insensibility was the effect of a deeper feeling—of a heart that could not recover its loss—of a mind totally overthrown.
She had arisen that morning at her accustomed hour, to take to her breast the little infant who slept in the cradle beside her;—but lifeless was that form which, a few hours before, she had laid on its pillow, in the full enjoyment of health. Spasms, it was supposed, had seized the child in his sleep; for his face was black and dreadfully disfigured. All efforts to recover him were fruitless. Physician nor medicine could avail,—the hand of death had struck the flower,—the vital spark was extinguished.
It was in vain that the distracted mother, pressing his cold lips to hers, declared, in the agony of hope, that they still retained a living warmth.—It was in vain that she watched him till her eyes deceived, fancied that they saw a change imperceptible to others—a breath of life restored to
