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."