There are as many aspects of grief as there are persons to mourn. A

quality of pathetic and rather grisly humor is to be found in the

incident of an English laborer, whose little son died. The vicar on

calling to condole with the parents found the father pacing to and fro

in the living-room with the tiny body in his arms. As the clergyman

spoke phrases of sympathy, the father, with tears streaming down his

cheeks, interrupted loudly:

"Oh, sir, you don't know how I loved that li'll faller. Yus, sir, if it

worn't agin the law, I'd keep him, an' have him stuffed, that I would!"


The woman confessed to her crony:

"I'm growing old, and I know it. Nowadays, the policeman never takes me

by the arm when he escorts me through the traffic."