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me in there arms from this bitter piercing air" --Or if I must
die, how sweet would it have been to die on thy bosom--But
to die here!--unpitied and unknown! exposed and despised!--'tis
dreadful, --oh 'tis dreadful!--No father or mother will shed
tears over the sod that covers me, --nor will my William
when his day's work is done, sit beside my grave and ponder
on the happy days we passed together!"--Then, gazing on the
lifeless form she pressed to her heart, she continued, "But it matters not, for
in a few more hours, I shall be as insensible as this babe,
what becomes of this poor body--why then do I wish it laid in
a church-yard,--that my parents, and my William should
grieve and weep over it? I should not feel their tears, more
than my sweet babe feels mine."--It was thus she felt, and
thus she thought, but it was in vain she repeated--"it matters
not," and tried to reconcile herself to the dreadful idea of soon
lying an exposed and unpitied corpse on the highway--it was an idea
which fill'd her with more horror, than that of death itself!