That baby was the very idol of his soul; all his hopes of life were centred in it.

He really felt tempted to rebel at Providence.

He said that he really could not talk with his wife on the subject.

He could not enter into her submission at all; it seemed to him like a want of feeling.
He said of course it wasn't her fault that she was made one way and he another." In fact, Mr.Charlie Ferrola took to the pink satin boudoir with a more languishing persistency than ever, requiring to be stayed with flagons, and comforted with apples, and receiving sentimental calls of condolence from fair admirers, made aware of the intense poignancy of his grief.

A lovely poem, called "My Withered Blossom," which appeared in a fashionable magazine shortly after, was the out-come of this experience, and increased the fashionable sympathy to the highest degree.
Honest Mrs.Van Astrachan, however, though not acquainted with Mrs.
Ferrola, went to the funeral with Rose; and the next day her carriage was seen at Mrs.Ferrola's door.
"You poor little darling!" she said, as she came up and took Mrs.
Ferrola in her arms.