Ernest had been some time in London before he went to visit Madge, in the asylum in which he was supporting her. He reproached himself with the delay; but, in truth, the conduct of her brothers had so disheartened him, that it was as a duty, and no pleasure, that he went there at all. Charles, as usual, was his companion, and his only one; for visiting charities was little in the way either of his uncle or his proud wife, though Mrs. Hope had once held a stall at a grand Fancy fair, which was patronized by duchesses and countesses. As for Clementina, she would never have dreamed of going; she had a vague connection in her mind between poverty and dirt, and thought it dreadful if a child of the lower classes ventured to approach within two yards of her. Many a tear had the young lady shed over a novel: for heroes and heroines she had ready sympathy; she considered that sentiment and feeling give an added charm to beauty; but common every-day sufferings had in them nothing “interesting.” She could be touched by the sorrow of a princess, but the real wants of a ragged child were quite beneath her regard. Ernest was agreeably surprised in the asylum. Everything so neat, so perfectly clean; such an appearance of respectability in the matron, of health and good discipline amongst the children. Poor little Madge, also, was so much delighted to see a face that she knew, after being only surrounded by strangers, that Ernest felt vexed with himself for not visiting her sooner, and emptied his purse of its last half-crown to place in the hand of the child. This still further opened the heart of Madge, and she talked to him almost as freely as if she had still regarded him as her brother, though without the insolent familiarity which was so repulsive in Jack. She showed Ernest a letter which she had received from her unhappy mother, who had been sentenced to transportation, though for a shorter period than her husband, on account of being specially recommended to mercy. Ernest had, through Mr. Ewart, provided Ann with some little comforts; and to this, in her letter, she gratefully alluded, though his kindness, she wrote, only made her feel more wretched, when she remembered how cruelly she had wronged him. She implored her daughter to shun the temptations which had led her astray, especially the love of dress, the beginning of all her errors and her misery—the vanity which had laid her open to flattery, and had made her take the first step in that downward course which had led her to prison and a convict-ship. There was deep remorse expressed in the letter, which gave Ernest hopes that the poor prodigal might yet repent and find mercy; but its tone of cheerless gloom showed but too well that the mire of the Slough of Despond was clinging to the unhappy one still.