CONSTANCE.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
Then I have reason to be fond of grief."
What variations cannot love play on this one string!
In her first letter to Miss Keith, Mrs. Fleming says of her dead Maidie:
"Never did I behold so beautiful an object. It resembled the finest
waxwork. There was in the countenance an expression of sweetness and
serenity which seemed to indicate that the pure spirit had anticipated
the joys of heaven ere it quitted the mortal frame. To tell you what
your Maidie said of you would fill volumes; for you was the constant
theme of her discourse, the subject of her thoughts, and ruler of her
actions. The last time she mentioned you was a few hours before all
sense save that of suffering was suspended, when she said to Dr.
Johnstone, 'If you let me out at the New Year, I will be quite
contented.' I asked her what made her so anxious to get out then. 'I
want to purchase a New Year's gift for Isa Keith with the sixpence you
gave me for being patient in the measles; and I would like to choose it
myself.' I do not remember her speaking afterwards, except to complain
of her head, till just before she expired, when she articulated, 'O
mother! mother!'"
* * * * *
Do we make too much of this little child, who has been in her grave in
Abbotshall Kirkyard these fifty and more years? We may of her
cleverness,--not of her affectionateness, her nature.
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