ould bear calmly; if it were more bitter, I could bear it
and not weep. But to think of my children--as motherless babes; to hear
Willie tell his sorrow, and mourn so bitterly in his tender years for a
mother--so dear; to feel that with his susceptibility and keen
sensitiveness he realizes so fully his loss; to hear him sob on his
pillow at night, and, when alone, call himself 'little motherless
Willie;'--oh, mother! what man or Christian would not bow beneath a
burden like this?--It is the contemplation of _four motherless children_
that wounds me most. It seems to me Abby herself would not reprove me,
could those cold lips now bring me a message from her spirit in heaven."

* * * * *

With expressions like those in the chamber of the dead was every hour in
the home of David embittered, for weeks and months, by the little
mourning child. He gathered flowers and laid them before his father,
saying, "I don't suppose you care about them, father; but my mother
isn't here to take them. I pick them because they look up into my face
as if mother was somewhere near them. But they wither on my hand, and
hold down their heads, just as I want to do now my mother is dead."

Every object at home seemed to remind Willie of his mother, and keep his
bereavement uppermost in his thoughts. He did not weep as much after a
few weeks, but through all his boyhood there rested a sadness on his
countenance, that indicated a mournful recollection of that dear mother.
Through his whole life he felt that he was like a tender branch lopped
from the parent-tree; like a lamb sent out from the fold while too young
to meet the storms and travel the dangerous paths of which he often
heard from his mother. This idea seemed ever present, and served many
times to hold him back from adventurous pursuits and untried schemes. "I
don't know--but I should have known had my dear mother lived," was the
expression of his general course in life.

As long as he was a child he spoke often and tenderly of his mother. He
cherished a remembrance of her faithful admonitions and precepts, as
vivid as might have been expected from a child bereaved at the age of
eight or ten. When older, he realized more fully his loss, especially
when he met one whom he believed to be _a good mother._ He then seldom
spoke of his mother; but his visits to the grave-yard, his sadness on
the anniversary of the day of her death, his conversations about her
w