She was very poor towards the end of her earthly life, having spent all on her mission, and refusing to take time from her Theosophical work to write for the Russian papers which were ready to pay highly for her pen.

But her slender purse was swiftly emptied when any human pain that money could relieve came in her way.

One day I wrote a letter to a comrade that was shown to her, about some little children to whom I had carried a quantity of country flowers, and I had spoken of their faces pinched with want.

The following characteristic note came to me:-- "MY DEAREST FRIEND,--I have just read your letter to -- -- and my heart is sick for the poor little ones! Look here; I have but 30s.

of _my own money_ of which I can dispose (for as you know I am a pauper, and proud of it), but I want you to take them and _not say a word_.