Isn't it a shame, then, for me, an' the likes o' me, that has health an' strength, an' nothin' to do, to see my fellow-creatures dyin' on all hands about me, for want of the very assistance that I can afford them.

At any rate, I wouldn't live in the house with that woman, an' you know that, an' that I oughtn't." "But aren't you afeard of catchin' this terrible faver, that's takin' away so many, if you go among them' ?" "Afeard!" she replied; "no, father, I feel no fear either of that or anything else.

If I die, I lave a world that I never had much happiness in, an' I know that I'll never be happy again in it.

What then have I to fear from death?
Any change for me must now be for the betther; at all events it can hardly be for the worse.

No; my happiness is gone." "What in Heaven's name is the matther with you ?" asked her father; "an' what brings the big tears into your eyes that way ?" "Good-bye," said she; and as she spoke, a melancholy smile--at once sad and brilliant--irradiated her features.