RECOLLECTIONS OF POVERTY. 171 



not yet ten years of age, tended her with the most affectionate care' 

 anticipated all her wants, which were but few, and the look of ma- 

 ternal solicitude and love with which her afflicted parent would often 

 regard her seemed more than sufficient to reward her for her atten- 

 tion, and knit still closer the bonds of affection between them. Still 

 the causes of her extreme poverty were unknown, and the reserve 

 she manifested, if any allusions were made to it, surprised me much. 

 All my enquiries were to no purpose ; and firmly, but respectfully, 

 would she refuse my often proffered assistance. I felt grieved, not 

 only on her account, but also for her poor children, for scanty were 

 the means on which they subsisted, barely sufficient to support life ; 

 and often would the half-famished children cry to their mother, in 

 accents that would have melted the hardest heart, for food to satisfy 

 the cravings of hunger; and her little nurse, although evincing the 

 utmost patience under suffering, and gladly enduring every privation 

 for her mother's sake, began to sink under the combined effects of 

 want, watching, and grief. 



Meanwhile the disease progressed withTrightful rapidity, and, fore- 

 seeing that death would soon terminate her sufferings, I thought it 

 my duty to apprise her of its approach. Finding her one day in a 

 calm and tranquil frame of mind, I hinted, in the most cautious and 

 gentle manner, at the probability of the fatal termination of the dis- 

 ease. She seemed not to have expected this, and was silent, as if loth 

 to part with that delusive idea which had buoyed up her spirits with 

 the hope of recovery. But the spell which bound her to this earth was 

 broken. Henceforth her thoughts were concentrated on heaven. I 

 left the room. 



When I next visited her, I saw a striking- alteration in her manner ; 

 all reserve had vanished, and she seemed eager to communicate 

 something to me. She begged me to sit down near her, and, in an 

 animated tone, addressed me thus : 



" I fear, Sir, you will think me very ungrateful for having so long 

 and obstinately prevented your kind intentions ; but a prospect of 

 speedy relief, together with a firm hope of returning health, have in* 

 duced me to refuse the proffered aids of charity, and this not so much 

 from feelings of pride as from the necessity of reverting to some in- 

 cidents of my past life which, in common gratitude, I could not have 

 concealed from those who took a friendly interest in my condition. 

 But since the hope of recovery has vanished, and death may even now 

 be at hand, I think it my duty, for my children's sake, no longer to 

 abide by my former determination ; and, as you have ever manifested 

 towards me the utmost kindness, there is no one in whom I would 

 more willingly confide than yourself. If you will deign to hear 

 me, I will relate the causes which have reduced me to this wretched 

 condition." I expressed my assent, and she proceeded thus : 



" I was born at the village of N , in one of the southern coun. 



ties of England. It is a lovely and sequestered spot, situate in the 

 bosom of a vale bounded on either side by lofty hills, which, clothed to 

 their summits in the most luxuriant verdure, pleasingly contrast with 

 a chain of mountain heights which tower far above them in rugged 

 grandeur and stern magnificence. By the side of a clear crystal 



