ss and spotless
that her whole aspect was refreshing.

Last week there was a severe operation performed in the hospital, and
Josephine had to be present. She held the poor fellow's hand till he
was insensible from the kindly chloroform they gave him, and, after the
surgeons were through, sat by him till night, with such a calm, cheerful
face, giving him wine and broth, and watching every indication of pulse
or skin, till he really rallied, and is now doing well.

As I came over, the next day, I met Doctor Rivers at the door of her
ward.

"Really," said he, "that little Mrs. Addison is a true heroine!"

The kitten purred about my feet, and as I smiled assent to him, I said
inwardly to myself,--

"Really, she is a true woman!"

ABOUT WARWICK.

Between bright, new Leamington, the growth of the present century,
and rusty Warwick, founded by King Cymbeline in the twilight ages, a
thousand years before the mediaeval darkness, there are two roads,
either of which may be measured by a sober-paced pedestrian in less than
half an hour.

One of these avenues flows out of the midst of the smart parades and
crescents of the former town,--along by hedges and beneath the shadow of
great elms, past stuccoed Elizabethan villas and wayside ale-houses, and
through a hamlet of modern aspect,--and runs straight into the principal
thoroughfare of Warwick. The battlemented turrets of the castle,
embowered half-way up in foliage, and the tall, slender tower of St.
Mary's Church, rising from among clustered roofs, have been visible
almost from the commencement of the walk. Near the entrance of the town
stands St. John's School-House, a picturesque old edifice of stone, with
four peaked gables in a row, alternately plain and ornamented, and wide,
projecting windows, and a spacious and venerable porch, all overgrown
with moss and ivy, and shut in from the world by a high stone fence, not
less mossy than the gabled front. There is an iron gate, through the
rusty open-work of which you see a grassy lawn, and almost expect to
meet the shy, curious eyes of the little boys of past generations,
peeping forth from their infantile antiquity into the strangeness of our
present life. I find a peculiar charm in these long-established English
schools, where the school-boy of to-day sits side by side, as it were,
with his great-grandsire, on the same old benches, and often, I believe,
thumbs a later, but unimproved edition of the same old gr