remains delirious, she will become used to the
sight of me. I must take matters into my
own hands at once."

The first step was difficult. Coolness and
fresh air were wanted above everything. But
there was no chimney; the window would
not open; poor Jem would not let any door
remain open for a moment; and the sleepy
neighbour was one of those who insist upon
warm bed-clothes, large fires, and hot spirit-
and-water, in fever cases. She was got rid of
by being paid to find somebody who would go
for Mary's trunk, and bring it here before
dark. She did her best to administer another
dose of rum before she tied on her bonnet; but
as the patient turned away her head with
disgust, Mary interposed her hand. The
dram was offered to her, and, as she would
not have it, the neighbour showed the only
courtesy then possible, by drinking Mary's
health, and welcome to Bleaburn. The woman
had some sharpness. She could see that if she
took Jem with her, and put the trunk on his
shoulder, she should get the porter's fee                                                                           herself, instead of giving it to some rude boy;
and, as Mary observed, would be doing a
kindness to Jem in taking him for a pleasant
evening walk. Thus the coast was cleared.
In little more than half-an-hour they would
be back. Mary made the most of her time.

She set the doors below wide open, and
lowered the fire. She would fain have put on
some water to boil, for it appeared to her that
everybody and everything wanted washing
extremely. But she could find no water, but
some which seemed to have been used— which
was, at all events, not fit for use now. For
water she must wait till somebody came.
About air, she did one thing more— a daring
thing. She had a little diamond ring on her
finger. With this, without noise and quickly,
she cut so much of two small panes of the
chamber-window as to be able to take them
clean out; and then she rubbed the                                                                                        neighbouring panes bright enough to hide, as                                                                    she hoped, an act which would be thought mad.
When she looked round again at Aunty, she
could fancy that there was a somewhat clearer
look about the worn face, and a little less
dulness in the eye. But this might be because
she herself felt less sick now that fresh air
was breathing up the stairs.

There was something else upon the stairs—                                                                         the tread of some one coming up. It was
the doctor. He said he came to pay his
respects to the lady before him, as well as to
visit his patient. It was no season for losing
time, and doctor and nurse found in a minute
that they should agree very well about the
treatment of the patient. Animated by finding
that he should no longer be wholly alone in his
terrible wrestle with disease and death, the
doctor did things which he could not have
believed he should have courage for. He even
emptied out the rum-bottle, and hurled it
away into the bed of the stream. The last
thing he did was to turn up his cuffs, and

actually bring in two pails of water with his
own hands. He promised (and kept his
promise) to send his boy with a supply of
vinegar, and a message to the neighbour that
she was wanted elsewhere, that Mary might
have liberty to refresh the patient, without
being subject to the charge of murdering her.
"A charge, however," said he, " which I fully
expect will be brought against any one of us
who knows how to nurse. I confess they
have cowed me. In sheer despair, I have let
them take their own way pretty much. But
now we must see what can be done."

"Yes," said Mary. " It is fairly our turn
now. We must try how we can cow the fever."

SPRING-TIME IN THE COURT.

THEY say the Spring has come again!
There is no Spring-time here;
In this dark, reeking court, there seems
No change throughout the year;
Except, sometimes, 'tis bitter cold,
Or else 'tis hot and foul;
How hard it is, in such a place,
To feel one has a soul!

They say the Spring has come again!
I scarce believe 'tis so;
For where's the sun, and gentle breeze,
That make the primrose blow?
Oh, would that I could lead my child
Over the meadows green,
And see him playing with the flowers
His eyes have never seen!

His toys are but an oyster-shell,
Or piece of broken delf;
His playground is the gulley's side,
With outcasts like himself!
I used to play on sunny banks,
Or else by pleasant streams;
How oft-- oh, God be thanked! how oft—
I see them in my dreams.

I used to throw my casement wide,
To breathe the morning's breath;
But now I keep the window close—                                                                                      The air smells so like death!
Once only, on my window-sill
I placed a little flower,
Something to tell me of the fields—
It withered in an hour.

Why are we housed like filthy swine?
Swine! they have better care;
For we are pent up with the plague,
Shut out from light and air.
We work and wear our lives away,
To heap this city's wealth;
But labour God decreed for us—
'Tis man denies us health!

They say the Spring has come again
To wake the sleeping seed,
Whether it be the tended flower,
Or poor, neglected weed!
Then Harvest comes. Think you our wrongs
For ever, too, will sleep?
The misery which man has sown,
Man will as surely reap!