He took the picture and gazed upon it earnestly and long. It was a picture of himself, in the prime of young manhood, the cheeks rounded, the eyes full of hope, the brow, shaded by glossy black hair, stamped with genius. A picture taken only sixteen months before. "Only sixteen months ago, Nelly," he said. "Only sixteen months ago, Annie; and now--well, there's a crayon sketch on the bureau, which I took of myself the other day, as I looked in the glass. Bring it, Nelly." His sister brought the crayon sketch; and, with a sad smile, he held it beside the other picture. It was all too faithful. His prominent cheek bones, hollow cheeks, colorless lips, and sunken eyes, all were copied there; only the deathly fire of the eyes was lacking. "A sad contrast, isn't it, Annie? When this picture was taken, sixteen months ago, we were all doing well. My pictures sold; some lithographs which I executed, met also with ready sale. I had as much as I could do, and everything was bright before me. I even thought of a tour to Italy! Don't you remember our nice little cottage out in the country, Nell? But I was taken sick--sick;--I couldn't work any longer. Our money was soon spent; and you, Annie, made shirts; and you, Nelly, you embroidered; and that kept us thus far--and--," he stopped, and gazed upon his wife and sister, who were weeping silently: and then upon his children. "And now I must go and leave you in this world.--Oh, my God! such a world!" "Don't think of us, John," said his wife. "If you could only live,--" "Oh, you will--you will get better, as the spring comes on," exclaimed Nelly; "and we'll go into the country, on the first sunny day, and gather flowers there." John drew forth from his vest pocket certain pieces of paper, which he spread forth upon his knee. Bank notes, each marked with the figure 2, and signed by the name of Israel Yorke, (a prominent banker of the _bogus_ stamp,) in a bold hand. There were four in all. "This is the eight dollars, Annie, which I saved to pay our rent," said the artist. The wife and sister gazed upon the bank notes earnestly--for those bank notes were their last hope. Those bank notes were "_rent money_;" and of all money on the earth of God, none is so bitterly earned by Poverty, nor so pitilessly torn from its grasp by the hand of Avarice, as "_rent money_." "Well,--well;"--and John paused, as if the words choked him. "These notes are not worth one penny. All of Israel Yorke's banks broke to-day." There was not a word spoken for five minutes, or more. This news went like an ice-bolt through the hearts of the wife and sister. "And to-morrow we'll be put into the street by this same Israel Yorke, who is also our landlord;" said John, breaking the long pause. "Put the window a little lower, Nelly--it feels close--I want air." Nelly obeyed; and resumed her seat at her brother's face, which now glowed on the cheeks and shone in the eyes with an expression which she could not define.