第52章

My heart, once soft as woman's tear, is gnarled With gloating on the ills I cannot cure. ELLIOTT. Then guard and shield her innocence, Let her not fall like me; 'Twere better, oh! a thousand times, She in her grave should be. The Outcast . Despair settled down like a heavy cloud; and now and then, through the dead calm of sufferings, came pipings of stormy winds, foretelling the end of these dark prognostics. In times of sorrowful or fierce endurance, we are often soothed by the mere repetition of old proverbs which tell the experience of our forefathers; but now, "it's a long lane that has no turning," "the weariest day draws to an end, etc., seemed false and vain sayings, so long and so weary was the pressure of the terrible times.

Deeper and deeper still sank the poor; it showed how much lingering suffering it takes to kill men, that so few (in comparison) died during those times.

But, remember! we only miss those who do men's work in their humble sphere; the aged, the feeble, the children, when they die, are hardly noted by the world; and yet to many hearts, their deaths make a blank which long years will never fill up. Remember, too, that though it may take much suffering to kill the able-bodied and effective members of society, it does not take much to reduce them to worn, listless, diseased creatures, who thenceforward crawl through life with moody hearts and pain-stricken bodies. The people had thought the poverty of the preceding years hard to bear, and had found its yoke heavy; but this year added sorely to its weight.