simony she might have held out
some years longer. She greatly improved in health and strength for the
first two years, and was more comfortable and useful than I expected she
would be. Always at her post, patient, faithful, economical and
obliging, I really felt grateful for the relief she afforded me in the
management of a large family; but at length I was obliged to dismiss her
from my service. For a few months she found employment in a small
family, but soon fell sick, and required the services of a physician.
She had to find a place of retirement and take to her bed, and soon her
money began to disappear.

Her miserable sister, who had exercised an injurious influence over
Juda, and whom I had found it necessary to forbid coming to my house,
now came constantly to me for this money, for Juda's use, it is true,
but which I had reason to fear was not wisely spent. Under this
impression, I broke away from my cares and set out to look after her
welfare. I was pained to find her in a miserable hovel, surrounded by a
crew of selfish, ignorant, lazy and degraded women, who were ready to
filch the last farthing from the poor, helpless invalid.

My first interview with Juda was extremely painful. She hid her head,
her great wall eyes rolling fearfully, and cried bitterly, "Oh! I am
forever undone. Why did I not listen to your entreaties, and heed the
kind advice of my good master, to lay up treasures in heaven as well as
in the savings' bank!" I remained silent by her bedside, thinking it
better for her to give full vent to her agonized feelings before I
should probe her wounded spirit, or try to console her. "Oh," said she,
"that I could once more have health, that I might attend to what ought
to have been the business of my life--the care of my soul." "Yes, Juda,"
I replied, "but I see, I think, plainly, how it would be had you ever so
much time. You would not be very likely to improve it aright, for even
now you are wasting this last fragment of time that remains to you in
fruitless regrets; why not rather inquire earnestly, 'Is there still any
hope for me? What shall I do to be saved? Lord, save me, or I perish.'"
For some time her emotions choked her utterance, at length she seized
both my hands so forcibly that it seemed as if she would sever them from
my wrists, and exclaimed, "Oh, pray for me!"

Her condition was an awful one. From the nature of her ailment she was a
loathsome object. Not one of her old companions