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 DEAN'S 
 
 THE 
 
 BEREAVED MOTHERS. 
 
 LONDON : DEAN & SON, 
 11, Ludgate Hill. 
 
 Xoxco 
 
THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 
 
 "Charley, your wife is the best 
 
 toman in the world!" 
 
:tii'tmm7H^:!,' -■■' warn ■ 
 
 THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 3 
 
 " Now, if my friend Barnes, under or- 
 dinary circumstances, had uttered in my 
 presence such an exclamation, I might 
 have replied: " My dear friend, why 
 don't you tell me something I don't know 
 
 already?" 
 
 But the circumstances were extraordi- 
 nary, as I wil 1 tell you. The day before, 
 Barnes had buried his eldest boy— a fine 
 looking fellow, five years old. Being 
 neighbours, and a close intimacy existing 
 between our families, I ran over early 
 next morning to speak a word of sym- 
 pathy. His countenance wore a look of 
 deep distress. 
 
 <• It's verv hard, I know," said I. 
 " Oh ! I 'could bear it, for myself— but 
 ]\I ar y — my wife— she wound her heart- 
 strings so tightly around the object she 
 loved that the shock of separation is 
 terrible. She has not slept, she has not 
 shed a tear, but passes from one paroxysm 
 to another. Nothing tends to soothe her. 
 The baby she takes no notice of— seems 
 to have forgotten that she has a child 
 
4 THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 
 
 left ; I fear for her life, and, if that is 
 spared, that her reason will give way." 
 
 I could not detain him longer from the 
 care of his wife, but sadly returned home. 
 My wife listened to the story of her friend's 
 desperate condition, and scarcely appeared 
 to know when I had finished telling it, but 
 still sat as if listening. Five minutes 
 later, however, when 1 passed through the 
 hall, I saw her in her dressing-room, 
 putting on her cloak and bonnet. 
 
 It was night when I returned home, 
 after a busy day at my office; and, just 
 as I was passing Barnes' door, he came 
 out, and surprised me with the exclama- 
 tion I have already repeated. Remem- 
 bering the interview of the morning, it 
 was not in my thought to reply lightly, 
 when he said : " Your wife is the best 
 woman in the world — the most consider- 
 ate, the most thoughtful." 
 
 "She came down to see Mary?" I 
 said. 
 
 "No, she didn't; she did what was 
 still better — she sent another. You know 
 Mrs. Pardoe." 
 
THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 
 
 "Yes; she buried her husband lust 
 week." 
 
 "And her three children within a 
 twelvemonth Well, about noon, to-day, 
 just after Mary had experienced one of 
 her wildest paroxyms, and had sunk at 
 
 1 ' | 
 
 last upon the sofa, overcome by exhaus- 
 tion, the bell rang, and when I opened the 
 door, there was Mrs. Pardoe. She was 
 accompanied by your wife, who was in the 
 act of taking leave of her." 
 
6 THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 
 
 " * You will go in?' said Mrs. Pardoe. 
 
 <s ' No, I'd better not ; you go alone. 
 I've not lost a husband ; and my girls — 
 they are at home, rosy with health/ 
 
 " ' I understand? 
 
 " She entered without another word, 
 but paused on seeing Mary apparently 
 asleep. Then, catching sight of the 
 cradle, she went to it, and, sinking upon 
 the floor, bent her face over the baby, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " That was a moment not to be lost ; I 
 
 also understood. 
 
 " * Mary !' I cried, in a voice intended, 
 if possible, to rouse her. ' Mary, look up ! 
 look!' 
 
 " Both women raised their eyes at the 
 same instant, and looked the one upon the 
 other. That scene will live in my memory 
 — -the picture of those two women looking 
 into each other's eyes — the expression of 
 one full of agony — the other calm though 
 sad. For a full minute neither spoke. 
 Gradually, the full conception of the cir- 
 cumstances seemed to form itself in Mary's; 
 mind. The garments of deep mourning,. 
 
THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 7 
 
 Ihe child in the cradle, the husband near 
 her— she saw them all, though her eyes 
 were still looking down into the bereaved 
 heart before her. Then, with a cry, she 
 sprang from the sofa, and threw herself 
 upon the neck of her friend. The foun- 
 tain of tears was unsealed, and long, long 
 they wept together over the sleeping 
 infant. At last Mary slowly spoke : 
 
 "'You believe — there is — a God, — 
 and— that— He is good? How can you 
 think so, when He has taken all— your 
 dear ones?" 
 
 " The light of a divine trust beamed in 
 the woman's face, as she answered, in 
 deep, firm tones: ' When my children 
 were taken from me, I thought the Lord 
 wanted part of my love. Hit when He 
 took my husband also, then I knew the 
 Lord was determined to have my whole 
 
 heart* 
 
 11 Like lightning the words went to 
 
 Mary's soul. 
 
 " She clasped her babe to her breast, 
 and then, clinging her arms around both 
 
8 THE BEREAVED MOTHERS. 
 
 husband and child, she said : ' I will not 
 dare complain again/ 
 
 " From that moment she was calm, re- 
 signed — and, yielding to our persuasion to 
 partake of some refreshment, in half an 
 hour I had the happiness of seeing her 
 sink into a gentle sleep, with a smile on 
 her lips. 
 
 " Then Mrs. Pardoe explained how 
 your wife had come to her, and begged, in 
 the name of sweet mercy, that she would 
 visit Mary, She was loth to comply at 
 first, being a comparative stranger ; but 
 her visitor insisting that she alone could 
 hope to rouse Mary from her despair, and 
 perhaps save her life, she consented. 
 
 " ' And I am very thankful/ she added, 
 ' that my visit appears to have produced 
 such favourable results.' 
 
 " And so am I," Barnes added, press- 
 ing my hand ; I hardly hoped to see her 
 smile again. " 
 
 I wrung his hand and left him, without 
 saymg a word. But in my mind 1 re- 
 peated, as I went home : " She is the 
 best woman in the world." 
 
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