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does not know what feelings of fear and distress and alarm will often crowd upon the mind at night, which the day shews to be unreasonable and vain? She was ill too, and at that moment thought herself even more ill than she was; and the end was, that after a frightened glance round the dimly-lighted room, she gave way to a flood of tears, which, when once begun, she could not stop, and which almost threatened to get beyond her control. At this moment some one in the farthest bed, who till then seemed to have been asleep, rose up, and throwing a large cloak round her, approached the bed-side of the poor disconsolate child. This was Mary Grey, a young woman who had been for some time a patient in the house, and who had observed Phoebe from her first arrival, but being a shy, retired person, had not liked to be the first to take notice of her. But now when she heard her distress, she willingly rose from her bed, in no ill-humour though roused from a comfortable sleep which she much needed, and went to try what she could do to soothe and comfort her. At the same time a voice from the opposite side of the room cried out, in peevish tones:

"Oh! for goodness-sake stop that child; it's bad enough when one is well to have their crying and noise, but when one is ill, it's past all bearing;" then raising herself with a sudden, impatient movement, as her first complaint did not seem to be attended to, she added, "Do be quiet, I tell you; do you think nobody is ill but yourself?"

This angry appeal did Phoebe good so far, that it roused her and stopped her tears from very surprise: she had in fact hitherto been allowed to give way to her feelings far too much for her own good, her mother having been always too patient and forbearing to like to use any authority. She had considered, justly enough, that such attacks were caused by illness, and so must be excused; but she had not thought sufficiently, that though ex

cusable, it was the worst possible thing for the child to be allowed to indulge in them; and so it happened that Phoebe had never received such a check before, and the effect was certainly good upon her, for she was silent at once. In this moment Mary Grey came softly up to her, and speaking to her in a kind voice, asked her what was the matter that she cried so sadly; and gently reminded her at the same time, by way of explaining the angry voice from the corner, that other people were ill too, and that it was not kind or right to disturb them more than could be helped. Phoebe felt the reasonableness of this, and besides was comforted by Mary's soft gentle voice, and by the thought that a kind person was near her; and after answering her questions in as calm and quiet a manner as she could, she promised to try to go to sleep, and resolutely shut her eyes to do so. Mary still sat on the bed, and Phoebe was glad for her to be there. While her eyes were closed, she could almost fancy it her mother still at hand; but another minute or two reminded her that it would be very selfish of her to allow her new friend to tire herself only to please her fancy, so she begged her to leave her, and promised she should not be disturbed any more; and this was whispered so gently and softly, that the sleeper in the other corner (for the angry voice had fallen asleep again) could not be roused by it; and with this promise Mary returned to her little bed, and in another hour all in the room were again at rest.

The next day the acquaintance thus begun between Phoebe and Mary Grey made considerable progress. Phoebe naturally felt anxious to see her new friend by daylight, to judge if she liked her appearance as well as her soft voice and kind words. And she was not disappointed; for Mary was certainly a very pleasing-looking person, fair and modest, and quiet in all her motions. There was only one drawback to the pleasure of looking at her; but that was a sad one. Mary was very pale; and often she would

start and put her hand to her side or her head, as if struck with a sudden attack of pain. When the doctor of the house, too, came up to her and made his usual inquiries, he looked serious and grave, so that Phoebe, who was by, felt sure he thought her very ill. Perhaps Mary thought so too, but it did not make any difference in her manner; and when he had passed on, she turned again to Phoebe as calmly and quietly as before, and encouraged her to go on with what she had been saying. You may fancy what a relief it was to Phoebe to be able to talk of home and all that interested her. There was a danger, indeed, of her talking too much and too long; but Mary perceived that she looked tired and excited before she was aware of it herself, and advised her to go and lie quietly on the bed for a little while, which she did. She made as little noise as possible; for the owner of the angry voice in the corner, whose name was Hannah Sanders, was still there, not having risen with the others. Her appearance, however, was not very alarming; she was, in fact, rather a pretty young woman, with no look of particular ill health about her, nor of ill humour now the night was over. She asked Phoebe some questions, as to who was in the great room, &c.; but as she had not yet become acquainted with many names, she could not satisfy her curiosity. When she lay down she felt very restless and poorly, but kept as quiet as she could, took the medicine that was brought her, and had sunk to sleep when she was roused by voices near her. It was Hannah Sanders conversing with a friend out of the town, who had come to pay her a visit. They were talking over the inmates of the house, and Phoebe paid little attention to their conversation till she heard the name of Mary Grey. The new comer seemed to know her, and spoke well of her.

"I'm sorry she should be ill, poor thing," she said; "she seems so friendless, having neither father

nor mother belonging to her, and so steady and thoughtful as she is. What is the matter with her?"

"Oh! I don't know," answered Hannah; "she looks like a ghost, and I don't think the doctors can do her any good. It's my opinion that it's something they can do nothing with that makes her ill." "What can you mean?" said the other, with some curiosity.

“Well, I think she takes William's conduct to heart. You know they were to have been married long before this, and now he has left the town; he went off with some excuse about seeking for work elsewhere, and she has heard nothing of him for months."

"Indeed," said the friend; "well, I should have thought better of him than to think he would do such a thing-such a steady young man and punetual at his church as he was!"

"Well, I don't see such great harm," added the other; "she is so quiet and formal in her ways, that I daresay he got tired of it; and besides, she was beginning to be sickly and poorly; and what can a poor man do with a sickly wife? I did hear that William is courting another young woman. I asked Mary about it the other day, for I thought it would do her good to know every thing, and would set up her spirit. She said nothing, and looked as cool as she could, as if she cared nothing about it; but I could see she had heard it before.'

"She is better a great deal without him, if he is such a one as you think," said the friend in some indignation," and a girl of her sense will think so, I hope."

Soon after, the visitor left, and Phoebe remained in silence to ponder over what she had heard, and to grieve over Mary's state of health that all seemed to think so ill of. She was full of these feelings when next she saw Mary; but then she looked s calm and easy, thought so little of herself, and

emed so glad to help others who needed help, that was impossible not to think better of her case. Hannah Sanders came into the convalescent room the same time with Phoebe. She was fast recoering, and was in high spirits and full of pleasure t the thought of leaving. She talked a great deal bout herself to Mary, who seemed a kind listener → every body, and described all the places she had een at in a way that amused Phoebe a good deal, vho had never before been in the way of hearing uch talk: but though she was amused, she could not feel to like Hannah very much, and she was herefore quite puzzled to hear from her what a high value all her friends and the mistress whom she was with, seemed to have for her; and Phoebe could not, in spite of herself, help feeling respect for a person who, by her own account, could do so many things better than any body else; who was so trustworthy, and thoughtful, and handy, and industrious, that no one ever could be found to supply her place. It must be very nice, thought Phoebe, to be so well thought of, and to do so many things well; but I wonder she should like to talk of it. Then she began to wish Mary would begin to tell something about herself, and was half inclined to be vexed at first that she had nothing to boast of in return. But Mary listened very quietly, and did not seem at all inclined to interrupt or take her share in the conversation, till Hannah began to reflect on the treatment she had received in the house.

"She could not say that she had been attended to as she had expected, and indeed she had a good many things to complain of."

"Have you?" said Mary very gently. "Well, you have a home and plenty of places to go to, and I suppose that makes you particular; but it is different with me, and I never can be thankful enough for all the care and kindness I have found here. It makes my heart full whenever I think of it. I am

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