The tears were falling fast from Mr.
Clement's cheeks, who felt, that until the agonies of the boy were over, it would be vain to offer her any kind of support.

At length she exclaimed-- "Oh! Saviour, who suffered the agony of the cross, and who loved little children like him, let your mercy descend upon my beloved! Suffer him to come to you soon.

Oh! Saviour--hear a mother's prayer, for I loved him above all, and he was our life! Core of my heart, you are striving to tell your mother what you suffer, but the weight of death is upon your tongue, and you cannot do it! I am here, my beloved sufferer--I am here--you struggle to find my hands to tell me--to tell me--but I cannot help you." "Mrs.Vincent," said the curate, "we have reason to believe that what appears to us to be the agony of death, is not felt so severely as we imagine; strive to moderate your grief--and reflect that he will soon be in peace, and joy, and happiness, that will never end.

His little sorrows and sufferings will soon be over, and the bosom of a merciful God will receive him into life and glory." "But, sir," replied the widow, the tears fast streaming down her cheeks, "do you not see what he suffers?
Look at the moisture that is on his little brow, and see how he writhes with the pain.

He thinks that I can stop it, and it is for that he presses my hand.