d rich wines upon your sumptuous board, voluptuousness displayed in
every apartment of your habitation--contemplate, for a moment, Agnes,
your first love, with her son, your first and only child, walking through
frost and snow to London, with a foreboding fear on the mother that, when
arrived, they both may perish for the want of a friend.

But no sooner did Agnes find herself within the smoke of the metropolis
than the old charm was renewed; and scarcely had she refreshed her child
at the poor inn at which she stopped than she inquired how far it was to
that part of the town where William, she knew, resided?

She received for answer, "about two miles."

Upon this information, she thought that she would keep in reserve, till
some new sorrow befell her, the consolation of passing his door
(perchance of seeing him) which must ever be an alleviation of her grief.
It was not long before she had occasion for more substantial comfort. She
soon found she was not likely to obtain a service here, more than in the
country. Some objected that she could not make caps and gowns; some that
she could not preserve and pickle; some, that she was too young; some,
that she was too pretty; and all declined accepting her, till at last a
citizen's wife, on condition of her receiving but half the wages usually
given, took her as a servant of all work.

In romances, and in some plays, there are scenes of dark and unwholesome
mines, wherein the labourer works, during the brightest day, by the aid
of artificial light. There are in London kitchens equally dismal though
not quite so much exposed to damp and noxious vapours. In one of these,
underground, hidden from the cheerful light of the sun, poor Agnes was
doomed to toil from morning till night, subjected to the command of a
dissatisfied mistress; who, not estimating as she ought the misery
incurred by serving her, constantly threatened her servants "with a
dismission;" at which the unthinking wretches would tremble merely from
the sound of the words; for to have reflected--to have considered what
their purport was--"to be released from a dungeon, relieved from
continual upbraidings, and vile drudgery," must have been a subject of
rejoicing; and yet, because these good tidings were delivered as a
menace, custom had made the hearer fearful of the consequence. So, death
being described to children as a disaster, even poverty and shame will
start from it with affright; whereas, had it been