The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 89, March, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 89, March, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
"Well," said Miss Effie, "that girl's mother was a washerwoman." She did
the heavy washing for a very rich man's family. They put her into an
open shed, on a cold, damp pavement. This work she had been doing for
them for several years, in the same bleak place, and in all weathers.
While warm and comfortable herself, the pampered mistress of the family
gave no thought to the dangerous exposure to which she subjected this
slave of the washtub. Thus working all day, in thin shoes, on damp
bricks, and while a penetrating easterly rain was falling, the poor
woman was next morning laid up with the worst form of rheumatism.
Medicine and nursing were of no avail. She became bedridden,--the
disease attacked all the joints of her frame, ossification succeeded,
and in the end she was unable to move either her body or limbs. Every
joint was stiff and rigid. The vital organs alone were spared. For
twelve years she has been in that condition,--she is so now,--my mother
saw her only yesterday. Can you imagine anything more terrible? Poor,
dependent on her daily earnings, with young children around her, and a
widow, only think of her agonies of mind and body! Yet, among the vital
powers still left to this afflicted woman, was the power to approach the
Throne of Grace in prayer so acceptable that the answer was that peace
which passeth all understanding. The body had been disabled; but the
mind had been quickened to a new and saving activity, she had drawn
nearer to God."
What could I do but listen in mute attention to this heart-awakening
recital? I looked round at Lucy Anderson in lively sympathy with what I
had heard. How little did her appearance give token of the deep domestic
grief that must have settled upon her young heart! How deceptive is the
human countenance! Though pale and fragile, yet her face sparkled with
cheerfulness.
Miss Effie went on with her story; she was mistress of the art of
conversation; and conversation is sometimes a serious matter; for there
are persons with whom an hour's talk would weaken one more than a day's
fasting, but not so with Miss Effie. She resumed by saying,
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