ioners, and sought eagerly
for every opportunity of winning a few shillings, to be spent in
ministering to the comfort of the beloved sufferer. But it was all too
late: Ernest sank slowly, but surely.

There were intervals when life, like the flicker of an expiring lamp,
appeared successfully struggling with death; but these occasional
brightenings were always succeeded by a more entire prostration and
languor. The personal beauty, for which Ernest had always been
remarkable, grew almost superhuman during his illness, and Richard could
not resist stealing a little time from his busy labors to paint his
brother's portrait. In the execution of this task of love, however, many
hindrances occurred; and before it was more than a sketch, the dear
original had passed away from them in one of those quiet sleeps which in
such cases, are the usual harbingers of death. The painting was removed
to Richard's chamber, and in the first agony of his grief, forgotten;
but when Ernest had been committed to the grave, and life had assumed
its usual monotony--more gloomy now than ever--he remembered his
attempt, and resolved on finishing the likeness from memory. An easy
task! for nightly, in his slumbers, he saw the fair, sweet face of his
young brother. The second morning after he had resumed his pencil, he
was startled at finding that the painting appeared to be in a more
advanced state than he had left it the night before, but he fancied
imagination must be juggling him, and that he really had done more than
he remembered. The following day, however, the same phenomenon startled
him, and he mentioned the circumstance to his mother. She was
superstitious, and nervous from sorrow and regret; and she at once
adopted the fanciful notion that there was something supernatural in the
matter; suggesting the possibility of their dear Ernest's gentle spirit
having thus endeavored to show them, that in another world he still
thought of them and loved them. Richard combated the idea by every
argument his reason offered him; but as he was convinced of the fact,
and could give no satisfactory explanation of it, he was at last
persuaded by her earnest entreaties to leave the picture untouched for
two or three days, and see what consequences would follow. The painting
progressed! daily, or rather nightly, it advanced toward completion.
Every morning a stronger likeness of the dead smiled on them from the
canvas, and a more skillful hand than the young