young mother, smiling over her first born--how full of joy was the
sunlight of each succeeding day! Now, widowed and alone, struggling
with failing and unequal strength against the tide that was slowly
bearing her down the stream, each morning broke to her more and,
more drearily, and each evening, as it closed darkly in, brought
another shadow to rest in despondency upon her spirit.

Faithfully had she struggled on, hoping still to be able to keep her
little ones around her. The proposition of Michael to put out Henry
startled into activity the conscious fear that had for some months
been stifled in her bosom; and now she had to look the matter full
in the face, and, in spite of all her feelings of reluctance,
confess to herself that the effort to keep her children around her
must prove unavailing. But how could she part with her boy? How
could she see him put out among strangers? How could she bear to let
him go away from her side, and be henceforth treated as a servant,
and be compelled to perform labor above his years? The very thought
made her sick.

Her frugal meal was soon finished, and then the children were put to
bed. After laying away their clothes, and setting back the table
from which their supper had been eaten, Mrs. Gaston seated herself
by the already (sic) nearly nearly half burned penny candle, whose
dim light scarcely enabled her failing eyesight to discern the edges
of the dark cloth upon which she was working, and composed herself
to her task. Hour after hour she toiled on, weary and aching in
every limb. But she remitted not her labors until long after
midnight, and then not until her last candle had burned away to the
socket in which it rested. Then she put aside her work with a sigh,
as she reflected upon the slow progress she had made, and, disrobing