f feeling. Her
body moved back and forward in that peculiar motion which told to my
heart she was in misery; and entering the room in silent respect for her
suffering, I forgot to knock or make any noise to attract attention. In
a moment a figure darted from the side of a bed behind the door, and
having caught up something as it passed between me and the entrance, he,
for I then saw my assailant was a man, brandished the "miserable
remains" of a kitchen poker before my face, and demanded, "_What did I
want, and how da-ar I come there to throuble thim with my curosity?_"
And what right had I to pry into their miseries, unless to relieve them?
I confess my object in visiting St. Giles's then, had not arisen from so
pure a motive, and I felt the justice of his demand--The miseries of the
heart are sacred amongst the rich: why should they not be equally so
amongst the poor? Nature has made original feeling alike in all; but the
poor feel more deeply; for the rich suffer in heart midst countless
luxuries and efforts from others to wean them from their sufferings,
while the poor suffer midst numberless privations, and almost utter
loneliness. Why then should I have "_throubled thim with my curosity_?"

But I made my peace, with little effort too; and then, for the first
time, saw a dead body lying on the bed from whence the man had come,
"waking," in the Irish fashion of the lower orders. It was a child of
about seven years old. Its last resting place on earth was dressed with
flowers, and the mother's hand had evidently done the most within its
feeble power to give honour to the dead. Rising, she with her apron
rubbed the chair she had been sitting on, and placed it for me; thus
offering, in her simple way, the double respect of tendering _her own_
seat, and seeking to make it more fit for my reception by dusting it.

I need not repeat all the tale of misery, the cause of their suffering
then, was apparent. "She was their last Colleen--th' uther craturs wur
at home with the Granny," and "_he_ had cum to thry his forthin in
Inglind; _an' bad forthin it was_. But the Lord's will be done, fur the
little darlint was happy, any how--an' sure they had more av thim at
home--an' why should she be mopin' an' cryin' her eyes out for her
Colleen, that was gone to God!"

Thus the poor creature reasoned as she cried and blamed herself for
crying; for miserable as she was, she evidently felt that she should be
thankful for the other ble