development of the teeth among the aristocracy. But
how the same parent can produce such differing offspring--some born to a
life of ease, with obsolete teeth, and others with well-developed teeth
to do the work--is one of the mysteries in Nature. The only way to
settle the point with regard to the mandibles beyond dispute is to find
the pupae of very young queens and soldiers, which I was unable to do
during my stay in Florida. All the young were in the larval state.

MARY TREAT.

DOCTEUR ALPHEGE.

"Marcelline! Marcelline! viens m'aider: je souffre!"

The voice was thin and querulous, but painfully weak, and the stalwart,
broad-shouldered negress to whom the cry was addressed had an anxious,
startled look on her usually stolid face as she turned away from the
open door and went into the sick room.

"My poor mistress," she said tenderly in French, raising in her arms as
she spoke the attenuated form of the suffering woman before her and
rearranging her pillows, "you feel very bad to-day: I knew you did just
now when you were asleep and I heard you groaning. I wish--_bon
Dieu!_--I wish I could do something for you."

The invalid made no reply for a minute, but gazed piteously up into the
other's face. She was a woman of about fifty, who even in the last
stages of emaciation and weakness showed traces of wonderful beauty. The
sharp, drawn features were as clear and fine as those of a model, and
even now the sweetness and brilliancy of her dark-blue eyes were little
diminished. But pain of some kind and utter prostration held her in
their grip, and she made several attempts to speak before she said, in a
hoarse whisper, "Thou canst help me, child. Food, Marcelline! food, for
the love of God!"

The negress started, knit her brows and murmured anxiously, "Oh, my dear
mistress, anything but that! Think what would happen to me and my
children if--if--"--she seemed almost afraid even to whisper the name,
but sank her voice to the lowest tone as she continued--"if Mons.
Alphege were to find me out. _Attends!_" she added aloud and coaxingly:
"it will soon be time for your supper now: when the bell rings you are
to have some milk, and the sun is almost down."

The sick woman groaned and lay quite still, but when, in a few minutes,
a clanging plantation-bell rang the joyful announcement that the day's
work was over, she grasped the milk which Marcelline brought her like
one famished, and drained it without breath