The story of the widow was a touching yet simple one. She was by birth
a Swiss. In one of the cantons of her native land, she had grown up,
and married, and lived for a time in happy comfort. A son was born to
her, and a daughter, the beautiful Ninon. By some reverse of fortune,
the father and head of the family had the greater portion of his
possessions swept from him. He struggled for a time against the evil
influence, but it press'd upon him harder and harder. He had heard
of a people in the western world--a new and swarming land--where the
stranger was welcom'd, and peace and the protection of the strong arm
thrown around him. He had not heart to stay and struggle amid the
scenes of his former prosperity, and he determin'd to go and make
his home in that distant republic of the west. So with his wife and
children, and the proceeds of what little property was left, he took
passage for New York. He was never to reach his journey's end. Either
the cares that weigh' d upon his mind, or some other cause, consign'd
him to a sick hammock, from which he only found relief through the
Great Dismisser. He was buried in the sea, and in due time his
family arrived at the American emporium. But there, the son too
sicken'd--died, ere long, and was buried likewise. They would not bury
him in the city, but away--by the solitary banks of the Hudson; on
which the widow soon afterwards took up her abode.
Ninon was too young to feel much grief at these sad occurrences; and
the mother, whatever she might have suffer'd inwardly, had a good deal
of phlegm and patience, and set about making herself and her remaining
child as comfortable as might be.
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