GOING INTO MOURNING.





THE weeping mother bent over the beautiful form of innocent
childhood--beautiful still, though its animating spirit had
fled--and kissed the pale cheek of her dear departed one. When she
lifted her head, a tear glistened on the cold brow of the babe. Then
the father looked his last look, and, with an effort, controlled the
emotion that wellnigh mastered him. The sisters came next, with
audible sobs, and cheeks suffused with tears. A moment or two they
gazed upon the expressionless face of their dear little playfellow,
and then the coffin lid was shut down, while each one present
experienced a momentary feeling of suffocation.

As the funeral procession came out of the door, and the family
passed slowly across the pavement to the carriages, a few gossiping
neighbours--such as, with no particular acquaintance with the
principal members of a household, know all about the internal
management of every dwelling in the square--assembled close by, and
thus discoursed of the events connected with the burying.

"Poor Mrs. Condy," said one, "how can she bear the loss of that