but I declare, when I look at the two, this is so horridly coarse, yours, old as it is looks the genteeler to my mind," laughing.
So thought Myra, and kept her own bonnet, Lettice putting upon it the piece of new ribbon she had bought, and after smoothing and rubbing the faded one upon her sister's, trimming with it her own.
The two friends in Green-street sat silently for a short time after the door had closed upon Lettice; and then Catherine began.
"More astonishing things happen in the real world than one ever finds in a book. I am sure if such a reverse of fortune as this had been described to me in a story, I should at once have declared it to be impossible. I could not have believed it credible that, in a society such as ours – full of all sorts of kind, good-natured people, who are daily doing so much for the poor – an amiable girl like this, the daughter of a clergyman of the Church of England, could be suffered to sink into such abject poverty."
"Ah! my dear Catherine, that shows you have only seen life upon one side, and that its fairest side – as it presents itself in the country. You can not imagine what a dreadful thing it may prove in large cities. It can not enter into the head of man to conceive the horrible contrasts of large cities – the dreadful destitution of large cities – the awful solitude of a crowd. In the country, I think, such a thing hardly could have happened, however great the difficulty is of helping those who still preserve the delicacy and dignity with regard to money matters, which distinguishes finer minds – but in London what can be done? Like lead in the mighty waters, the moneyless and friendless sink to the bottom, Society in all its countless degrees closes over them: they are lost in its immensity, hidden from every eye, and they perish as an insect might perish; amid the myriads of its kind, unheeded by every other living creature. Ah, my love! if your walks lay where mine have done, your heart would bleed for these destitute women, born to better hopes, and utterly shipwrecked."
"She was such a dear, amiable girl," Catherine went on, "so cheerful, so sweet-tempered – so clever in all that one likes to see people clever about! Her mother was a silly woman."
"So she showed, I fear, by coming to London," said Mrs. Danvers.
"She was so proud of Myra's beauty, and she seemed to think so little of Lettice. She was always prophesying that Myra would make a great match; and so did her aunt, Mrs. Price, who was no wiser than Mrs. Arnold; and they brought up the poor girl to such a conceit of herself – to 'not to do this,' and 'it was beneath her to do that' – and referring every individual thing to her comfort and advancement, till, poor girl, she could hardly escape growing, what she certainly did grow into, a very spoiled, selfish creature. While dear Lettice in her simplicity – that simplicity 'which thinketh no evil' – took it so naturally, that so it was, and so it ought to be; that sometimes one laughed, and sometimes one felt provoked, but one loved her above all things. I never saw such a temper."
"I dare say," said Mrs. Danvers, "that your intention in staying in town to-day was to pay them a visit, which, indeed, we had better do. I had only a glance into their apartment the other day, but it occurred to me that they wanted common necessaries. Ignorant as I was of who they were, I was thinking to get them put upon Lady A – 's coal and blanket list, but that can not very well be done now. However, presents are always permitted under certain conditions, and the most delicate receive them; and, really, this is a case to waive a feeling of that sort in some measure. As you are an old friend and acquaintance, there can be no harm in a few presents before you leave town."
"So I was thinking, ma'am, and I am very impatient to go and see them, and find out what they may be most in want of."
"Well, my dear, I do not see why we should lose time, and I will order a cab to take us, for it is rather too far to walk this terrible day."
They soon arrived at the place I have described, and, descending from their cab, walked along in front of this row of lofty houses looking upon the grave-yard, and inhabited by so much human misery. The doors of most of the houses stood open, for they were all let in rooms, and the entrance and staircase were common as the street. What forms of human misery and degradation presented themselves during one short walk which I once took there with a friend employed upon a mission of mercy!
Disease in its most frightful form, panting to inhale a little fresh air. Squalid misery, the result of the gin-shop – decent misery ready to starve. Women shut up in one room with great heartless, brutal, disobedient boys – sickness resting untended upon its solitary bed. Wailing infants – scolding mothers – human nature under its most abject and degraded forms. No thrift, no economy, no attempt at cleanliness and order. Idleness, recklessness, dirt, and wretchedness. Perhaps the very atmosphere of towns; perhaps these close, ill-ventilated rooms; most certainly the poisonous gin-shop, engender a relaxed state of nerves and muscles, which deprives people of the spirits ever to attempt to make themselves a little decent. Then water is so dear, and dirt so pervading the very atmosphere. Poor things, they give it up; and acquiesce in, and become accustomed to it, and "avec un mal heur sourd dont l'on ne se rend pas compte," gradually sink and sink into the lowest abyss of habitual degradation.
It is difficult to express the painful sensations which Catherine experienced when she entered the room of the two sisters. To her the dirty paper, the carpetless floor, the miserable bed, the worm-eaten and scanty furniture, the aspect of extreme poverty which pervaded every thing, were so shocking, that she could hardly restrain her tears. Not so Mrs. Danvers.
Greater poverty, even she, could rarely have seen; but it was too often accompanied with what grieved her more, reckless indifference, and moral degradation. Dirt and disorder, those agents of the powers of darkness, were almost sure to be found where there was extreme want; but here the case was different. As her experienced eye glanced round the room, she could perceive that, poor as was the best, the best was made of it; that a cheerful, active spirit – the "How to make the best of it" – that spirit which is like the guardian angel of the poor, had been busy here.
The floor, though bare, was clean; the bed, though so mean, neatly arranged and made; the grate was bright; the chairs were dusted; the poor little plenishing neatly put in order. No dirty garments hanging about the room; all carefully folded and put away they were; though she could not, of course, see that, for there were no half-open drawers of the sloven, admitting dust and dirt, and offending the eye. Lettice herself, with hair neatly braided, her poor worn gown carefully put on, was sitting by the little table, busy at her work, looking the very picture of modest industry. Only one figure offended the nice moral sense of Mrs. Danvers: that of Myra, who sat there with her fine hair hanging round her face, in long, dirty, disheveled ringlets, her feet stretched out and pushed slip-shod into her shoes. With her dress half put on, and hanging over her, as the maids say, "no how," she was leaning back in the chair, and sewing very languidly at a very dirty piece of work which she held in her hand.
Both sisters started up when the door opened. Lettice's cheeks flushed with joy, and her eye sparkled with pleasure as she rose to receive her guests, brought forward her other only chair, stirred the fire, and sent the light of a pleasant blaze through the room. Myra colored also, but her first action was to stoop down hastily to pull up the heels of her shoes; she then east a hurried glance upon her dress, and arranged it a little – occupied as usual with herself, her own appearance was the first thought – and never in her life more disagreeably.
Catherine shook hands heartily with Lettice, saying, "We are soon met again, you see;" and then went up to Myra, and extended her hand to her. The other took it, but was evidently so excessively ashamed of her poverty, and her present appearance, before one who had seen her in better days, that she could not speak, or make any other reply to a kind speech of Catherine's, but by a few unintelligible murmurs.
"I was impatient to come," said Catherine – she and Mrs. Danvers having seated themselves upon the two smaller chairs, while the sisters sat together upon the larger one – "because, you know, I must go out of town so very
