Daily evening star. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, 1853-01-28
P0VERTY.-A SKETCH.
BY MRS. C. W. DENIsON,

sno SonerinS poor, because We cannot real
ize their misery How little do we feel and
see OF that powerful struggle that is con-
stantly going on between pride and poverty,
IN the thousands who are striving, as it is
termed, "to put the best foot forward" and
make an outside show of abundance, when
all is perjury, want, and slow starvation
within. Let us once feel what it is to be
unable to procure the necessaries of life
to be obliged to exhibit the real state of our
impoverished condition to the world, and
then we shall feel, in some degree, the mis-
cry and Indebtedness of poverty, and not
before. We take the following beautiful ex-
tract from the Boston Olive Branch. 1t is
from the pen of Mrs. C. W. Denison, one of
the puIest and ablest writer's in our coun-
try, whose literary productions always evince
a feeling heart, and a clear, vigorous and
practical intellect.-New York Atlas.
elf we can ever feel the full wretchedness of pow
esty, it is when it stands between and those we
love-"
"Such were the words lately written to
lady of this city, by daughter, whose lot
in life is to suffer the woes of poverty. In
that sentence, SO tersely expressed, lies
whole volume of trial. The daugher left
her home happy bride, trusting love, and
hoping for the future. Away to a western
shore, among strangers, they turn t:Aeir
footsteps another, friends, companions,
all left behind. No matter how, or how
soon-but the poor wife found that he upon
whom she had lavashed her young affections
was unworthy her love. In sorrow and
tears she saw her babes gather at her feet
often watched the last Pickering fame
of the dying fire, and breaking the last loaf,
when cupboard and purse were both empty
and she knew not how to get food, or
| sustain the nope IN ner neart.
'Strangers pitied, but could not comfort
her; mothers gentle voice and support
ing arm, even her smile through tears would
have seemed to her, oh how inexpressibly
dear! To lay her head upon that bosom,
that was always beating true to her, to sit
and tell her all her griefs, to weep with her,
to hear her blessed voice reading the word
of consolation, and to kneel beside her in
prayer, these were all denied. Blue rivers
rolling prairies cloud capped heights
thousands of smiling fields, cities in their
pomp, villages with their plenty, lay be-
tween her and home-that humble home of
her youth. Yet all these, with their miles
of distance, and perilous chances of jour-
neying, hindered her not; it was gaunt,
forbidding image, with hand forever out
stretched, yet never giving, that stood be-
tween her and those she loved. Morning,
noon, and night, its presence was beside
her with frown unbent. The little children
asked if they should ever see that unknown
mother of their mother-and Poverty said,
No, not while abide with you
"Think of these things, we who can gather
your focks together, and sit at well-flled
tables, or round hearths, where the blaze
leaps cheerily.
"There are many in far-off lands many
over the borders Of our own land, who sit
in desolation of spirit, sorrow and darkness
on every hand; treachery repaying trust,
ingratitude given for the sweetest Offices of
affection. And they can never expect-so
effectual is the ban of poverty-to meet
those who would minister to them of that
blessed love that burns only in the heart of