PATHETICK HISTORY of a CLERGYMAN'S WIDOW.

Mr. STUDENT,

S you seem to be a friend to the diftreffed, and willing to liften to the cries of the miferable, O pity the re mains of an unhappy family, and give this affecting little history a place in your Mifcellany. But why do I ask for your pity? your inserting it will be of no service to me. I fhould rather attempt to move you by obferving, that the story I am going to relate, may help to raise the compaffion and to move the hearts of the Clergy, to attend to the miseries of the most poor, the most desolate and most afflicted part of the nation. O, fir, the publick but little knows the fad shifts which the widows and children of Clergymen are left to ftruggle with. Had the fcheme you have publish'd, ta prevent our miferies, taken place two years ago, my child would not have fuffered the most dreadful distress, and I fhould ftill have had a daughter. But it is now too late, our fall is accomplish'd, I have loft my child, and can receive no advantage from fuch kind and friendly intentions. Yet furely our misfortunes will awaken the humanity of mankind, and serve to forward a scheme in itself so laudable, so just, and let me fay, fo neceffary. This is all my hope, and my only motive for giving you this trouble, and for reviving my own uneafinefs, and the bitter fenfe of my lofs and difgrace..

I, fir, am the daughter of a gentleman. I had a genteel education, and was married without the confent of my parents to a clergyman of a small income. As my father was difpleafed with our marriage, he would never make use of his influence to get my husband promoted in the church; and we waited till his death to poffefs a fortune, which he would not part with in his life-time; but when my father died, an end was put to all our hopes; for unknown to his family his

eftate

eftate was fo much involved, that, when the lands were fold and the mortgages paid off, there was fcarcely fufficient to defray the expence we had been at in his funeral, and to pay fome small debts that we had contracted.

My father died about two years after our marriage; and as our expectations of affiftance from him were vanifh'd; we contracted our expences, and with the utmoft frugality lived a little above want. My husband, who was a curate, had an income of thirty pounds a year, on which (with the affistance of fome presents we frequently received from the neighbouring gentry) we, during his life, made a fhift to live; and, as we had but one child, and were fituated in a cheap part of the country, we made a tolerable appearance. The endearing affection of a tender husband made life agreeable, and we endeavoured to fupport our low ftation in a becoming manner, by extending our views to a better world, and pleafing ourselves with the thoughts, that there all our troubles and misfortunes would have an end, and give place to a happiness the moft exalted and refined. Our child was educated with the greatest care, and no pains was wanting to instill into her mind a deep fense of virtue and religion, and we frequently flatter'd ourselves with the pleafing hopes, that our inftructions were not thrown away upon her.

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But at last the time came, when our happiness was to be at an end; the tender union, that always fubfifted between my husband and me, was broken. After being married 19 years, he died. I fhall not attempt to defcribe my grief at a troke of providence, which I thought the moft fevere that could fall upon me. I imagined it impoffible for worfe misfortune to befall me, fince I was not only depriv'd of that dear good man, who had always been my tender friend, my instructor, and the partner of all my cares, but also of the very means of fubfiftance. I fought for confolation, and did not seek it in vain; I recollected the discourses of my dear husband, and while frequently meditating on what I had learnt from him, found that he, who was the cause of my

grief,

grief, had furnish'd me with fufficient motives for my confo-" lation. I therefore refign'd myself to the will of God, and by reflecting on his happiness whom I had loft, learnt to think with composure on my own misery.

My daughter and I endeavoured at first to fupport ourselves with our needles; but this being very precarious, and at best hardly fufficient to procure us bread, my daughter chose to go to service; but not being willing to be a fervant to any of thofe, who had before fometimes done her the honour to admit her as a vifiter, a place was found for her at a market town at fome miles diftance, where fhe was hired as a chambermaid to a rich old bachelor, who, with the appearance of a good deal of religion, feem'd to have no other fault but an exceffive fondness for the world. However his avarice was not a vice that could give me any apprehenfions for my child; and therefore, as I had no reafon to fear that fhe would want neceffaries, I was under no uneafinefs. But oh! how was I mistaken! I had put her into the hands of a monster, a merciless and cruel monfter. As to myfelf a lady of great merit was fo kind as to take me (and I was very well contented) for her housekeeper.

We had been in this fituation for fome time, in which I' had seldom heard from my child. One day I was in high fpirits, having juft received a promife from the good lady with whom I lived, to take her into her family, and was delighting myself with the thoughts of having her continually under my eye, when I receiv'd the following short but dreadful letter.

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Dear, dear Mamma,

H what fhall I fay? how fhall I tell you of my dif

trefs? forgive, forgive the uneafinefs I have brought upon myself, and you. I have been deluded by my mafter, "I have loft my honour, my virtue, and my reputation. I have a child;-and this wicked man, by whom I had it, has thrown me into prifon. When he found that I was with Numb. VII. "child

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"child, he turn'd me away, and gave me fome money; but. “he would not give it me without a note. With this I was "brought to bed, and cloath'd the infant; and it being gone "I went to him for more, when he arrested me for the money, and had me and the poor child drag'd to jail. O "dear mamma! forgive and pray for me, and let me fee 66 you but do not reproach me. I have repented, indeed I "have: the guiltless infant is now dying, and I fhall foon "follow. Did you but know my grief, and how ill I am, << you would pity me, and pray for me. Do but come and "tell me that you forgive me, and that you will not hate me "after I am dead, and then I fhall die in peace.

"Your guilty, ruin'd and almost distracted daughter,”

A. W.

Did ever mother receive fo dreadful a fhock? I fainted feveral times; but being at last brought to myself and a little recover'd, having earnestly pray'd for my poor fallen child, and with a flood of tears beg'd that God would graciously enable me to bear this most dreadful of all my afflictions, I began to recover my fpirits, and instantly set out on this painful journey. But what words can express the fituation of my mind? or how fhall I tell you the horror that seiz'd me, when with trembling knees I enter'd the prison? But what was this to the fight of my child? had it not been for a fresh flow of tears which I ftop'd to indulge at the door of the dreadful room, and which gave me fome relief, I fhould certainly have run distracted. I entered the apartment, a dark and difmal place: --but I will not attempt to describe the horrors that were present to my view.-I foon faw my daughter proftrate at my feet, ill, and fo wafted with fickness and forrow, that I could not have known her. "And can you, can you, faid the, be fo good as to come and fee me?" O what grief!,

My

<c My poor father, had he been alive, how would he have "born the shame I have brought upon his family?" But then, as if recollecting herself, fhe cried" had he "been alive I should not, no, I should not have been guilty, "I fhould not have been in a jail.” bitterness did she reproach herself ?

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Then with what

fhort this tender

But I beg pardon, Sir, I ought to cut scene. It was with the greatest difficulty that I rais'd my child, who had hardly ftrength to stand on her feet. I led her to her bed, where I faw the innocent proof of her guilt, which had died fome hours before merely for want of nourifhment, for my daughter's milk left her from the time she enter'd the prison. O, Sir, no tongue can tell, no words can express the anguish of my heart. It was not a time for reproaches on the contrary I gave her all the comfort that lay in my power. After she had told me her ftory, as well as her weakness would give her leave, I had her remov'd to another part of the prison, put into a clean bed, and a phyfician fent for; but he could give me no hopes of her life. I refolv'd not to leave her, 'till in four days time fhe expired. I would then have gone to the horrid villain, whose lust and barbarity had deprived me of all the comfort of my life; but my own illness render'd it impoffible. I was feiz'd with a fever, and while out of my fenfes was carried home: But I' had no fooner recover'd the use of my reason, than I was told that the wicked barbarian, ftruck with his guilt, and his. conscience reproaching him with the murder of the two helplefs fufferers, was become raving mad, that he was actually confined, and his brother was fuing for his eftates

Surely, Sir, the widows and children of the inferior Clergy are the most expos'd, the moft wretched part of the creation. In the loweft, the meaneft employments of life, industry meets with its reward; and, I have heard, there are frequent opportunities in which a man may rife in the world, or enter Kk 2

into