New Elegant Extracts: A Unique Selection ... from the Most Eminent Prose and Epistolary Writers ...

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C.& C. Whittingham, 1827
 

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Seite 334 - The bustle around seemed to waken the mother from a wretched reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint wildness. As the men approached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, she wrung her hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor woman who attended her, took her by the arm, endeavoured to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something like consolation — " Nay, now — nay, now — don't take it so sorely to heart.
Seite 338 - He was too weak, however, to talk — he could only look his thanks. His mother was his constant attendant ; and he seemed unwilling to be helped by any other hand.
Seite 334 - I could see no more — my heart swelled into my throat — my eyes filled with tears — I felt as if I were acting a barbarous part in standing by and gazing idly on this scene of maternal anguish.
Seite 332 - When I saw her feebly rising and bending her aged form in prayer; habitually conning her prayer-book, which her palsied hand and failing eyes would not permit her to read, but which she evidently knew by heart ; I felt...
Seite 334 - There was that bustling stir which breaks so harshly on the feelings of grief and affection : directions given in the cold tones of business ; the striking of spades into sand and gravel ; which, at the grave of those we love, is, of all sounds, the most withering. The bustle around seemed to awaken the mother from a wretched reverie.
Seite 335 - ... of joy — the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace of her years ; these are indeed sorrows which make us feel the impotency of consolation.
Seite 337 - He saw her, and hastened toward her, but his steps were faint and faltering ; he sunk on his knees before her, and sobbed like a child. The poor woman gazed upon him with a vacant and wandering eye — " Oh my dear, dear mother ! don't you know your son? your poor boy George?
Seite 319 - The creak of the screw-nails presently announced that the lid of the last mansion of mortality was in the act of being secured above its tenant.
Seite 339 - My first impulse on hearing this humble tale of affliction, was to visit the cottage of the 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...
Seite 315 - ... by the black colour of the gown in which they had dressed her, and embarrassed by the number of persons by whom she was surrounded; then, finally, she would raise her head with a ghastly look and fix her eyes upon the bed which contained the coffin of her grandson, as if she had at once, and for the first time, acquired sense to comprehend her inexpressible calamity.

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