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It is now &longs;ome months &longs;ince I have taken
up my pen to addre&longs;s my dear Celia.
Several times lately I have e&longs;&longs;ayed to do it,
but unable to bear a retro&longs;pect of my late
heavy affliction, have from time to time, deferred
the painful recital, till I begin to fear
my dear friend will think I am either numbered
with the dead, or become forgetful of
her friend&longs;hip. I have a long tale to tell my
dear girl, a tale, which I fear, will &longs;teal many
a tear from your eyes as you peru&longs;e it. In my
la&longs;t I informed you of my mother's ill health,
and how unable we were to procure any proper
advice or a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance. From that time her
malady daily increa&longs;ed. I fini&longs;hed my little
collection of poems and pre&longs;ented them to a
book&longs;eller; but he told me, I had mi&longs;taken
my talents, and that the whole collection was

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not worth a guinea. Di&longs;heartened and dispirited
I returned to my mother, and now gave
up my whole time to watching and attending
her. Her di&longs;order increa&longs;ed with &longs;uch
rapidity, that in the cour&longs;e of a few weeks
&longs;he was con&longs;ined to her bed. What a prospect
had I now before me, a beloved parent
&longs;inking by &longs;low degrees into the grave; when
I had no method of procuring the comforts,
and even the nece&longs;&longs;aries of life were denied.
I had parted with all our apparel, except a
change of linen, and had now pa&longs;t one whole
day without food. My mother made no
complaints; but her pale wan countenance,
was to me a thou&longs;and times more affecting
than unavailing exclamations. Our credit
had been long lo&longs;t in the neighbourhood,
and I knew that in a few days we mu&longs;t inevitably
peri&longs;h for want. In this &longs;ituation, I
took a re&longs;olution to go out in the clo&longs;e of the
evening and &longs;olicit the charity of the benevolent.
I told my tale of &longs;orrow to many of
my own &longs;ex. They either heard me not, or
di&longs;believed my a&longs;&longs;ertions, and after sauntering
through the &longs;treets near three hours, one
cold wet night in October, I at length collected
about &longs;ix-pence, and with it having
procured &longs;ome trifling nouri&longs;hment for my
almo&longs;t fami&longs;hed parent, I returned, allowing
my&longs;elf only a halfpenny roll. When I carried
my little mor&longs;el to her bed&longs;ide, &longs;he

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anxiou&longs;ly enquired how I had procured it.
“Some charitable di&longs;po&longs;ed per&longs;on,” &longs;aid I,
“gave me the means; take it my mother,
eat and be comforted.”

Sinking nature required &longs;upport; &longs;he eat
the offered mor&longs;el, but &longs;ea&longs;oned it with tears
of heartfelt angui&longs;h.

The next day I determined again to try
my new employment, and for that purpo&longs;e
wandered out towards the park. It was Sunday,
the day was fine, I went in and &longs;eating
my&longs;elf on a bench, looked at the gay throng
that crowded the mall, compared their situations
with my own, and began to think myself
the mo&longs;t unfortunate of human beings.
I knew I had never deviated from the path
of virtue; I had never committed any action
de&longs;erving &longs;uch abject mi&longs;ery, and I &longs;aw
many women who had forfeited all claim to
honour and re&longs;pect, enjoying all the luxuries
of life. At that moment rea&longs;on, religion, integrity
for&longs;ook me; and I wi&longs;hed my&longs;elf in
the &longs;ame &longs;ituation with tho&longs;e victims to vice,
if by &longs;o doing, I could procure &longs;u&longs;tenance for
my mother.

You will, perhaps a&longs;k, my dear Celia, if
we had no friends whatever, to whom we
could apply for relief; alas! my dear girl, you

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know nothing of the world; tho&longs;e who have
drank deep of the cup of affliction can tell,
that poverty and friend&longs;hip are utter strangers
to each other. While I was indulging
the&longs;e painful reflections, an elderly gentlewoman,
&longs;eated her&longs;elf be&longs;ide me, and viewing
my per&longs;on and dre&longs;s with a &longs;crutinizing
eye, began &longs;ome trifling di&longs;cour&longs;e, and at
length a&longs;ked me, if I was born in London.
From chatting at fir&longs;t on indifferent &longs;ubjects,
we began to remark the different appearances
of the pa&longs;&longs;ing multitude. The old lady's
remarks were ju&longs;t and pertinent; her discourse
breathed the true &longs;pirit of philanthropy.
I imagined I had found a friend, and
without re&longs;erve unbo&longs;omed my&longs;elf to her;
related my &longs;tory of pa&longs;t and pre&longs;ent di&longs;tre&longs;s;
&longs;he heard me with attention, and, me
thought, I &longs;aw a gleam of compa&longs;&longs;ion pa&longs;s
acro&longs;s her features. I &longs;eized the propitious
moment, and in the humble&longs;t accent petitioned
relief.

“Poor child,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “I believe your
&longs;tory to be true; innocence and &longs;implicity,
are indeliably marked upon your countenance;
what is in my power I will do for
you, tho' the means are but &longs;mall.” She
then drew forth her pur&longs;e, and pre&longs;ented
me with half a crown: it is only for tho&longs;e
who have been in &longs;imilar circum&longs;tances to

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concieve the tide of joy that ru&longs;hed upon
my heart at the po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion of this little piece
of &longs;ilver; I eagerly ki&longs;&longs;ed the hand that
conveyed it to me, and would have &longs;poke,
but tears were the only thanks I could return;
they were the &longs;incere&longs;t, for they came
warm from the heart.

I left my &longs;eat with precipitation, and was
preparing to return home; but my benefactress
&longs;topped me. “Mi&longs;s Howard,” &longs;aid
&longs;he, “I believe I have it my power to &longs;erve
you; meet me here again to-morrow.” I
promi&longs;ed to meet her and returned to my
mother with a heart lightened of half its
&longs;orrows. No doubt, &longs;aid I, this lady will
endeavour to extricate us from our pre&longs;ent
di&longs;tre&longs;s, and put us in &longs;ome way of earning
future &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tance.

Elated with the&longs;e hopes, I repaired next
day to the appointed place; but after having
waited two hours was obliged to return
without &longs;eeing my benefactre&longs;s. Something
has detained her unexpectedly, &longs;aid I, &longs;he
will undoubtedly come to-morrow: but to-morrow
pa&longs;&longs;ed as ye&longs;terday had done, and I
was again di&longs;appointed.

The third morning, tho' I had u&longs;ed the mo&longs;t
rigid economy, I found my&longs;elf again

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pennyless. However, &longs;piritle&longs;s and mi&longs;erable as I
was, I determined once more to repair to the
park. My pace was &longs;low, my looks dejected
and my eyes &longs;treaming with tears. I had
hardly proceeded half the length of the mall,
when I heard my&longs;elf called, and turning
round perceived my benefactre&longs;s.

“My good girl,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “I almo&longs;t
feared I &longs;hould not meet you, I have been
obliged to go into the country &longs;ince I &longs;aw you,
but I had not forgot you; come dry your
eyes, I have met with a gentleman who will
be your friend, if you mind how you behave
your&longs;elf. He has &longs;ent you half a guinea;
and if you will come this evening and &longs;up at
my hou&longs;e, in Soho &longs;quare, I will introduce
you to him.”

“Alas! madam,” &longs;aid I, “my appearance
at your hou&longs;e will only di&longs;grace you;
nor can I &longs;uppo&longs;e any gentleman will greatly
intere&longs;t him&longs;elf in behalf of a poor unfortunate
girl, without requiring a return which
virtue and religion will not &longs;uffer me to
make.”

“Don't be fooli&longs;h, child,” &longs;aid the old
lady, “virtue and religion are very pretty
words; but pray tell me, will they keep your
mother from &longs;tarving.”

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“Oh! madam,” I replied, “will it not be
wor&longs;e than death to brand her name with infamy?
Alas! I never could bear the &longs;corn
of the world, and the reproofs of my own
con&longs;cience, oppre&longs;&longs;ed with guilt and &longs;hame.
Tempt me not, dear madam, to for&longs;ake the
path of rectitude; let me retain my innocence,
and come what may, I &longs;hall die in
peace.”

“This is fine talking, Mi&longs;s Howard, but
let me tell you, it is a very &longs;elfi&longs;h way of arguing.
You acknowledge, that the lo&longs;s of
virtue would make you unhappy. Are you
not already unhappy in a &longs;uperlative degree;
and does that unhappine&longs;s in the lea&longs;t contribute
to relieve your own or your mother's
wants. No, does not the &longs;ight of your misery
rather increa&longs;e hers? Come, then, my
dear girl, act the heroine, take this load of
&longs;orrow upon your&longs;elf, and &longs;ave a parent,
whom you tenderly love, from peri&longs;hing with
famine.”

This was a &longs;trange way of arguing, Celia,
yet it had the de&longs;ired effect, I thought it was
po&longs;&longs;ible to hide my infamy from my mother,
and confine my mi&longs;ery to my own bo&longs;om.
When the old woman found my re&longs;olution
began to waver, &longs;he plied me with sophistical
arguments, de&longs;cribed in glowing colours

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the gaiety and &longs;plendor in which many women
of loo&longs;e characters lived, and contrasted
it &longs;trongly with my poor mi&longs;erable apartment,
where my &longs;ure attendants were pinching
cold and hunger, and my only companion
a beloved parent &longs;inking under the complicated
evils of &longs;ickne&longs;s and famine.

“Oh! &longs;ave me! &longs;ave me!” cried I eagerly,
“from the dreadful thought, teach
me how to &longs;natch her from impending destruction,
to admini&longs;ter &longs;upport to her wasting
frame, and comfort her declining hours.
Do with me as you will; &longs;ave, protect my
dear mother, and let me be the only sacrifice.”

Having brought me to this horrible resolution,
and received my promi&longs;e of coming
to her hou&longs;e in the evening; &longs;he left me,
and I repaired home; by the way procuring
a bottle of wine and &longs;ome other nece&longs;&longs;aries
for my mother. She had been anxious at
my long &longs;tay, and when I produced the refreshments,
again enquired how I had purchased
them. A lie, (the &longs;ir&longs;t I had ever
told her) now &longs;ugge&longs;ted it&longs;elf; I &longs;aid I had
performed a little work for a lady in the
neighbourhood, and &longs;he had liberally rewarded
me; but when I mentioned going
out again in the evening, the pathetic

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manner in which &longs;he intreated me to guard my
honour, as my only trea&longs;ure, and as I wished
to pre&longs;erve her heart from breaking,
almo&longs;t &longs;taggered my re&longs;olution: but having
given her &longs;ome refre&longs;hment, I &longs;aw her spirits
revive, and that by degrees &longs;he &longs;unk into
a &longs;weet refre&longs;hing &longs;lumber. I determined
to &longs;acrifice every other con&longs;ideration rather
than &longs;ee her reduced again to the extremity
of mi&longs;ery &longs;he had &longs;o lately experienced.

Oh! ye rigidly virtuous of my own &longs;ex,
turn not from me with horror and contempt,
con&longs;ider my agonizing di&longs;tre&longs;s, glance with
an eye of compa&longs;&longs;ion over the dreadful resolution,
and let a tear of pity blot the offence
from your memories.

Great and painful were the &longs;truggles of
my &longs;oul, while gazing on my &longs;leeping parent.
I knelt by the bed&longs;ide, and would
have prayed, but, alas! that con&longs;olation was
denied me. How could I addre&longs;s a Being
of infinite purity, when I was going to offer
my&longs;elf a &longs;acrifice at the &longs;hrine of guilt and
pollution. I thought I &longs;hould have &longs;unk under
the agonies I endured; once I wi&longs;hed
for death, but then the thought of what my
poor mother would &longs;uffer, immediately repelled
the impious de&longs;ire; at length, I clasped
my hands and rai&longs;ing my eyes to

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heaven, cried, “Father of mercy direct me, oh!
give me fortitude to bear thy di&longs;pen&longs;ations
as I ought, or pardon the weakne&longs;s of an
afflicted mortal.” I then ki&longs;&longs;ed my &longs;leeping
mother, and with a heart almo&longs;t broken repaired
to Soho.

The old woman received me cordially, but
reproved my pen&longs;ive countenance and &longs;wolen
eyes; &longs;he made me drink &longs;ome tea, and
then taking me up &longs;tairs, in&longs;i&longs;ted on my
dre&longs;&longs;ing my&longs;elf in a brown lute&longs;tring nightgown,
with a cap and linen &longs;uitable. We
then went into an elegant parlour, and in a
few moments Mr. Welldon was announced:
he was a man upwards of thirty, of a comely
per&longs;on, polite addre&longs;s, and in&longs;inuating
manner; he regarded me with vi&longs;ible attention,
and when he &longs;poke to me, it was with
a mixture of re&longs;pect and polite freedom.
My feelings during &longs;upper were beyond description,
poignant: I could &longs;carcely re&longs;train
my tears, but the reproving looks of the
old woman told me how much they would
offend her: I therefore endeavoured to &longs;ti&longs;le
my emotions; but when the cloth was removed
and &longs;he aro&longs;e to quit the room, I involuntarily
caught her hand, and with a look
which pleaded &longs;trongly for compa&longs;&longs;ion bur&longs;t
into tears.

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“Why, what does the girl cry for?” &longs;aid
&longs;he &longs;neeringly, “was it not by your own desire
you came here? come, Mr. Welldon, you
mu&longs;t get the better of the&longs;e pretty airs, tho'
perhaps, indeed you may think her the more
agreeable for them.” Then di&longs;engaging her
hand from my gra&longs;p, &longs;he left the room.

“Then I am inevitably lo&longs;t,” cried I,
cla&longs;ping my hands in a wild agony, and redoubling
my tears. “My &longs;weet girl,” &longs;aid
Mr. Welldon, “this di&longs;tre&longs;s, which is too
acute, to be con&longs;trued into affectation, greatly
&longs;upri&longs;es me. Was it not by your own
free will that you came here to meet me?”

“It was, it was,” &longs;aid I, “but oh! &longs;ir, if
you only knew the angui&longs;h it has co&longs;t me,
to form the horrid de&longs;ign, you would pity
me, indeed you would commi&longs;erate my sufferings.”

“Dear creature,” &longs;aid he, drawing his
chair clo&longs;e to mine, “you know not how
greatly your &longs;orrow intere&longs;ts me; tell me,
is there any thing within the compa&longs;s of my
fortune, can re&longs;tore peace to your agitated
bo&longs;om; &longs;ay how can I &longs;erve you, how render
you happy?”

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“Oh! there is one way, and only one
way,” &longs;aid I, “by which you can promote
my happine&longs;s,” and I dropped on my knees
before him. “Ri&longs;e, ri&longs;e, my dear girl,”
&longs;aid he, “and do not he&longs;itate to point out
this only way, by which I can prove my&longs;elf
your friend.”

“This humliating po&longs;ture be&longs;t &longs;uits me,”
I replied, “here will I remain till I move
your heart to compa&longs;&longs;ion: indeed I am not
that vile creature you may perhaps think
me. I always avoided the inticements of
vice till this fatal night; but the mi&longs;eries of
a beloved parent, &longs;inking to the grave, oppressed
by &longs;ickne&longs;s and poverty drove me
to &longs;acrifice my honour, to procure the
means of prolonging her invaluable existence:
if you are &longs;incere in your profe&longs;&longs;ions
of friend&longs;hip, relieve my dear mother, and
oh! I be&longs;ceeh you, &longs;pare the virtue of her
wretched daughter.”

“Ri&longs;e, then, my afflicted girl,” &longs;aid he,
“you &longs;hall be convinced of my &longs;incerity; I
will obey the dictates of humanity; we will
in&longs;tantly go to your mother.” He then left
me for a few moments, when returning, he
led me to a coach, and taking my direction,
ordered the coachman to drive to our poor
habitation. I he&longs;itated at going away in the

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cloaths the old woman had made me put on,
but my deliverer told me he had paid for
them.

When we arrived at our lodging, a mixed
&longs;en&longs;ation of pain and plea&longs;ure dwelt upon
my mind, and as I ran up &longs;tairs my limbs
trembled &longs;o, they would &longs;carce &longs;upport me;
Mr. Welldon followed me up: I opened
the door of the apartment, and ru&longs;hing to
the bed&longs;ide, cried “&longs;ee my dear mother,
the friend which heaven hath &longs;ent us.” My
poor mother rai&longs;ed her&longs;elf feebly in the bed,
looked fir&longs;t at me, then at Mr. Welldon, then
pointing to my altered dre&longs;s and crying “the&longs;e
are the wages of infamy, all but this I could
have born patiently.” She fell back in a fit.

I thought &longs;he was gone forever; frantic
with de&longs;pair, I tore off the dre&longs;s which had &longs;o
much alarmed her, and throwing my&longs;elf on
the bed be&longs;ide her, vowed never more to ri&longs;e,
but that my life &longs;hould expiate my intended
offence. Mr. Welldon had ran away for
medical a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance, and entered the room
with an apothecary, ju&longs;t as my mother gave
&longs;ome &longs;igns of returning life. Proper remedies
were immediately applied and Mr. Welldon
&longs;oon convinced my reviving parent,
that I had not entailed infamy on her latter
days, or ha&longs;tened the period of her exi&longs;tence
by guilt or &longs;hame.

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