It was crowded with inhabitants:  som were scolding, others swearing, or singing indecent songs.  What a sight for Mary!  Her blood ran cold; yet she had sufficient resolution to mount to the top of the house.  On the floor, in one corner of a very small room, lay an emaciated figure of a woman; a window over her head scarcely admitted any light, for the broken panes were stuffed with dirty rags.  Near her were five children, all young, and covered with dirt; their sallow cheeks, and languid eyes, exhibited none of the charms of childhood.  Some were fighting, and others crying for food; their yells were mixed with their mother’s groans, and the wind which rushed through the passage.  Mary was petrified; but soon assuming more courage, approached the bed, and, regardless of the surrounding nastiness, knelt down by the poor wretch, and breathed the most poisonous air; for the unfortunate creature was dying of a putrid fever, the consequence of dirt and want.

Their state did not require much explanation.  Mary sent the husband for a poor neighbour, whom she hired to nurse the woman, and take care of the children; and then went herself to buy them some necessaries at a shop not far distant.  Her knowledge of physic had enabled her to prescribe for the woman; and she left the house, with a mixture of horror and satisfaction.

She visited them every day, and procured them every comfort; contrary to her expectation, the woman began to recover; cleanliness and wholesome food had a wonderful effect; and Mary saw her rising as it were from the grave.  Not aware of the danger she ran into, she did not think of it till she perceived she had caught the fever.  It made such an alarming progress, that she was prevailed on to send for a physician; but the disorder was so violent, that for some days it baffled his skill; and Mary felt not her danger, as she was delirious.  After the crisis, the symptoms were more favourable, and she slowly recovered, without regaining much strength or spirits; indeed they were intolerably low:  she wanted a tender nurse.

For some time she had observed, that she was not treated with the same respect as formerly; her favors were forgotten when no more were expected.  This ingratitude hurt her, as did a similar instance in the woman who came out of the ship.  Mary had hitherto supported her; as her finances were growing low, she hinted to her, that she ought to try to earn her own subsistence:  the woman in return loaded her with abuse.

Two months were elapsed; she had not seen, or heard from Henry.  He was sick—­nay, perhaps had forgotten her; all the world was dreary, and all the people ungrateful.

She sunk into apathy, and endeavouring to rouse herself out of it, she wrote in her book another fragment: