"Well," said Elizabeth, drawing a long breath, "I do not think my _loving cousin_ will ever die of the 'information of the brain;' but if it should get there, I do not know what might happen.--But, Rosina, from whom is _your_ letter?" "My mother," said Rosina; and she seated herself at the little light-stand, with a sheet of paper, pen, and inkstand. "Why, you do not intend to answer it to-night?" "I must commence it to-night," replied Rosina, "and finish it to-morrow night, and carry it to the post-office. I cannot write a whole letter in one evening." "Why, what is the matter?" said Dorcas. "My twin-sister is very sick," replied Rosina; and the tears she could no longer restrain gushing freely forth. The girls, who had before been in high spirits, over cousin Judy's letter, were subdued in an instant. Oh, how quick is the influence of sympathy for grief! Not another word was spoken. The letter was put away in silence, and the girls glided noiselessly around the room, as they prepared to retire to rest. Shall we take a peep at Rosina's letter? It may remove some false impressions respecting her character, and many are probably suffering injustice from erroneous opinions, when, if all could be known, the very conduct which has exposed them to censure would excite approbation. Her widowed mother's letter was the following:-- "MY DEAR CHILD.--Many thanks for your last letter, and many more for the present it contained. It was very acceptable, for it reached me when I had not a cent in the world. I fear you deprive yourself of necessaries to send me so much. But all you can easily spare will be gladly received. I have as much employment at tailoring as I can find time to do, and sometimes I sit up all night, when I cannot accomplish my self-allotted task during the day.