See these sparkling false diamonds, this red gauze finery,
these ruins of theatrical ornament. They seem to mock the misery of the
room about which they are strewn. In that wretched room is want of
light; want, not only of all the comforts of life, but also of its most
necessary things. And yet--where could they be more useful than here?

Forlorn, upon a miserable bed lay a woman, who appeared to have seen
better days; still is she handsome, although passion and suffering seem
early to have wasted her yet young countenance. Fever burned on the
sunken cheek and in the dark eye, and her lips moved themselves wildly;
but no one was there to refresh with friendly hand the dry lips and the
hot brow; no cooling fever-draught stood near her bed. Two new-born
babes lay weeping near the mother. Uneasy phantoms seemed to agitate the
unhappy one: sometimes she raised herself in the bed with wild gestures,
but sunk back again powerless; whilst her pale, convulsed, and wandering
lips spoke from the depths of her torn heart the following incoherent
words:

"It is a bitter, bitter path! but I must, must fly for help! My strength
is broken--I can do nothing--the children cry to be heard, hungry,
half-naked! Parents! sisters! help!

* * * * *

"It is night--the wind is cold--I freeze! The waves swell and
swell--they drive a wreck ashore--they strike on the rocks--ah!
wherefore did it not go down in the storm on the open sea? How dreadful
in full consciousness to be dashed to pieces! And thou, thou who art the
cause of all, thou sittest by and lookest coldly on me! Miserable
egotist! Dost thou bear a heart in thy breast? The temple is dashed to
pieces, and thou that has ruined it treadest upon its ruins! I knew not
how misfortune looked--I knew not what it really is! Misery! But thou
miserable one who----

"Hush! is it she? Is it my foster-mother who comes here so lightly, so
gently, so softly? It becomes bright! She will lay her warm hands on my
little children, and wrap them in the warm coverlet which she made for
me--

There sits a dove so fair and white
All on the lily spray.

Is it she? No! it is the moon, which rises palely out of black clouds.
How coldly she looks on my misery! Away, away!

"Sisters, I thirst! Will no one give me a drop of water? Have you all,
all left me? I thought I saw you again. It is so strange in my head.
Perhaps I shall become mad if I thirst much longer. It