Lucy (Chapter_11)

"Comfort," said Lucy, "oh what comfort can such a one as I have--Rejoice that he is born.--no, no, I would rejoice if he had never been born, and that I was now in the cold grave." And she covered her head, with out looking at the child. "Now, dont yet be so unnatural," said the good woman, take the poor babe and warm it in your bosom and give it a mother's blessing". "A mother's blessing!" sobbed out Lucy, "poor thing it has no father--wretch, wretch that I am.--take it away, take it away, how can a mother loaded with a father's curse bless her child?--take it away, take it away." At that moment the infant uttered a faint and feeble cry. That cry, reached her heart, and awakened all a mother's feelings, which agony and dispair had for a while suppressed--Lucy, snatched the child, and hiding it in her bosom, almost smothered it with her carresses. "Let us die--let us die together," she faintly articulated.

For some moments the woman thought she was indeed dead; for over come by her violent emotion--exhausted by suffering and sickness, she had fainted and it was a long while before she could be restored to life. "Why have you brought me back to life" were her first words.--But after taking a little warm gruel; after her child was again put in her arms--When she laid it on her bosom and felt the pressure of little lips and felt the vital current rush through her veins, and yield its nutriment to her babe,--Self was all absorbed--all lost and she was willing to endure life, with all its bitterness and agony for the sake of nourishing a being now, far dearer to her than Self. Oh triumph of Nature! wise and gracious provision of an all wise and gracious God, who gives such omnipotence to a sentiment, on which depends the preservation of the human family.--A mother's love!

Inspired by this pure and heaven imparted flame new vigour, pervaded Lucy's feeble frame. New hopes cheer'd her desolated heart, and a stronger tie, than she had ever felt; now bound her to life. No longer did she feel abandoned and alone, her child became to her, father, mother, husband, every feeling of her affectionate heart was absorbed in this one object, and knowing that its life depended on hers, she longed to live. No longer were her hours sad and solitary. every thought was now turned on projects to gain a support for her child, by the labour of her hands. While she gazed on its sweet face, her fancy would carry her forward to the time, when in its turn her lovely boy should cheer and support her solitary old age. "William--William" with what a sad and tender delight would she repeat over and over again the beloved name, while she fondly tried to trace in its infant features a resemblance to its father.--And oftener still water it with tears of mingled

grief and tenderness. Thus passed the first weeks, after the birth of the fatherless boy. The new spirit infused into Lucy's enfeebled frame, seemed to triumph not only over dispair, but disease and she regained her strength much sooner than could have been expected. Every evening she consulted with Richard on the plan she should pursue, but he could suggest none, in which his experience did not discover difficulties, which damped even Lucy's courage, animated as it was by love and hope. "If it was not for the poor little baby," he would say, "you could get places a plenty, but who is there Miss, that would like to be troubled with a young child? but hows ever be patient a while longer and I will try whats to be done." He did not know how many trials of patience poor Lucy had, during his absence--nor how much she suffered from the idea of depriving

his children of bread. But she looked at her boy, and thought that for his sake, she could be patient under still harder trials than Becky's repinings and ill humour. The kind widow, did not forget the little stranger, nor his destitute mother, and went round among her friends and made a small collection of clothes and other things necessary for Lucy and her child, which if not a sufficient supply, relieved them at best from that utter destitution in which she had found them.