When her life's Helpmate on a sick-bed lay,
Smitten with perilous fever. In disease
He lingered long; and, when his strength
returned,

He found the little he had stored, to meet
The hour of accident or crippling age,
Was all consumed. A second infant now
Was added to the troubles of a time
Laden, for them and all of their degree,
With care and sorrow; shoals of artisans
From ill-requited labour turned adrift
Sought daily bread from public charity,
They, and their wives and children - hap-

pier far

560

Could they have lived as do the little birds That peck along the hedge-rows, or the kite That makes her dwelling on the mountain rocks!

A sad reverse it was for him who long Had filled with plenty, and possessed in

peace,

A while on trivial things we held discourse,
To me soon tasteless. In my own despite,
I thought of that poor Woman as of one
Whom I had known and loved. He had
rehearsed

Her homely tale with such familiar power,
With such an active countenance, an eye
So busy, that the things of which he spake
Seemed present; and, attention now re-
laxed,

A heart-felt chillness crept along my veins; I rose; and, having left the breezy shade, Stood drinking comfort from the warmer

steps;

Ere this an hour Back I turned my restless

731

A stranger passed; and, guessing whom I sought,

He said that she was used to ramble far. The sun was sinking in the west; and now I sate with sad impatience. From within Her solitary infant cried aloud;

Then, like a blast that dies away selfstilled,

The voice was silent. From the bench I rose;

But neither could divert nor soothe my thoughts.

The spot, though fair, was very desolate The longer I remained, more desolate: 741 And, looking round me, now I first observed The corner stones, on either side the porch, With dull red stains discoloured, and stuck o'er

With tufts and hairs of wool, as if the sheep,

That fed upon the Common, thither came Familiarly, and found a couching-place Even at her threshold. Deeper shadows fell

From these tall elms; the cottage-clock struck eight;

I turned, and saw her distant a few steps. Her face was pale and thin-her figure, too,

751

And sometimes-to my shame I speak —

have need

Of my best prayers to bring me back again.' While on the board she spread our evening meal,

She told me-interrupting not the work Which gave employment to her listless hands

761

That she had parted with her elder child,
To a kind master on a distant farm
Now happily apprenticed. I perceive
You look at me, and you have cause; to-
day

I have been travelling far; and many days
About the fields I wander, knowing this
Only, that what I seek I cannot find;
And so I waste my time: for I am changed;
And to myself,' said she, 'have done much
wrong

And to this helpless infant. I have slept
Weeping, and weeping have I waked; my

Have flowed as if my body were not such
As others are; and I could never die.
But I am now in mind and in my heart
More easy; and I hope,' said she, 'that
God

Will give me patience to endure the things
Which I behold at home.'

It would have grieved Your very soul to see her. Sir, I feel The story linger in my heart; I fear 'T is long and tedious; but my spirit clings To that poor Woman:- so familiarly Do I perceive her manner, and her look, And presence; and so deeply do I feel Her goodness, that, not seldom, in my

walks

780

And, when she at her table gave me food, She did not look at me. Her voice was

low,

Her body was subdued. In every act Pertaining to her house-affairs, appeared The careless stillness of a thinking mind