poverty could claim—my right of spiritual
property in my perishing aunt.

"The doctor tells me," my poor misguided
relative went on, " that I am not so well to-day.
He forbids me to see any strangers; and he
orders me, if I read at all, only to read the
lightest and the most amusing books. 'Do
nothing, Lady Verinder, to weary your head,
or to quicken your pulse'—those were his last
words, Drusilla, when he left me to-day."

There was no help for it but to yield again—
for the moment only, as before. Any open
assertion of the infinitely superior importance
of such a ministry as mine, compared with the
ministry of the medical man, would only have
provoked the doctor to practise on the human
weakness of his patient, and to threaten to
throw up the case. Happily, there are more
ways than one of sowing the good seed, and
few persons are better versed in those ways
than myself.

"You might feel stronger, dear, in an hour
or two," I said. " Or you might wake, to-
morrow morning, with a sense of something
wanting, and even this unpretending volume
might be able to supply it. You will let me
leave the book, aunt? The doctor can hardly
object to that!"

I slipped it under the sofa cushions, half in,
half out, close by her handkerchief and
smelling-bottle. Every time her hand searched for
either of these, it would touch the book; and,
sooner or later (who knows?), the book might
touch her. After making this arrangement, I
thought it wise to withdraw. " Let me leave
you to repose, dear aunt; I will call again
to-morrow." I looked accidentally towards the
window as I said that. It was full of flowers,
in boxes and pots. Lady Verinder was extravagantly
fond of these perishable treasures, and
had a habit of rising every now and then, and
going to look at them and smell them. A new
idea flashed across my mind. "Oh! may I
take a flower?" I said—and got to the window,
unsuspected, in that way. Instead of
taking away a flower, I added one, in the shape
of another book from my bag, which I left, to
surprise my aunt, among the geraniums and
roses. The happy thought followed, " Why not
do the same for her, poor dear, in every other
room that she enters?" I immediately said
good-bye; and, crossing the hall, slipped into the
library. Samuel, coming up to let me out, and
supposing I had gone, went down-stairs again.
On the library table I noticed two of the "amusing
books" which the infidel doctor had
recommended. I instantly covered them from sight
with two of my own precious publications. In
the breakfast-room I found my aunt's favourite
canary singing in his cage. She was always in
the habit of feeding the bird herself. Some
groundsel was strewed on a table which stood
immediately under the cage. I put a book
among the groundsel. In the drawing-room I
found more cheering opportunities of emptying
my bag. My aunt's favourite musical pieces
were on the piano. I slipped in two more
books among the music. I disposed of another
in the back drawing-room, under some
unfinished embroidery, which I knew to be of
Lady Verinder's working. A third little room
opened out of the back drawing-room, from
which it was shut off by curtains instead of a
door. My aunt's plain old-fashioned fan was
on the chimney-piece. I opened my ninth
book at a very special passage, and put the fan
in as a marker, to keep the place. The question
then came, whether I should go higher still,
and try the bedroom floor—at the risk,
undoubtedly, of being insulted, if the person with
the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper
regions of the house, and to find me out. But,
oh, what of that? It is a poor Christian that is
afraid of being insulted. I went up-stairs,
prepared to bear anything. All was silent and
solitary—it was the servants' tea-time, I
suppose. My aunt's room was in front. The
miniature of my late dear uncle, Sir John, hung
on the wall opposite the bed. It seemed to
smile at me; it seemed to say, " Drusilla!
deposit a book." There were tables on either
side of my aunt's bed. She was a bad sleeper,
and wanted, or thought she wanted, many
things at night. I put a book near the matches
on one side, and a book under the box of
chocolate drops on the other. Whether she wanted
a light, or whether she wanted a drop, there
was a precious publication to meet her eye, or
to meet her hand, and to say with silent
eloquence, in either case, " Come, try me! try
me!" But one book was now left at the bottom
of my bag, and but one apartment was still
unexplored—the bath-room, which opened out
of the bedroom. I peeped in; and the holy
inner voice that never deceives, whispered to
me, " You have met her, Drusilla, everywhere
else; meet her at the bath, and the work is
done." I observed a dressing-gown thrown
across a chair. It had a pocket in it, and in
that pocket I put my last book. Can words
express my exquisite sense of duty done, when
I had slipped out of the house, unsuspected by
any of them, and when I found myself in the
street with my empty bag under my arm? Oh,
my worldly friends, pursuing the phantom,
Pleasure, through the guilty mazes of Dissipation,
how easy it is to be happy, if you will only
be good!

When I folded up my things that night—
when I reflected on the true riches which I had
scattered with such a lavish hand, from top to
bottom of the house of my wealthy aunt—I
declare I felt as free from all anxiety as if I
had been a child again. I was so light-hearted
that I sang a verse of the Evening Hymn. I
was so light-hearted that I fell asleep before
I could sing another. Quite like a child again!
quite like a child again!

So I passed that blissful night. On rising
the next morning, how young I felt! I might
add, how young I looked, if I were capable of
dwelling on the concerns of my own perishable
body. But I am not capable—and I add
nothing.