life, in reconciling
the minds of survivors."

"I am sure that is true," observed Margaret.

"It is so generally the case that I know no set of circumstances in
which I should more confidently reckon on the calmness, forethought, and
composure of the persons I have to deal with than in the family of a
dying person. The news comes suddenly to the neighbours: all the
circumstances rush at once into their imaginations: all their
recollections and feelings about the sufferer agitate them in quick
succession; and they naturally suppose the near friends must be more
agitated, in proportion to their nearness."

"The watchers, meanwhile," said Hester, "have had time in the long night
to go over the past and the future, again and again; and by morning all
seems so familiar, that they think they can never be surprised into
grief again."

"So familiar," said Mr Hope, "that their minds are at liberty for the
smallest particulars of their duty. I usually find them ready for the
minutest directions I may have to give."

"Yes: the time for surprise,--for consternation,--is long afterwards,"
said Hester, with some emotion. "When the whole has become settled and
finished in other minds, the nearest mourners begin to wake up to their
mourning."

"And thus," said Margaret, "the strongest agitation is happily not
witnessed."

"Happily not," said Mr Hope. "I doubt whether anybody's strongest
agitations ever are witnessed. I doubt whether the sufferer himself is
often aware of what are really his greatest sufferings; and he is so
ashamed of them that he hides them from himself when it is possible. I
cannot but think that any grief which reveals itself is very endurable."

"Is not that rather hard?" asked Margaret.

"How does it seem to you hard? Is it not merciful that we can keep our
worst sorrows,--that we are disposed, as it were forced, to keep them
from afflicting our friends?"

"But is it not saying that bereavement of friends is not the greatest of
sorrows, while all seem to agree that it is?"

"Is it, generally speaking, the greatest of sorrows? I think not, for
my own part. There are cases in which the loss is too heavy to bear
being the subject of any speculation, almost of observation; for
instance, when the happiest married people are separated, or when a
first or only child dies: but I think there are many sorrows greater
than a separation by death of those who have faith enough to live
independently of