NOVEMBER. 321 



and with her red cloak and black bonnet on, she 

 is setting out. The neighbours come out in won- 

 dering kindness to bid her good-b'ye ; but there is 

 more offence to her in their remarks on her son 

 than comfort in the expressions of their pity, and 

 she moves quietly away. And that poor old crea- 

 ture is bound on a journey of seventy miles across 

 the country, and without the expectation of an 

 hour's carriage. She takes no stick in her hand, 

 for she never used one ; but, with her arms crossed 

 under her cloak, she proceeds at the same feeble 

 pace that she has been accustomed to move about 

 her cottage. It seems impossible that she should 

 ever accomplish her undertaking. My imagination 

 beholds her as she crosses a vast moor. On and 

 on she goes with such an almost imperceptible 

 motion, that the very width of the moor appears 

 itself a day's labour for her. Yet she shall go 

 forward, day by day, and, unlike the deserted wife, 

 she shuns no salutations; nay, to such accommoda- 

 ting persons as are willing to slacken their speed 

 and lend a patient ear, she can find many things in 

 her mother's heart to say. Her troubles, like the 

 fire-damp, are only dangerous when they are con- 

 fined, give them air, and they will dilute them- 

 selves till they become almost innocuous. Life has 

 long ceased to appear desirable in her eyes ; and, if 

 that her son but find acceptance with God, it is all 

 that she desires. Nay, if she be permitted to reach 

 him while alive, and to know that he departs with 

 " a sure and joyful hope," she will tread back her 



