From one of its masts, a long,
loose, solitary shroud was pendant, having at its end a large double
block attached to it, on which a boy was seated, and swung backward
and forward. He was a little saucy urchin, of about twelve years of
age, dressed in striped homespun, and had on his head a red yarn
clackmutch, that resembled a cap of liberty. He seemed quite happy,
and sung a verse of a French song with an air of conscious pride and
defiance as his mother, stick in hand, stood before him, and at the
top of her voice now threatened him with the rod, his father, and the
priest--and then treacherously coaxed him with a promise to take him
to Halifax, where he should see the great chapel, hear the big bell,
and look at the bishop. A group of little girls stared in amazement at
his courage, but trembled when they heard his mother predict a broken
neck--purgatory--and the devil as his portion. The dog was as excited
as the boy--he didn't bark, but he whimpered as he gazed upon him, as
if he would like to jump up and be with him, or to assure him he would
catch him if he fell, if he had but the power to do so.
What a picture it was--the huge wreck of that that once "walked the
waters as a thing of life"--the merry boy--the anxious mother--the
trembling sisters--the affectionate dog; what bits of church-yard
scenes were here combined--children playing on the tombs--the young
and the old--the merry and the aching heart--the living among the
dead.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396