To bear up against the malice of inexorable enemies is at once the gift and the shield of a noble nature.  And here it will be enough to say, that Maria bore the burden of her ills with fortitude and resignation, trusting in Him who rights the wronged, to be her deliverer.  What took place when she saw her aged father led away, a prisoner; what thoughts invaded that father’s mind when the prison bolt grated on his ear, and he found himself shut from all that had been dear to him through life, regard for the feelings of the reader forbids us recounting here.

Naturally intelligent, Maria had, by close application to books, acquired some knowledge of the world.  Nor was she entirely ignorant of those arts designing men call to their aid when seeking to effect the ruin of the unwary female.  Thus fortified, she fancied she saw in the story of the lost ship a plot against herself, while the persecution of her father was only a means to effect the object.  Launched between hope and fear, then-hope that her lover still lived, and that with his return her day would brighten-fear lest the report might be founded in truth, she nerves herself for the struggle.  She knew full well that to give up in despair-to cast herself upon the cold charities of a busy world, would only be to hasten her downfall.  Indeed, she had already felt how cold, and how far apart were the lines that separated our rich from our poor.

The little back parlor is yet spared to Maria, and in it she may now be seen plying at her needle, early and late.  It is the only means left her of succoring the parent from whom she has been so ruthlessly separated.  Hoping, fearing, bright to-day and dark to-morrow, willing to work and wait-here she sits.  A few days pass, and the odds and ends of the Antiquary’s little shop, like the “shirts” of the gallant Fremont, whom we oppressed while poor, and essayed to flatter when a hero, are gazetted under the head of “sheriff’s sale.”  Hope, alas! brings no comfort to Maria.  Time rolls on, the month’s rent falls due, her father pines and sinks in confinement, and her needle is found inadequate to the task undertaken.  Necessity demands, and one by one she parts with her few cherished mementos of the past, that she may save an aged father from starvation.

The “prisoner” has given notice that he will take the benefit of the act-commonly called “an act for the relief of poor debtors.”  But before he can reach this boon, ten days must elapse.  Generous-minded legislators, no doubt, intended well when they constructed this act, but so complex are its provisions that any legal gentleman may make it a very convenient means of oppression.  And in a community where laws not only have their origin in the passions of men, but are made to serve popular prejudices-where the quality of justice obtained depends upon the position and sentiments of him who seeks it,—­the weak have no chance against the powerful.

The multiplicity of notices, citations, and schedules, necessary to the setting free of this “poor debtor” (for these fussy officials must be paid), Maria finds making a heavy drain on her lean purse.