told to-day; she is besides poor,
and her children are able to give her but little assistance." "Ay,
poverty, sickness!" sighed the Baron. "Oh heaven, what would become of
this gloomy earth, if there were not still some tender, noble spirits,
who endeavour to mitigate its enormous wretchedness!"

"The poor woman," added Kunigunde, "is supposed not to have been at all
happy with her deceased husband, he was harsh and rough, and often
treated her with insolence." She darted at the same time at her
husband, who sat at the other end of the table, a singular look, that
was pregnant with meaning. The young man, roused by the conversation,
had the unexampled boldness to reply, that it was often wives' own
fault, if they were not happy in matrimony. The Count, to prevent more
specific explanations, observed that, as the woman's complaint was not
exactly known, it might perhaps do her harm, to eat meat without proper
precaution. But the Baron, who anticipated a new hostile attack, spoke
with pathos of the great beneficence of the Baroness, how she was a
mother to the poor, and could not conceive, how there could be men so
callous as to be unaffected by the misery of their fellow-creatures.

Now came John back with the roast meat, and brought word, that the
widow returned her most dutiful thanks; but that she had been forbidden
meat for the present in her fever by the physician, and that beside she
had received from the chateau, for three weeks past, every thing she
stood in need of, for which she could not sufficiently express her
gratitude. "A physician?" said the Baroness, "she has received already?
and how?"--"Oh, your ladyship," said the old servant confused, and in
agitation, "Miss Dorothea has for a long time past sent her every
thing, she got the doctor for her too, and visits the sick woman
herself every morning and evening." "So!" said the Baroness with a
lengthened quivering tone, and a piercing look fell on her daughter,
who in her confusion could make no reply; "And why, my child, is this
exercise of beneficence, this virtue, which is so new to me in you,
kept so secret? Why not allow your mother a share in the merit, now
that at last your heart inclines to such christian offices of love? My
advice would make the act of charity a genuine one. But as it is, it
looks as if waywardness, rather than compassion, guided your actions."

"Dear mother," begged Dorothea, "spare me."

"It is to be lamented," proceeded the mo