. In solitude and misery, abandoned by all,
unassisted by art, uncomforted by friendship, with pangs which if witnessed
would have touched the hardest heart, was I delivered of my wretched burthen. It
came alive into the world; but I knew not how to treat it, or by what means to
preserve its existence. I could only bathe it with tears, warm it in my bosom,
and offer up prayers for its safety. I was soon deprived of this mournful
employment: the want of proper attendance, my ignorance how to nurse it, the
bitter cold of the dungeon, and the unwholesome air which inflated its lungs,
terminated my sweet babe's short and painful existence. It expired in a few
hours after its birth, and I witnessed its death with agonies which beggar all
description.
    But my grief was unavailing. My infant was no more; nor could all my sighs
impart to its little tender frame the breath of a moment. I rent my
winding-sheet, and wrapped in it my lovely child. I placed it on my bosom, its
soft arm folded round my neck, and its pale cold cheek resting upon mine. Thus
did its lifeless limbs repose, while I covered it with kisses, talked to it,
wept, and moaned over it without remission day or night. Camilla entered my
prison regularly once every twenty-four hours to bring me food. In spite of her
flinty nature, she could not behold this spectacle unmoved. She feared that
grief so excessive would at length turn my brain; and in truth I was not always
in my proper senses. From a principle of compassion she urged me to permit the
corse to be buried; but to this I never would consent. I vowed, not to part with
it while I had life: its presence was my only comfort, and no persuasion could
induce me to give it up. It soon became a mass of putridity, and to every eye
was a loathsome and disgusting object, to every eye but a mother's. In vain did
human feelings bid me recoil from this emblem of mortality with repugnance. I
withstood, and vanquished that repugnance. I persisted in holding my infant to
my bosom, in lamenting it, loving it, adoring it! Hour after hour have I passed
upon my sorry couch, contemplating what had once been my child. I endeavoured to
retrace its features through the livid corruption with which they were
overspread. During my confinement, this sad occupation was my only delight; and
at that time worlds should not have bribed me to give it up. Even
