ROSAMA. 
 
 SCENES ^ IN BOSTOS
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 

 
 ROSANNA; 
 
 OR 
 
 SCENES IN BOSTON 
 
 A STORY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 OF "THREE EXPERIMENTS OF LIVING," "THE CONTRAST, OB 
 MODES OF EDUCATION," ETC. 
 
 " It 'a the privilege of few authors to contribute largely to th 
 general good ; but almost every one may contribute something, if this 
 is his sincere and honest purpose." 
 
 WRITTEN AND SOLD FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE INFANT 
 SCHOOL IN BROAD STREET, BOSTON. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN OWEN. 
 1839.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by JOHN 
 OWEN, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 FOLSOM, WELLS, AMD THURSTOtf.
 
 PS 
 3 lo 
 
 R OS AN N A. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 '"r j i i'i v 
 
 " O happy is the man, who hears 
 
 Instruction's faithful voice; 
 And who celestial wisdom makes 
 His early, only choice." 
 
 IN every city there are places for the 
 poor ; we do not allude to almshouses, 
 hospitals, or even those doubtful schools 
 of reform, houses of correction; but 
 places where they naturally resort for 
 cheap rent, where they collect together, 
 and can have some of the pleasures of 
 society without crossing the threshold 
 of the outer door. There would seem 
 to be obvious advantages arising from 
 three or four families occupying one 
 
 1732020
 
 4 ROSANNAj 
 
 house and one yard. Many good offices 
 might be exchanged; the children might 
 be taken care of by one of the mothers 
 alternately, and the other mothers left 
 at liberty to pursue their daily employ- 
 ments, and earn a comfortable living. 
 Yet there is too much reason to sup- 
 pose, that there is seldom good fellow- 
 ship where people are so situated. We 
 hear of strife and ill will among them ; 
 and they reject the most important thing 
 that they can have, like water, without 
 paying any price for it. 
 
 This one thing is wisdom. We are 
 told, in the Bible, that it is 
 " Better than gold," 
 " Better than strength," 
 " Better than weapons of war." 
 We are also told, that 
 " Fools despise it," 
 " Fools die for want of it." 
 Now we certainly ought to be in- 
 formed what is meant by wisdom. Let
 
 * 
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 5 
 
 us go to the Bible again, and search. 
 We are there told, that 
 
 " It is the fear of God," 
 
 " It is meekness," 
 
 " It is holiness," 
 
 " It is purity." 
 
 The poor can get this pearl beyond 
 price as well as the rich, for it does not 
 come by money, or by book-learning; 
 it comes from the fear of offending God, 
 which is the beginning of wisdom. There 
 are none who have reason and intellect, 
 or, in common language, their right 
 minds, who do not understand what the 
 fear of offending God means. For in- 
 stance, none can believe, if they are 
 guilty of theft, of intemperance, of neg- 
 lect of their families, of profaneness, of 
 cruelty to animals, or immorality of any 
 kind, that they are not offending God. 
 No one can say, " I did not know this 
 was wrong;" for, whether they are Cath- 
 olics or Protestants, all in this city can 
 1*
 
 * 
 
 6 ROSANNA; 
 
 have religious instruction, if they seek it. 
 The only excuse that they can make, 
 is, " I did not think " ! A miserable ex- 
 cuse, when God has given us minds to 
 think with. It would be just as wise, 
 to walk into the fire or the ocean, and 
 say, " We did not think " ! 
 
 People who are good-tempered, in- 
 dustrious, and honest, have laid in a 
 stock of wisdom, which is as necessary 
 for their comfort as fuel is for winter. 
 
 Whether families live together in a 
 palace, a house, or a cellar, they are 
 what is called a community. They are 
 like a town or a city, where all should 
 strive for the general good. It often 
 happens, that one may be more enlight- 
 ened than the others. In that case, that 
 one is bound to use his influence in sow- 
 ing the seeds of wisdom, which, in time, 
 will spring up and bring forth fair fruit. 
 The Bible says, 
 
 " There was a little city, and few *
 
 f" \\ ' 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 7 
 
 men within it ; and there came a great 
 king and besieged it, and built great bul- 
 warks against it. Now there was found 
 in it a poor wise man t and he by his 
 wisdom delivered the city. 
 
 " Then said I, Wisdom is better than 
 strength ; the words of wise men are 
 heard in quiet more than the cry of him 
 that ruleth among fools. 
 
 "Wisdom is better than weapons of 
 war; but one sinner destroyeth much 
 good." 
 
 In a very small yard there lived sev- 
 eral families. It is only with three, how- 
 ever, that we are to become acquainted. 
 In one house there were four apart- 
 ments, two lower and two upper ones. 
 The lower were much the best, indeed, 
 but for a flight of steps, resembling a 
 ladder, which led out of the centre of 
 the room into the garret above. One 
 of these garrets was tenanted by Rosan- 
 na MCarty and her two children. It
 
 8 ROSANNA; 
 
 was not a very comfortable place ; for 
 the roof slanted down, so that there 
 was but one spot in which you could 
 stand upright. Rosanna was born in 
 Ireland, and, at the early age of sixteen, 
 was induced to join a large party of 
 emigrants, who came to this country on 
 the reception of the following letter. 
 
 " DEAR JOHN, 
 
 "As it is jist to yourself I am about 
 writing, I hope you will demane yourself 
 so much as to read my letter. I think 
 it is but fair to tell you I have got a great 
 prospect, so that all of you may come 
 over sea, and earn a portion. We had a 
 hard time of it aboard ship, a great deal 
 of mortal sickness, which ended in death. 
 Our friends Sam and Corny were thrown 
 overboard. Corny's wife behaved her- 
 self dacently enough. When she found 
 he was clane gone to the bottom, she 
 wrung her hands, and cried, ' Ogh ! ogh ! ' 
 O wirrastreu ! O wirrastreu, ogh ! O
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 9 
 
 Catty Corny, that ever you 'd live to 
 see this day ! ' 
 
 "The Captain at first seemed very 
 kind to poor Catty, and so he brought 
 her a sip of whisky, and, says he, 
 'Then take this to comfort your heart, 
 my poor woman.' Well, Catty jist swal- 
 lowed the whisky, and then it was 
 * Ogh, wirrastreu,' worse than ever ; and 
 the Captain got tired of goodness won- 
 derful soon, and so he told Catty, if she 
 kept up her 'Ogh, wirrastreu,' he 'd 
 throw her overboard after Corny; so 
 that seemed to ase her poor heart at 
 once, and make her rasonable. 
 
 " Well ! we landed here in Boston, 
 and a varry fine place it is ; and the 
 first thing we did was to have a wake 
 for Corny and Sam, jist as if we was 
 in old Ireland. There was ten of us 
 got together in a tavern ; where the ^in- 
 tleman that keeps it under ground in 
 Broad Street, gave us as much whisky
 
 10 ROSANNA; 
 
 as we wanted, only civilly asking us jist 
 to pay aforehand, and demaning him- 
 self to drink it with us ; though he never 
 has been a step in the old country. We 
 thought it would not be civil not to ask 
 Corny's wife, and the other widowers, 
 that had seen their husbands and chil- 
 ders thrown overboard. The worse luck 
 for us, that we did ; for it is always the 
 women that make the most noise. I 
 do believe you might have heard their 
 voices from Ballynascrew to Cork. Well, 
 what was the end ; first, the landlord 
 steps up, and he says, says he, 'Jin tie- 
 men ! them are women must n't make 
 sich a noise, or I guess we shall have 
 the watch arter us. Now this was putty 
 hard for poor Catty, and so she began 
 ' Ogh, wirrastreu, ogh, ogh, ogh,' louder 
 than ever; and then, in common dacency, 
 wq, could not but help her on, it seemed 
 such an asement to her poor heart. 
 Well, in the midst of it, sure enough,
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 11 
 
 they carried us all off to jail. I don't 
 know how they got me there, for I would 
 not demane myself to move in the mat- 
 ter. They kept us there two days, and 
 then the priest heard we had just arrived 
 from the old country, and he came to 
 make us a call. When he heard what 
 we had to say, and found we were only 
 doing our duty, he contrived to get us 
 out of jail, and gave us varry good ad- 
 vice, and he said it was different here 
 from the old country, and we must not 
 drink whisky. It took all the money 
 we had, to have the wake ; so it was 
 pretty lucky our getting a berth in jail 
 till we got risted. 
 
 " Well ! the priest talked a time to 
 me, and when he found out I 'd got an 
 edication, and when he see my hand- 
 writing, he seemed to have a respect 
 for me, and so he said, if I 'd behave my- 
 self well, he 'd get me a good place ; and 
 then he asked if I knew how to take
 
 12 ROSANNA; 
 
 care of horses ; so, says I, * Plase your 
 honor, there is n't a horse in Ballynas- 
 crew that I have n't backed without bri- 
 dle or saddle ; ' and so, says he, * I don't 
 mane that, Jerry ; I mane, can you drive 
 a carriage ? ' So says I, * Plase your 
 Reverence, it 's jist what I was brought 
 up to.' Then he seemed to look kind 
 of doubtful ; so I offered to take my oath ; 
 but he said, 'No, it was not necessary.' 
 Well ! he got me an excellent berth in 
 a rale jintleman's family, not one of 
 them that keeps boarders in Broad 
 Street, but that lives in a sort of palace. 
 Now I assure you, on the honor of a jin- 
 tleman, that I has twenty dollars a month 
 for only demaning myself to drive his 
 lady about and take care of the horses. 
 As for fare, nobody here lives on pota- 
 toes ; they only has a few, for variety, 
 with their turkeys, and chickens, and 
 pies, and puddings. Now I want you to 
 tell Rosanna Dalton, bless her swate
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 13 
 
 face, I '11 get her a place to ride in the 
 carriage with the children, if she '11 jist 
 come over; and, if she sticks at that, it 
 is her own fault if I don't make her my 
 darling wife. Yours to sarve, 
 
 JERRY M'CARTY." 
 
 It may well be supposed, that this let- 
 ter made a great stir in the old world ; 
 turkeys and chickens, pies and puddings, 
 with potatoes for variety, were not to be 
 resisted; and Rosanna, whose mother had 
 ten children, and a prospect of as many 
 more, was advised to accept the invita- 
 tion, to which her parents made not the 
 slightest objection. So joining about 
 thirty others, who came in search of for- 
 tunes, she arrived safe at Long Wharf 
 in Boston. 
 
 Jerry had won upon his master by his 
 
 good nature and coachman-like qualities; 
 
 and, as about that time the Yankee 
 
 chambermaid had "given warning," he 
 
 2
 
 14 ROSANNA; 
 
 was able to get the place for Rosanna. 
 She had the true Irish face, in its early 
 innocence, blue eyes, fair hair, and rosy 
 cheeks. Though ignorant of the duties 
 of her place, she was desirous of learn- 
 ing, and soon became a favorite with her 
 mistress. In a short time, however, Jerry 
 began to think he was bound to fulfil the 
 other part of his promise, and make her 
 his " darling wife." In vain the master 
 and mistress advised them to remain con- 
 tented, and lay up their wages, till they 
 had accumulated something to begin 
 with, and warned them, that they would 
 lose their places, should they marry. 
 M c Carty had promised and Rosanna had 
 consented, and there was no reason why 
 they should not be married. So the 
 priest made them man and wife. 
 
 It is not necessary to follow them 
 through the next few years ; it would 
 be a painful task, and too common a his- 
 tory to excite much interest. For a
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 15 
 
 time MCarty drove a hack ; but his in- 
 temperate habits became more than sus- 
 pected. Their children rapidly increas- 
 ed in number. Rosanna struggled long 
 with poor health, maternal cares, and 
 the neglect of her husband. Heaven at 
 length took two of her children ; and, at 
 the end of a few miserable years, she 
 was left a widow, with only two children 
 remaining, and nothing to depend upon 
 but the labor of her hands. Once Ro- 
 sanna had health, spirits, and industry 
 sufficient to have enabled her to earn a 
 comfortable living; but her spirit was 
 crushed, her health impaired, and all 
 about her bore that appearance of hope- 
 less indigence, which too plainly indi- 
 cated, that Jerry's example had had a 
 fatal influence on his young wife. 
 
 Rosanna was not a drunkard in its worst 
 sense. As yet she had not learned to 
 carouse on the intoxicating draught; but 
 she sometimes, on her way home from a
 
 16 ROSANNA; 
 
 hard day's work, bought a gill of the li- 
 quid fire, not because she loved the taste, 
 but because when swallowed, it brought 
 insensibility to the wants and hard strug- 
 gles of life, for a night. But morning 
 must come, and how dearly has that 
 deep, that deathlike sleep been bought? 
 Another step towards destruction has 
 been taken, showing itself in the aching 
 head, the blood-shot eyes, the irritable 
 frame. Poor Rosanna! was there no 
 friend near to counsel, aid, and assist her? 
 Young, in a strange land, unable to write 
 or read, with feeble health, and two chil- 
 dren depending on her for food! We 
 can scarcely imagine a more deplorable 
 situation. Those, who were in the habit 
 of employing work-people, looked scof- 
 fingly at her, as she offered her services. 
 The time had passed, when her active 
 step, her light form, and neat dress, 
 would have recommended her; though 
 yet only twentjr-three, the beauty of
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 17 
 
 youth had fled. She wore over her still 
 fine hair a dirty-white cotton cap, with a 
 wide, flaunting border. A shabby plaid 
 cloak concealed more shabby garments 
 beneath; her hands and naked arms 
 pushed through the ragged arm-holes, 
 and her shoes were down at the heel. 
 The disorder of the outward dress is a 
 sure indication of that within; for neat- 
 ness is one of the fruits of wisdom. 
 
 We must now look at the resident in 
 the room below. And this was " Cor- 
 ny's widower," as M c Carty called her. 
 She was many years older than Rosan- 
 na, and, we regret to say, her habits 
 were worse ; inasmuch as they had been 
 longer growing, and their roots had 
 struck deeper. 
 
 There was perfectly good fellow- 
 ship between these unfortunate women. 
 Catty Corny had the kind-hearted feel- 
 ings of her nation. She had never for- 
 gotten her early obligations to M c Carty ; 
 2*
 
 18 ROSANNA; rl 
 
 for she said, " He was jist the one that 
 launched her darling husband overboard, 
 when he was clane gone, and was n't he 
 the one that got up the true Irish wake?" 
 She repaid her obligations by her kind- 
 ness to Rosanna. She became answer- 
 able for the rent of the two rooms, and, 
 when Rosanna could not earn her fifty 
 cents at the week's end, Catty, who 
 was strong and able to wash, paid the 
 whole. She was always willing Rosy's 
 children should stay with hers, if the 
 mother could get employment. So far 
 she was a true friend. 
 
 In the same yard was another dwell- 
 ing which aspired only ten feet above 
 the ground. It had a cleaner and neater 
 aspect than the one we have mentioned. 
 This, too, was inhabited by an Irish wo- 
 man and her children. What particu- 
 larly distinguished it from the one on the 
 opposite side of the yard was the clean- 
 liness round the door. Corny's always
 
 OE SCENES IN BOSTON. 19 
 
 had a puddle of dirty water under the 
 window, and another before the door, 
 and this was easily accounted for ; for Ro- 
 sanna emptied the water from her win- 
 dow, and Catty found it much easier to 
 drag her tubs to the door and give them 
 a push over, than to dip her dirty 
 suds out by pailfuls, and carry it to the 
 common sewer, as Dora MCree did, the 
 occupant of the ten-foot building. The 
 truth was, Dora loved order and neat- 
 ness, and it was quite a trouble to her 
 to see those puddles of dirty water al- 
 ways before her, filled with bricks and 
 stepping-stones, which Catty said were 
 " convanient, jist to save wetting their 
 feet." The yard was nearly enclosed by 
 buildings that fronted on other streets, and 
 the only exit was by a narrow footpath. 
 All the three women were equally de- 
 pendent on their own labor; but Dora 
 M c Cree might have been thought the 
 worst off, as she had the largest number
 
 20 ROSANNA; 
 
 of children, and the youngest were twins 
 of two years old. She had not inhabit- 
 ed the ten-foot building long, and was 
 considered unsociable by her neighbours, 
 and always busy about nothing. Mrs. 
 Corny said, "No wonder she could not 
 find time for a little bit of chat; for she 
 understood nothing at all of turning off 
 work, and it seemed to her, that she 
 scrubbed her floors for the pleasure of 
 it." Catty might well say so, for she 
 certainly had herself a surprising faculty 
 of turning off work. She got through 
 her washes in a very short time ; but, as 
 she did little more than throw her clothes 
 into the tub, wring them out, and hang 
 them on the fence to dry, it was often 
 doubtful whether they looked better or 
 worse for the washing. As for plates, 
 spoons, and cups, she said, "It stood 
 to reason, that it did no good to clane 
 them, as they would get dirty again." 
 Dora MCree was a kind-hearted wo-
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 21 
 
 man, and wished to promote kind feel- 
 ings ; and, when she found that Mrs. Cor- 
 ny called her unsociable, she invited 
 her and Rosy to pass an hour with her. 
 
 The invitation was cordially accepted 
 by Corny's widow, who had never had 
 a fair opportunity of finding out any thing 
 about Dora's concerns. When she re- 
 ceived it, she was putting her children to 
 bed; but, in her impatience, she tumbled 
 them into bed with their clothes on, as 
 she often did ; saying, " It saved a world 
 of pains, as they were ready dressed in 
 the morning." Then telling Rosanna to 
 bring down her two, and they could all 
 take care of each other, the mothers 
 went to make their evening visit. 
 
 Catty was struck with Dora's neat 
 little room. It strangely contrasted with 
 the dirt and confusion of her own. 
 
 " Well ! I declare," said she, as she 
 looked round her, "you must spend a 
 world of time tidying up ; for my part, I 
 can't find time to set things to rights."
 
 22 ROSANNAj 
 
 "I think it is a saving of time," re- 
 , plied Dora, "to keep things in their 
 right places." 
 
 " So it is, if people has their rooms to 
 themselves ; but you an't situated as I 
 am," said she, lowering her voice ; "what 
 with my own darlings, and having Rosy 
 and her children coming through when I 
 least expect it, I am always in a sort of 
 flurry." 
 
 Rosanna, if she heard the speech, had 
 probably too much confidence in her 
 friend's real kindness to take exception 
 to it. She looked very pale, and Dora's 
 kind heart was moved with pity towards 
 
 her. 
 
 " Do let me take your cloak," said 
 
 she; for, though it was an evening in 
 July, both of the visiters wore their plaid 
 cloaks. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Rosy, in a low 
 voice, but faintly coloring. 
 
 " Rosanna is jist like me," said Catty,
 
 "V 
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 23 
 
 who probably anticipated her turn ; " she 
 always likes to wear her cloak." 
 
 It is not the nature of the warm- 
 hearted Irish to be reserved. Though 
 this was a first visit, Mrs. Corny soon 
 gave the history of her coming from the 
 old country; of the death of her husband 
 and two children ; of her heart-breaking 
 sorrow ; of her loneliness, and how, 
 when poor Rosanna's husband died, she 
 took her in, and put up with all the in- 
 conveniences of having her come through 
 the trap-door, jist because she belonged 
 to the old country. When she had fin- 
 ished her narrative, which lasted nearly 
 an hour, she paused, expecting Mrs. 
 M c Cree's communication in return. But 
 Dora did not seem inclined to make 
 any. 
 
 "I suppose you find the times hard 
 enough," said Catty, willing to help her 
 to a beginning. 
 
 " I never call it hard times," replied
 
 24 ROSANNA; 
 
 Mrs. MCree, "when my darlings are 
 well, and I am able to lave them for a 
 good day's work ; but, if any of them 
 are sick, I must run behind hand." 
 
 " We poor widows," said Catty, wip- 
 ing her eyes with the inside of her cloak, 
 "is much to be pitied. I am sure, if it 
 had not been for me, Rosy might have 
 laid down in the street and died." 
 
 "It would have been better for me, if 
 I had," said Rosanna, in a low voice. 
 
 "Now don't say so," said her friend, 
 "'cause you know, dear, your darlings 
 would have died too." 
 
 " It would have been better for them," 
 said Rosanna. 
 
 " Now that is what I call wicked," said 
 Mrs. Corny ; " she mopes and takes on 
 in such a manner, that it is enough to 
 wear out any body's patience, and all 
 for the husband that is dead and cannot 
 come to life again. Ah! Mrs. M c Cree, 
 you and I know what it is to be left
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 25 
 
 alone with a family of children ; we can 
 feel for poor Rosy," and again her cloak 
 was applied to her eyes. Still Mrs. 
 M c Cree did not seem inclined to return 
 the confidence of her visiter ; but turn- 
 ing to Rosanna, she said, "You do not 
 look very strong ; are you able to work?" 
 
 " I can work sometimes," replied she ; 
 "but I don't find people willing to let 
 me be running home every two or three 
 hours, to see arter my poor children; 
 and what can I do 1 " 
 
 "Now, I say that is unhandsome," 
 said Mrs. Corny. " Have n't I told you, 
 over and over again, you was welcome 
 to shut them up with mine?" 
 
 " I did, you know," said Rosanna, 
 " till " and she hesitated. 
 
 "O, yes," said Catty, "I know what 
 you mane ; till Lizzy broke her collar- 
 bone. Well, that was an accident that 
 could not be helped, and she is getting 
 over it now. I am sure, I was going to 
 
 3
 
 26 ROSANNA; 
 
 give Jim a sound bating for pushing her 
 over, and I should have done it, only 
 he looked jist then so much like his own 
 father, that is dead and gone, with jist 
 such a cast in his eye, that I could not 
 find the heart to do it." 
 
 " It would have done no good," said 
 Rosanna ; " she is n't getting over it ; 
 she never will ;" added she, sobbing. 
 
 " Now don't take it so to heart, dear," 
 said Mrs. Corny; "what if her head is 
 a little bit on one side ? That is a trifle. 
 I am sure it is nothing to the scar, that 
 poor Jim 's got on his cheek. I never 
 will forget when I came home and found 
 him covered with blood. He had, some 
 how or other, got hold of a knife that 
 I by accident left on the table. Ah, the 
 rogue ! he 's jist like his father that 's 
 dead, always getting into mischief. How 
 dry it makes one to keep a talking; 
 pray Mrs. M c Cree, have you a little 
 drop of any thing to drink ? "
 
 OK SCENES IN BOSTON. 27 
 
 Dora handed her a mug of water. 
 Mrs. Corny wet her lips, but set it down, 
 saying, she was afraid of cold water, 
 that it never agreed with her. Rosanna 
 seized it with eagerness, and drank a 
 long draught. " I think I . must go," 
 said she, slowly rising, " Lizzy will want 
 me." 
 
 "I think we both may as well go," 
 said Mrs. Corny, with an expression that 
 seemed to say, " for we shall get nothing 
 here." " I hope, Mrs. M Cree," said 
 she, for she valued herself on her good 
 manners, " that you will return my visit 
 very soon;" and she inwardly resolved 
 to show her what Irish hospitality was. 
 
 When they returned to their own 
 dwelling and Mrs. Corny found Rosan- 
 na was going up the steps, she good- 
 naturedly stopped her. " Now jist set 
 down with me, Rosy dear," said she. 
 "The children are all sound asleep, 
 and I am sure you must be a-dry as well
 
 >;;:. 
 
 28 EOSANNA; 
 
 as I. As good luck will have it, I have a 
 thimble-full for us both. You will feel 
 all the better, dear, for a drop ; you are 
 jist so low-spirited to night. Come," 
 said she, pouring some of the rum into 
 a mug, and adding a little water to it, 
 "take a swallow." 
 
 " No," said Rosy, " it does not do me 
 good ; it sets my brain on fire, and dries 
 up my breath." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the kind-hearted 
 Mrs. Corny, "it will make you sleep 
 sound." 
 
 "That is true," said Rosy; and she 
 hastily swallowed the draught. At that 
 moment she heard the cry of the child. 
 " Oh ! " said she, starting up, " that is 
 poor Lizzy ; she has got one of her 
 spells of pain." 
 
 " Take her up a drop," said the kind 
 friend ; " nothing will quiet her so soon," 
 and she prepared a second draught. 
 Rosanna took it, went up the stairs, and
 
 . 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 29 
 
 closed the trap-door after her. The 
 agonized shrieks of poor Lizzy, and the 
 low, soothing voice of the mother, were 
 for some time audible, but they did not 
 long disturb Corny's widow. The thim- 
 ble-full was repeated till she lay asleep 
 on the floor. At length the shrieks 
 subsided into a low, wailing moan, the 
 mother's voice could no longer be dis- 
 tinguished, the prescription had taken 
 effect ! 
 
 3*
 
 30 ROSANNA; 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " My God, who makes the sun to know 
 
 His proper hour to rise, 
 And, to give light to all below, 
 Doth send him round the skies." 
 
 THE sun arose clear the next morn- 
 ing, and its beams slanted into the little 
 yard. They glanced first on Rosanna's 
 window, but she lay asleep with her two 
 children, one arm around the little suf- 
 ferer, and Susan, the youngest, on the 
 other side of her. Her cheeks were 
 flushed and her respiration laborious, 
 yet she still slept, they all slept. How 
 much of youth was there ! and there 
 too the unextinguishable spark of life, 
 the immortal soul! 
 
 The sun, the glorious sun, the bright
 
 OE SCENES IN BOSTON. 31 
 
 image of its Maker, stayed not its course; 
 it rose higher in the heavens and looked 
 down upon Corny's apartment There 
 she too lay in her deep, deep sleep, 
 stretched on the floor, the tin mug by 
 her side. Jim had just awoke ; he raised 
 himself first on his elbow, and, looking 
 round, his eye rested on his mother; 
 there was nothing appalling in the sight 
 to him, he was too much accustomed to 
 it. Suddenly he sprung from the bed, 
 seized the mug, and examined it; a 
 portion of the liquor remained ; he raised 
 it to his lips, but, recollecting his little 
 sisters, he went towards them and said, 
 " Wake up, Mary and Betsey ; look, 
 mammy has left us some." Mary drank 
 her share, but the sleepy little Betsey 
 refused to rouse herself. 
 
 As the sun, commissioned by its Crea- 
 tor, shines on the evil and the good, and 
 
 " Never tires nor stops to rest," 
 we must not be surprised, that its rays
 
 32 ROSANNA; 
 
 were partially reflected by the dirty 
 little pools before the house, while it 
 pursued its kindly work in drying Cor- 
 ny's wash of the day before. By this 
 time it had visited Dora's ten-foot build- 
 ing. It did not find her windows clos- 
 ed ; she was up and dressed, though 
 her children were still sleeping, and the 
 fresh morning air of July was fanning the 
 healthy and innocent faces of the slum- 
 berers. Dora was cutting slices of 
 bread, and preparing their breakfast for 
 them, against they awoke. On the table 
 stood a little crucifix, and every time 
 she approached it she made the sign 
 of the cross. When her preparations 
 were completed, she awoke the elder 
 children, assisted them in dressing and 
 washing, and gave them their breakfast. 
 They were all hungry and ate what was 
 allowed them, but followed, perforce, the 
 excellent rule laid down by physicians, 
 of leaving- off with an appetite. When
 
 OE SCENES IN BOSTON. 33 
 
 they had ended their simple meal, Dora 
 said, "Now, my jewels, you see the 
 holy Jesus there before you." They all 
 crossed themselves. "He was once a 
 little child, as you are, and slept in his* 
 mother's arms; but he did not come 
 upon earth to sleep ; no, he came to do 
 his Father's work." 
 
 " Does he see us, mother ? " asked 
 -one of the children. 
 
 " To be sure he does," said Dora ; 
 " he is looking at you this moment." 
 
 Pat began to move his head this side 
 and that. 
 
 "I think he don't much mind us 
 now," said he. " I can 't see his eyes 
 move." 
 
 " Oh, Patrick !" said the mother, " you 
 are but a child. The blessed Jesus is 
 . now in heaven ; he sees us from there. 
 He knows when we do wrong. I have 
 told you how he came upon earth, and 
 how wicked men crucified him, and 

 
 34 ROSANNA; 
 
 nailed him to the cross. Ah ! you see 
 it there." 
 
 "Yes, mother," said the children, 
 "you have told us a great many times." 
 
 " Ah ! my jewels, I cannot tell you 
 the true story too often, and how he was 
 born in a manger among cattle." 
 
 " Was n't he afraid they would hurt 
 him ? " said Patrick. 
 
 "Now, dear, don't talk so," said the 
 mother ; " but you are only a child, my 
 darling. No ; his mother took care of 
 him ; the blessed Virgin ! Oh, my chil- 
 dren, we will grow wiser and better 
 when we talk about him and think of 
 him, and remember that the holy Jesus 
 sees you all the time ; which I can 't 
 do, for I must go to my day's washing. 
 Now, which of you will be the ones to 
 watch over the darlings there, in the 
 bed, the poor, helpless ones, that can't 
 watch over themselves ? " 
 
 " We will all be them," said the chil- 
 dren.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 35 
 
 "Patrick, my boy," said Dora, "you 
 must go to the ship-yard and pick up 
 chips ; but you must go in a dacent, re- 
 spectable manner ; and, if any of the men 
 are there, ask lave, so that they may see 
 you 've had some edication ; and, above 
 all, Pat, don't listen to any bad boys, nor 
 say any naughty words." 
 
 " Mother," said Patrick, " Jim Corny 
 says wicked words." 
 
 "Then, my boy, you must not play 
 with him," replied Dora. "Don't you 
 know what the hymn says ? 
 
 ' My lips from evil speaking guard.' " 
 
 "Do, mother, sing us that hymn," said 
 little Nancy. 
 
 " Ah, well, my darlings, I will sing it 
 to you. You are jist like other children ; 
 don't they love to hear their mothers' 
 voices, even when they don't understand 
 all the words?" 
 
 The children gathered round her, and 
 she sang the following hymn, which she
 
 36 ROSANNA; 
 
 had learned in happier days, when her 
 mind was unclouded and her memory 
 bright. 
 
 DORA'S MORNING HYMN. 
 
 " Again the morning sun dispels 
 The darkness of the night ; 
 Again reviving nature feels 
 The cheering beams of light. 
 
 " Awake, my soul, and with the day, 
 
 Thy steadfast path pursue, 
 Let no vain thoughts around thee play ; 
 But inward fix thy view. 
 
 " First pay thy vows to Him whose care, 
 
 Watched o'er thy midnight rest ; 
 And in sincere and ardent prayer 
 Be holy faith expressed. 
 
 " ' Father of love ! thy goodness gave 
 
 The being I enjoy ; 
 O, then, from guilt, that being save, 
 And in thy praise employ. 
 
 " l Save me from idle discontent ; 
 Save me from vain desire ;
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 37 
 
 Save me from precious time misspent, 
 And virtuous thoughts inspire. 
 
 " ' O, cleanse my breast from selfish care, 
 
 May others' wants be mine, 
 And, while thy gracious gifts I share, 
 A part to them resign. 
 
 " ' My lips from evil speaking guard, 
 
 Make me sincere and kind ; 
 And from my breast each thought discard, 
 Which others' ill designed. 
 
 u * O, make me humble, just, and pure, 
 
 To lowly merit true ; 
 When injured, patient to endure, 
 Like Him who sorrow knew. 
 
 " ' May the blest memory of that Friend, 
 
 Who gave his life for ours, 
 An influence o'er each thought extend, 
 And sanctify my powers. 
 
 " * Father ! this day thy grace impart ; 
 
 O, send thy Spirit down ! 
 May it confirm my wavering heart, 
 And make thy will my own.' " 
 4
 
 38 ROSANNA; 
 
 It was thus she prepared herself and 
 her children for the duties of the day. 
 Some people may smile at the idea of 
 children's duties; but, as soon as they can 
 understand right from wrong, the mother 
 can teach them their duty ; and, if they 
 are yet too young to understand, she 
 may guard them from vice, and place 
 around them her vigilant care. Dora 
 went to her day's washing with a light 
 heart, for she committed her children to 
 their Heavenly Father, to the blessed 
 Jesus, and the holy saints. She tried 
 every morning to make them acquainted 
 with their duties ; she provided their fru- 
 gal food for them in a clean and whole- 
 some manner, and, whenever it was pos- 
 sible, she looked in upon them at noon, 
 to see that all went on well. Yet Dora 
 had her troubles ; one was, that her chil- 
 dren were growing up without learning. 
 It was her great desire to send Patrick 
 and his eldest sister to school; but, she
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 39 
 
 said, "it was hard enough to earn her 
 house-rent ; and who would take care of 
 the twins, that were just beginning to tot^ 
 tie about'? and their meals they must all 
 have, for nobody had learning enough to 
 live without eating." 
 
 So Dora went on, from day to day, 
 scarcely hoping for any thing better. 
 There were lines of deep care on her 
 face, and she often sighed bitterly. Some- 
 times she would burst into a flood of 
 tears, and wring her hands, but this was 
 in the calm, still evening, or in the silent 
 watches of the night, when her children 
 were asleep ; for Dora said, " they would 
 have trouble enough of their own, and 
 she was not the one to lay her burdens 
 on another." 
 
 Let us now go back to the other 
 dwelling, where we left the two mothers 
 buried in deep sleep. Sleep is often 
 said to be the image of death ; the eyes 
 are closed, the whole form is inactive, and
 
 40 ROSANNAj 
 
 the person unconscious of what is pass- 
 ing. But this is not the only resem- 
 blance. The sleeper must awake either 
 in this world or the other. We have 
 heard of the intoxicating draught ending 
 in the sleep of death. O, what a fearful 
 awakening must follow ! 
 
 Rosanna awoke to the consciousness 
 of suffering, with an aching head and 
 disordered system. Lizzy, too, had be- 
 gun to complain, and Susan to beg for 
 her breakfast; "Do, mammy, give me 
 something to eat." 
 
 "Where will I find it?" said Rosan- 
 na, and she looked on a shelf, and open- 
 ed a cupboard, merely to escape for a 
 moment from the child's importunity. 
 "You had the last piece of bread for. 
 your supper," said she, with a despair- 
 ing accent. " Oh, what will become of 
 us?" added she, wringing her hands. 
 
 The children seemed moved by the 
 intensity of her emotions, and clung to 
 her.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 41 
 
 " Don't cry, mammy," said Susan ; " I 
 am not very hungry now. I don't want 
 any breakfast." 
 
 " I am not so sick as I was just now," 
 said Lizzy, trying to suppress her tears, 
 while her countenance was distorted 
 with pain. 
 
 " I will go and beg for you my dar- 
 lings," said Rosanna ; " I will crawl to 
 the doors of the rich, and ask them to 
 take pity on us, for we are starving." 
 
 "Starve you shan't, while I have a 
 bit," said Catty, raising the trap-door, 
 and putting through it a handful of cold 
 potatoes. " Just take that to stay your 
 stomachs." 
 
 Rosy thankfully took the gift, but with 
 the painful feeling that she was robbing 
 her kind friend. 
 
 "Lizzy, dear," said Rosanna, "do 
 you think you can be asy to let me go 
 
 out a while 1 " 
 
 4*
 
 42 ROSANNA; 
 
 "I don't think I can be asy," said the 
 little sufferer, " but you can go, mammy." 
 
 Rosanna put on her plaid cloak. As 
 she passed through Mrs. /Uorny's apart- 
 ment, she said; "You will take a look 
 now and then at the helpless ones ? " 
 
 " Sure I will," said Mrs. Corny ; " but 
 where are you going 1 " 
 
 "To beg," said Rosanna, turning to- 
 wards her a face of woe ; " and if I can't 
 get bread for them, it is not their own 
 mother that 's the one to see her chil- 
 dren starve ; better may I lay down and 
 die." 
 
 " ! now, honey," said Catty, " don't 
 be talking in that way. There 's one 
 that '11 never see you starve, and that 's 
 Catty Corny, who will always be a true 
 friend to you." 
 
 Alas ! poor woman, how could she be 
 faithful to Rosanna, when she was so 
 faithless to herself? Could she be igno- 
 rant that she was treading the downward
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. ' 43 
 
 path to destruction, and leading her 
 young friend with her? her own chil- 
 dren too, those little beings that God 
 had intrusted to her care? No! she 
 was not ignorant ; there were times when 
 her conscience spoke loudly, and she 
 resolved to take the intoxicating draught 
 no more ; but she could not resist, and 
 still her steps wandered to the little 
 grog-shop, which was ready to accom- 
 modate her with a quantity proportioned 
 to her means. 
 
 It had become quite a merit in her 
 mind to furnish it to Rosanna, who was 
 too willing to receive it, and who, she 
 said, " had no money to buy any thing 
 comforting, and it was the only thing 
 that seemed to ase poor Lizzy." 
 
 Thus they went on from day to day. 
 Had Mrs. Corny exerted half of her in- 
 tended kindness and generosity in as- 
 sisting Rosanna to form industrious and 
 temperate habits, she would have been
 
 44 ROSANNA; 
 
 a true friend ; but the poor, misguided 
 woman was now her worst enemy. 
 Dora JVTCree had but little communi- 
 cation with her neighbours. Though 
 Catty fully intended to invite her to a 
 " trate," and show her what Irish hospi- 
 tality was, she had some misgivings 
 about her dirty apartment, and said she 
 must wait till she " found time to mop 
 up the floor, and to tidy the room." 
 But for this rare piece of cleanliness 
 there was never an opportunity. 
 
 The little Cornys were dexterous at 
 begging ; and Susan, too, was furnished 
 with a bag, and went from door to door, 
 asking for cold victuals. Sometimes Ro- 
 sanna got a job, such as half a day's 
 wash, or scouring floors, and was able 
 to pay her week's rent. It was a miser- 
 able life, however, that she led, with all 
 Catty's kindness, and the occasional aid 
 that Mrs. MCree and other neighbours 
 afforded her.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 45 
 
 Once she thought of imploring charity 
 from the lady, with whom she had lived 
 when she first came to the country ; but 
 a sense of shame prevented her. She 
 remembered the place she had held in the 
 family, and how kindly she was treated ; 
 and now to go as a beggar, she said 
 she could not do it. It was not of pov- 
 erty that she was ashamed ; for she 
 knew, that honest poverty had often 
 been aided by the lady ; but she was 
 conscious of her altered appearance, 
 which too plainly indicated her intem- 
 perate habits. Catty offered to go and 
 tell Rosanna's story, and ask assistance ; 
 but Rosanna delined the offer. There 
 was more of refinement left in her man- 
 ner of thinking and feeling, than might 
 have been expected from her unhappy 
 situation. She sometimes thought she 
 might do better, if she could find another 
 residence. Jim Corny was a great trial 
 both to her and her children. She dared
 
 46 ROSANNA; 
 
 not leave Lizzy with him, for it was one 
 of his amusements to torment her ; not 
 from absolute cruelty, but because the 
 poor little sufferer was easily terrified or 
 made angry, and it was an excellent 
 joke with him, to tell her the house was 
 on fire, or the constable coming after 
 her to put her in jail, when she could 
 only scream without being able to move. 
 Perhaps his compassionate feelings might 
 have been touched, had any one repre- 
 sented to him, that this was real suffer- 
 ing to the little girl, and adding an ad- 
 ditional weight to that calamity of which 
 he had been the cause. 
 
 But Mrs. Corny's mode of education 
 was not the best suited to produce re- 
 form. She considered all Jim's "little 
 innocent tricks " as much an inheritance 
 from his father, as the "cast of his eye"; 
 and though she sometimes attempted to 
 chastise him, she generally gave up the 
 point, for she said, "he was not the one 
 to stand still to be bate."
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 47 
 
 Often Jim was sent to the shop to get 
 the bottle filled, and was rewarded with 
 the thimble-fulls that his mother left in 
 the mug, generally enough to excite his 
 mischievous and quarrelsome propensi- 
 ties, and bring out the perverse and evil 
 passions of his nature. Every way it 
 was a hard case for Rosanna. Mrs. 
 Corny was the only friend she had in 
 the wide world, and she would never 
 see her starve. She had lost her self- 
 confidence, her self-respect, and she lived 
 on in a hopeless state of degradation, 
 scarcely daring to leave her children even 
 when she felt able, or had the opportu- 
 nity to work. Susan had become dex- 
 terous in begging ; and, though but little 
 encouragement is at present given to 
 beggars, her uncommon beauty and her 
 destitute appearance often filled her bag. 
 She one day met a lady as she was 
 going towards her house. The lady 
 stopped, and inquired of the child if she
 
 48 ROSANNAj 
 
 had any parents. Susan had got her 
 story by heart, for she had told it many 
 times ; how her mother was a widow, 
 and her father dead, and her sister Liz- 
 zy had broken her collar-bone, and her 
 mother could not leave her to go out to 
 work. There was something in the 
 child's countenance that deeply interest- 
 ed the lady. " I will go home with you," 
 said she, "if you will show me the 
 way." Susan readily assented, and ran 
 on before, sometimes stopping to pick up 
 one of her shoes, sometimes the other, 
 which she could with difficulty keep on. 
 The lady asked her if she would like to 
 go to school. 
 
 "I should not care about it," said the 
 child ; " no, I don't want to." 
 
 " And why not ? " 
 
 " 'Cause they bate 'em, don't they ? " 
 
 "O no," said Mrs. Jones, laughing; 
 " they are kind and good to them, and 
 teach them to read."
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 49 
 
 " Then I should like to go, if mammy, 
 and Lizzy, and all the Corny s can go, 
 but Jim." .. 
 
 " We will see about it," said the lady 
 " but why must not Jim go ? " 
 
 " 'Cause he is such a bad boy, and 
 is always a plaguing us, and mammy 
 says he says wicked words." 
 
 " That is the very reason why he 
 should go to school, that he may grow 
 better. Is Jim younger than you ? " 
 
 " No," said Susan ; " why, don't you 
 know Jim ? he is a'most a man. Mam- 
 my says he is seven years old, and he 
 ought to know better." 
 
 " But how can he know better, if he 
 is not taught. Perhaps, if he went to 
 school, and was taught what is right, 
 he might grow a good boy." 
 
 " Well, he may go," said Susan. 
 
 When they arrived at Mrs. Corny's 
 dwelling, Mrs. Jones felt some repug- 
 nance at crossing the dirty puddle ; but 
 
 5
 
 50 EOSANNA; 
 
 she resolved not to do her work by 
 halves, and resolutely entered. 
 
 At the door stood a tub of dirty 
 clothes, half covered with muddy water. 
 Under a table, against the wall, was 
 thrown another heap of dirty clothes, in 
 the midst of which lay imbedded an 
 enormous head of cabbage, and by the 
 side of it a broken band -box. The bed, 
 in one .corner, looked as if it had seldom 
 been put in order, and it was evident 
 that Catty's cloak was the coverlet by 
 night. In a small closet, the door of 
 which was open, was piled a quantity of 
 what is called cold victuals, which had 
 been emptied from the bags of the chil- 
 dren, when they returned from their 
 begging expeditions. The floor, as may 
 easily be supposed, required a shovel, 
 rather than a brush, to clean it. On one 
 side of the black and dirty fireplace was 
 a pile of chips, potatoe-skins, and fish- 
 bones. Catty was preparing her dinner, 
 and throwing potatoes into a pot to boil.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 51 
 
 On a chair near her, the only whole 
 one, lay some slices of pork. 
 
 It was with difficulty the visiter could 
 conceal her disgust, but she accosted 
 Catty with gentleness. 
 
 " Why, sure," said the astonished wo- 
 man, " the lady is kind to visit us ; if 
 I had a known you was coming, I would 
 have tidied the room ; but we poor folks 
 must get along as we can, and we 
 have n't any time to clane." Catty was 
 too civil to let the lady stand, and she 
 cleared the chair of the pork, sweeping 
 it into one hand with the other. 
 
 " My errand," said Mrs. Jones, " is to 
 offer to take this little girl to the infant 
 school." 
 
 " Pray be seated, ma'am," said Mrs. 
 Corny, urging the chair upon her. 
 
 Mrs. Jones whollv declined this cour- 
 
 . 
 tesy, and again spoke of her object in 
 
 coming. 
 
 "It is Rosanna's child," said Catty; 
 " she lives up the stairs there."
 
 52 ROSANNA; 
 
 "Shall I go up?" said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " O no, ma'am ; it is a poor place for 
 such a lady as you," said Mrs. Corny, 
 looking round her own room with com- 
 placency. 
 
 tt I should prefer seeing the mother in 
 her room," replied Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " As the lady plases," said Catty, who, 
 to do her justice, had a great deal of 
 the Irish civility. 
 
 Mrs. Jones went up the steps, Catty 
 preceding her, and raising the trap-door 
 with her head. Mrs. Jones passed 
 through it, and, begging Mrs. Corny not 
 to wait, closed it and went forward. 
 On a miserable bed lay the emaciated 
 form of little Lizzy, now a cripple, and 
 unable to walk. In her countenance 
 there was that sad expression of matu- 
 rity, which suffering gives even to in- 
 fants, the pale and hollow cheeks and 
 infixed eye. Rosanna sat listlessly on the 
 side of the bed. She raised her eyes 
 for a moment towards her visiter ; their
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 53 
 
 expression was full of despair. Mrs. 
 Jones repeated her offer of the infant 
 school for Susan, and inquired into Liz- 
 zy's situation. Rosanna answered in a 
 hoarse, low voice, thanked her for her 
 kindness, and said, "when she could 
 spare Susan, she should be glad to have 
 her go." Mrs. Jones would have given 
 her money ; but the bottle and tin mug 
 stood on the table, and she was con- 
 vinced, that it would be no kindness. " I 
 should be glad," said she, "to assist you, 
 if I knew the best way. It may possibly 
 occur to my mind ; in the mean time, 
 I hope you will send Susan to school." 
 Finding Rosanna did not incline to con- 
 verse, she left her, and was obliged again 
 to pass through Catty's room. To her 
 she made the same kind offer of the 
 infant school, which she received with a 
 profusion of thanks, saying, that " she al- 
 ways wished her children to have an 
 edication, but never got time to give 
 5*
 
 54- ROSANNAi 
 
 them one herself." Mrs. Jones men- 
 tioned, that if she would like to send her 
 son, they would be willing to take him, 
 and, if he behaved well, would fit him for 
 one of the primary schools. Mrs. Cor- 
 ny said, " Jim was a varry good boy, only 
 a little bit of a rogue, which he came 
 honestly to, for his father was, before 
 him; but I assure you, ma'am," said 
 e, " though he can't jist say his let- 
 and all that, he knows every thing 
 
 Mrs. Jones then inquired, if there were 
 any more children in the yard, and was 
 directed to Mrs. M c Cree's ten-foot build- 
 ing. 
 
 She crossed the threshold without any 
 feeling of hope, and with the expecta- 
 tion of witnessing another spectacle of 
 dirt and misery. It happened to be one 
 of Dora's home days, and she had a 
 basket of the children's clothes that she 
 was patching. The floor was clean, the
 
 OE SCENES IN BOSTON. 55 
 
 furniture in its place, and all looked like 
 respectable poverty. 
 
 Dora expressed her sense of Mrs. 
 Jones's kindness, in her offer of a school 
 for her children. She said it would be 
 a great relief to her; though that was 
 not what she most thought of, for it had 
 been a trouble to her, that her darlings 
 were growing up without schooling. 
 
 "Indeed, ma'am," said she, "nobody 
 can tell, that has n't tried, how hard it is 
 for us to get along, with our rent to pay, 
 and our helpless ones to clothe and feed, 
 and only such work as we can get to do; 
 and then, folks does n't like us to keep a- 
 running home to see that our children 's 
 out of fire and water. I am sure, many 
 and many 's the time, that my heart is 
 in my mouth, when I comes near home, 
 lest I should find 'em maimed or burnt." 
 
 Mrs. Jones felt, how the evils of pov- 
 erty are lightened by cleanliness and a 
 thankful heart; and, as she observed that
 
 56 ROSANNA; 
 
 Pat's toes were looking out of his shoes, 
 she gave to Dora (what she had not dar- 
 ed to do to Rosanna, though apparently 
 needing it more,) money to get him a 
 new pair, to go to the infant school. 
 
 Hardly had Mrs. Jones left Catty, 
 when she hastened up to hear what had 
 passed at the interview ; for, though she 
 had tucked her cap behind her ears and 
 made the children keep perfectly still, 
 she had not gathered the slightest infor- 
 mation. 
 
 She found Rosanna with her two arms 
 on the bed, and her face hid in them. 
 " Speak to mother, aunty," said Lizzy ; 
 she will not tell me what for she is cry- 
 ing." 
 
 The sobs of the mother were audible. 
 To the inquiries of Catty, at first, she 
 paid no attention ; but, suddenly .raising 
 her head, she said, "It is she herself, her 
 own self!" 
 
 " Who? " asked Mrs. Corny.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 57 
 
 " The lady I first lived with, when I 
 was a young and happy creature." 
 
 "O that's the luck, is it?" said Catty; 
 well, what is she going to do for you? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Rosanna ; " I knew 
 her, but she did not know me." 
 
 " Why did n't you tell her, honey, and 
 that these were your own swate chil- 
 dren ? " 
 
 " Not for a thousand worlds ! " replied 
 Rosanna, with a fresh burst of tears. Oh, 
 Catty, that I should be the one that 's 
 here ; I, who was so proud when I was 
 under her protection." 
 
 "And may be you '11 be agin; don't 
 be cast down, Rosy." 
 
 " The time is clane gone," said Rosan- 
 na, " when I could look the swate lady 
 in the face, with an eye as bright as her 
 own." 
 
 "Is there any thing in the bottle, Ro- 
 sy ? " said Catty, taking it and holding 
 it to the light."
 
 58 ROSANNA; 
 
 " You are welcome to it all," said Ro- 
 sanna. " I wish I never had swallowed 
 a drop." 
 
 " Ye think so now, dear, 'cause you 
 an't a-dry. Well, Lizzy will like a thim- 
 ble-full." , ' 
 
 The poor child raised herself on her 
 elbow, seized the cup, and put it to her 
 parched lips. 
 
 " O, Lizzy, child, it is bad for you," 
 said the mother ; " that doctor that came 
 yesterday to cure you, said you must not 
 drink it." 
 
 " What for did you first give it to me?" 
 said the child reproachfully, " and what 
 for do you drink it yourself? It is good, 
 mammy ; nfore, I want more ! " and she 
 began to cry, and held out her hand. 
 
 " Let her have it," said Catty ; " them 
 doctors don't know every thing; it 's what 
 nature requires." 
 
 " I promised the doctor," said Rosan- 
 na, holding back the cup, which Lizzy 
 still passionately struggled for.
 
 O* SCENES IN BOSTON. 59 
 
 "What of that?" said Catty; "sup- 
 pose you had promised to murder the 
 swate child, would you do it for all that? " 
 
 Rosanna relinquished the cup; wheth- 
 er convinced by Catty's argument, or 
 
 V'.ji* "* tt * x 
 
 overc^mfc l^Ul\.' importunity of the 
 
 g,V| 
 
 child ; at > 'a^.jriaPGifit was the last effort 
 for reform, and wzzy no longer begged 
 in vain.
 
 60 ROSANNA; 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 ; A 
 
 THE INFANTPCHQOL. 
 
 " But chiefly be the labor ours 
 
 To shade the early plant; 
 To guard from ignorance and guilt 
 
 The infancy of want ; 
 To graft the virtues, ere the bud 
 
 The canker-worm has gnawed ; 
 And teach the rescued child to lisp 
 
 Its gratitude to God." 
 
 MRS. MCREE had offered to take 
 Susan and the Cornys, with her own chil- 
 dren ; and tfce little troop stopped at her 
 door. Dora saw at once, that their moth- 
 ers had forgotten to wash their hands 
 and faces, which Mrs. Jones had partic- 
 ularly desired might be done. She there- 
 fore performed this office for them, and 
 they then proceeded to the school. The 

 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 61 
 
 teacher and her assistant came forward 
 to receive them, with winning kindness. 
 It gave the teacher pleasure to see that 
 their faces and hands had been washed ; 
 and, though Susan's clothes, and the Cor- 
 nys' also, were somewhat tattered, had 
 they been clean, she would have felt 
 quite satisfied. In this respect they were 
 like too many of the other children. 
 
 Great compassion should be felt for the 
 mothers, when they tell you the children's 
 clothes cannot be washed, because they 
 have no other suit. But in summer it 
 might be safe to let them go with a very 
 slight covering till that work is accom- 
 plished, which would take but a short 
 time ; and the long evenings of winter 
 would give ample opportunity after the 
 children are in bed. Do not those affec- 
 tionate-mothers, who tell us, "they would 
 lay down their lives for their darlings, 
 and who look with such delight on the 
 swate faces of their children," like better 
 6
 
 62 ROSANNAj 
 
 to see them clean than dirty? And 
 would it not be a satisfaction to them 
 sometimes to put on clean clothes in the 
 morning, which would .contribute so 
 much to the comfort and health of their 
 little ones ? Though water and towels 
 are provided at the school, and the poor 
 neglected ones washed, this might be 
 done more thoroughly at home, before 
 they put on their clothes. There is no 
 one but must feel sympathy with the 
 poverty and hardships with which the 
 Irish have to struggle ; but, the more 
 deeply we sympathize with them, the 
 more earnestly would we recommend 
 every method that may lighten their 
 burdens. 
 
 The children were arranged accord- 
 ing to their ages, on seats one above an- 
 other ; the oldest back, and the youngest 
 on the front benches, giving a fair oppor- 
 tunity of inspecting the whole. When 
 they were in their places tne instruc-
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 63 
 
 tion began. The children were taught 
 to close th$ir. eyes, while they repeated 
 after Miss^ ' * , the teacher, a short 
 and comprehensive. prayer. To Dora's 
 children this was not a new exercise. 
 They had been taught by their mother, 
 that it was their Father in heayen they 
 were addressing ; that he heard and 
 listened to their prayers, when she knelt 
 with them, morning and evening. They 
 found no difficulty in keeping their eyes 
 closed, and their hands clasped, as they 
 reverentially followed the teacher. With 
 the Cornys, and we are sorry to say 
 with Susan, it was a new exercise ; 
 they found it difficult to keep their eyes 
 shut. The teacher was too judicious to 
 notice with harshness ignorant offenders. 
 It was her object to make them under- 
 stand, that they were praying to their 
 Friend and Father, and to make them 
 comprehend how kind and good he is; 
 and this required time. Yet it was mel-
 
 64 ROSANNA; 
 
 ancholy to see the oldest scholar (as 
 Jim was) apparently the most ignorant. 
 Then came the letters, -printed so large 
 that all could see them,.and so on, till 
 words were exhibited. The children 
 all seemed interested, and Susan, who 
 was a bright little girl, was very soon 
 able to call out several letters. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the scholars were 
 allowed a recess ; some provident moth- 
 ers had furnished their children with a 
 piece of bread, an apple, or whatever 
 else was convenient. However hungry 
 might be those who were not thus pro- 
 vided, it was pleasant to see that no evil 
 passions were excited ; it is true they 
 looked wishfully at the others, and some- 
 times begged for a bite, particularly of 
 the apple, which went the round of five 
 or six children. Those who had nothing 
 to eat, made up for it by play. In a short 
 time the children were again collected 
 till the hour of dismissal.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 65 
 
 It is a modern improvement , to teach 
 children their letters at -eigl^^anonths 
 and two years old ; and, wer^fjfa hard 
 exercise for them to learn, ther|f^would 
 be but little use in it. But whef e ( it be- 
 comes a pleasure and amusement for 
 them to go on with the older ones, and 
 they acquire the rudiments of reading 
 without labor, it is surely a gain. Learn- 
 ing, however, is not the object of an 
 infant school; it is to have an asylum 
 for the children while their mothers are 
 at their day labor, or, in many instan- 
 ces, to save them from the melancholy 
 consequences of neglect and bad exam- 
 ple. It is desirable to pause for a mo- 
 ment, and think what a number of chil- 
 dren there are, whose parents are for- 
 eigners, in our city. They will grow up 
 and mingle with Americans, and become 
 a large part of our community. Ought 
 not every measure to be encouraged and 
 aided, that may give them industrious 
 6*
 
 66 ROSANNA; 
 
 and temperate habits ? Is it not an ob- 
 ject to take them from the streets, collect 
 them in a comfortable apartment, and 
 place them under the care of a judicious 
 person during the day ? They can scarce- 
 ly fail of getting some good from such 
 influences. What though they must re- 
 turn to the abodes of wretchedness and 
 poverty at night 1 is it nothing to redeem 
 so many hours from vicious example, 
 often from a neglect and exposure, that 
 make them cripples, and consequently 
 paupers, for life ? Five hundred dollars 
 a year will support an infant school of 
 a hundred children, and fit them for the 
 primary schools, where they may be sent 
 as soon as they are qualified. This is 
 not all; it has been found, in many cases, 
 that the children have produced an in- 
 fluence on their parents. The temperance 
 lectures that they hear at school are art- 
 lessly repeated, at home ; and the parents, 
 in more instances than one, have listened
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 67 
 
 to the wisdom " of babes and sucklings," 
 when their pride would have been roused 
 by a more direct appeal. 
 
 That this influx of Irish must have a 
 good or bad influence, is certain. Those 
 who come here generally bring with them 
 the habits they have formed in the old 
 country ; and it is principally to the young 
 we can look for any change. Is it not a sub- 
 ject worthy of the consideration of wise 
 heads, whether the evil, which now actu- 
 ally exists, and which wears so threaten- 
 ing an aspect for the future, may not be, 
 in some measure, arrested in its prog- 
 ress ? Setting aside the moral influence 
 that might be exerted, for their own 
 sakes, on these unfortunate beings, does 
 it not become an object of self-preserva- 
 tion, to endeavour to remove the evil? 
 As doing something towards it, the Infant 
 School has been established, and it can- 
 not be doubted by those who will take 
 the trouble to look into its operation, and
 
 68 ROSANNA; 
 
 visit the parents in their own abodes, 
 that its success is what was reasonably 
 expected. 
 
 Objections have been made to infant 
 schools, as debarring children from the 
 early freedom and exercise which nature 
 designed for them. They certainly are 
 not intended for those who are born to 
 benign and blessed influences, who have 
 wise and judicious parents to guard 
 them from evil; but they are nurseries 
 for those who have none to take proper 
 care of them, asylums for those who are 
 turned into the street during the day, 
 or locked up in wretched apartments, 
 while their mother is earning their daily 
 bread. They are schools of moral in- 
 struction for those, who are never taught 
 at home, that theft, profaneness, and 
 intemperance are vices; and religious 
 sanctuaries for those, who never hear 
 elsewhere the names of God and Jesus 
 Christ.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 69 
 
 Let us unite with the temperate, the 
 honest, the respectable Irish who dwell 
 in our city, in aiding their countrymen. 
 Few who have intercourse with this 
 class, but will feel how much there is of 
 worth in their characters, and how much 
 good they may do by counsel and ex- 
 ample. The Rev. Mr. Taylor, who dwelt 
 in this city several years, and who trod 
 in the steps of the excellent Bishop 
 Cheverus with the same fidelity and 
 zeal in good works, uniting in himself 
 the Catholicism of a Christian and a 
 love of the human race, gave this tes- 
 timony to his countrymen ; " The vir- 
 tues of the Irish are their own ; their 
 vices are the melancholy effects of cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 To return ; the children came home 
 pleased with the morning; and both 
 Dora and Catty seemed to have gained 
 new impulses from the notice their 
 children had received. The latter con-
 
 TO ROSANNA; 
 
 tinually remarked, that "edication was 
 what she had always been wanting for 
 them, and now they had got it." Dora 
 felt more rationally the good effects that 
 might be derived from having them in 
 safe keeping, while she was able to pur- 
 sue her work ; and, as poor little Lizzy 
 could not be left alone, she formed a 
 very natural plan, that she or Rosanna 
 should take care of the invalid and the 
 twins at the same time, and leave the 
 other mother at liberty to go out to a 
 day's work. All Mrs. Corny's children 
 were old enough for the school, and Jim 
 had even passed the usual age of ad- 
 mittance, and was received only till he 
 could be qualified for one of the prima- 
 ry schools. 
 
 Two or three weeks after the children 
 began to go to school, Dora went one 
 morning into Rosanna's loft. She had 
 not seen her for several days, and was 
 struck with the change in her appear-
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 71 
 
 ance. Lizzy, as usual, was lying on the 
 bed, and her mother by her side; but 
 there was an expression of despair in 
 Rosy's countenance, mixed with a hardy 
 indifference. She knew that Catty's 
 influence was bad, and she determined 
 if possible to rouse Rosanna, to effect a 
 change in her situation, and get her a 
 room separate from Mrs. M c Corny. 
 
 "I have been thinking, dear," she be- 
 gan, " about you and the sick one there, 
 whether we could n't contrive to do 
 better for her. There she lays, from 
 morn to night, and never sees the 
 blessed light of the sun, nor the green 
 trees, nor the waves that are dashing up 
 on the sides of the wharves, nor the 
 white sails that come far over the wa- 
 ters. Them are blessed sights, Rosy, 
 they would do her good. How hot her 
 forehead is ! " said she, laying her hand 
 upon it. 
 
 " Don't talk about them sights," said
 
 72 ROSANNA; 
 
 Rosanna ; " I never want to see 'em 
 again. I never want to see the sun, 
 I never want to see any thing that I 
 used to see when I was young; and 
 when I think of Ballynascrew, my breath 
 stops ; " and she began a low wail, in 
 which the sick child joined. 
 
 " And what is the reason for all that 1 " 
 said Dora, compassionately. "You are 
 but young yet, yourself; and if you 
 would but rouse up, you 'd get many a 
 good day's work, and a better home 
 than this." 
 
 " As how ? " said Rosanna, sitting up 
 on the bed. 
 
 " Oh, Rosy, there it is ; ye must not 
 touch the whisky, nor the rum." 
 
 Rosanna threw herself back. 
 
 "Don't ye know, dear," continued 
 Dora, "you cannot work with the cra- 
 ture in your head ? Now jist try a little 
 bit without it." 
 
 " That is n't it," said Rosanna.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 73 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 " It is two days," replied she, rising, 
 " that I have been going to do jobs at 
 the Boar's Head Tavern, where I '11 get 
 half a dollar for my work ; but what will 
 I do with the helpless one ? " 
 
 " If you do not work and earn money, 
 what will become of her and Susan ? " 
 said Dora. " Catty is getting tired." 
 
 " I know it ; she told me as much," 
 replied Rosanna. Then, passionately 
 striking her hands together, " I '11 tell 
 ye what '11 be the end of it. I will die." 
 
 " Ah ! Rosy," said Dora, " after death 
 comes the judgment. We can't lay 
 down and die, and think it 's all over ; if 
 we could, many 's the time when I 'd ha' 
 been glad to. But morning will come, 
 and we must wake again ; and then we 
 must give an account. Ah, if it was 
 nothing but to die, that would be easy 
 enough, when the poor heart is bursting 
 with grief, and nobody near to say a 
 7
 
 74 ROSANNA; 
 
 word of comfort, and everybody revil- 
 ing you, and only God to know of your 
 innocence." 
 
 Unable to command her emotion, Do- 
 ra's tears flowed fast. 
 
 "You an't that one," said Rosanna, 
 roused to something like interest. 
 
 " But I am, though," said Dora. 
 
 For a moment she was silent. 
 
 "I did not come to talk about myself," 
 she resumed. " I came to take Lizzy, 
 with your lave. It is my home day, and 
 the children are all at school ; and I gave 
 them their dinner, and told them to keep 
 Susan with them ; and so, if you like, I 
 will take Lizzy, and keep her to-day in 
 my own room, and you may have the 
 job at the Boar's Head Tavern. Lizzy, 
 dear," said she kindly, " will you go with 
 aunty Dora, and spend the livelong day 
 with the darling twins. It will do your 
 heart good to see their swate, smiling 
 faces."
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 75 
 
 The little sufferer seemed pleased 
 with the proposal. The idea of change 
 is generally welcome to the sick. There 
 is a restlessness in disease, that is con- 
 stantly looking forward to Change for al- 
 leviation. 
 
 " I will like to go, mammy," said she ; 
 " aunty Dora won't let Jim be plaguing 
 me." 
 
 The mother at first seemed unwilling 
 to accept the offer; but, when Dora said, 
 " Ye will feel better, Rosy, when Satur- 
 day night comes, if ye can pay Catty a 
 trifle," Rosanna ceased to resist, and 
 Mrs. M c Cree, taking the child in her 
 arms, conveyed her to her own neat room. 
 She there placed her on the bed, and 
 supported her comfortably by pillows, a 
 luxury that she had not before known. 
 She breathed a purer and healthier air ; 
 and Dora, who was really a good nurse, 
 supplied her with pleasant and cooling 
 drinks. The gambols and innocent sports
 
 76 EOSANNAj 
 
 of the twins amused and interested her ; 
 and she said two or three times, " Tell 
 mammy Lizzy he's better." 
 
 As soon as Dora had gone, Rosanna 
 put on her cloak to go for the work she 
 had been promised ; but she still loiter- 
 ed away the time. She had debility, as 
 well as habit, to struggle against. At 
 length she heard Mrs. Corny in her 
 room, and this seemed to give her a 
 slight impulse. With languid step she 
 descended. It was about eleven o'clock. 
 Catty had run home, not to look after her 
 children, for they were at school, but to 
 satisfy the craving want generated by 
 habitual intemperance. Of late, she 
 had not been quite so patient with Ro- 
 sanna as formerly. The reflection often 
 crossed her mind, that there was no 
 reason why she should half support her, 
 when she had her own darlings to la- 
 bor for ; but, generally, her Irish good-
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 77 
 
 nature and generosity got the better of 
 these misgivings, and she remembered 
 that poor Lizzy's accident, which had 
 so sadly distressed the mother, "jist 
 come of Jim's roguery; mischievous 
 darling as he was, and as like his father 
 as one pea was like another ; " and she 
 forgot her causes of vexation with Ro- 
 sanna. She had the tin pint at her lips, 
 as Rosy entered. 
 
 " Sit down, awhile, dear," said she ; 
 " I Ve got a swallow left for you." 
 
 Rosanna made a motion with her 
 hand to reject it. 
 
 "I am going out to earn a trifle," said 
 she, " to pay my rent ; for it goes to my 
 heart, that you should have to board me 
 for nothing." 
 
 " Don't think of that, now, dear," said 
 Catty, " but jist take a drop ; you look 
 tired, and it will do ye good of a raw 
 morning." (It happened to be one of 
 the dog-days of August.) 
 7*
 
 78 ROSANNA; 
 
 Thus urged, Rosanna put the mug to 
 her lips, and drank it all. She would 
 have done the same had it been water ; 
 for there was a constant thirst and fever 
 upon her. She then set it down, and 
 rose to go ; but Catty said, " Stop a 
 bit ; I want jist to have a talk about the 
 school. Does your Susan like to go 1 " 
 
 " I believe so," said Rosanna listless- 
 ly ; "I never asked her." 
 
 " Well, my Jim don't ; they plague 
 the darling about getting lessons; he 
 won't go much longer, I can tell 'em, if 
 they don't take care ; he is jist like his 
 father, and they might know it well 
 enough ; he an't the one to stand still 
 and be abused ; if they only coaxed him, 
 he 'd do any thing. Now they comes 
 
 complaining to me If there he an't, 
 
 now ! " 
 
 At that moment Jim came sideling in, 
 looking somewhat ashamed. 
 
 " What are you home here for?" said
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 79 
 
 Catty, catching up a piece of wood, in a 
 threatening attitude. 
 
 Jim evidently did not fear a blow ; he 
 knew his mother's good-nature too 
 well ; but he said in a sullen manner, " I 
 thought, may be you wanted me to go 
 an errand." 
 
 "The darling," said Catty; "that is 
 jist like him. Well, Jim, my boy, the bot- 
 tle is empty, and ye may get it filled." 
 
 The boy took the bottle, and went to 
 do the errand, sure of the reward when 
 he returned. 
 
 Again Rosanna made a motion to go. 
 
 " Now jist wait a bit," said Catty ; 
 " ye '11 want a sip when he comes back. 
 But who is with Lizzy 1 I don't hear 
 her." 
 
 " No," said Rosanna ; " Mrs. M c Cree 
 took her home, and is going to keep 
 her all day, so that I may earn a little 
 money." 
 
 " The kind soul ! " said Catty. " How 
 Jim stays!"
 
 80 ROSANNA; 
 
 "He has but jist gone," said Rosan- 
 na ; <* I can't wait ; it is growing late ; 
 the sunny spot is on the fence." 
 
 Still, however, she made no move- 
 ment. At length Jim returned with the 
 bottle. 
 
 " Now, dear," said his mother, " go 
 back to school." 
 
 " What for will I go?" said he dog- 
 gedly, looking at the bottle. 
 
 Mrs. Corny mixed the draught, which 
 he swallowed. 
 
 " Now, you '11 go, dear, won't you ? " 
 said Catty. 
 
 The boy assented, and returned to 
 the school. 
 
 Again and again the cup was filled 
 and drained, before Rosanna mustered 
 resolution to move. 
 
 "/ must go," said Catty, "for I left 
 my work at sixes and sevens ; but where 
 are you going, Rosy ? " 
 
 "I believe to the Boar's Head Tavern,"
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 81 
 
 . 
 
 said she ; "I wish it was to my grave. 
 I am tired, so tired, I want to lay down 
 and rest." 
 
 " You may lay down on my bed," 
 said Catty. 
 
 " Will I never wake again?" exclaim- 
 ed Rosanna, wildly. 
 
 " O yes ! arter a good nap," replied 
 Catty. 
 
 " If I could go to sleep and never, 
 never wake, it would be something," 
 said Rosanna ; " but Dora JVPCree says 
 you do wake in another world, if you 
 don't in this" 
 
 " How does she know ? " said Catty ; 
 "but don't always be a-talking such 
 melancholy things." 
 
 Rosanna turned full upon her. Prob- 
 ably she felt the rum operating upon her 
 brain. " Catty," said she, " you have 
 been a kind friend to me ; I thank you. 
 Dora M c Cree too has been a kind friend. 
 Tell her to keep poor Lizzy till I come
 
 82 ROSANNA; 
 
 back ; and tell her," added she, with a 
 wild, idiot-like laugh, "to be sure and 
 not let you have Susan." 
 
 With a tottering step she passed out 
 of the door, and, as she went by Dora's 
 window, paused, for she heard the inno- 
 cent voice of Lizzy, cheerfully talking to 
 the twins. She wished to go in, but a 
 sense of shame that she had loitered 
 away so much time, and, perhaps, some 
 consciousness of her half- intoxicated 
 situation, prevented her. She stopped for 
 a moment, clasped her hands in agony, 
 and rushed through the narrow passage. 
 
 "I declare," said Catty, who slowly 
 followed her, " she seems to have gone 
 clane mad." 
 
 Rosanna hastened on, the job at the 
 Boar's Head Tavern still in her mind. It 
 was in the vicinity of Broad Street. 
 When she arrived at the house, they told 
 her she was in no state to work, and 
 advised her to go home and go to sleep.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 83 
 
 They knew her, and felt that vague kind 
 of compassion, which one so young, so 
 frail in her figure, and preserving yet 
 something of the beauty of early inno- 
 cence, naturally excited. But it was a 
 compassion that roused to no exertion. 
 They saw her stagger from the door, 
 and forgot that she was a human being. 
 By this time, her mind was wholly con- 
 fused. She stood for a moment doubtful. 
 "Where will I go?" said she. "To 
 sleep ? Yes ! They all say, Go to sleep" 
 She wandered on, supporting herself by 
 the fences. Finally, she came to a wharf. 
 The sea air seemed to invigorate her for 
 a moment, and she walked with a steadi- 
 er step. Suddenly a faint shriek reach- 
 ed her ear. " It is Lizzy ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " She calls me. Where am 
 I ? " The shriek grew louder, and many 
 hoarse voices mingled with it. It was a 
 Broad Street riot ! Rosanna tried to 
 turn aside, but her senses were bewil-
 
 84 ROSANNA; 
 
 dered. Her last idea was to reach the 
 end of the wharf, and to plunge into the 
 water ! 
 
 In a short time, the riot was quelled 
 by the city authorities that assembled, 
 and all remained as before, except Ro- 
 sanna. She was nowhere to be seen !
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 85 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 There is a death, whose pang 
 Outlasts the fleeting breath; 
 
 O what appalling horrors hang 
 Around the 'second death' ! " 
 
 WHEN the children returned from 
 school, Dora took Susan with Lizzy, 
 who had begun to inquire for her moth- 
 er, though she had not once asked for 
 the quieting medicine which Mrs. Corny 
 so constantly recommended. As it grew 
 night, however, her uneasiness increas- 
 ed. " What for does n't she come?" she 
 perpetually exclaimed. "I want to go 
 home ! I want to be with my mammy !" 
 
 "Do you feel sick, dear?" said Dora 
 tenderly.
 
 86 ROSANNA; 
 
 " Yes," replied the little girl ; " when 
 mammy takes me in her arms, I do not 
 feel sick all over as I do now ; " and she 
 began to cry. 
 
 " She will soon be here," said Dora, 
 "and then you shall go home with her." 
 The children, too, tried to comfort her. 
 Still, however, hour after hour passed, 
 and Rosanna did not appear. The long 
 twilight of summer was vanishing in 
 darkness. Catty returned from her 
 day's work, as usual, with her faculties 
 benumbed by intemperance. But she 
 was a veteran in the cause, and could 
 drink an uncommon quantity. When 
 she found Rosanna's room vacant, she 
 was surprised, and recollected that she 
 had told her, Dora had taken Lizzy for 
 the day. 
 
 She immediately went to Mrs. MCree's 
 to make inquiry, and found she was not 
 there. "Never mind," said she; "may 
 be she 's fallen asleep somewhere. Poor
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 87 
 
 soul ! how she '11 take on, when she wakes 
 up, and misses her darlings ; but it is no 
 great harm done, she can easily find her 
 way home." 
 
 " Did you ever know her to do so 1 " 
 asked Dora. 
 
 " Never," said Catty ; " but I 've 
 known myself to, after a hard day's 
 work ; and it was jist upon the morn, 
 afore I found my way home to the 
 swate darlings. Hark ! it is striking 
 eleven ; she '11 be home soon. I am 
 sure, I can't keep my eyes open any 
 longer, so I '11 jist take the little ones 
 home, and put 'em with mine." 
 
 Dora, however, refused to take them 
 up. She said, "Lizzy was dozing, and 
 seemed easier, and Susan was sound 
 asleep. In the morning she would give 
 them to their mother." 
 
 Dora passed a sad night. If she lost 
 herself in sleep for a few moments, it 
 was to dream of Rosanna. Sometimes
 
 88 ROSANNA; 
 
 she saw her stretched lifeless before her. 
 Then, again, she heard the dreadful sen- 
 tence pronounced; "Depart from me, 
 ye cursed." More than once, she saw 
 her enclosed in the stone walls of the 
 State Prison; she heard the condem- 
 nation, "for life." She saw her agoniz- 
 ed parting with her children ; the iron 
 doors were closing on her for ever, and a 
 voice from the centre of the earth, deep 
 and hollow, sounded in her ears, " Be- 
 'hold the re ward of drunkenness!" Then 
 again her husband was with Rosanna, 
 he to whom her hand and heart were 
 early plighted. She heard her own 
 name called, she could not mistake the 
 voice, it was too familiar to her ear ; 
 " Dora ! Dora ! " Rosanna was wander- 
 ing with him in the green valleys of the 
 Emerald Isle ; her arm was entwined in 
 his. She approached near and felt his 
 breath warm on her cheek ; she started 
 and awoke !
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 89 
 
 It was a tribute to Rosanna's amiable 
 disposition and natural gifts, that she at- 
 tached all around her. Dora had felt a 
 warm interest in her welfare, from the 
 time she had first known her. Catty 
 had loved her, as if she had been her 
 own child. But these were obscure and 
 helpless women. They could do but 
 little to aid her. One had been plung- 
 ing her into an abyss of misery, by ex- 
 ample and precept ; and Dora felt, that 
 perhaps she might have done more to 
 save her from ruin. 
 
 " I have dreamt a dreadful dream," 
 thought she, as she roused up. " Thank 
 God, it was but a dream ! I '11 not try 
 to sleep again ;" and she wiped the cold 
 dew from her forehead, arose and dress- 
 ed herself, and leaned over her children. 
 " Ah ! sleep on, my darlings," said she ; 
 "never may you know such sleep as 
 mine ! " 
 
 " Mammy ! rum ! give me rum ! " 
 8*
 
 90 ROSANNA; 
 
 murmured Lizzy. Dora put a cooling 
 draught to her lips, and the child swal- 
 lowed it without seeming to awake. 
 Alas ! to this innocent one, for many, 
 many nights, such poison as she called 
 for had been administered, and she had 
 taken it, all unconscious of crime. Oh, 
 how light is the sin, which destroys the 
 body, compared to that which kills the 
 soul. 
 
 When morning dawned, Dora awoke 
 Catty. No news had been heard of 
 Rosanna, and Mrs. Corny set off to 
 make inquiries at the Boar's Head Tav- 
 ern. The people there could tell but 
 little. " Rosanna had come," they said, 
 " to work, but she was in a state of in- 
 toxication, and they had advised her to 
 go home and sleep it off. Where she 
 went, they knew not." One little boy 
 said, " he saw her going down on that 
 wharf." Catty immediately took his di- 
 rection, and went to look for her, fully
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 91 
 
 believing, that she might still be sleeping 
 in some retired spot, sheltered by boards 
 or piles of wood. Her search was fruit- 
 less. She went quite to the end of the 
 wharf, and looked down upon the water. 
 An indistinct idea crossed her mind, that 
 Rosanna had drowned herself. She re- 
 membered her parting message to Dora ; 
 "Tell her to keep Lizzy till I come 
 back." 
 
 " Ah ! sure, and it is so," said she ; 
 " ogh wirrastreu ! ogh wirrastreu ! " 
 
 Again she leaned over and looked into 
 the water, as if expecting to see the 
 floating corpse of her friend. How pure 
 and beautiful was that mirror, reflecting 
 the heavens above ! A gentle breeze 
 stole over the waters. Charlestown, with 
 its spires and monument; East Boston, 
 with its hotel, villas, and cottages ; Fort 
 Strong and Fort Independence, with the 
 countless islands of the far-spreading 
 bay, met the eye ; and, included in the
 
 92 ROSANNA; 
 
 panorama rose the noble buildings at 
 South Boston, splendid abodes of hu- 
 man misery ! 
 
 All this Catty heeded not ; she turn- 
 ed recklessly away ; but suddenly a far 
 different sight attracted her attention. 
 It was a small shoe, that lay near the 
 edge of the wharf, worn down at the 
 heel, and evidently had only been kept 
 on the foot by a red string. She turned 
 pale ; it was Rosanna's shoe. She could 
 have sworn to it among a hundred; 
 there was the red string she had seen 
 her fasten to the shoe. It was some 
 time before she was able to move. This 
 she considered demonstration; "Rosy 
 had drowned herself!" With the shoe 
 in her hand, she returned to Dora's 
 dwelling, to tell the melancholy tale. 
 The children, who were sleeping in the 
 other room, had not yet awoke ; and 
 Dora tried to silence Catty's excla- 
 mations of grief. " She did not think
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 93 
 
 it was a proof, that she had drowned 
 herself; for why should she take off 
 her shoe? Besides, the string was 
 broken ; she might have lost it, or 
 it might not be hers. She did not 
 think it was," she said; "it was too small 
 for a grown woman's shoe." But Catty 
 protested, that " Rosy's foot was no big- 
 ger than an infant's." The voice of 
 Lizzy summoned Dora to her bed- 
 side, with the shoe still in her hand. 
 As soon as the child saw it, she 
 exclaimed, " Mammy's shoe ! " and 
 held out her little, emaciated hand, to 
 receive it, covered it with kisses, and 
 placed it in her bosom. Many a time, 
 through the day, she wailed and mourn- 
 ed for her mother. Susan, too, had her 
 *" crying spells " ; but Rosanna came not. 
 Day after day passed, and no tidings 
 could be learned of the miserable woman. 
 Many inquiries were made among the 
 people of their own class; but no light was
 
 94 ROSANNAj 
 
 thrown on the affair. And Catty said, 
 "No wonder, for death told no tales." 
 Once, she proposed having a wake for 
 Rosanna ; but Dora received the pro- 
 posal with such evident indignation, that 
 she said no more about it. 
 
 Childhood is easily reconciled to 
 change ; its tears are soon dried for 
 the dearest friend that God has given 
 it, a mother ! Catty, in the fulness 
 of her heart, had told Dora of Ro- 
 sanna's last words ; and Dora declared, 
 that she would adopt the children, and 
 bring them up, with her own, in the 
 fear of God. Susan ceased to talk of 
 her mother ; she was naturally a gay 
 and happy child. She " loved Aunty 
 Dora and her new sisters dearly " ; and 
 she said, " Pat was a kind little brother ; 
 and not only did not tease her himself, 
 but would not let Jim Corny." 
 
 And could Lizzy, who was a year 
 older than Susan, thus easily forget her
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 95 
 
 mother ? Oh, no ! Sickness had ma- 
 tured her sensibilities ; she had always 
 slept on her mother's arm ; and never 
 had she given indications of pain, but 
 Rosanna had roused herself, however 
 deadly was the draught of the evening 
 before. 
 
 Can a mother forget her babe ? Poor 
 Rosanna ! she had forgotten herself, 
 her best and highest interests, her du- 
 ty to God and to society ; but she 
 had been true to maternal affection. 
 She had watched and wept over her 
 children ; she had put aside for them 
 the untasted meal, for which she was 
 famishing. Weary, exhausted, and sick, 
 she had labored for them. But one 
 duty she had wholly neglected ; she 
 had never prayed for them ! How 
 should she ? she, who never prayed for 
 herself! It was here the enemy found 
 entrance, and, in the fatal draught, ad- 
 ministered his poison.
 
 96 ROSANNA; 
 
 Lizzy felt for her mother a love, that 
 time could not extinguish. Sometimes, 
 when allusion was made to her, she 
 said, " I don't love to talk of my moth- 
 er, because it makes me cry." But, 
 amidst her tears, she renewed the sub- 
 ject, and covered the shoe, that she al- 
 ways kept by her side, with kisses. 
 
 God is merciful; we may trust in him, 
 though his blessings are not given like 
 ours. The mother of the little sufferer 
 was removed ; but, in Dora, He had 
 given her a truer friend. Her excellent 
 nursing, and experience in sickness, did 
 wonders for Lizzy. The Dispensary 
 Doctor attended her daily. His pre- 
 scriptions were faithfully followed, and 
 the little girl was again able to take the 
 fresh air. 
 
 Sometimes, Dora took her in her 
 arms, and carried her down to the 
 wharf, that very wharf, so memorable 
 to Catty. The child loved the sight,
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 97 
 
 and the sea air strengthened her. Her 
 imagination seemed disproportioned to 
 her years. Once she exclaimed, "I 
 see her ! I see her ! In that beautiful 
 vessel, with the white sails ; she comes 
 over the waters to take me with her." 
 
 " Ah, dear ! " said Dora, " may be it 
 is the Blessed Virgin that you see." 
 
 " No ! " said Lizzy, " it is my own 
 dear mother. But it is not there now ; 
 ah ! the waters have gone over it ! " 
 
 And how was Dora to provide for 
 two more mouths? and how support 
 the expenses of attending Lizzy's sick- 
 ness 1 This was, sometimes, an anxious 
 thought with her ; but she was not cast 
 down, for she trusted in God. 
 
 The Infant School had been an un- 
 speakable relief to her, and Lizzy had 
 got so well, that she could leave the 
 twins under her care. It was a family 
 of love, and Dora's conduct had proved, 
 that she was " a poor wise woman." 
 9
 
 98 ROSANNA; 
 
 We must now look in upon Catty. 
 The first week or two, after Rosan- 
 na's absence, was devoted by her to 
 weeping, wailing, and drinking. She 
 was roused from this state by a visit 
 from the school -mistress, who came to 
 inform her, that Jim's habits were such, 
 that, unless some change could be effect- 
 ed, he could no longer remain at school. 
 
 "You probably are not aware," said 
 she, " that he is half the time in a state 
 of intoxication, which renders him in- 
 capable of getting lessons. It was not 
 immediately, that we discovered the 
 cause of his dulness, and my assistant 
 has taken more pains with him than with 
 any other scholar. If you can prevent 
 this habit, we are still willing to try to 
 fit him for the primary school." 
 
 Catty listened with astonishment ; she 
 could scarcely believe her own ears. 
 She had considered it a particular favor 
 to the school and the school-mistress, that
 
 OE SCENES IN BOSTON. 99 
 
 Jim had attended it on any terms ; and, 
 in her zeal, she confessed, that she was 
 in the constant habit of hiring him to go, 
 " with a drink" morning and afternoon. 
 She said " they need not trouble them- 
 selves, for Jimmy would be glad enough 
 not to go ; it was pretty dull work, for 
 such a spry boy as he was, to sit on a 
 bench all day ; and what 's more, he 
 would n't do it if she did not give him 
 a thimble-full to make him a little bit 
 sleepy." 
 
 After trying, in vain, to make her 
 comprehend the evil done to the boy, 
 the point was given up. Mrs. Corny 
 said, " Mary and Betsey might still go if 
 they were a mind to ;" and the school- 
 mistress left the house with the painful 
 conviction, that the earnest desire of 
 doing good to the unfortunate boy must 
 be her only reward. Let us remember, 
 with deep humility, that our heavenly 
 Father does not proportion his benefits 
 to our grateful reception of them; that
 
 100 ROSANNAj 
 
 he is patient and long-suffering; and let 
 this be the great rule of our benevo- 
 lence. 
 
 Often, from what appears unmixed 
 evil, partial good arises. The teacher 
 became now fully aware of Mrs. Cor- 
 ny's habits, and turned her attention to- 
 wards the other two unfortunate chil- 
 dren. The impression was strong, that 
 she had made upon their young and 
 flexible minds ; and the pathos and 
 sweetness of Mary's voice, when she 
 sung the following little hymn, used in 
 the school, was very touching. 
 
 " Oh touch it not, oh touch it not ! 
 
 For God hath said 't is sin. 
 Those who drink from the fatal bowl, 
 Feel grief and woe within. 
 
 " Oh taste it not, oh taste it not, 
 
 'T will take your sense away ; 
 'T will make you poor, and wretched too, 
 And lead to death the way."
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 101 
 
 It soon became evident, that Mary 
 was a child of unusual sensibility and 
 quickness of mind. When she was told 
 of the ruin and misery produced by rum, 
 she once involuntarily said, " Oh, I will 
 tell my mother." She often sung the 
 little hymn at home, and sometimes let 
 fall what she had learned at school, of 
 the sin and misery produced by intem- 
 perance. Such is the power of virtuous 
 truth, that Mrs. Corny felt abashed be- 
 fore her own infant child. Would that 
 we could say, she ceased to drink ; but 
 she drank less; for she became ashamed 
 of the draught, when the innocent eye of 
 the child was fixed upon her. She no 
 longer offered her children the thimble- 
 full at the bottom of the cup ; for Mary 
 said it was poison ! 
 
 Poor Jim ! we fear he was a lost one. 
 Not long after he had quitted school, 
 he was detected in thieving on one of 
 9*
 
 102 ROSANNA; 
 
 the wharves, and conveyed to the House 
 for Juvenile Offenders. 
 
 We must now renew our acquain- 
 tance, slight as it was, with Mrs. Jones. 
 After she had visited the families in the 
 yard, and given them the opportunity 
 of sending their children to the Infant 
 School, she ceased to think much upon 
 the subject ; yet the image of Susan and 
 the little suffering Lizzy, with the young 
 and destitute mother, sometimes crossed 
 her mind. She wondered how they 
 went on, and would have given them 
 money, if she had not known that it 
 would be an injury to them. One day, 
 however, on visiting the Infant School 
 again, she was struck with Susan's bloom- 
 ing, happy face, with her glossy, light- 
 brown hair, neatly braided, and tied up at 
 the sides with bows of blue ribbon; and 
 she remembered the contrast of her shab- 
 by, ragged appearance, when she first 
 saw her. She called the child to her, and
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 103 
 
 questioned her about her mother. Su- 
 san's answers were as indistinct as her 
 knowledge. She said, " she went away 
 and did not come back, but sent Lizzy 
 her shoe ; and it slept with Lizzy every 
 night ; and Lizzy cried because she 
 was drownded" 
 
 Mrs. Jones's curiosity was again 
 awakened, and once more she deter- 
 mined to visit the yard. Susan natural- 
 ly led her to Aunt Dora's ten-foot build- 
 ing. She there heard the melancholy 
 story of Rosanna's disappearance. 
 
 " Do you think," said Mrs. Jones, 
 " that she drowned herself 1 " 
 
 " No ! ma'am," said Dora, " I can't 
 think she was left to it, and to throw 
 her children upon the wide world. But 
 a blessing has come to me along with 
 'em. I never had such good day's-works 
 and ready pay, as since she drownded 
 herself."
 
 104 ROSANNA; 
 
 " Then you think she did," said Mrs. 
 Jones. 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I can't think so ; but I 
 may as well say that as any thing else." 
 
 " What was the story Susan told me 
 about the mother's sending Lizzy her 
 shoe?" 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, she 's but a child ; she 
 did n't mean to deceive you. No, 
 ma'am ! Mrs. Corny found the shoe, and 
 that 's what makes her think poor Rosy 
 was drownded ; more particularly, as we 
 never heard a word about her from that 
 day to this." 
 
 Mrs. Jones determined to go and see 
 Mrs. Corny, and make more inquiries. 
 She fortunately found her at home, and 
 less besotted by drink than usual. She 
 very willingly told all she knew, and 
 repeated Rosanna's last conversation. 
 
 " I feel deeply interested," said Mrs. 
 Jones, " in the fate of this poor woman." 
 
 " I knew you would," replied Catty ;
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 105 
 
 " I told her so ; but when I offered to 
 go and tell you, she took on like a mad 
 creature, and said, your eyes was so 
 bright she could not bear to see 'em." 
 
 " This is very strange," said Mrs. 
 Jones. 
 
 " Varry, indeed, ma'am," said Catty ; 
 " for if she 'd only told you about it, I 
 was sure you 'd ha' helped her." 
 
 " About what ? " asked Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " Why, about her and Jerry's first 
 stopping with you." 
 
 The truth at once flashed across Mrs. 
 Jones's mind. " This was Rosanna, 
 then," said she ; " the pretty, modest 
 Irish girl that lived with me ? " 
 
 " The varry same, ma'am." 
 
 " No wonder that I did not know her, 
 so changed ! and yet there was some- 
 thing that reminded me of somebody I 
 had seen before. And Susan, too ; she 
 is the image of what her mother once 
 was."
 
 106 ROSANNA; 
 
 " Grief changes us all," said Catty ; 
 "I am as much changed as Rosanna. 
 I have had great trouble since you was 
 here. You remember my Jim, ma'am ; 
 a handier and a better boy there never 
 was born ; but they Ve dragged him off 
 yonder, only for taking a handful of 
 nuts ; " and she began sobbing and 
 wailing. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, after ascertaining the little 
 she could about poor Rosanna, went im- 
 mediately herself, to the Boar's Head 
 Tavern. Her errand was one of mercy ; 
 and she did not stop to think "what 
 folks would say" 
 
 By this prompt step she gained some 
 information that might be important. 
 The boy, who saw her go down to the 
 wharf, remembered there was a riot soon 
 after. With this intelligence she re- 
 turned home.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 107 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Fill our souls with heavenly light, 
 Banish doubt and clear our sight; 
 In thy service, Lord, to-day, 
 May we work, and watch, and pray." 
 
 MRS. JONES'S interest with regard to 
 Rosanna's fate was now fully excited. 
 All her good qualities, which had made 
 her unwilling to part with her, rose to 
 her mind. Both she and her husband 
 were aware, that two young foreigners, 
 in a strange land, stood a poor chance 
 of earning enough to support the addi- 
 tional expenses of a family. Mr. Jones 
 advised them to deposit all the wages 
 they could spare in the Savings Bank; 
 and at the end of two years, if they be-
 
 108 ROSANMA; 
 
 haved well during that time, he promised 
 to give his consent to their marriage, and 
 to put them in a way of useful and steady 
 labor. Jerry was overcome with this 
 kind advice, and acknowledged its wis- 
 dom with tears in his eyes, and said " he 
 desired nothing better." Rosanna, to 
 the same representation, made by Mrs. 
 Jones, replied, " that it was n't her doings 
 about being married ; that she was quite 
 contented as she was, and never so hap- 
 py nor so well off before; and if it was n't 
 that Jerry would be offended, she should 
 like to live with her, (if Jerry could drive 
 the carriage,) till the day of her death." 
 One month after, they were married ! 
 We need not go over the fatal termina- 
 tion of this union ; it has been already 
 told. Jerry's habits soon became those 
 of confirmed intemperance, and Mr. 
 Jones saw him no more. 
 
 When his wife mentioned to him Rosan- 
 na's disappearance, his humane feelings 
 were engaged on the subject. He did
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 109 
 
 not believe that she had put an end to 
 her existence ; and, with the little infor- 
 mation that his wife had gained, be be- 
 gan his investigation. 
 
 In the mean time, Mrs. Jones contin- 
 ued her visits to Dora. Lizzy, though 
 still emaciated, was far more comfortable 
 than could have been expected. She 
 was able to assist Mrs. M c Cree in some 
 of her household cares and gave evi- 
 dence of a maturity of mind beyond her 
 years. 
 
 " Would you believe it, ma'am," said 
 Dora, " she can read better than them 
 that 's a-going every day to school." 
 
 " And an't that," said Lizzy, " 'cause 
 of Mary Corny ? She is so kind to me, 
 she comes arter school, and tells me over 
 all the lessons ; and when Betsey and 
 Susan and the others are playing, she 
 comes and sits with me. She knows 
 every thing. Would you like," said she, 
 " to hear the little hymn she taught me." 
 10
 
 110 ROSANNA; 
 
 Mrs. Jones assented ; and, with a low, 
 sweet voice, the child began. 
 
 " Come, said Jesus' sacred voice, 
 
 Come, and make my paths your choice ; 
 I will guide you to your home ; 
 Little children, hither come." 
 
 She stopped, and pressed her hand 
 upon her side. "I can't sing but one 
 verse at a time," said she ; " it makes me 
 have a pain." 
 
 "Ma'am," said Dora, " she is a sur- 
 prising child ; I don't think she 's long 
 for this world. Do, Lizzy, sing that song 
 you made about your mother." 
 
 "I have tried," said she, "but it won't 
 sing like the hymns Mary teaches me ; 
 I will say it." 
 
 " There was a sick child who had only one 
 
 mother, 
 
 And she loved her dearly, dearly, dearly ; 
 But the mother 's dead, she went away, 
 When the mother 's gone, what for does the 
 
 sick child stay ! "
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. HI 
 
 Lizzy's sobs were audible when she 
 finished her verse. 
 
 " She 's all the time making them kind 
 of songs about her mother," said Dora. 
 " Sometimes I '11 hear her in the dead of 
 the night ; and if any body goes to take 
 the shoe away from her, if she 's sound 
 asleep, she wakes right up." 
 
 " God has given you the opportunity 
 of doing great good to these poor chil- 
 dren," said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " God has always been good to me," 
 said Dora. "Ah ! it is better to be in 
 God's hands, than to fall into the hands 
 of man." 
 
 " I hope," said Mrs. Jones, " you have 
 experienced no unkindness from your 
 fellow men." 
 
 " Lizzy," said Dora, " the lady don't 
 want you any more ; jist go into t'other 
 room to the twins." 
 
 "Now, ma'am," said she, when they 
 were alone, "I will jist say one word
 
 112 ROSANNA; 
 
 about myself, though I don't mane to 
 trouble you. You see me here a poor, 
 lonely widow." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "Well, for all that, ma'am, I have a 
 husband living." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Mrs. Jones, with sur- 
 prise, " where is he ? " 
 
 " Now that 's jist the thing, ma'am, 
 you must n't ask me, 'cause it is n't hon- 
 est nor respectable to be telling you." 
 
 "I cannot believe," said Mrs. Jones, 
 " that one who so faithfully fulfils her 
 duties, as you do to your own children 
 and these poor devoted ones, and who 
 seems to be a pious Christian, can be 
 wanting in the duties of a wife." 
 
 " There 's things that a body can't 
 talk about," said Dora, " 'cause it '11 do 
 no good, and it 's no matter ; for God 
 knows all, and God 's our judge in heav- 
 en, though man 's our judge on earth.
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 113 
 
 Ah ! ma'am, my husband is in prison for 
 life ! " 
 
 " For what crime ? " said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "It is a long and a sad story, and may 
 be ye would n't think him so much to 
 blame, if I was to tell it ; but I can't, I 
 can't," said she, pressing her hand to her 
 forehead. 
 
 " If I cannot be of any service to you, 
 you are right not to talk on a subject 
 that seems to distress you so much," 
 said Mrs. Jones kindly ; " but there is 
 one thing in which I can help you ; I will 
 pay for the board of these poor children." 
 
 It is unnecessary to say, that Dora 
 thankfully accepted the offer, though she 
 had so cheerfully adopted them without 
 the prospect of recompense. 
 
 Another week passed away. One 
 evening, after the children were all 
 asleep, Dora heard a low tap at the door. 
 Catty often came in to sit an hour, and 
 Mrs. M c Cree encouraged her to do so, in 
 10*
 
 114 ROSANNAj 
 
 the hope of doing her good by friendly 
 advice. She saw at once, however, when 
 a woman entered, that it was not Catty. 
 The woman sat down, as if unable to 
 stand, and threw back her hood. 
 
 " God above ! it 's Rosy ! " exclaimed 
 Dora. 
 
 "Yes, it is she herself," said Rosan- 
 na ; " are my darlings well ? " 
 
 "You may see 'em with your own 
 eyes in the t'other room," said Dora. 
 "Ah! Rosy, you want the comfort of 
 their swate faces, I see by your own 
 pale one." 
 
 " I will jist look upon 'em," said Ro- 
 sanna ; and in a moment she was by 
 their side. 
 
 What shall restrain a mother's love 1 
 She had meant not to wake them ; but 
 in a moment her arms were folded round 
 Lizzy, and her tears falling like rain. 
 "My child ! my child!" was all she could 
 utter. Lizzy opened her eyes, and im-
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 115 
 
 mediately knew her mother. She laid 
 her little head on her bosom. 
 
 " Have you come for me ? we will go 
 together," said she. " Now I am happy." 
 
 That night Rosanna, feeble and ex- 
 hausted, parted not from her children, 
 but slept between them, with an arm 
 round each, and Lizzy closely pressed 
 to her bosom. 
 
 Dora, once in the night, went from her 
 own bed to look upon them. There 
 were the lines of deep suffering on Ro- 
 sanna's face. She was greatly emaciat- 
 ed; but still the expression was sweet 
 and tranquil. Earnestly Dora prayed, 
 that no new tale of horror or guilt might 
 meet her ear. Yet where could she have 
 been thus long? 
 
 In the morning the violence of Rosan- 
 na's emotions were past. The children 
 were sent to school, and Lizzy, full of 
 happiness, was watching over the twins. 
 In a low voice Rosanna related to Dora 
 her story.
 
 116 ROSANNA; 
 
 " Where will I begin?" said she. " I 
 have not courage ; you will cast me off!" 
 
 " Rosy," said Dora, " by this blessed 
 crucifix," and she pulled it from her bo- 
 som and pressed it to her lips, " if ye 
 come innocent, if ye 've not gone hand 
 in hand with guilt and infamy, if ye have 
 not," said she, hesitatingly, " trusted to 
 the tender mercies of your fellow men, I 
 will never cast ye off. If ye J ve a tale of 
 guilt and misconduct to reveal, tell it not 
 to me ; but leave your innocent children 
 here, for them / never will cast off" 
 
 " You give me courage to tell my sto- 
 ry," said Rosanna, "for God has pre- 
 served me from the guilt you mane. 
 I remember, arter I left the Boar's 
 Head Tavern, I thought Lizzy was cry- 
 ing for me. I wanted to go home ; but 
 I had been drinking rum with Catty. 
 My senses were all in a whirl. I missed 
 the way, and went down the wharf ; the 
 air was fresh, and the sea came foaming
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 117 
 
 up, jist as when I came in the ship from 
 Ireland. I wanted to be on the waves. 
 I thought I would jump into them, and 
 then I remembered what you said, Do- 
 ra ; 'After death comes the judg- 
 ment ; ' and I was afraid. Jist then, 
 there came a great screaming and shout- 
 ing ; somebody laid, hold of me ; I tried 
 to get away. I did n't know any more 
 then, nor a great while arter. One morn- 
 ing, I waked up ; I believed I had 
 been asleep. I was all alone in a little 
 room, with only one bed. I called my 
 children ; they were not there. Pres- 
 ently, two men came in ; one said, ' She 
 is better ; she has found her senses.' 
 I asked where I was ; and he said, 
 ' You are sick ; I am the doctor come 
 to see you ; behave well, and no harm 
 shall come to you.' Oh, Dora ! where 
 do you think I was ? In the House of 
 Correction ! Yes, they had put me 
 there, with them that was in the riot.
 
 118 ROSANNA; 
 
 I need not tell you any more about 
 that ; 'cause I don't know. Mrs. Jones 
 will tell you all." 
 
 " Mrs. Jones ! " said Dora, surprised ; 
 " why, how does she know ? " 
 
 " She found out all about it, and come 
 to see me ; and it is owing to her, that 
 I am. here. I was condemned to six 
 months' labor in the House of Cor- 
 rection. That was the sentence ; but it 
 an't but two since I went away." 
 
 Mr. Jones had been indefatigable in 
 tracing out the fate of Rosanna. This, 
 he at length accomplished. She had 
 been taken up as one of the rioters. 
 After a careful examination, but little ev- 
 idence could be obtained with regard to 
 her. The excessive quantity of rum she 
 had taken had stupefied her senses. 
 On the score of drunkenness, no evi- 
 dence was wanting. She could give no 
 account of herself, or of her place of resi- 
 dence; and, when questioned as to her
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 119 
 
 name, she sometimes called herself Liz- 
 zy, and sometimes Rosanna. Her in- 
 capacity of answering questions was 
 ascribed to sullenness and guilt. She 
 was sentenced to six months' impris- 
 onment for drunkenness. When she 
 was conveyed to the House of Correc- 
 tion, her illness soon became apparent. 
 She was in a high fever, that had set- 
 tled on the brain. Amidst the wander- 
 ings of her reason, it was evident, that 
 she was not a hardened offender; but 
 the sin of drunkenness had been fully 
 proved against her; and this rendered 
 her a fit subject for the place. When 
 she was well enough to work, she was 
 put into the work-room. She was si- 
 lent, retired, and obedient. She re- 
 fused all association with the miserable 
 women around her, whose language 
 shocked and terrified her. In this state, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jones found her; and, 
 through their testimony, she was re- 
 leased.
 
 120 ROSANNA; 
 
 The two months, that Rosanna had 
 been debarred from liquor, were salu- 
 tary to her mind. She realized, to what 
 this dreadful habit had brought her; 
 how near she had been to death, by 
 intoxication. Nor was there wanting 
 pious counsel, to those who would lis- 
 ten ; for the Sundays were days of re- 
 ligious instruction. Oh! would to God, 
 that our prisons might become places 
 of reform, rather than punishment ! 
 Solemn, though secret, were her reso- 
 lutions never again to put the poison to 
 her lips, in any form whatever. 
 
 Nobody rejoiced more sincerely than 
 Catty in Rosanna's return ; which she 
 would gladly have celebrated in her 
 usual way, by a thimble-full. When she 
 found, that her entreaties were declined, 
 she told her, " her room was all ready, 
 jist as she left it ; and she never would 
 ask her for a cent of pay, she was so 
 glad to get her dear Rosy back."
 
 * 
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 121 
 
 " I thank you more than I can say," 
 replied Rosanna, " for all your kind af- 
 fection to me. You took me up when I 
 was houseless and nobody minded me ; 
 but, oh ! Catty, when ye meant to be 
 kind, ye've been cruel. But ye are 
 more cruel to yourself and your inno- 
 cent ones. Oh ! dear, dear Catty ! let 
 us both resolve never to touch the poi- 
 son, never to let it enter our dwellings. 
 Will ye not join me, dear, dear friend, 
 in a solemn resolution ? " 
 
 " I can't," said Catty. 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Rosanna. 
 
 " Because, dear, I would n't kape it. 
 It 's now more than ten years, that I 've 
 known the cratur; and I can't give it 
 up. I am poor, and have no friends ; 
 and sometimes my children are crying 
 for bread, and I can't get a day's work ; 
 and the cratur's my comfort." 
 
 " Oh, Catty ! and what makes ye poor ? 
 what made me so, but that same cratur ? 
 11
 
 122 ROSANNA; 
 
 and what makes us friendless, but 
 that ? " 
 
 " Well ! say no more about it now, 
 dear; I must tell you all about poor 
 Jim." And the sad story was again re- 
 peated. 
 
 Rosanna listened with the most heart- 
 felt sympathy to Catty's trouble. 
 
 "Do ye not see," said she, "that if 
 Jim had been going steady to school, he 
 would not have been in the way of 
 staling?" py 
 
 "Now who would call taking a hand- 
 ful of nuts, staling ? " said Catty. " As 
 for his not going to school, it all comes 
 of their doings ; if they had n't worried 
 the poor boy about lessons and all that, 
 and had coaxed him a little, as I told 'em 
 to their faces, they might have had him 
 now ; as for his liking a little bit of a drink 
 when he was a-dry, I wonder where was 
 the harm of that ? " 
 
 " Oh, Catty ! do ye not see the harm
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 123 
 
 of that! Have you not seen it in me? 
 Was n't I once so different from what I 
 am now ? " 
 
 " Rosy," said Catty, with as much re- 
 sentment as her habitual good-nature 
 would allow, " I don't take it kind in you 
 to be praching to me in this way. I get 
 enough of that from the priest, which is 
 the great rason I never mind to go near 
 him ; and now I must say, that I don't 
 think it quite handsome in you to take 
 the very words out of his mouth and 
 throw 'em at me." 
 
 "I never heard him say a word to 
 you," said Rosanna, " in all my life." 
 
 "How should you?" said Catty, 
 " when I have n't been near him before 
 the time you come here. But I minded 
 what he said to me when I saw him last ; 
 jist what you did, about the cratur's 
 making me poor and frindless." 
 
 " And is n't it all true ? " said Rosan- 
 na, " and has n't it brought me to the
 
 
 
 124 ROSANNA; 
 
 House of Correction, and what has n't it 
 done for poor Jim 1 Oh ! Catty, may be 
 I should n't have the resolution I feel 
 now, like the little hymn your swate 
 Mary sings, to ' taste it not,' if it was n't 
 for my darlings." 
 
 "May be you '11 alter your mind," 
 said Catty. 
 
 " God will help me to keep it," replied 
 Rosanna, " if I pray to him morning and 
 night." 
 
 "But you '11 grow sleepy, and then 
 you wont think of praying," said Catty. 
 " Sometimes when I come home after a 
 day's work, I lay down anywhere, and 
 sleep so sound I don't remember any 
 thing." 
 
 " Oh, Catty ! " said Rosanna, I know 
 what them deep sleeps mane, I have 
 had 'em too often, they an't the natu- 
 ral, healthy sleep that God sends after a 
 day's honest labor. No wonder they
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 125 
 
 make us forget to pray to him, when we 
 forget our own children." 
 
 "Nobody can say that of me," said 
 Catty, "for I am always a-thinking of 
 'em. And I have n't had a moment's 
 comfort since they carried off my darling 
 Jim." 
 
 " Ye must hope," said Rosanna, " that 
 he will be better for it ; it may be the 
 manes of saving him from thieving." 
 
 Who 'd think," said Catty, " that 
 you bore such a grudge to poor Jim, all 
 for his happening to break Lizzy's collar- 
 bone, when it was a mere accident." 
 
 " You do me wrong, Catty," replied 
 Rosanna meekly. "I bear no grudge 
 to Jim ; I was more to blame than he, for 
 leaving her ; but my punishment is 
 heavy, she can never be well again." 
 Her tears fell abundantly as she spoke, 
 and Catty forgot her resentment at once. 
 
 "May be you would not like it," said 
 she, " if I was to offer you a thimble-full 
 11*
 
 126 ROSANNA; 
 
 now ; but any time, Rosy, when you feel 
 a-dry, if I have any, you are welcome to 
 it." 
 
 It seems to be the order of Provi- 
 dence, that we should be admonished 
 through our very transgressions. The 
 distrust that Catty so evidently felt of 
 Rosanna's persevering in her resolution, 
 made the latter more vigilant and watch- 
 ful over herself. The future prospect was 
 still dark for her. Her health was fee- 
 ble, and her chance of earning a decent 
 living, precarious ; yet she steadily de- 
 termined not to return to her former 
 abode, or put herself in the way of 
 temptation. Mrs. Jones, after weighing 
 the matter in her own mind, proposed 
 taking her for a time into her family as 
 a chambermaid ; there she would not 
 only be removed from former influences, 
 but be in the way of recovering her ear- 
 ly habits of neatness and industry. It 
 was a hard struggle for Rosanna to part
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 127 
 
 from Lizzy, even for a few months ; but 
 Mrs. Jones was fully convinced, that, for 
 the present, both she and Susan would 
 be better off under Dora's care, who 
 considered the money for the children's 
 board a God-send. 
 
 There are virtues which are sure of 
 finding their reward on earth, such as 
 temperance, industry, meekness, and 
 compassion. On these our Saviour has 
 pronounced his blessing. But it is not 
 on earth that we are to look for exemp- 
 tion from suffering. Poor Dora! it had 
 come to her through the misconduct 
 of her nearest friend ; and, though it 
 was a sorrow hard to bear, it was not 
 mingled with the most bitter of all afflic- 
 tions, remorse. She had the serenity 
 of a. conscience at peace, and this dif- 
 fused an atmosphere of love and peace 
 around her. 
 
 Lizzy's health improves under the af- 
 fectionate and judicious care of aunt
 
 128 ROSANNA; 
 
 Dora ; Rosanna has the privilege of pass- 
 ing many hours with her children. She 
 has laid aside her cap, her hair is neatly 
 combed and braided, and her cloak now 
 is only worn for comfort and warmth, 
 and not to conceal a dirty or shabby 
 dress. Any one who may chance to 
 meet her in the street, would say at 
 once, "That is a neat, industrious, tem- 
 perate Irish woman ; would that the old 
 country would send us many such ! " 
 
 We hope those who have gone along 
 with us in our story, will be convinced 
 that Dora was a "poor wise woman." 
 The truth is, she possessed no greater 
 treasure than Catty, and she had more 
 mouths to feed ; for Catty had but three 
 children, and Dora five. She had lately 
 come a stranger to Boston, and, there- 
 fore, had not had the same opportunity 
 of making friends. As she never men- 
 tioned the particulars of her melancholy 
 story, we do not think it right to lay
 
 OK SCENES IN BOSTON. 129 
 
 them before the public ; but thus much 
 we feel authorized to say, that she was 
 living in New York, when her husband, 
 in a night of frolic and intemperance, 
 was induced to join dissolute companions 
 in setting fire to a barn. He was tried, 
 convicted, and sentenced for life to the 
 Sing- Sing prison. His protestations of 
 " maning no harm," and only doing it for 
 a frolic, were poor arguments to extenu- 
 ate a crime which endangered the lives 
 and property of thousands. Dora had 
 now but one object left, to bring up her 
 children in the " fear of God," which " is 
 the beginning of wisdom." It was her 
 first wish, that they might be spared the 
 agony of knowing that their father was a 
 convict for life ; and she found, if she 
 remained where the crime was perpe- 
 trated, this could not be avoided. She 
 therefore took her children and came to 
 Boston. For a short time, the oldest 
 ones talked about their father ; but they
 
 130 ROSANNA; 
 
 soon forgot his existence, and Dora never 
 alluded to him, except in the mention to 
 Mrs. Jones. Every one supposed her to 
 be a widow. 
 
 She did not suffer this terrible afflic- 
 tion to unfit her for the duties of life; 
 much less did she try to drown her sor- 
 rows in the poisonous bowl. We have 
 said her first thoughts were for her chil- 
 dren. That she might be faithful in her 
 care of them, she rose very early, and 
 always had a tub of water ready to wash 
 them. This is all that is necessary ; for, 
 when children are accustomed to it, they 
 learn to love it, and will splash about in 
 it like so many ducks. 
 
 Now Dora never said, "Take care, 
 children, not to let the water go on the 
 floor ; " for she thought water very good 
 for the floor, and she taught the older 
 ones to wipe it up properly. Catty was 
 always wondering how Mrs. MCree 
 could get so much time for "claning." 

 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 131 
 
 One of her ways was, being up betimes 
 in the morning. She had three or four 
 more hours of daylight in summer than 
 her neighbour ; so that in a week she 
 gained about twenty-eight hours. She 
 said, very truly, we ought not to com- 
 plain of the want of time till we have 
 used up what we have. 
 
 Another complaint that Catty made 
 was about Mrs. M c Cree's living. She 
 said, she could not, for her part, under- 
 stand how a poor woman could afford 
 dishes, of which the steam only made 
 one's mouth water; for she must say, 
 she never had been invited to a taste of 
 them. 
 
 Now it was a fact, that if all the cents 
 and four-pence-half-pennies, that the two 
 women spent, had been set down on 
 paper, it would have been found that 
 Catty's living cost much the most, to say 
 nothing about drink, which, like Aaron's 
 rod, swallowed up all other comforts.
 
 132 ROSANNA; 
 
 Mrs. Corny and her children were very 
 fond of butter ; and, as she could not af- 
 ford to buy good, she generally bought 
 every day a slice of rancid butter, wrap- 
 ped up in a piece of newspaper. " The 
 poor things, too," she said, "liked what 
 she liked ; and, as she must have them 
 herself, it was hard if they could not." 
 
 Now Mrs. M c Cree had never taught 
 her children to like things that were not 
 wholesome, by having them for herself; 
 and, as to the savory dishes which ex- 
 cited so much astonishment, and some 
 envy in Catty, a quarter part of what 
 she spent for rancid butter, would have 
 provided such a one for herself almost 
 every day. 
 
 As Dora was a good economist, it 
 may be very well to mention one of her 
 dishes. Frequently, after a day's work, 
 she had the remains of the dinner given 
 to her, perhaps a bone of beef or mut- 
 ton; of this, she made a stew for the
 
 OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 133 
 
 next day, adding sliced potatoes, cab- 
 bage, and an onion. 
 
 What became of the cold victuals 
 given to Catty, we have already seen. 
 They were thrown into a promiscuous 
 heap, the family selecting from it such ar- 
 ticles as they liked, till even Catty was 
 admonished, by one of her senses, that 
 it had better be removed. 
 
 One of Catty's favorite quotations 
 was, that "Every body must eat a peck 
 of dirt, before they die." There is little 
 doubt but she has eaten much more 
 than her allowance ; indeed, we believe 
 the little Cornys have every one of them 
 already eaten their peck. 
 
 Rosanna continues to improve under 
 Mrs. Jones's care ; but, as she has a 
 real affection for Catty, with all her 
 faults, she has laid a plan with Dora, for 
 the sake of the poor children. The 
 owner of the house that Mrs. Corny 
 occupies, has consented to have it put 
 12
 
 134 ROSANNA; OR SCENES IN BOSTON. 
 
 into neat and comfortable order in the 
 spring, and Dora and Rosanna are to 
 hire the two rooms and the attics above, 
 and Catty is to move into Dora's ten- 
 foot building. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jones 
 approve of this plan, and feel confidence 
 in Rosanna's good conduct. Her great 
 object is to have an eye upon Catty's 
 children. The two girls are favorites at 
 the Infant School ; and Rosanna is sure, 
 that, with the blessing of Heaven, Jim, 
 when he returns, may yet be saved from 
 drunkenness and vice. 
 
 We conclude with the words of Sol- 
 omon, the royal preacher ; " Then said I, 
 Wisdom is better than strength, better 
 than weapons of war ; but one sinner 
 destroyeth much good." 
 
 THE END.

 
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