Do you &longs;ee that beautiful woman in that splendid
equipage, &longs;urrounded by a train of &longs;ervants?
'tis the thoughtle&longs;s, ungrateful Amelia.

Behold that poor old woman who toils through
the dirt unattended by any but her two lovely
daughters, &longs;weet as opening flowers, and innocent
as new-born infants; &longs;ee on her venerable countenance
what grief and de&longs;pondency is imprinted!
&longs;ee the big tears roll down her &longs;urrowed cheeks!
&longs;ee &longs;he enters an ob&longs;cure apartment, and a &longs;canty
meal is divided between her children and her&longs;elf.

She looks at them by turns with &longs;uch maternal
tenderne&longs;s, &longs;uch angui&longs;h of heart, that &longs;he &longs;eems to
&longs;ay, what will become of you, my &longs;weet children;
how will you pa&longs;s through life when I am
gone.

That poor old woman was Amelia's benefactress—
but it is fit I &longs;hould tell my tale methodically.

Amelia was the daughter of a gentleman of &longs;mall
fortune, who, be&longs;ides her, had nine other children:
Mrs. Ellwin was a di&longs;tant relation of the family;

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&longs;he was the wife of an opulent merchant, and
their habitation was the habitation of philanthropy.

Amelia had received a tolerable education—&longs;he
was pretty in her per&longs;on, chearful in her disposition,
and had a good &longs;hare of under&longs;tanding; with
the&longs;e accompli&longs;hments, Mrs. Ellwin thought it
would be a pity for Amelia to be buried in obscurity;
&longs;he gave her an invitation to her hou&longs;e,
cloathed her genteelly, and introduced her into &longs;uch
company as &longs;he thought would be mo&longs;t conducive
to her future advancement in life. It was not long
before Amelia's charms made a conque&longs;t of a gentleman
of large fortune—he loved her; and her
virtues were &longs;o kindly brought forward by Mrs.
Ellwin, and her little faults buried in oblivion, that
he overlooked her want of fortune, made her his
wife, and &longs;ettled upon her 5001. per annum jointure.
Amelia had not long enjoyed this advancement,
before Mr. Ellwin, having placed too great
a dependance on the honor of a friend, lo&longs;t a large
&longs;um of money; of con&longs;equence his payments were
not punctual, and he became a bankrupt.

He &longs;truggled for &longs;ome time again&longs;t his adver&longs;e
fate, but at length died of a broken heart, and left
his wife and lovely daughters no inheritance but
poverty.

About this time Amelia became a widow:—but
Amelia was now a fine lady—&longs;he had no time to
&longs;pend with poor relations, no money to &longs;pare to relieve
the di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;es of Mrs. Ellwin; though her
wedding cloaths were purcha&longs;ed by that generous
friend, and co&longs;t near five hundred pounds, and that
&longs;um had never been repaid.

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Amelia is now ju&longs;t married again, and flying about
in all the gaiety of heart which wealth and
&longs;plendor can in&longs;pire in a giddy mortal; while poor
Mrs. Ellwin is &longs;inking under a load of angui&longs;h,
unpitied and unthought of. Her once blooming,
amiable daughters drooping like fro&longs;t-nipped blossoms,
and neither Friend&longs;hip, Humanity, nor Gratitude
will reach forth a hand to cheer, revive, or
&longs;ave them.

But I am wandering from my intended route.