, which had been
dug for him on the hill overlooking the town from the south-east.

In the same town there was a portrait-painter, a quiet, pleasant fellow,
with a good face and easy, gentlemanly ways. As an artist, he was not
without merit, but his gift fell short of genius. He fell in love with a
charming girl, the eldest daughter of a leading citizen. She could not
return his passion. The enamored artist still loved, and hoped against
hope, lingering near her like a moth around a candle. There was another
and more favored suitor in the case, and the rejected lover had all his
hopes killed at one blow by her marriage to his rival. He felt that
without her life was not worth living. He resolved to kill himself, and
swallowed the contents of a two-ounce bottle of laudanum. After he had
done the rash deed, a reaction took place. He told what he had done, and
a physician was sent for. Before the doctor's arrival, the deadly drug
asserted its power, and this repentant suicide began to show signs of
going into a sleep from which it was certain he would never awake.

"My God! What have I done?" he exclaimed in horror. "Do your best, boys,
to keep me from going to sleep before the doctor gets here."

The doctor came quickly, and by the prompt and very vigorous use of the
stomach-pump he was saved. I was sent for, and found the would-be
suicide looking very weak, sick, silly, and sheepish. He got well, and
went on making pictures; but the picture of the fair, sweet girl, for
love of whom he came so near dying, never faded from his mind. His face
always wore a sad look, and he lived the life of a recluse, but he never
attempted suicide again--he had had enough of that.

"It always makes me shudder to look at that place," said a lady, as we
passed an elegant cottage on the western side of Russian Hill, San
Francisco.

"Why so? The place to me looks specially cheerful and attractive, with
its graceful slope, its shrubbery, flowers, and thick greensward."

"Yes, it is a lovely place, but it has a history that it shocks me to
think of. Do you see that tall pumping-apparatus, with water-tank on
top, in the rear of the house?"

"Yes; what of it?"

"A woman hanged herself there a year ago. The family consisted of the
husband and wife, and two bright, beautiful children. He was thrifty and
prosperous, she was an excellent housekeeper, and the children were
healthy and well-behaved. In appearance a happier family could not be
f