She had friends, but they were mostly of that class who are poor in the things of earth, but "rich in faith." The charity on which she depended failed at last, and there was nothing to save her from the "County House;" GO SHE MUST.

But her feelings on her way thither, and after her arrival, can be given better in her own language; and I trust it will be no breach of confidence if I here insert part of a letter she wrote her mother Walker, concerning the matter.
* * * "The evening before I left for my dreaded journey to the 'house' which was to be my abode, I packed my trunk, carefully placing in it every little memento of affection received from YOU and my friends in W-----, among which was the portable inkstand, pens and paper.

My beautiful little Bible was laid aside, as a place nearer my heart was reserved for that.

I need not tell you I slept not a moment that night.
My home, my peaceful, quiet home with you, was before me.

I could see my dear little room, with its pleasant eastern window opening to the morning; but more than all, I beheld YOU, my mother, gliding softly in and kneeling by my bed to read, as no one but you CAN read, 'The Lord is my shepherd,--I shall not want.' But I cannot go on, for tears blind me.
For a description of the morning, and of the scant breakfast, I must wait until another time.
"We started.