no griefs--not even that one
which most commonly afflicts parents, the loss of children. Yet I
sometimes think, sir, that it would be far better for some children to
die in their youth and innocence, than to grow up and become bad men,
and torture and almost kill their parents with ingratitude and
unkindness." Marcus guessed what was to come.

"We had but one child--a boy--born long after I had given up all hopes
of having an heir. I need not tell you, sir, what a joy he was to us in
his infancy; for you, too, I presume, are a husband and a father."

Marcus replied confusedly, and as if it were something to be ashamed of,
that he was neither the one nor the other, though he hoped some day
(here he was exceedingly awkward) to be both.

The old gentleman was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, that he did not
seem to notice the reply. He again braced himself in the chair, as if he
would, by that act, gather strength to proceed.

"Of course, I called the child Myndert. He was the seventh of that name;
and I used to think, even when he was a toddling little baby, what plans
of education would be best suited to develop his talents. I know that a
parent's partiality is a magnifying glass of high power; but, to the
best of my belief, he was a most precocious child. I think so now, as I
look back upon the days of his prattling innocence.

"After a great deal of debating, my wife and I concluded to make a
lawyer of him. He was to be the first lawyer in our family annals; and
we fondly pictured to ourselves that he would become an eminent judge,
or that he would step from the bar into political life, and shed honor
upon his country and his family as a statesman. I know how ridiculous
these imaginings must seem to you, and I recall them only to show you
how deeply our hearts were wrapped up in that boy.

"When our little Myndert was five years old, my wife died." Here the old
gentleman clutched the arms of the chair firmly with both hands. "Our
son had been very sick for a week before, and my dear Clara had nearly
worn herself out watching over and nursing him. A severe cold, which she
caught while going to the druggist's in a rain, did the rest. She died
with one arm around me and the other around little Myndert; and her
last words were a blessing on the boy, and a request that I would always
love him for her sake." The old gentleman's eyes glistened with tears,
and his lips twitched convulsively. Marcus evinced his sympathy