could heal. How much kinder is God to us than we are willing to be
to ourselves! At the loss of every dear face, at the last going of
every well beloved one, we all doom ourselves to an eternity of
sorrow, and look to waste ourselves away in an ever-running
fountain of tears. How seldom does such grief endure! How blessed
is the goodness which forbids it to do so! 'Let me ever remember my
living friends, but forget them as soon as they are dead,' was the
prayer of a wise man who understood the mercy of God. Few perhaps
would have the courage to express such a wish, and yet to do so
would only be to ask for that release from sorrow, which a kind
Creator almost always extends to us.

I would not, however, have it imagined that Mrs Bold forgot her
husband. She really thought of him with all conjugal love, and
enshrined his memory in the innermost centre of her heart. But yet
she was happy in her baby. It was so sweet to press the living toy
to her breast, and feel that a human being existed who did owe, and
was to owe everything to her; whose daily food was drawn from
herself; whose little wants could all be satisfied by her; whose
infant tongue would make his first effort in calling her by the
sweetest name a woman can hear. And so Eleanor's bosom became
tranquil, and she set about her new duties eagerly and gratefully.

As regards the concerns of the world, John Bold had left his widow
in prosperous circumstances. He had bequeathed to her all that he
possessed, and that comprised an income much exceeding what she or
her friends thought necessary for her. It amounted to nearly a
thousand a year; and when she reflected on its extent, her dearest
hope was to hand it over, not only unimpaired, but increased, to
her husband's son, to her own darling, to the little man who now