FullReads

Sit down for a moment, we will not detain you long, our story will interest you, we are sure, for it is most commendable, brief, and–singularly true.

A poor widow, in the city of Philadelphia, was the mother of three pretty children, orphans of a ship-builder, who lost his life in the corvette Kensington, a naval vessel, built in Kensington for one of the South American republics, and launched in 1826. The South Americans being short of funds, the Kensington, after years of delay, was sold to the emperor of all the Russias, and sailed for Constradt in 1830. Some forty of the carpenters, who had built the vessel, went out in her; she had immense, but symmetrical spars–carried vast clouds of canvass–was caught off Cape Henlopen in a squall–her spars came thundering to the deck, and poor Glenn, the ship builder, was among the slain.

The widow was allowed but a brief time to mourn for the departed; pinching poverty was at her door; upon her own exertions now devolved the care and toil of rearing her three children. Cynthia, the eldest, was a pretty brunette, of thirteen; the neighbors thought Cynthia could “go out to work;” the next eldest, Martin, a fine, sturdy and intelligent boy, could go to a trade; and the youngest, Rosa, one of the most beautiful, blue-eyed, blonde little girls of seven years, poetical fancy ever realized, “the neighbors thought,” ought to be given to somebody, to raise. The mother was but a feeble woman; it would be a task for her to obtain her own living, they thought; and so, kind, generous souls, with that peculiar readiness with which disinterested friends console or advise the unfortunate, “the neighbors” became very eloquent and argumentative. But though the mother’s hands were weak, her heart was strong, and her love for her children still stronger.

It is rather a singular trait in the human character, it appears to us, that people possessing the ordinary attributes of sane Christians, should so readily advise others to attempt, or do, that from which they would instinctively recoil; the mass of Widow Glenn’s advisers might have been far more serviceable to her, by contributing their mites towards preserving the unity of her little and precious family, than thus savagely advising its disbanding.

Newspapers, at this day, were far less numerous very expensive, and circulated to a very limited degree, indeed. But the widow took a paper, a family, weekly journal; and while casting her vacant eye over the columns, at the close of a Saturday eve, after a severe week’s toil for the bread her little and precious ones had eaten, the widow’s attention was called to an advertisement, as follows:

“A Housekeeper Wanted.–An elderly gentleman desires a middle-aged, pleasantly-disposed, tidy and industrious American woman, to take charge and conduct the domestic affairs of his household. A reasonable compensation allowed. Good reference required,
the applicant to have no incumbrances

. Apply at this office, for the address, etc.”

The eager smile, that seemed to warm the wan features of the widow, as she glanced over the advertisement, was dimmed and darkened, as the shining river of summer is shadowed by the heavy passing cloud, when she came to the chilling words– the applicant to have no incumbrances.

“No incumbrances,” moaned the widow, “shall none but God deign to smile or have mercy on the helpless orphans; are they to be feared, shunned, hated, because helpless? Must they perish–die with me alone–struggling against our woes, poverty, wretchedness? No! I know there is a God, he is good, powerful, merciful; he will turn the hearts of some towards the widow and the orphan; and though basilisk-like words warn me to hope not, I will apply–I will attempt to win attention, work, slave, toil, toil, toil, until my poor hands shall wear to the bone, and my eyes no longer do their office–if he will only have mercy, pity for my poor, poor orphans–God bless them!” and in melting tenderness and emotion, the poor woman dropped her face upon her lap and wept–her tears were the showers of hope, to the almost parched soil of her heart, and as the gentle dews of heaven fall to the earth, so fell the widow’s tears in balmy freshness upon her visions of a brighter something–in the future.