The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 237: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

210 REYNOLDS’ WORKS ment. I implore you to tranquillize your feelings. Alas, I begin to comprehend that the power of money is immense and irresistible in this country. It constitutes colossal strength, while poverty is in itself abject weakness. Chris- tian,’”’ said the young girl, after a pause, ‘‘ is there nothing which suggests itself to your mind? ”’ “Yes, dear Christina,” he at once responded, as if the very look which his beautiful twin sister had bent upon him transfused in an instant to his mind what was passing in her own. ‘‘ We must go and relieve the dire necessities of that poor perishing creature. It is fortunate that you heard her address mentioned. Would that we also knew where to find the poor widow, that we might succour her likewise. Alas, our own resources are now limited enough, but still — but still,’ added Christian, with a world of sincere feeling in his looks and his accents, ‘“‘ we must spare something for the assistance of our fellow creatures.”’ The twins were suddenly cheered by the prospect of doing good, as well as by having the means to accomplish it, small though their succour might be. They inquired their way to Redcross Street, and finding the house which Christina had heard mentioned at the emporium, they ascertained from an old, harsh-featured, sordid-looking woman, who announced herself as the landlady, that there was a young person of the name of Mary Wright lodging at the place, but that as she could not pay her rent, and was dying, the workhouse authorities had been applied to that very day. ‘‘ Let me see her,” said Christina, while Christian hastily whispered to his sister that he would await her in the street. The landlady — thinking by the appearance of the twins that they came for a charitable purpose, and that the arrears of rent due to her would probably be paid — suddenly grew mighty civil, and she conducted Christina up a dark and dirty staircase to the very top of the house. Opening an attic door, she gave the young girl to understand that this was Mary Wright’s room. Christina entered. The attic was of the smallest size, and its appearance of the meanest poverty. Stretched upon a wretched flock mattress, which lay upon the boards in one corner, and covered with the scantiest bed clothing, lay a young woman whose years could scarcely yet have numbered ECORNICLIOOKS (E()