The Columbia Democrat. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1837-1850, 1837-11-25
Prom the New Yers Mirror.
THE CHANGES OF FORTUNE.

ne iOllOWlng taie illustrates one oil the
many instances of distress existing a.
nlong the poor seamstresses of the city,
and the lady who has communicated it
for publication in the Mirror, vouches
FOR its authenticity.
Do you give out work herel said voice
so soft, so low, so lady-like, that | invol-
UNFAIRLY looked up from the purse | was a.
bout purchasing for my darling boy, birth
day gift from his papa.
Do you give out work herel
Not to strangers, was the rude reply.
The stranger turned and walked away.
That purse Is very cheap, ma am.
do not wish it now, said l, as taking
up my parssol, | left the shop, and follow
ed the stranger lady.
Passing Thompson's, she paused-went
iii---hesitated--then turned and came out.
now saw her facet was very pale
her hair, black as night, was parted on her
forchead-her ewes too, were very black,
and there was gildnVss in them that
made me shudder She passed on up
Broadway TO Grand street, where she en-
tered miserable looking dwelling. lpau-
sed--should follow farther? She was evil
dently suffering much--I was happy
blessed with wealth, and oh, how blessed
in husband, children, friends! | Knocked
the door was opened by cross-looking
woman
Is there person living here who does
plain sewing! inquired.
| guess not, was the reply. There is
woman upstairs, who used to work, but
she can't get no more to do--and l shall
turn her out tomorrow.
Let me go up, said l, as, passing the
woman with shudder, | ascended the
stairs.
You can keep on up to the garret, she
screamed after me--and so | did; and there
saw sight of which l, the child of afliu-
ence, had never dreamed The lady had
thrown off her hat, and was kneellng by
the side Of poor low he'd. Her hair had
fallen over her shoulJers-she sobbed not
-breathed not: but seemed moiionless, her
face buried in the covering Of the wretch
ed, miserable bed, wherein lay her husband.
lie was sleeping. looked upon his high
pale forehead, around which clung masses
of damp, brown hair--it was knit, and the
| pale hand cenched the bedclOthes-wOrds
broke from his lips--I cannot pay you
now, heard him say.-POor Fellow! even
| in his dreams, his poverty haunted him!
| could bear it no longer, and knocked gem
tlv on the door The lady raised her head,
threw hack her long black hair, and gazcd
mildly upon me- 1t was no time for cere-
| mOny-sickness, sorrow, want, perhaps
starvation, were before mel came to look
for person to do plain work, was all l
could say.
Oh, give it me, she sobbed. Two days
we haze not tasted food!-and tomorrow
She gasped, and tried to finish the sem
tence, but could not. She knew that to-
morrow they would be both howeless and
starving!
Be c0mforted, YOU shall want no more.
kept my word. In few days she told
me all--of days of happiness in sunny
West Indian Isle, her childhood's home.
| OF the deaths of father and mother--of a
cruel sister and brolher-in-law-hOw she
left that home, hoping to find brother IN
Amcrica-how SIC sought him in vain,--
hut found, instead, a husband-he too, an
Englishman, gentleman and scholar, had
been thrown upon the world. Sympathy
deepened into loVe-alone in crowd all
the world to each other, they married
he procured employment in a school, she
plain needle-work. Too close application
to the duties of his school, long walks, and
scanty fare, brought i'll health and confined
him at length to his bed. The shop from
which his poor wife obtained work, failed,
and their resource was cut oG.--She had
looked long weary days for employment
many had none to give-Others gave No
work to strangers. Thus found them
10 comfort them for a little time-then
trust, they found indeed a Comforter in
Heaven.
The husband died frst-died, placing
the hand Of his poor wife in mine! / nee
ded not the mute, appalling look he gave
me. took her to my own happy home
it was too late!
1t is a very little time ago, went onf
morning to her room: she had passed rest
less night; had dreamed, she said of hel
dear George-she called me her kind ant
f only friend-begged me to sit little while
beside her, and looked up so sadly in my
face, that my own heart seemed well ngf
, bfeaking. left her not again.
In the still, deep night, heard her mur
, niur, Sister Anne, do not speak so harsh
= l. A., 40! al mamma whU do VOu leave