I
mentioned this hesitatingly to the widow, and she eagerly caught at it.
'Yes! that would do,' exclaimed she; 'that would do, if I could but get
him past that horrible moment! But stay; I dare not leave him alone as he
is, even for a little while:--what will become of me!' I offered to
procure the medicine for her, and soon returned with it. I gave it into
her hands, and her vehement expressions of thankfulness wrung my heart. I
had attempted to move the pity of the apothecary at whose shop I obtained
the drug, by an account of the scene I had witnessed, in order to induce
him to pay a visit to the house of mourning; but in vain. To him, who had
_not_ witnessed it, it was nothing but a tale of every-day distress. All
that long night I worked at the merchant's coffin, and the dim grey light
of the wintry morning found me still toiling on. Often, during the hours
passed thus heavily, that picture of wretchedness rose before me. Again I
saw the leaning and exhausted form of the young man, buried in slumber, on
his father's death-bed: again my carpenter's rule almost touched the
clasped hands of the dead and the living, and a cold shudder mingled with
the chill of the dawning day, and froze my blood."
"As I passed up one of the streets which led to the merchant's lodgings,
my head bending under the weight of the coffin I was carrying, at every
step I took, the air seemed to grow more thick around me, and at length,
overcome by weariness, both of body and mind, I stopped, loosed the straps
which steadied my melancholy burden, and placing it in an upright position
against the wall, wiped the dew from my forehead, and (shall I confess it?)
the tears from my eyes.
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