Mary placed her hand fondly and gratefully on the head of her dear little expositor. A tear of happier feeling trembling amidst the lashes of her drooping eyelids, than had gushed for many a day from her perplexed and troubled spirit, for she thought of two other brothers, who, through the mercy of God, were still spared on earth--the one to forgive, the other to be forgiven; and a calm, peaceful, expression stole over the sweet countenance whose placid serenity distressing thoughts had of late so sadly disturbed, till at length, as Charlie went on to read to her, at full, the history, as he said, "of another brother--the best brother of all." "Even Joseph, who was sold for a servant, whose feet they hurt in the stocks, who was laid in irons, until the time came that he was delivered, the word of the Lord tried him;" but who yet, when his brothers were brought to bow down before him, he spoke kindly to them, even to those who had done him such grievous wrong, and kissed them, and wept over them, and made them as rich and happy as he could--the soft monotony of the child's voice lulled her senses to repose; and with that glittering tear still moistening her drooping lashes, and a smile, sweet and innocent as might have been that of the child by her side, she peacefully slept. The boy's voice then sunk to a whisper, and so absorbed was he in his interesting task, and the carpet of the saloon so thick and soft, that he perceived or heard nothing till a darkening shadow fell upon his book. Then he quietly lifted up his serious eyes, and beheld a tall stranger gentleman standing at a little distance before him. But the stranger was not looking at him, the little boy: his full, dark eyes were bent with earnest intensity upon the sleeping Mary, who, as she lay there with that still serenity of brow, that look almost of child-like innocence which sleep, like death, sometimes brings back to the countenance, might have well suggested to the recollection of the gazer these beautiful lines of Mrs. Hemans, "The Sleeper:" "Oh lightly, lightly tread, Revere the pale still brow, The meekly drooping head, The long hair's willowy flow. "Ye know not what ye do, That call the slumberer back From the world unseen by you, Unto life's dim, faded track. "Her soul is far away In her childhood's land perchance, Where her young sisters play, Where shines her brother's glance. "Some old sweet native sound, Her spirit haply weaves; A harmony profound, Of woods with all their leaves. "A murmur of the sea, A laughing tone of streams; Long may her sojourn be In the music land of dreams."