Australian Tales - Setis

so I accepted the offer, then prepared to go down to Beechwood to break
the news to my dear mother and Nanny Roseley; and to take a last look
at my native woods, and the old-fashioned thatched house near the
village green, where I first drew the breath of life.”
Chapter III.
“MY mother was overwhelmed with grief when I tremblingly
acquainted her with my new designs and prospects,” continued Mr.
Dovecott. “And it is no wonder the poor old soul was cast down, for I
was her main stay, and the only earthly object of her heart's strong
affections to centre upon. She had buried my father and my sister years
before, and had had a hard struggle to keep a comfortable roof over her
head, and to give me a little bit of schooling as she called it. When I
began to earn money of course I supported her, for she had grown too
feeble to earn much at her spinning wheel; indeed, I did not allow her to
work for pay after I had the means of supplying all her wants. It was a
proud day for me, sir, when I remitted her my first quarter's salary, and
told her in a loving letter that she was henceforward to live like a lady.
The idea then of my going from her to the other side of the world, and
over the terrible wide sea, seemed like blasting all her earthly comfort,
and cutting off her supplies of daily bread too. She could not see a single
ray of light through the thick cloud which had so suddenly darkened her
life; and her piteous appeals to me not to leave her alone in the world,
almost shook my resolution to pieces. Any logical efforts to assuage her
grief just then would have been vain, I knew, so I deferred reasoning
with her until the first heavy burst of her sorrow was past. Depend on it,
sir, that is the best plan to adopt in such cases. I have often seen
sympathizing friends trying to administer comfort to persons who had
been suddenly overtaken by some distressing calamity, and I have
fancied that the eloquence of their looks would have been more soothing
than their tongues. ‘Cheer up! Don't fret! pray don't give way to such
immoderate grief!’ and similar little bits of good advice, tend rather to
irritate than to console, under the first heavy pressure of calamity. If a
horse tumbles down with a loaded cart behind him, a skilful driver does
not immediately shout ‘Come up,’ in his ears, for he knows that the
violent efforts the horse would make to rise, under the excitement caused
by his fall, would probably break the harness, and perhaps break his
knees or his backbone. So the driver lets the poor panting beast rest for a
few minutes to recover the shock, and meanwhile eases the load as much
as possible, and after that he may say ‘gee up’ with effect. You may as
well try to extinguish a blazing house with a boy's squirt, as to rally grief
out of the heart of a poor mortal crushed down with sudden affliction, by
saying ‘cheer up; don't cry!’ Better to let the tears come if they will, for