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 in the midst of the granaries of Plenty! Starve herself? Yes, but not only herself—that were easy—but the mother who bore her, in agony—the father, whose reason had for a time deserted its throne—the little ones, clustering about the scanty fire in the little tin stove; these, all these, must eat or die! "The Poorhouse!" A poor refuge indeed! for although they may have been better off therein, would she? Doubtful! for—well, never mind what! She sold herself for bread! Presently work came, but the stain was on her. She had run down a declivity so steep that she could never clamber up again, unless some friendly hand be stretched forth to help her. And such hands are very scarce. And now I saw what good might have been done, in the days gone by, had I "only thought."

This scene passed across the walls of my sphere; and then there came after it a large blank space, and this taught me that it indicated that some where in my life there had been a corresponding omission. "What can it have been?" Scarce had this query been framed than there appeared a picture, which need not be described, but the sum of whose teachings may briefly be stated thus: I had never married—had never been hailed by the dear titles "Wife" and "Mother." I had therefore failed in the one supreme womanly duty. Nor can any soul be fully filled with joy who neglects those great commands of God and Nature. Children are the crowns of Heaven; nor can any one—man or woman—taste the serener and the sweeter joys of Being, who has failed to love and be loved, wed and be wedded; for this is one and the chiefest of means