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Poor Mr. Smith, the clever man,
That used to tend the mill.
Last spring, his wife and little ones
Were very sick, you know;
When they recovered, he was seized,
And died a week ago.
This very morning, Mrs. Smith
Came here to ask relief;
Poor woman! she looked pale and thin,
And overwhelmed with grief.
"Dear madam, I am grieved to come
And trouble you," she said;
"But new afflictions seem to fall
In torrents on my head.
"Some time before my husband died,
We owed a quarter's rent,
He laid it up, and would, no doubt,
Have paid it—every cent.
"But when our earnings all were stopp'd,
And we so long were ill,
I was obliged to take it all,
To pay the doctor's bill.
