DRAWN BY S. READ ENGRAVED BY W. L. THOMAS.
The morning after my arrival, Mrs. Stevens asked me if I would accompany her to see a poor pious young woman who was very ill; and, lest the distance should be an objection, she told me she had given orders for the carriage to be ready exactly at half-past ten. "And as, Sir," she remarked, "you take greater pleasure in tracing the operations of Divine grace in the renovation of the human soul than in exploring the wonders of the material universe, and feel a purer delight on seeing a repenting sinner than in gazing on the enchanting scenery to which you have made such frequent allusions, I think I can gratify you."
As we were passing along the road, she gave me the following narration:--"In the cottage to which we are going reside a poor man and his wife, who have had a large family, but all have died in infancy except one beautiful daughter. She, when only sixteen, entered the family of a respectable farmer in the adjoining parish, where she continued four years, and would, in all human probability, have continued there till now, had it not been for a dashing London servant, who, when on a visit to her own father, got acquainted with her; and by telling her of the high wages, and the little work _which town servants have_, made her dissatisfied with her place; and, in opposition to the advice of all her friends, she gave notice to leave, and actually went to London to try her fortune. When she arrived there she called on her friend, who had promised to procure her a situation; but was informed that no good one had yet turned up. She was recommended to take a lodging, for which she would have to pay only two shillings a-week, and no doubt, if she made proper inquiry, she would hear of something that would be for her advantage. Thus thrown on the world, without a home, and without a friend, she would have fallen a victim to her folly, had not Providence interposed to protect her. As she was passing along the Strand, with her bundle under her arm, a lady, who had once seen her at my house, recognized her, and asked her where she was going. The poor girl related her mournful tale, and implored pity. This lady took her to her own home, but as she was not in want of a servant, she could not retain her; yet she procured for her the best situation in her power. But, instead of high wages, she had not so much as when in the country; and her work was much more laborious. Thus disappointed, and having too high a spirit to return home, she gave herself up to grief; and taking a severe cold, which she neglected, her strength soon wasted away, and she was obliged to throw up her situation, and go into lodgings for the recovery of her health. But disease had made too great progress to be arrested; and after parting with nearly all her clothes to defray the expenses she had incurred, she was reduced to the alternative of dying for want or returning home. She wrote to her father, telling him she was very ill, and did not expect to live, and desiring as a favour that he would permit her to come home, and die in the room where she was born. As soon as the old man received her letter he hastened to our house; never did I witness such a burst of feeling. 'O Madam! my dear Harriet is very ill; she has sent us this----, and wants to come home, she says, to die.' He wept, like the old patriarch, when he saw the bloody coat instead of his darling son. I endeavoured to console him as well as I could, and immediately made an arrangement for her return. In the course of the next week, the grief-worn parents had the melancholy gratification of embracing their child. She was obliged to take to her bed on the very day of her arrival. I saw her the day after, and received from her a faithful narrative of her life. The wreck of beauty was still visible amidst the ruins of her constitution; and the hectic flush gave, at intervals, a superhuman expression to her countenance. I felt conscious that she was hastening to the grave; and this circumstance deeply depressed the feelings of her pious parents, who were fearfully apprehensive that she was not prepared for death and the final judgment. I requested them to leave us alone together, when I began to converse with her on the value of her soul, and on the only way of salvation. She wept, and said that she was fully aware of her danger and desert; but added, 'I hope that the Friend of sinners will have mercy on me. My conscience has often smote me; the anguish of my mind I cannot describe; but I lay myself at His feet, and cry, God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I have," added Mrs. Stevens, "regularly renewed my visits almost every day; and I hope that my feeble efforts have been made the means of leading her to the Saviour."