h much suffering, destitution and sin.

'Are you the clergyman?' she asked in a faint voice.

'I am; what can I do for you, my good woman?' said the Doctor, seating
himself on a rickety stool at the bedside.

'Oh, sir,' cried the invalid, evidently in great mental distress, 'I
want you to pray for me. Do you think there is any hope for such a
sinner as I have been? I am dying, and my soul is lost--forever!'

In his own heart, the rector felt his unfitness to administer comfort in
such a case, considering his own wickedness; yet he strove to quiet the
uneasiness of the poor creature, by assuring her that there was hope for
the 'chief of sinners.' At her request he prayed with her; and then she
addressed him as follows:--

'There is something on my mind which I must make confession of, or I
shall not die easy--something that will make you shrink from me, as from
a guilty wretch, who deserves no mercy. I am a _murderess_!'

'A murderess!' echoed the Doctor, starting back with horror; after a few
moments' pause, he added--'proceed with your confession.'

'I will, sir. Four years ago, I entered the service of Mrs. Lucretia
Franklin, in Washington Place.'

The Doctor started again--this time with surprise; and he listened with
attentive interest to the woman's narrative.

'Mrs. Franklin's husband,' she resumed, 'was a very rich man, and very
religious and strict; his daughter Sophia took after him much, and was a
very good girl; but his wife and daughter Josephine were exactly
contrary to him, for they were very giddy and gay, always going to
theatres, and balls, and such like places, keeping late hours, and
acting so dissipated like, that at last Mr. Franklin was determined to
put a stop to it entirely, and make them stay at home. So he told them
that he shouldn't allow them to go on as they had any longer; and having
once said the word, he stuck to it. My lady and Miss Josephine were both
very much dissatisfied with Mr. Franklin, on account of his being so
strict with them; and I could plainly see that they began to hate him.
It is now about two years ago, and Josephine was in her sixteenth year
(ah, sir, I have good reason to remember the time,) when I found myself
in the way to become a mother, having been led astray by a young man,
who deceived me under a promise of marriage, and then deserted me. Well,
sir, my situation was at last noticed by my lady and her daughter, and
one evening they called me up into a ch