Page:Story teller (2).pdf/14

14 eye would follow her. She would sit for hours by his bed, watching him as he slept. Sometimes he would start from a feverish dream, and look anxiously up until he saw her venerable form bending over him, when he would take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall asleep with the tranquillity of a child. In this way he died.

My first impulse on hearing this humblo tale of afflietion, was to visit the eottage of the mourner, and administer pecuniary assistanee, and, if possible comfort. I found, however, on inquiry, that the good feelings of the villagers had prompted them to do every thing that the ease admitted ; and as tho poor know best how to console each other's sorrows, I did not venture to intrude.

The next Sunday I was at the village ehurch, when, to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down the aisle to her aceustomed seat on the steps of the altar.

She had made an effort to put on something like mourning for her son ; and nothing could be more touching than this struggle between pious affection and utter poverty : a black ribband or so,-a faded black handkerehief, and one or two more such humble attempts to express by outward signs the grief whieh passes show. When I looked round on the storied monuments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp, with whieh grandeur mourned magnifieently over departed pride, and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow, at the altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and praises of a pious, though broken heart, I felt that this living monnment of real grief was worth them all.

I related her story to some of the wealthy members of the congregation, and they were moved by it. They exerted themselves to render her situatiou more eomfortable, and to lighten her afflictions. It