provided
for want and age; and blessed God that it was to the Christian
dispensation alone that such pious institutions owed their birth.

One fine evening, as she was sitting reading her Bible on the little
bench shaded with honey-suckles, just before her door, who should
come and sit down by her but Mrs. Betty, who had formerly been
lady's maid at the nobleman's house in the village of which Mrs.
Simpson's father had been minister. Betty, after a life of vanity,
was, by a train of misfortunes, brought to this very alms-house; and
though she had taken no care by frugality and prudence to avoid it,
she thought it a hardship and disgrace, instead of being thankful,
as she ought to have been, for such a retreat. At first she did not
know Mrs. Simpson; her large bonnet, cloak, and brown stuff gown
(for she always made her appearance conform to her circumstances)
being very different from the dress she had been used to wear when
Mrs. Betty had seen her dining at the great house; and time and
sorrow had much altered her countenance. But when Mrs. Simpson
kindly addressed her as an old acquaintance, she screamed with
surprise. "What! you, madam?" cried she; "you in an alms-house,
living on charity; you, who used to be so charitable yourself, that
you never suffered any distress in the parish which you could
prevent?" "That may be one reason, Betty," replied Mrs. Simpson,
"why Providence has provided this refuge for my old age. And my
heart overflows with gratitude when I look back on his goodness."
"No such great goodness, methinks," said Betty; "why, you were born
and bred a lady, and are now reduced to live in an alms-house."
"Betty, I was born and bred a sinner, undeserving of the mercies I
have received." "No such great mercies," said Betty. "Why, I heard
you had been turned out of doors; that your husband had broke; and
that you had been in danger of starving, though I did not know what
was become of you." "It is all true, Betty, glory be to God! it is
all true."

"Well," said Betty, "you are an odd sort of a gentlewoman. If from a
prosperous condition I had been made a bankrupt, a widow, and a
beggar, I should have thought it no such mighty matter to be
thankful for: but there is no accounting for taste. The neighbors
used to say that all your troubles must needs be a judgment upon
you; but I who knew how good you were, thought it very hard you
should suffer so much; but now I see you reduced to an alms-house, I
beg