"O my baby, my baby! O my little child!" moaned she again and again,
until the tender heart of the Irish woman could endure no longer;
and, coming to the side of her guest, she knelt beside her, and put
her arms about the slender figure that shook with every sob, and
drew the bright head to rest upon her own shoulder.
"O ye poor darlint! ye poor, young crather, that's got the black
sorrer atin' inter yer heart, all the same as if ye wor owld an'
mane an' oogly, like mesilf!-it's none but Him aboov as kin comfort
yees. Blissid Vargin, as was a moother yersilf, an' knowed a
moother's pains an' a moother's love, an' all the ins an' outs uv a
moother's heart, luck down on this young moother an' help her, an'
spake to thim as can help her betther nor yees, an' give back her
child; bekase ye mind the time yer own Howly Child wor lost, an' ye
sought him sorrerin'; an' ye mind the joy an' the comfort that wor
in it whin he was foun'. Och Mother of Jasus! hear us this day, if
niver again."
As the passionate prayer ended, the lady raised her head, and kissed
the tear-stained cheek of the petitioner.
"Thank you," said she. "I know that you were good to her, and that
she loved you; but, oh! did she forget me so soon?"
Alas poor human heart whose purest impulses are tinged with
selfishness! You who have lost your nearest and dearest, can you say
from your inmost soul that you would be content to know yourself and
all of earth forgotten, or that it is sorrow to you to fancy that a
lingering memory, a faint regret for the love you so lavished,
stains the perfection of heavenly bliss?
Tact is not a matter of breeding; and Chesterfield or Machiavelli
could have found no better answer than that of Mrs.
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