Why, I can _see_ him breathe now, and
you know it _must_ be a good sign; and then there's a merciful God over
us--and all the poor little children--what would become of us?' And then
she wiped her eyes quickly. 'The promise, you know, of length of
days--it often comforted me before--to those that honour father and
mother; and I believe there never was so good a son. Oh! my noble
Barney, never; 'tis my want of reliance and trust in the Almighty's
goodness.'
And so, holding Toole by the cuff of his coat, and looking piteously
into his face as they stood together in the doorway, the poor little
woman argued thus with inexorable death.
Fools, and blind; when amidst our agonies of supplication the blow
descends, our faith in prayer is staggered, as if it reached not the ear
of the Allwise, and moved not His sublime compassion. Are we quite sure
that we comprehend the awful and far-sighted game that is being played
for us and others so well that we can sit by and safely dictate its
moves?
How will Messrs. Morphy or Staunton, on whose calculations, I will
suppose, you have staked L100, brook your insane solicitations to spare
this pawn or withdraw that knight from prise, on the board which is but
the toy type of that dread field where all the powers of eternal
intellect, the wisdom from above and the wisdom from beneath--the
stupendous intelligence that made, and the stupendous sagacity that
would undo us, are pitted one against the other in a death-combat, which
admits of no reconciliation and no compromise?
About poor Mrs.
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