Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

I am still virtuous." "I do not understand you." "My parents, in the midst of wretchedness and want, still in perspective found present happiness. I have now bereft them of that. I knew no pains which were not reflected from them, and they, no pleasure, which was not reflected from me. We were sufficiently miserable in the opinion of the world, yet I know not how it happened, when our distresses were at the height, we did not seem to be most wretched. Misfortune united us more tenderly. How often have I understood their silent prayers for my welfare! But heaven saw otherwise. You know, sir, every thing conspires to render the poor, still poorer: they are under a continually increasing pressure. The time soon came, when my parents had only me to look to for subsistence: but I could not do much, a female has every disadvantage to struggle with; the same exertions on our part do not meet with the same consideration with those of your sex. My parents now, especially my father, began to lose much of their former resignation. Whenever I went out, they seemed to read my destiny: whenever I came home, their eyes told me their suspicions. Hence, the scanty morsel either lost its relish, or the sense of hunger, sunk under the burden of a heavy heart. Nor did the night bring its wonted repose; Mary, my name, was uppermost in

their disturbed sleep. My mother bore all this with some degree of fortitude, but my poor father soon lost his health. I had never before seen him on a sick bed: I now felt a new kind of affection, which entirely deprived me of any personal regard; his welfare absorbed every other consideration. My poor mother's patience was inexhaustible: she would first look at him, and then at me, and seem in doubt for which to feel most. Nature must soon sink under sickness and want. I became desperate, yet myself was the only victim. The more my father suffered, and the nearer he thought himself to his grave, I perceived he became more reconciled. I knew his disposition; he wished to relieve me from the burden of his life. The moment I saw this, I forgot even the motive which so deeply influenced him, I forgot his frequent half averted eyes, I forgot -Why need I tell you more? I sacrificed my innos cence to give bread to my parents: but the moment I returned, they knew all, but said not a word, while my own silence anticipated their fears, and confirmed their agony. Yet what surprised me was, my father seemed from that time, to recover his health: a misfortune which some little time before, I had imagined, would have overcome him, seemed to give him repose. Alas! it was the repose of a broken heart. I soon perceived I was no longer their

daughter; and the sight of me, only rendered them more broken hearted. I still support them, and call on them at every opportunity, but they no longer see -me with eyes watered with affection, while my blessings are returned with a look, which tells me, I have no interest in their hearts."

"We proceeded to her father's, in Red Lyon Street: she carried me up two pair of stairs into a back room. While walking up, she spoke of the humble way in which I should find they lived, and added, “It would be impossible for her to render it more decent, without adding to their misery." On entering the apartment, I saw an old man and woman, who discovered a state of indifference, or apathy, rather than any positive distress: but when the old man made an effort to collect himself, then he discovered an imbecility, which told at once his situation; for he sunk, a moment after, into a calm state of unmeaning quiet. The mother conversed with some degree of composure, glancing her eyes at intervals at her daughter, who, half fearful, yet ardently wishing to meet them, lost confidence at every effort. Women, I have observed, anticipate less trouble than men, and less frequently sink under the present.

They can cry away their sorrow, and all

is well again. But man finds no vent for a heart too full; the load accumulates, until he sinks under it. This is the case with the unhappy father.

-If the filial piety of the Roman Daughter, who nourished her imprisoned parent with her milk, merited a temple, and has attracted the historian's and painter's notice, not less does this girl merit, who, to maintain her parents, submitted to prostitution,"

[merged small][ocr errors]

LETTER XX.

LONDON, MARCH 23d.

THE character of the English, I have more than once observed, discovers a singular mixture of dignity and servility. The more I see of this people, the more am I struck with these opposite traits. Here are few men who have not two characters, which they put off and resume at pleasure. The moment a man is addressed, he either disciplines himself to a demeanour of inferiority, or assumes an air of importance, suitable to the opinion he thinks is entertained of his presence. Of all characters, that is least respectable, which is now the lion, and pres ently the sheep. I have seen at a coffee house a man, who, in the pride of his importance, challenged the whole conversation, and enjoyed that preeminence which was tacitly allowed, sink suddenly into annihilation the moment another person entered the

room.

They tell a pleasant story of an European, who was introduced to an Indian chief. You know the American savages are celebrated for their unreserved deportment in presence of those whom the world

S

« ZurückWeiter »