learn more of the causes of their degradation, and of the means
of restoring them, led Margaret, immediately on reaching New York, to
visit the various benevolent institutions, and especially the prisons
on Blackwell's Island. And it was while walking among the beds of the
lazar-house,--mis-called "hospital,"--which then, to the disgrace
of the city, was the cess-pool of its social filth, that an incident
occurred, as touching as it was surprising to herself. A woman was
pointed out who bore a very bad character, as hardened, sulky, and
impenetrable. She was in bad health and rapidly failing. Margaret
requested to be left alone with her; and to her question, 'Are you
'willing to die?' the woman answered, "Yes;" adding, with her usual
bitterness, "not on religious grounds, though." 'That is well,--to
understand yourself,' was Margaret's rejoinder. She then began to
talk with her about her health, and her few comforts, until the
conversation deepened in interest. At length, as Margaret rose to
go, she said: 'Is there not anything I can do 'for you?' The woman
replied: "I should be glad if you will pray with me."

The condition of these wretched beings was brought the more home to
her heart, as the buildings were directly in sight from Mr. Greeley's
house, at Turtle Bay, where Margaret, on her arrival, went to reside.
'Seven hundred females,' she writes,

'are now confined in the Penitentiary opposite this point.
We can pass over in a boat in a few minutes. I mean to visit,
talk, and read with them. I have always felt great interest in
those women who are trampled in the mud to gratify the brute
appetites of men, and wished that I might be brought naturally
into contact with them. Now I am.'

THE TRIBUNE AND HORACE GREELEY.

It was early in December of 1844 that Margaret took up her abode
with Mr. and Mrs. Greeley, in a spacious old wooden mansion, somewhat
ruinous, but delightfully situated on the East River, which she thus
describes:--

'This place is, to me, entirely charming; it is so completely
in the country, and all around is so bold and free. It is two
miles or more from the thickly settled parts of New York, but
omnibuses and cars give me constant access to the city, and,
while I can readily see what and whom I will, I can command
time and retirement. Stopping on the Haarlem road, you enter
a lane nearly a quarter of a mile long, and going by a sma