar results. Every relapse seemed to be more severe and see if the doctor was any where near, and as often than the last, and on each occasion Mrs. Woodsum returned to hear his wife groan, and say she was sinkwas more positive than ever that she was on her death ing fast, and could not stand it many minutes longer. bed, and that there was no longer any help for her.

"Oh, Doctor, how can you say so?" said Mrs. Woodsum; "don't you see I am dying? I can't possibly live till night; I am sinking very fast, Doctor. I shall never see the sun rise again. My heart someimes almost stops its beating now, and my feet and hands are growing cold. But I must see my children once more; do let 'em come in and bid me farewell." Here she was so overwhelmed with sobs and tears as to prevent her saying more.

Mr. Woodsum felt much relieved after hearing the Doctor's opinion and prescriptions, and bade the kind physician good morning with a tolerably cheerful countenance. Most assiduously did he follow the Doctor's directions, and in a few days he had the happiness to see his beloved wife again enjoying comfortable health, and pursuing her domestic duties with cheerfulness.

On one of these occasions, so strong was her impression that her dissolution was near, and so anxious did she appear to make every preparation for death, and with such solemn earnestness did she attend to certain details preparatory to her leaving her family, for ever, that Mr. Woodsum almost lost the hope that usually attended him through these scenes, and felt, more than ever before, that what he had so often feared, was indeed about to become a painful and awful reality. Most tenderly did Mrs. Woodsum touch upon the subject of her separation from her husband and children.

"Our poor children-what will become of them wher I am gone? And you, dear Samuel, how can I bear the thought of leaving you? I could feel reconciled to dying, if it was not for the thoughts of leaving you and the children. They will have nobody to take care of them, as a mother would, poor things; and then

CURE OF A HYPOCHONDRIAC.

243

you will be so lonesome-it breaks my heart to think again her friends were summoned to witness her last sickness and take their last farewell. And on these of it." occasions, she had so often slightly and delicately hinted to Mr. Woodsum the propriety of his marrying a second wife, that even he could at last listen to the suggestion with a degree of indifference which he had once thought he could never feel.

Here, her feelings overpowered her, and she was unable to proceed any farther. Mr. Woodsum was for some time too much affected to make any reply. At last, summoning all his fortitude, and as much calmness as he could, he told her if it was the will of Providence that she should be separated from them, he hoped her last hours would not be pained with anxious solicitude about the future welfare of the family. It was true, the world would be a dreary place to him when she was gone; but he should keep the children with him, and with the blessing of heaven he thought he should be able to make them comfortable and happy. "Well, there's one thing, dear Samuel," said Mrs. Woodsum, "that I feel it my duty to speak to you about." And she pressed his hand in hers, and looked most solemnly and earnestly in his face. "You know, my dear," she continued, "how sad and desolate a family of children always is, when deprived of a mother. They may have a kind father, and kind friends, but no body can supply the place of a mother. I feel as if it would be your duty-and I could not die in peace if I didn't speak of it-I feel, dear Samuel, as if it would be your duty as soon after I am gone as would appear decent, to marry some good and kind woman, and bring her into the family to be the mother of our poor children, and to make your home happy. Promise me that you will do this, and I think it will relieve me of some of the distress I feel at the thought of dying." This remark was, to Mr. Woodsum, most unexpected and most painful. It threw an anguish into his heart, such as he had never experienced till that moment. It forced upon his contemplation a thought that never before occurred to him. The idea of being bereaved of the wife of his bosom, whom he had loved and cherished for fifteen years with the ardent attached the whole distance, however, his own imagination ment of a fond husband, had overwhelmed him with had added such wings to his speed, that he found himall the bitterness of woe; but the thought of transferring self moving at a quick run. He entered the house, that attachment to another object, brought with it a and found his wife as he had so often found her before, double desolation. His associations before had all in her own estimation, almost ready to breathe her last. clothed his love for his wife with a feeling of immor- Her voice was faint and low, and her pillow was wet tality. She might be removed from him to another with tears. She had already taken her leave of her world, but he had not felt as though that would dis- dear children, and waited only to exchange a few partsolve the holy bond that united them. His love would ing words with her beloved husband. Mr. Woodsum soon follow her to those eternal realms of bliss, and approached the bedside, and took her hand tenderly, as rest upon her like a mantle for ever. But this new and he had ever been wont to do, but he could not perceive startling idea, of love for another, came to him, as any symptoms of extreme sickness or approaching comes to the wicked the idea of annihilation of the soul dissolution, different from what he had witnessed on a -an idea, compared with which, no degree of misery dozen former occasions. imaginable, is half so terrible. A cloud of intense darkness seemed for a moment to overshadow him, his heart sank within him, and his whole frame trembled with agitation. It was some minutes before he could find power to speak. And when he did, it was only to beseech his wife, in a calm and solemn tone, not to allude to so distressing a subject again, a subject which he could not think of nor speak of, without suffering

more than a thousand deaths.

on.

At last, the sober saddening days of autumn came Mr. Woodsum was in the midst of his "fall work," which had been several times interrupted by these periodical turns of despondency in his wife. One morning he went to his field early, for he had a heavy day's work to do, and had engaged one of his neighbors to come with two yoke of oxen and a plough to help him "break up" an old mowing field. He was exceedingly desirous not to be interrupted for his neighbor could only help him that day, and he was very anxious to plough the whole field. He accordingly had left the children and nurse in the house, with strick charges to take good care of their mother, and see that nothing disturbed her through the day. Mr. Woodsum was driving the team and his neighbor was holding the plough, and things went on to their mind till about ten o'clock, in the forenoon, when little Harriet came running to the field, and told her father that her mother was "dreadful sick" and wanted him to come in as quick as he could, for she was certainly dying now. Mr. Woodsum, without saying a word, drove his team to the end of the furrow; but he looked thoughtful and perplexed. Although he felt persuaded that her danger was imaginary, as it had always proved to be before, still, the idea of the bare possibility that this sickness might be unto death, pressed upon him with such power, that he laid down his goad stick, and telling his neighbor to let the cattle breathe awhile, walked deliberately toward the house. Before he had accomplish

The strong mental anguish of Mr. Woodsum seemed to have the effect to divert his wife's attention from her own sufferings, and by turning her emotions into a new channel, gave her system an opportunity to rally. She gradually grew better as she had done in like cases before, and even before night was able to sit up, and became quite composed and cheerful.

But her malady was only suspended, not cured; and again and again it returned upon her, and again and

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Woodsum, faintly, "the time has come at last. I feel that I am on my deathbed, and have but a short time longer to stay with you. But I hope we shall feel resigned to the will of Heaven. These things are undoubtedly all ordered for the best; and I would go cheerfully, if it was not for my anxiety about you and the children. Now, don't you think, my dear," she continued, with increasing tenderness, "don't you think it would be best for you to be married again to some kind good woman, that would be a mother to our dear little ones, and make your home pleasant for all of you?"

She paused, and seemed to look earnestly in his face for an answer.

"We'll I've sometimes thought of late, it might be best," said Mr. Woodsum, with a very solemn air.

"Then you have been thinking about it," said Mrs.

THE TWO SISTERS.

Her sister Pauline would probably have thought and acted in the same manner; but no one praised the poor girl, simply because no one noticed her, for the smallpox had rendered her appearance homely. She was also far behind her sister in showy accomplishments. She played the guitar, and sung agreeably, but merely simple little songs. She was not behind Jeannette in the art of drawing; but except a few landscapes which hung in her mother's chamber, which no one but her mother saw, no one knew of her talent: for the homely Pauline was as diffident as the fascinating Jeannette was unembarassed; and it only required a second look "Pshaw!" said Jeannette, tossing her head, while from any one to cause her to blush deeply. Fortunately this did not often happen, for no one looked at she stuck a flower in her hair before the glass; "they her twice. She embroidered as well as her sister, but both feel so deeply that I hardly know how to manage only upon work-bags for aunts and grandmothers. She them, Meanwhile, what harm will there be in delayappeared best at home-in company the consciousness ing my choice awhile? Their rivalry makes my time of her homliness gave her an air of constraint; but af-pass very pleasantly, and finally accident will decide.” fairs could not go on without her.

"Why?-Maurice is as rich, and you will acknowledge he is handsomer."

"He is generous, too," said the mother.
"But he is fickle," replied Pauline.

"Our aunt has told me a good many things about him."

"Our aunt," answered Jeannette snappishly, "is an old aunt."

"Edward, on the other hand," continued Pauline, "is more steady; and I think I have often remarked, that he feels more deeply and more sincerely than Maurice."

Pauline was silent. Both suitors continued their attentions without remission.

"I am a child," said Pauline, blushing, and left the chamber.

"A child indeed," said Jeannette, laughing after her; "you would never guess what she was crying for."

When the girls grew up, their mother thought proper that they should take charge of the house each one One day as Edward entered the room, he found Pauby turns, week about. Pauline soon became accus-line in tears, and Jeannette laughing loudly. He asktomed to it, and in her week all things went on right. ed modestly the cause of the tears and the laughter. When Jeannette's turn came, she hurried about busily the whole forenoon, but when noon came the dinner was spoiled. She grieved, also, at the time she lost from her singing and harpsichord, and the little time which was left her to arrange her head-dress for her evening parties. The good-hearted Pauline frequently took her task off her hands, until finally the practice was neglected of relieving each other weekly, and Jeannette troubled herself no more about domestic affairs. The weak mother did not interfere, for she could not be displeased with the lovely face which pleased everybody. There could be no large party unless Jeannette Western graced it; her name served the poets for a subject, and was the universal toast. Few only knew that she had a sister.

"If it is not improper to ask-"

Two young officers, Edward and Maurice, saw Jeannette, and both became extremely enamored. Both were of a good family, brave, noble, and both very rich. Jeannette was delighted with her conquests, and her mother, who was in moderate circumstances, indulged

herself in sweet dreams of the future.

"If both should be in earnest," said she to her daughter, "which would you prefer?"

"Oh, not at all. You have probably sometimes seen the old blind dog that used to lie on the sofa? He was mine, and in his young days used to make a good deal of sport. This morning he broke a handsome dish. At first I fretted a little; at last I thought the old blind animal was good for nothing, and only did mischief;

so I sent him to a huntsman and had him shot."
"And was that the cause of your sister's weeping?"
"That was it. One would think we were living in
the times of old Romance."

"I don't know myself," answered Jeannette, "they both please me, but I like the richest one the best. Then I would take care of you, mother, in your old age, and I would have my sister to manage my house for

me."

The doating parent wept for joy at the filial sentiments of her daughter, and Pauline was grateful for such a mark of sisterly affection.

Edward was silent, and soon changed the conversation. But after that time he never overlooked Pauline as he had formerly done. He conversed with her, became acquainted with her unpretending worth, admired her modesty, and began to think her less homely. Yet when the fascinating Jeannette appeared, her charms made him forget Pauline.

•

In the meantime both of the young men woord earnestly for the beauty's favor, and both were equally kind to the homely Pauline, because she gave them the pleasure of being alone with her sister. Jeannette was really in embarrassment, which of her adorers to prefer. Edward gave a ball, at which she was queen, and she thought on that evening she was in a fair way to love Edward. Maurice gave a sleigh-ride, and she flew along the street in a splendid equipage, and on that day she thought Maurice more amiable than his rival. So she delayed her decision from one to another, attributing her hesitation to her heart.

Jeannette had prepared a splendid masquerade dress for the character of a sultana, for the carnival that was approaching, when her mother was taken sick. Pauline was to have accompanied her as her slave, and had prepared a becoming dress for the occasion. The day arrived; the illness of her mother increased; the looks of the physician, although he said nothing, made Pauline detetmine not to go the masquerade. Jeannette gave herself but little trouble to persuade her to go, and went without her.

"Where is your sister?" asked Edward.

"If I were in your place," said Pauline one day, "I should take Edward."

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My mother is not well, and Pauline has remained at home for company." He was pleased at that; but he had little time to think of it, for Jeannette appeared more beautiful than ever, and neither he nor Maurice left her side. She enjoyed the triumph of being admired in the highest degree. Whenever she danced, a crowd was formed around her; wherever she went, she heard the voice of flattery.

Toward midnight, just as she had promised to dance a quadrille with Edward, a domino came up and took off his mask; it was her mother's physician. Miss

THE TWO SISTERS.

operation. He soon after repeated the story in presence of Pauline. She did not look up from her embroidery, but he remarked that her eyes were moist. "What gives me the most pain for the misfortune," "By all means," said Edward, "let us go." continued he, "is the poverty of my mother-my good Just then the music commenced. Jeannette looked mother. If I should devote the whole of my income round embarrassed; Edward offered his services to to her, it will not be sufficient to provide her the luxulook for her servant. She was just on the point of ries to which she has been accustomed; and you know requesting him to do so, when one of the dancers in that poverty always depends upon the different wants the set took her hand and commenced the figure. She of mankind." Pauline raised her head and looked at obeyed mechanically, but said to a lady standing next him kindly. She said nothing, but her countenance to her, "I cannot dance any longer; my mother's spoke. The needle trembled in her hand. She besick." "O, do not rob us of the ornament of our thought herself and continued her embroidery. After quadrille," said a young rich Englishman, "a few mi-a pause she asked, as if merely to renew the conversanutes can make no difference." She looked at Ed- tion, "Where does your mother reside?" Edward anward as if she wished him to decide for her, but he swered at Stutgard, where, in reality, she was in the was silent. It was now his turn to dance. The per- highest circle of society. Pauline then spoke of the son next him jogged him-he cast an inquiring look at pleasant situation and advantages of Stutgard, and noJeannette; his neighbor reminded him again-Jean- thing more was said of Edward's misfortune. nette did not refuse, and so he danced the figure with For the purpose of confirming what he had said of her, and the quadrille was finished without any thing his losses, he limited his expenditures and sold his fine more being said. She would then have gone, but she horses. He continued to visit the sisters, and the was so heated that she would have taken cold, by going calmness of his feelings permitted him to see a thouinto the air. After walking up and down an adjoining sand little things, that had formerly escaped him. room for some time, she went home, and Edward ac- None of his observations were of a kind to rekindle companied her. As they went up the steps they saw his former love; on the other hand, Pauline daily apfire in the kitchen, where Pauline was preparing some-peared more amiable to him, and her homliness less thing for her mother. Her countenance, reddened by striking. As he now conversed more with her than the glow of the fire, appeared handsome this time, to with Jeannette, she felt more confidence toward him, her bashfulness was conquered, and she unfolded her "It is well you have come," said Pauline to her sis-heart. What conduced very much to this, was the ter, "Mother has been very sick, and I have frequent- modest supposition, that Edward could have no thought ly had to leave her alone." of a marriage with her; that removed her embarrassment, and she showed her pure, unrestrained sisterly affection.

Edward.

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said he, "I have just come from your house, and I dare not conceal from you that your mother is very ill." "Good Heaven!" she exclaimed, terrified and perplexed, "I must go home this moment."

Edward felt himself in a singular frame of mind. On this very evening Jeannette had dropt some hints, which gave him hopes of gaining the victory over his rival. His delight on that account, however had been very much moderated since the last quadrille. A film fell from his eyes. He was able for the first time to look upon her beauty without a violent wish to possess her. He would probably have renounced her immediately, if vanity had not whispered that she loved him; that she would have immediately left the hall, if she had not been dancing with him; and that it was he who made her forget her duty for a moment. His feelings could not withstand the flattering thought of being beloved by so beautiful a girl, and all that reason could win from him was a determination to put her supposed affection for him to the proof.

Jeannette, on the other hand, did not receive much pleasure from his visits, which were especially disa greeable when Maurice was present. To him she now confined her whole coquetry, and soon drew the net so tightly over him, that he besought her pressingly every day to make him the most enviable of mortals, at the altar. She still took airs upon herself and teased him a while, and at last jestingly gave her consent. The lover was delighted excessively, and the most expensive preparations were commenced for the nuptials.

Meanwhile Edward remained very calm. He was no longer in love, but it appeared to him at times as if he loved Pauline. His wish to see her, if he had not seen her for a day or two; the quickness with which time passed in her company; the unwillingness with which he separated from her-all these things often made him think "what if I should offer Pauline my hand?" A surprizing occurrence suddenly decided for him.

He waited until her mother recovered, and then went one day with an air of trouble in his countenance to Jeannette, and informed her that his estate in Subia had been ravaged by the enemy, and that it would take at least a year's rent to put it in its former condition. "But," added he tenderly, "if Jeannette only loves me, my income will be sufficient to protect us from He received a letter from his mother containing a want." She was visibly shocked, and changed color bill of exchange upon Stutgard for one hundred dolas he began his relation, and her endeavors to conceal lars, signed by one of the principal bankers of the her confusion did not escape him. An anxious pause place in which Edward resided. "I cannot compreensued. She soon recovered her composure, laid her hend," she wrote in her letter, "why it should have hand upon his in a friendly way, and said, "my good been sent to me. It was sent in an anonymous letter, friend, I will not deceive you. I am a spoilt child, and in which I am besought, a few lines, not to despise cannot do without a great many things. We are nei- the gift of a good heart." A flame blazed in Edward's ther of us romancers. We know that the hottest love breast. He trembled his eyes sparkled. He hurried will grow cold in a cottage. That I am well inclined to the banker. "Did you draw this bill of exchange?" toward you, I will not deny, but we must act reasona-"Yes." "For whom?" "I have been paid the vably remain my friend." This declaration was a lue." "By whom?" "I cannot say." "But the thrust in the heart to Edward; but it was a beneficial bill of exchange was sent to my mother." "I know