How I managed my house on two hundred pounds a year / by Mrs. Warren.

  • Eliza Warren
Date:
1864
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: How I managed my house on two hundred pounds a year / by Mrs. Warren. Source: Wellcome Collection.

    22/106 page 16
    My precious babe was even now in convulsions. Ay, even after the lapse of these many years does that awful scene rise up with the vividness of a present reality. For many hours the little sufferer remained in a gasping death-like state, the doctor coming at inter- vals through the night. In the morning, when she seemed free from pain, he took my husband out of the room and told him there was no hope—the child could not live. “ And for this,” continued he, “ you may thank that servant of yours. The day before yester- day I was called to attend a child labouring under spasmodic croup and hooping cough, when as I entered I saw your child in the arms of its careless nurse, who was standing over the bed watching the contortions of the sick child’s face : your infant had only the girl’s apron thrown over its head. Understanding she did not belong to the house, I told her instantly to go home and tell the parents of the child the danger it had been in. I am sorry now that I did not inquire where she lived; this sad sorrow might then, perhaps, have been prevented.” Oh ! the agony of a mother watching every life-throb of her dying child: the convulsion which cramps its little frame, the spasm that twists its pallid face, the battling of life and death, is a scene, once witnessed, never forgotten,, My husband on his return to the room looked at me with an expression which in one moment told me I was soon to be child- less. “Is there no hope ?” I whispered. “ None but in God and he knelt and took in his the tiny hand clenched with pain. In a few moments the laboured breathing stopped, the drawn form relaxed, all was still: gently he removed the pillow from my lap, upon which my little angel lay, and placed both on the sofa. For myself, I was tearless: my eyes were hot and dry : weep I could not, neither could I realise my loss. My husband went out and brought in the reluctant girl. Silently drawing her into the room, “ Do you know,” said he, “ that you have murdered that child ?” She fell on her knees, “ Oh ! sir, I did not mean to do it. I did not know there was any harm.” “ Then, why not have told your mistress, as the doctor said to you ?” “ Because I was afraid, sir ; the doctor looked so angry that I was sure if I told that I should be scolded.” “ And again I tell you, you have murdered my child! ” The girl looked with such pitiful anguish at me that I said, “ That is enough : you may go, Ann.” For a long time after, she sat on the step of the stair outside the door sobbing as if her
    No text description is available for this image
    No text description is available for this image
    No text description is available for this image