At times,
however, we experienced a slight revulsion of feeling when
even these humblest children of sorrow somewhat petulantly
rejected our proffered bread and cheese, and demanded instead
a glass of cider. Whatever the temperance society might in
such cases have done, it was not in our hearts to refuse the poor
creatures a draught of their favorite beverage; and was n't it a
satisfaction to see their sad, melancholy faces light up as we
handed them the full pitcher, and, on receiving it back empty
from their brown, wrinkled hands, to hear them, half breathless
from their long, delicious draught, thanking us for the favor, as
"dear, good children"! Not unfrequently these wandering tests
of our benevolence made their appearance in interesting groups
of man, woman, and child, picturesque in their squalidness,
and manifesting a maudlin affection which would have done
honor to the revellers at Poosie-Nansie's, immortal in the
cantata of Burns. (2) I remember some who were evidently the
victims of monomania,--haunted and hunted by some dark
thought,--possessed by a fixed idea. One, a black-eyed, wild-
haired woman, with a whole tragedy of sin, shame, and
suffering written in her countenance, used often to visit us,
warm herself by our winter fire, and supply herself with a stock
of cakes and cold meat; but was never known to answer a
question or to ask one.
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