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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 venerablo form bending over him, when he would tako her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall asleep with the tranquillity of a child. In this way ho died.
My first impulse on hearing this humblo tale of affliction; was to visit the cottage of tho mourner, and administer pecuniary assistance, 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 case admitted and as the poor know best how to console each other's sorrows, I did not venture to intrude.
The next Sunday I was at tho village church, when, to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down the aisle to her accustomed seat on the steps of the altar.
She had made an effort to put on something liko mourning for her son; and nothing could be moro touching than this struggle between pious affection and utter poverty: a black ribband or so, a faded black handkerchief, and one or two moro such humblo attempts to express by outward signs the grief which passes show. When I looked round on the storied monuments, the stately hatchments, tho cold marble pomp, with which grandeur mourned magnificently over departed pride, and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow, at the altar of her God, and offering up tho prayers and praises of a pious, though broken heart, I felt that this living monument 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 situation more comfortable, and to lighten her afflictions. It
