I was just going out, when the sound of a soft female voice over head arrested my attention. Impelled by a curiosity which, considering the rank of the inhabitants, I did not feel it necessary to resist, I softly stole up the narrow stairs, cautiously stooping as I ascended, the lowness of the ceiling not allowing me to walk upright. I stood still at the door of a little chamber, which was left half open to admit the air. I gently put my head through. What were my emotions when I saw Lucilla Stanley kneeling by the side of a little clean bed, a large old Bible spread open on the bed before her, out of which she was reading one of the penitential Psalms to a pale emaciated female figure, who lifted up her failing eyes, and clasped her feeble hands in solemn attention! Before two little bars, which served for a grate, knelt Ph[oe]be, with one hand stirring some broth which she had brought from home, and with the other fanning with her straw bonnet the dying embers, in order to make the broth boil; yet seemingly attentive to her sister's reading. Her disheveled hair, the deep flush which the fire, and her labor of love gave her naturally animated countenance, formed a fine contrast to the angelic tranquillity and calm devotion which sat on the face of Lucilla. Her voice was inexpressibly sweet and penetrating, while faith, hope, and charity seemed to beam from her fine uplifted eyes. On account of the closeness of the room, she had thrown off her hat, cloak, and gloves, and laid them on the bed; and her fine hair, which had escaped from its confinement, shaded that side of her face which was next the door, and prevented her seeing me. I scarcely dared to breathe, lest I should interrupt such a scene. It was a subject not unworthy of Raphael. She next began to read the forty-first Psalm, with the meek, yet solemn emphasis of devout feeling: "Blessed is he that considereth the poor and needy, the Lord shall deliver him in the time of trouble." Neither the poor woman nor myself could hold out any longer. She was overcome by her gratitude and I by my admiration, and we both at the same moment involuntarily exclaimed, Amen! I sprang forward with a motion which I could no longer control. Lucilla saw me, started up in confusion, And blushed Celestial rosy red, then eagerly endeavoring to conceal the Bible, by drawing her hat over it, "Ph[oe]be," said she, with all the composure she could assume, "is the broth ready?" Ph[oe]be, with her usual gayety, called out to me to come and assist, which I did, but so unskillfully, that she chid me for my awkwardness. It was an interesting sight to see one of the blooming sisters lift the dying woman in her bed, and support her with her arm, while the other fed her, her own weak hand being unequal to the task. At that moment, how little did the splendors and vanities of life appear in my eyes! and how ready was I to exclaim with Wolsey, Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate you.