In the morning Mrs. Partridge came early and commenced the washing.  There was something in this woman’s appearance that interested me, and something in her face that reminded me of somebody I had seen before; but when and where I could not tell.  Although her clothes were poor and faded, there was nothing common about her, and she struck me as being superior to her class.  Several times during the morning I had to go into the kitchen where she was at work, and each time her appearance impressed me more and more.  An emotion of pity arose in my bosom, as I saw her bending over the washing tub, and remembered that, for this hard labour during a whole day, the pay was to be but seventy-five cents.  And yet there was an air of meek patience, if not contentment, in her face; while I, who had every thing from which I ought to have derived happiness, was dissatisfied and full of trouble.  While in her presence I felt rebuked for my complaining spirit.

At dinner time Mrs. Partridge came to my room, and with a gentle, patient smile on her face, said—­

“If you have no objections, ma’am, I would like to run home for a few minutes to nurse my baby and give the children something to eat.  I’ll make up the time.”

“Go by all means,” I replied, with an effort to speak calmly.

The woman turned, and went quickly away.

“Run home to nurse the baby and give the children something to eat!” The words went through and through me.  So unexpected a request, revealing, as it did, the existence of such biting poverty in one who was evidently bearing her hard lot without a murmur, made me feel ashamed of myself for complaining at things which I ought to have borne with a cheerful spirit.  I had a comfortable, in fact a luxurious, home, a kind and provident husband, and servants to do every thing in my house.  There was no lack of the means for procuring every natural good I might reasonably desire.  But, between the means and the attainment of the natural blessings I sought, there were many obstacles; and, instead of going to work in a cheerful, confident spirit to remove those obstacles, I suffered their interposition to make me unhappy; and not me alone, but my husband and all around me.  But here was a poor woman, compelled to labour hard with her hands before she could obtain even the means for supplying nature’s most pressing wants, doing her duty with an earnest, resigned, and hopeful spirit!

“It is wicked in me to feel as I do,” I could not help saying, as I made an effort to turn away from the picture that was before me.

When Mrs. Partridge came back, which was in about half an hour, I said to her—­

“Did you find all safe at home?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” she answered cheerfully.

“How old is your baby?”

“Eleven months old, ma’am.”

“Is your husband living?”

“No, ma’am; he died more than a year ago.”

“How many children have you?”