THERE IS NO HURRY. 189

—a fellow-student of that poor youth, who, if
he dreamt of her dishonour, would stagger like
a spectre from what will be his death-bed to
avenge her. Poverty is one of the surest guides
to dishonour; those who have not been tempt-
ed know nothing of it. It is one thing to see
it, another to feel it. Do not think her altoge-
ther base, because she had not the strength of
a heroine. I have been obliged to resign my
situation to attend my mother, and the only in-
come we have is what I earn by giving lessons
onthe harpand piano. I give, for two shillings,
the same instruction for which my father paid
half a guinea a lesson; if I did not I should
have no pupils. It is more than a month since
my mother left her bed; and my youngest sis-
ter, bending beneath increased delicacy of
health, is her only attendant. I know her
mind to be so tortured, and her body so con-
vulsed by pain, that I have prayed to God to
render her fit for Heaven, and take her from
her sufferings. Imagine the weight of sorrow
that crushed me to my knees with such a peti-
tion as that. I know all you have done, and
yet I ask you now, in remembrance of the boy-
ish love that bound you and my father together,
to lessen her bodily anguish by the sacrifice of
a little more; that she, nursed in the lap of
luxury, may not pass from life with starvation
as her companion. My brother’s gift is ex-
pended; and during the last three weeks I