Brave little women! How my heart has gone out to them as I have seen them trying to discharge their onerous duties! I have seen a few years roll slowly by, and watched the deputy-mother arrive at budding womanhood, and then I have seen disaster again overtake her in the death of her father, leaving her in sole charge. Such was the case with a poor girl that I knew well, though there was nothing of the slum-girl about Hettie Vizer. Born in the slums, she was a natural lady, refined and delicate, with bright dark eyes. She was a lily, but, alas! a lily reared under the shade of the deadly upas-tree. When Hettie was fifteen her mother, after a lingering illness, died of consumption, and Hettie was left to "mother" five younger than herself. Bravely she did it, for she became a real mother to the children, and a companion to her father. In Hoxton the houses are but small and the rooms but tiny; the air cannot be considered invigorating; so Hettie stood no chance from the first, and at a very early age she knew that the fell destroyer, Consumption, had marked her for his prey. Weak, and suffering undauntedly, she went on with her task until her father's dead body lay in their little home, and then she became both father and mother to the family. Who can tell the story of her brave life? The six children kept together; several of them went out to work, and brought week by week their slender earnings to swell the meagre exchequer. Who can tell the anxiety that came upon Hettie in the expenditure of that money, while consumption increased its hold upon her? Thank God the Home Workers' Aid Association was able, in some degree, to cheer and sustain her. Several times she went to the home by the sea, where the breath of God gave her some little renewal of life. But the sorrowful day was only deferred; it could not be prevented. At length she took to her bed, and household duties claimed her no more. A few days before her death I sat by her bedside, and I found that the King of Terrors had no terror for her. She was calm and fearless. To her brothers and sisters she talked about her approaching end, and made some suggestions for her funeral, and then, almost within sound of the Christmas bells, only twenty-one years of age, she passed "that bourne whence no traveller returns," and her heroic soul entered into its well-earned rest. And the five are left alone. Nay, not alone, for surely she will be with them still, and that to bless them. If not, her memory will be sanctified to them, and the sorrows and struggles they have endured together will not be without their compensations. "From every tear that sorrowing mortals shed o'er such young graves, some good is born, some gentler nature comes, and the destroyer's path becomes a way of life to heaven."