hearing the infant cry, "why, why
will you keep that child here; I am sure you would not if you knew
how hard it was for a mother to be parted from her infant: it is like
tearing the cords of life asunder. Oh could you see the horrid sight
which I now behold--there there stands my dear mother, her poor bosom
bleeding at every vein, her gentle, affectionate heart torn in a
thousand pieces, and all for the loss of a ruined, ungrateful child.
Save me save me--from her frown. I dare not--indeed I dare not speak to
her."

Such were the dreadful images that haunted her distracted mind, and
nature was sinking fast under the dreadful malady which medicine had
no power to remove. The surgeon who attended her was a humane man; he
exerted his utmost abilities to save her, but he saw she was in want of
many necessaries and comforts, which the poverty of her hospitable host
rendered him unable to provide: he therefore determined to make her
situation known to some of the officers' ladies, and endeavour to make a
collection for her relief.

When he returned home, after making this resolution, he found a message
from Mrs. Beauchamp, who had just arrived from Rhode-Island, requesting
he would call and see one of her children, who was very unwell. "I do
not know," said he, as he was hastening to obey the summons, "I do not
know a woman to whom I could apply with more hope of success than Mrs.
Beauchamp. I will endeavour to interest her in this poor girl's behalf,
she wants the soothing balm of friendly consolation: we may perhaps save
her; we will try at least."

"And where is she," cried Mrs. Beauchamp when he had prescribed
something for the child, and told his little pathetic tale, "where is
she, Sir? we will go to her immediately. Heaven forbid that I should
be deaf to the calls of humanity. Come we will go this instant." Then
seizing the doctor's arm, they sought the habitation that contained the
dying Charlotte.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

WHICH PEOPLE VOID OF FEELING NEED NOT READ.

WHEN Mrs. Beauchamp entered the apartment of the poor sufferer, she
started back with horror. On a wretched bed, without hangings and but
poorly supplied with covering, lay the emaciated figure of what still
retained the semblance of a lovely woman, though sickness had so altered
her features that Mrs. Beauchamp had not the least recollection of her
person. In one corner of the room stood a woman washing, and, shivering
over a small fire, two heal