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Poor Jane Howard! She was but sixteen when she lost her only remaining parent, a widow, who had during life enjoyed a small annuity.

Jane had an only sister, some three years younger than herself, and their dying mother had enjoined her to look well to Marrion, for she was a gentle child, beautiful, but delicately framed.

They had no friends left who were able and willing to assist them.

All their earthly property was disposed of in order to bury their parent, and a kind neighbour offered a temporary shelter, which they accepted thankfully, and thought them- selves happy when they were engaged to sew for a clothing establishment in a neighbouring town.

Thither they repaired and hired a lodging; one room, which contained a couch that served them for a bed, four chairs, one table, and a few other trifling articles.

Here they commenced that life of sedentary labour which soon, happily for them, terminated in the grave.

Their joint exertions, strenuously exercised, could not procure them more than five shillings in a week; and often much less than that was all they could earn for labouring fourteen or fifteen hours each day during the six.

I knew them well, and my heart has often bled to witness their daily struggles with those ruthless destroyers, incessant toil and grinding poverty. Yet, both had sylphlike forms, exquisitely moulded; beautiful features, with