'
'Well, now,' said the elder, 'I think it is grander as it is.'
'You are quite right, father,' said Robert. 'And so with many of our
fancies for perfecting God's mighty sketches, which he only can
finish.'
Again we seated ourselves and looked out over the waves.
'I have never yet heard,' I said, 'how you managed with that poor
girl that wanted to drown herself--on Westminster Bridge, I
mean--that night, you remember.'
'Miss St. John has got her in her own house at present. She has
given her those two children we picked up at the door of the
public-house to take care of. Poor little darlings! they are
bringing back the life in her heart already. There is actually a
little colour in her cheek--the dawn, I trust, of the eternal life.
That is Miss St. John's way. As often as she gets hold of a poor
hopeless woman, she gives her a motherless child. It is wonderful
what the childless woman and motherless child do for each other.'
'I was much amused the other day with the lecture one of the police
magistrates gave a poor creature who was brought before him for
attempting to drown herself. He did give her a sovereign out of the
poor box, though.'
'Well, that might just tide her over the shoal of self-destruction,'
said Falconer. 'But I cannot help doubting whether any one has a
right to prevent a suicide from carrying out his purpose, who is not
prepared to do a good deal more for him than that. What would you
think of the man who snatched the loaf from a hungry thief, threw it
back into the baker's cart, and walked away to his club-dinner?
Harsh words of rebuke, and the threat of severe punishment upon a
second attempt--what are they to the wretch weary of life? To some
of them the kindest punishment would be to hang them for it.
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