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purposes which he afterwards attempted to accomplish. But they had not been married six months before I found I was to be my mother's rival. My father-in-law was very assiduous in his attentions to me; indeed I first thought them no more than the permitted fondness which our new relation might produce and justify. But, in time, his advances became too odious to be mistaken; and I could not, I dare not reveal the secret to my mother, for I knew it would destroy the peace of our family. My situation was therefore a dreadful one; hourly incited to a dreadful crime, and no one to commune with but my Bible and my God. Shall I reveal the secrets of our family? For two long years I was obliged to tread the doubtful, dangerous path of resisting one parent's importunities, and laying the jealousies of the other asleep. I durst not tell it to others, it would be laying open the disgrace of our house; I dared not complain to my mother, I hardly dared to keep still. At last accident brought matters to a crisis. One day my mother came suddenly into the room, and found my father bestowing on me his hateful fondness. She had long been jealous, but now her suspicions were confirmed. O, what a scene! She reproached me; she tore my hair and her own; she stamped and raved; she ran to the medicine closet and seized the laudanum bottle; she heaped on me the names of those crimes to which I had been solicited, but certainly did not deserve; and in short the whole house

was a scene of agony and confusion. O how little we know what occurs in families! How smooth may be the surface, and what misery within! I could bear it no longer, and that night I left my home, under the light of the sweetest moon, resolved to go to Boston, and offer myself to service, determined to eat the bread of humble poverty, rather than to live in guilty dependence. It was about twenty miles to the city; and I was overtaken by a man alone in a chaise. He invited me to ride with him, which I at first declined, but was prevailed upon by his importunity to accept his offer, as I was half dead with fatigue. But, as the Scripture says, I did flee from a lion, and a bear met me; his conduct and conversation forced me out of the chaise, and the next morning, exhausted and weary, I reached the city before sunrise. knew no person but one, and that was a young girl, who was a milliner, in Cornhill. Here I applied for lodging and for work. But the mistress of the shop informed me that I was too ladyish for her; besides, she said her number of apprentices was full. I then looked round for a place at domestic service. One lady wanted a character, another bid me tell my story; which I did, concealing, however, the most offensive parts, which I supposed would only disgrace our family. She heard me with a most incredulous look, eyed me with the sharpest suspicion, and finally told me she wanted none of those smart misses, who might dispute her right to her own' parlor. I now


began to fear I might perish in the streets. One gentleman invited me to take a ride with him in a hack, just at the dusk of the evening, but I had had enough of solitary riding with stranger-gentlemen. At last, I found a place with a rich widow lady, who had an only son, about nineteen. She was really kind, and for about six months, I thought myself in a kind of paradise. The work was easy, my mistress was good tempered and affable-and for some time treated me almost like a friend, rather than a servant. I had time to read, which was my delight; and I begun at last to hope that I had found a harbor for repose. But as my ill-stars would have it, the widow's son became very fond of stealing down into the kitchen, and spending his evenings there; he kept a store, and he chose to come home a little after the dinner hour and dine with me; he would lend me books, and we read them together. He was a modest young man, very respectful in his attentions; and I am fully persuaded, his designs were honorable. But his mother could not brook the idea of any approaches to a marriage with a servant girl. So she called me one day, and after several commendations on my diligence and character, a thousand apologies, and many expressions of sorrow to part with me, she told me that circumstances were such, that she wanted me no longer; she gave me my wages, a few cast gowns, a ten-dollar bill, and dismissed me to find another place, promising me, however, if asked, a good character. I

next lived with a wedded lady who had no children; what my offences were here I never knew-but in a short time I was dismissed with such jest on my dowdy form, and such expressions of wonder, that any one could think me handsome, (a point for which I never contended,) that I almost concluded the lady crazy. Then I went to a boarding-house; but here my stay was short; my chamber door was frequently assaulted by midnight guests. In short, madam, my whole life has been an unhappy one-a poor girl, without father, mother, brother or friend, who lives out at service, is like the dove we read of in Scripture; she finds no rest for the sole of her foot. She has no encouragement to preserve her virtue; for if she does, she is not respected; and, if she falls, she sinks into prostitution, disease and death. The agitation of my condition, the changes in my life, have finally worn down my health, and the kind winds of Providence have blown me into this shelter; I once thought it a disgraceful thing to be in a work-house, but I am cured of that foolish pride. I must have been in some way wicked at least, or God never would have punished me by exposing me to such trials. O, Miss Oldbug, do you think that for such a sinner as I, there will be rest in heaven at last?

The remains of this excellent girl, lie buried in the Bundleborough grave yard. If you will enter that red gate, on which a loose staple hangs swinging, and over which there is a square frame, somewhat like a

gallows, you will see just fifteen feet at your right, a little brown slate stone, under the wall, apart from the rest, bending sideways towards the ground, sheltered by a barberry bush and almost covered by the waving grass. There is a head with wings under it, carved by some rude sculptor; and underneath are these verses, written in the true spirit of puritanical poetry, by one of those mute inglorious Miltons, found in every village in New England.


S. L.

Here Sarah Liddell lies, to breathe no more,
Who had of beauty an uncommon store;

A prisoner once to flesh and sin was she;
Death struck her bloom, but Christ has set her free.

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