ence and that every one else should be as active as himself. Timid, languid, and indolent—shrinking from exertion to which she felt unequal, Mrs. Dalton's oriental temperament was only to be roused by an appeal to her feelings or her generosity. Actuated by either of these motives—the gentle mind and slight frame seemed animated with a vigour that might have been held incompatible with her soft, sweet nature. Mr. Dalton would fain have carried this spirit farther; he perpetually lamented that "Indiana would listen to every impostor who had a few sorrowful words at command, and that it was enough to ruin those children the way in which she spoilt them." Still it was impossible to be angry with a creature so lovely, and so frail, and moreover so utterly devoted to him. It had been long, however, since a sound of reproach had been heard from Mr. Dalton's lips. His was no temper to hope against hope, and, from the first, he had seen that his wife's malady was fatal. She was now dying of consumption, and every thing else was forgotten in
