The Rev. George Crabbe when describing the funeral of "The Mother," in
his passing glance at the half-interested spectators, says:--
Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill
The village lads stood, melancholy still.
and in his description of the return to the house:--
Arrived at home, how then they gazed around.
In every place where she no more was found;
The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fireside chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden walks, a labor all her own;
The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown:
The Sunday pew she filled with all her race--
Each place of hers, was now a sacred place,
That while it called up sorrows in the eyes,
Pierced the full heart, and forced them still to rise.
--_From the Eclectic Magazine._
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