----“Pray, buy a nosegay of a poor orphan!” said a female voice, in a
plaintive and melodious tone, as I was passing the corner of the
Hay-market. I turned hastily, and beheld a girl of about fourteen; whose
drapery, tho’ ragged, was clean, and whose form was such as a painter
might have chosen for a youthful Venus. Her neck, without covering, was
white as snow; and her features, though not regularly beautiful, were
interesting, and set off by a transparent complexion: her eyes, dark and
intelligent, were shaded by loose ringlets of a raven black, and poured
their sweetly supplicating beams through the silken shade of very long
lashes. On one arm hung a basket full of roses, and the other was
stretched out towards me with one of the rose-buds. I put my hand into
my pocket, and drew out some silver---“Take this, my pretty girl,” said
I, putting it into her’s; “and may that God, who is the Father of the
fatherless, be the preserver of your existence and your
virtue!---Virtuous poverty is no crime.”
I was turning from her, when she suddenly caught my withdrawn hand; and,
putting it to her lips, burst into a flood of tears. The action, and the
look which accompanied it, touched my soul; it melted to the artless
gratitude of this poor Flower-girl, and a drop of sympathy fell from my
cheek. “Forgive me, Sir,” said she, recovering from her transport, while
a sweet blush diffused itself over her lovely face: “my heart was full
of what it could not express---nature impelled me to so free an action.
You will pardon the effect it had on me, when I tell you, they were the
first kind words I have heard since I lost all that was dear to me on
earth----” A sob interrupted her discourse: she stopped, and wept
silently; then, raising up her face from the hand on which she had laid
it---“O Sir! I have no father! no mother! no relation! Alas! I have no
friend in the world!” Choked with her emotions, she was silent for a
moment before she could proceed---“My only friend is God! on him I rely;
I submit to his will. I only pray that I may support with fortitude, the
miseries I am born to experience! To him, kind Sir, this heart shall
always pray for you. May that God for ever protect you!” added she,
dropping a curtsey full of humility and native grace, as she retired.
I returned her benediction, and went on----
“And can I thus leave this poor creature?” said I, as I walked pensively
on. “Can I leave her forever, without emotion? What have I done for her,
that can entitle me to her prayers? Preserved her a few days from death,
but that is all! And shall I quit thee, fair flower, to see thee no
more? to be blown down by the rude blast of adversity! to be cropped by
some cruel spoiler! to droop thy lovely head beneath the blight of early
sorrow!--No! thou hast been reared on some happier bank; thou hast been
nurtured by the sweet tears of maternal affection; thou hast once
blushed beneath the chearing sun of domestick content, and under it
thou shalt bloom again!” I turned, as I spoke: my heart beat with
its sweet purpose. I saw the beautiful Flower-girl before me.
I approached---caught her hand---the words of triumphant virtue burst
from my lips---
“Come, thou lovely, deserted girl! come, and add one more to the happy
groupe who call me father! Their home shall be thine: thou shalt share
their comforts: thou shalt be taught with them that virtue their father
tries to practise!” She stopped me; her eyes flashed with a frantic joy:
she flung herself on her knees before me, and burst into a flood of
rapturous tears. I raised her in my arms---I hushed her eloquent
gratitude, and led her to a home of happiness and piety. She loves my
children; she loves their father; and the poor orphan of the Hay-market
is now the wife of my son!