this, I think of the women who have fastened
the tendrils of their heart's affection round unworthy men, and have
married them, hoping, trusting and believing that their love and
influence would be powerful enough to win the men to sobriety and
virtue. Alas! how mistaken they have been! What they have endured! Of
such was this woman! There she stood, the embodiment of woe. A tall,
refined woman, her clothing poor and sparse, her head enveloped in
surgical bandages.

In the darkness of the Christmas night she had leaped from the wall of a
canal bridge into the murky gloom, her head had struck the bank, and she
rolled into the thick, black water.

It was near the basin of the Surrey Canal, and a watchman on duty had
pulled her out; she had been taken to a hospital and attended to. Late
in the afternoon the policeman brought her to the court, where a charge
of attempted suicide was brought against her. But little evidence was
taken, and the magistrate ordered a week's remand. In the cells I had a
few moments' conversation with her, but all I could get from her was the
pitiful moan, "Why didn't they let me die? why didn't they let me die?"

In a week's time I saw her again; surgical bandages were gone, medical
attention and a week's food and rest had done something for her, but
still she was the personification of misery.

I offered to take charge of her, and as she quietly promised not to
repeat the attempt, the magistrate kindly committed her to my care.
So we went to her room: it was a poor place, and many steps we climbed
before we entered it. High up as the room was, and small as were its
dimensions, she, out of the nine shillings she earned at the pickle
factory paid three and sixpence weekly for it. I had gathered from what
she had told me that she was in poverty and distress. So on our way I
brought a few provisions; leaving these and a little money with her, I
left her promising to see her again after a few days. But before leaving
she briefly told me her story, a sad, sad story, but a story to be read
and pondered.

She was the only daughter of a City merchant, and had one brother. While
she was quite a child her mother died, and at an early age she managed
her father's household. She made the acquaintance of a clever and
accomplished man who was an accountant. He was older than she, and
of dissipated habits. Her father had introduced him to his home and
daughter, little thinking of the consequences that ens