I opened my precious little Bible, and the first verse that caught my eye was--'I am poor and needy, yet the Lord thinketh upon me.' O, my mother, could I tell you the comfort this was to me.

I sat down, calm, almost happy, took my pen and wrote on the inspiration of the moment-- "O, holy Father, by thy power, Thus far in life I'm brought; And now in this dark, trying hour, O God, forsake me not.
"Dids't thou not nourish and sustain My infancy and youth?
Have I not testimonials plain, Of thy unchanging truth?
"Though I've no home to call my own, My heart shall not repine; The saint may live on earth unknown, And yet in glory shine.
"When my Redeemer dwelt below, He chose a lowly lot; He came unto his own, but lo! His own received him not.
"Oft was the mountain his abode, The cold, cold earth his bed; The midnight moon shone softly down On his unsheltered head.
"But MY head WAS SHELTERED, and I tried to feel thankful." *** Two or three letters were received after this by her friends in W-----, and then all was silent.

No one of us knew whether she still lived or had gone to her home on high.

But it seems she remained in this house until after the birth of her babe; then her faithless husband returned, and took her to some town in New Hampshire, where, for a time, he supported her and his little son decently well.

But again he left her as before--suddenly and unexpectedly, and she saw him no more.