Wilhelmine recovered her consciousness, only to sink into the most alarming delirium. A burning fever attacked her, and during several days her death was momentarily expected. But at last her youth triumphed over this crisis, she recovered her health, and at the end of two months had regained sufficient strength to walk a few steps in her chamber. She passed before a mirror, and accidentally glanced at its image of herself; what was her amazement at beholding a face whiter than alabaster itself. She tried to close her eyes, but could not cease regarding it. It was herself, these were indeed her features, but could illness have produced a change so sudden and mysterious? Alas! this paleness never departed more! Her former intentions were irrevocably arrested, she resolved not to see Edmond again, and the prayers of her lover and her mother were equally unavailing. She consecrated herself solely to good works, and to those exercises of piety and benevolence which her too exclusive affection for M. de Gaser had for a time interrupted. She lived the life of a saint, shedding blessings around her, and endeavoring to procure for others the happiness she could no longer obtain for herself. Wilhelmine’s appearance continued as she had seen it the first day of her convalescence. She had now forsaken the world, and the world speedily forgot her; but a small number of friends ceased not to offer her pity and consolation. While still young, she was attacked by a disease of languor, which left no room for hope, and ere long Wilhelmine had reached her last hour. A few moments before her death she bade a touching farewell to all her friends, and turning to Madame de Cernan, she said— “My mother, relate to them the particulars of my history; tell them to beware of making rash vows; it is a vow which has killed me!” My aunt shed tears as she concluded this recital, and I wept bitterly over the mournful destiny of the pale lady. After the day I learned this mournful chronicle, I evinced as much solicitude to avoid finding myself in the vicinity of the portrait gallery as I had hitherto displayed anxiety to visit its attractions. I could not pass before her picture without my heart beating quicker at the remembrance of the sorrows of Wilhelmine. It seemed to me as if I heard her speak her last words, and I would repeat to myself as I glided in terror before her—“O! beware of rash vows, for it is a vow which has killed me!” * * * * * [Illustration: Drawn by C. H. Bodmer. Eng^{d}. by Rawdon, Wright & Hatch. A Skin Lodge of an Assiniboin Chief. Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine.] * * * * * AN ASSINIBOIN LODGE. The travels of Prince Maximilian, of Wied, in the interior of North America, give us an interesting account of the Assiniboin tribe of Indians in the far west.