170 
SCENES IN INDIA. 
she felt that the cup of her enjoyment was now spark- 
ling to the brim : but, alas ! how small is the sum of 
human bliss ! How rapidly is it expunged from the 
voluminous registry of time, and cast into the lap of 
oblivion as a worthless item, unfit to be received 
into that treasury out of which the joys of eter- 
nity are draughted ! 
The child of the adoring mother died just as it had 
commenced its second year. That mother was in- 
stantly bowed to the earth. She would receive no 
consolation, but mourned for it with all the intensity 
of distracted grief. The very lees of the cup of woe 
were swallowed, and her heart seemed steeped in 
wormwood. The remains of her departed babe were 
deposited in a grave over which was raised a small 
circular pile covered with chunam, with a tabular head- 
stone of marble ,* upon this was engraved a passage 
from the Koran. For at least a month after the in- 
terment, according to the practice of Mohammedan 
mothers, she used to visit the tomb of her dead off- 
spring, to pour upon it the tribute of her tears. Re- 
pairing to the sacred spot as the moon was riding up 
the blue vault of the spangled skies, where not a cloud 
stirred to dim its radiance, she laid a lighted taper* 
upon the white canopy, and breathed a silent prayer 
for the young spirit which had once animated that 
frame now mouldering beneath in all the repulsive 
deformity with which Death embraces the victims of 
his supremacy. 
This nightly act of devotion was continued until 
* See Vignette. 
