shadow, to make me inspired."

"Please Miss Thusa, oblige the doctor this time," pleaded Helen. "I'll
come and spin all day to-morrow for you, and send you a sack of salt
beside."

"Set a kitten to spinning!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, her grim features
relaxing into a smile--putting at the same time her wheel against the
wall, and seating herself in the corner opposite to Helen.

"Thank you," cried Helen, "I knew you would not refuse. Now please tell
us something gentle and beautiful--something that will make us better
and happier. Ghosts, you know, never appear till darkness comes. The
angels do."

Miss Thusa, sat looking into the fire, with a musing, dreamy expression,
or rather on the ashes, which formed a gray bed around the burning
coals. Her thoughts were, however, evidently wandering inward, through
the dim streets and shadowy aisles of that Herculaneum of the
soul--memory.

Arthur laid his hand with an admonishing motion on Helen, whose lips
parted to speak, and the trio sat in silence for a few moments, waiting
the coming inspiration. It has been so often said that we do not like to
repeat the expression, but it really would have been a study for a
painter--that old, gray room (for the walls being unpainted were of the
color of Miss Thusa's dress;) the antique, brass-bound wheel, the
scarlet tracery over the chimney, and the three figures illuminated by
the flame-light of the blazing chimney. It played, that flame-light,
with rich, warm lustre on Helen's soft, brown hair and roseate cheek,
quivered with purplish radiance among Arthur's darker locks--and lighted
up with a sunset glow, Miss Thusa's hoary tresses.

"Gentle and beautiful!" repeated the oracle. "Yes! every thing seems
beautiful to the young. If I could remember ever feeling young, I dare
say beautiful memories would come back to me. 'Tis very strange, though,
that the older I grow, the pleasanter are the pictures that are
reflected on my mind. The way grows smoother and clearer. I suppose it
is like going out on a dark night--at first you can hardly see the hand
before you, but as you go groping along, it lightens up more and more."

She paused, looked from Arthur Hazleton to Helen, then from Helen to
Arthur, as if she were endeavoring to embue her spirit with the grace
and beauty of youth.

"I remember a tale," she resumed, "which I heard or read, long, long
ago--which perhaps I've never told. It is about a young Prince, who was
heir to a gre