ous
inhabitants of earth, air, and water with the most charming
philanthropy. Her dependants are neither beautiful nor very interesting,
nor is she sentimentally enamored of them; but the more ugly and
desolate the creature, the more devoted is she. Look at her now; most
young ladies would have hysterics over any one of those pets of hers."

Moor looked, and thought the group a very pretty one, though a plump
toad sat at Sylvia's feet, a roly-poly caterpillar was walking up her
sleeve, a blind bird chirped on her shoulder, bees buzzed harmlessly
about her head, as if they mistook her for a flower, and in her hand a
little field mouse was breathing its short life away. Any tender-hearted
girl might have stood thus surrounded by helpless things that pity had
endeared, but few would have regarded them with an expression like that
which Sylvia wore. Figure, posture, and employment were so childlike in
their innocent unconsciousness, that the contrast was all the more
strongly marked between them and the sweet thoughtfulness that made her
face singularly attractive with the charm of dawning womanhood. Moor
spoke before Mark could dispose of his smoke.

"This is a great improvement upon the boudoir full of lap-dogs,
worsted-work and novels, Miss Sylvia. May I ask if you feel no
repugnance to some of your patients; or is your charity strong enough to
beautify them all?"

"I dislike many people, but few animals, because however ugly I pity
them, and whatever I pity I am sure to love. It may be silly, but I
think it does me good; and till I am wise enough to help my
fellow-beings, I try to do my duty to these humbler sufferers, and find
them both grateful and affectionate."

There was something very winning in the girl's manner as she spoke,
touching the little creature in her hand almost as tenderly as if it had
been a child. It showed the newcomer another phase of this many-sided
character; and while Sylvia related the histories of her pets at his
request, he was enjoying that finer history which every ingenuous soul
writes on its owner's countenance for gifted eyes to read and love. As
she paused, the little mouse lay stark and still in her gentle hand; and
though they smiled at themselves, both young men felt like boys again as
they helped her scoop a grave among the pansies, owning the beauty of
compassion, though she showed it to them in such a simple shape.

Then Mark delivered his message, and Sylvia went away to re