oms as your
own--though one may be cased in russet or in rags, the other enshrouded
in lace--and they die, not through the horrors of war, or of plague, but
of starvation and of cold.

In my description of the cottage of the general peasantry, you will have
seen, and I doubt not recollect the fact, that upon some 2,000,000 of
your sex in Ireland is entailed the degradation of passing the hours of
her rest with the family, all in one resting-place, and getting warmth
by being forced "to herd with the beast of the field." Think of this
indignity and say shall it longer exist?

To you is due the final accomplishment of one of the noblest acts of
England--the abolition of West Indian slavery. The battle was commenced
by man, and fought manfully; but without your aid he could not have
conquered as he did. Your generous voices cheered him on, and he became
invincible. And so will it ever be in Great Britain. O! give but the
same aid now, and you will accomplish at least an equal good.

If of the aristocracy, tell to those whose halls you adorn, that the
peasant _woman_ of Ireland can only obtain warmth enough to save her
from perishing, and give her sleep, by herding with her pig! Say, _Woman
sleeps thus!_ and ask, _should it be?_ Mayhap when Woman in her
loveliness and power thus pleads for Woman in her misery and poverty,
the chord may be struck which will proclaim the _sin_, and produce its
abolishment.

If the mansion of the wealthy be guided or blessed by thy residence,
proclaim the fearful fact, and whispering ask, "For what does God give
wealth?" The answer may not come at first, or for a time; but whisper
again--and 'tis said that angels' whispers fill the air with charity and
love. So, perhaps, will thine--and wealth may at thy bidding aid to
rescue Woman from such degradation.

If the middle class (from which England's greatness springs), claims
thee as its own, tell to all around the truth which tells of Britain's
shame--_that the Irishwoman is forced to herd with cattle_! Plead, and
say--Am I not a woman, and is she not my sister? And by degrees thy
pleadings will strike man's heart, for the thought will come upon
him--"Oh! that one I love should fall to such a lot," and his voice will
join thine in truthfulness and charity, to win others to the task of
rooting out the evil.

If thou art poor, I need not plead. The poor feel for the poor, and
spare even somewhat from their poverty. Their hearts can tell the