interests the enjoyments of wealth are nothing to me, or whether, again, it is that, feeling my life so near extinction, I do not think of the future, I protest to you that never once have I had the wish to see my fortune changed."
This was not a mere display of maxims ; Eliza's conduct never contradicted those words. I will merely add that her economy was so adroitly managed that it was never felt. She was always simply dressed, but with taste. All that she wore was fresh and well assorted. It gave the idea of richness which was vowed by choice to simplicity. But where her soul and her generosity gave even more illusion as to her means, was when she met with suffering and miserable humanity ; never did a poor person go to her with- out receiving aid. "Ah! if I were only Lord Clive!" she would say on hearing of some unfortunate whom she was unable to help.
All forms of misfortune had rights over the soul of Eliza. By her manner of pitying those who bore them it was plain to see that she had suffered herself. I have often seen her ill, oppressed, sinking under the weight of her own troubles, yet reviving and recovering her strength to feel and share the troubles of others. And this love for the unhappy was not only a virtue in her, it was a passion. Here is what she wrote me, about six months ago, in a letter I have just found and wet with my tears:—
"I sent you a packet this morning; you will think me crazy when you find in it among other things, the 'Gazette de France,' but I send it on account of an article which will do you good [the announcement of the edict about the corvées]. How can one fail to be comforted in seeing that so many, many unfortunates are about to be so. This class of interest is now all that can reach my heart. Unhappiness — ah! what empire that word has over me! I think I told
