a wink of sleep for
years. She wore a dirty lace-cap, trimmed with gaudy colors, and a
tawdry red and black dress, laid off in large squares like the map of
Philadelphia. It was very low in the neck--remarkably so for the
season--and disclosed a scorched, florid skin, and a rough, mountainous
bosom.

The furnishings of the hall had a shabby-genteel look, till we reached
the basement stairs, when every thing became bare, and dark, and dirty.
The woman led the way down, and opened the door of a front-room--the
only one on the floor, the rest of the space being open, and occupied as
a cellar. This room had a forlorn, cheerless appearance. Its front wall
was of the naked brick, through which the moisture had crept, dotting it
every here and there with large water-stains and blotches of mold. Its
other sides were of rough boards, placed upright, and partially covered
with a dirty, ragged paper. The floor was of wide, unpainted plank. A
huge chimney-stack protruded some three feet into the room, and in it
was a hole which admitted the pipe of a rusty air-tight stove that gave
out just enough heat to take the chill edge off the damp, heavy
atmosphere. This stove, a small stand resting against the wall, a
broken-backed chair, and a low, narrow bed covered with a ragged
patch-work counterpane, were the only furniture of the apartment. And
that room was the home of two human beings.

'How do you feel to-night, Fanny?' asked the woman, as she approached
the low bed in the corner. There was a reply, but it was too faint for
me to hear.

'Here, mamma,' said the little boy, taking me by the hand and leading me
to the bedside, 'here's a good gentleman who's come to see you. He's
_very_ good, mamma; he's given me a whole dollar, and got you lots of
things at the store; oh! lots of things!' and the little fellow threw
his arms around his mother's neck, and kissed her again and again in his
joy.

The mother turned her eye upon me--such an eye! It seemed a black flame.
And her face--so pale, so wan, so woe-begone, and yet so sweetly,
strangely, beautiful--seemed that of some fallen angel, who, after long
ages of torment, had been purified, and fitted again for heaven! And it
was so. She had suffered all the woe, she had wept for all the sin, and
then she stood white and pure before the everlasting gates which were
opening to let her in!

She reached me her thin, weak hand, and in a low voice, said: 'I thank
you, sir.'

'You are