the House of Correction."

"My good woman," said the judge, "what is it that your daughter does
which renders it so uncomfortable to live with her?"

"Oh, sir," she replied, "it is hard for a mother to accuse her own
daughter, and to be the means of sending her to the prison. But she
conducts so as to destroy all the peace of my life. She has such a
temper, that she sometimes threatens to kill me, and does every thing
to make my life wretched."

The unhappy woman could say no more. Her heart seemed bursting with
grief, and she wept aloud. The heart of the judge was moved with pity,
and the bystanders could hardly refrain from weeping with this
afflicted mother. But there stood the hard-hearted girl, unmoved. She
looked upon the sorrows of her parent in sullen silence. She was so
hardened in sin, that she seemed perfectly insensible to pity or
affection. And yet she was miserable. Her countenance showed that
passion and malignity filled her heart, and that the fear of the
prison, to which she knew she must go, filled her with rage.

The judge turned from the afflicted mother, whose sobs filled the
room, and, asking a few questions of the witnesses, who testified to
the daughter's ingratitude and cruelty, ordered her to be led away to
the House of Correction. The officers of justice took her by the arm,
and carried her to her gloomy cell. Her lonely and sorrowing mother
went weeping home to her abode of penury and desolation. Her own
daughter was the viper which had stung her bosom. Her own child was
the wretch who was filling her heart with sorrow.