rendered by Dr. M'Cormick was so
prompt and so skilful, it is possible that the sorrows of the faithful
Jane Sinclair might have here closed. On the fourth day, however, she
experienced a change; but, alas, such a change as left the loving and
beloved group who had hung over her couch with anxious hopes of her
restoration to reason, now utterly hopeless and miserable. She arose
from her paroxysms a beautiful, happy, and smiling maniac, from whose
soul in mercy had been removed that susceptibility of mental pain, which
constitutes the burthen and bitterness of ordinary calamity.

The first person who discovered this was her mother, who, on the fourth
morning of her illness, had stolen to her bedside to see how her beloved
one felt. Agnes, who would permit no other person to nurse her darling
sister, lay asleep with her head reclining on the foot of the bed,
having been overcome by her grief and the fatigue of incessant watching.
As her mother stooped down to look into the sufferer's face, her heart
bounded with delight oh seeing Jane's eyes smiling upon her with all the
symptoms of recognition.

"Jane, my heart's dearest," she said, in a soothing, low inquiry, "don't
you know me?"

"Yes, very well," she replied; "you are my mamma, and this is Agnes
sleeping on the foot of the bed. Why does she sleep there?"

The happy mother scarcely heard her child's question, for ere the words
were well uttered she laid her head down upon the mourner's bosom, in
a burst of melancholy joy, and wept so loudly that her voice awakened
Agnes, who, starting up, exclaimed:

"Oh, mother, mother--what is this? Is--?" she said, "No, no--she must
not--she would not leave her Agnes. Oh mother--mother, is it so?"

"No, no, Agnes love; no--but may the mercy of God be exalted for ever,
Jane knows her mamma this morning, and she knows you too, Agnes."

That ever faithful sister no sooner heard the words, than a smile of
indescribable happiness overspread her face, which, however, became
instantly pale, and the next moment she sunk down, and in a long swoon
forgot both the love and sorrow of her favorite sister. In little more
than a minute the family were assembled in the sickroom, and heard from
Mrs. Sinclair's lips the history, as she thought, of their beloved one's
recovery. Agnes was soon restored, and indeed it would be impossible
to witness a scene of such unexpected delight, as that presented by the
rejoicing group which surrounded the