him the misfortunes that had reduced him to ſuch extreme diſtreſs, and he hinted, that I could not eaſily gueſs the good I had done. I imagined from this hint that he was meditating his own deſtruction when I ſaw him, to ſpare himſelf the miſery of ſeeing his infant periſh—ſtarved to death, in every ſenſe of the word.
I will now haſten to the ſequel of the account. His wife had lately had a child, ſhe was very ill at the time, and want of proper food, and a defence againſt the inclemency of the weather, hurried her out of the world. The poor child, Peggy, had ſucked in diſeaſe and nouriſhment together, and now even that wretched ſource had failed—the breaſt was cold that had afforded the ſcanty support; and the little innocent ſmiled unconſcious of its miſery. I ſent for her, added Mrs. Maſon, and her father dying a few years after, ſhe has ever been a favourite charge of mine, and nurſing of her, in ſome meaſure, diſpelled the gloom in which I had been almoſt loſt.
