Mrs. Little declined the invitation at first; but, strongly urged by Mrs. Miller, she finally consented. So the two ladies forthwith took their way toward the neighbourhood in which Mrs. Harding had said the needy woman lived. They were within a few doors of the house, which had been very minutely described by Mrs. Harding, when they met Mrs. Johns.

"Ah!" said the latter, with animation, "just the person, of all others, I most wished to see. How could you, Mrs. Miller, so greatly wrong Mrs. Harding?"

"Me wrong her, Mrs. Johns? I don't understand you." And Mrs. Miller looked considerably astonished.

"Mrs. Little informed me that you had good reasons for believing all this story about a poor widow to be a mere subterfuge, got up to cover some doings of her own that Mrs. Harding was ashamed to bring to the light."

"Mrs. Little!" There was profound astonishment in the tones of Mrs.

Miller, and her eyes had in them such an indignant light, as she fixed them upon her companion, that the latter quailed under her gaze.

"Acting from this impression," resumed Mrs. Johns, "I declined placing at her disposal the means of relief promised; but, instead, told her that I would myself see the needy person for whom she asked aid. This I have, until now, neglected to do; and this neglect, or indifference I might rather call it, has arisen from a belief that there was no poor widow in the case. Wrong has been done, Mrs.

Miller, great wrong! How could you have imagined such baseness of Mrs. Harding?"

"And there _is_ a poor, sick widow, in great need?" said Mrs.

Miller, now speaking calmly, and with regained self-possession.

"There is a sick widow," replied Mrs. Johns, "but not at present in great need. Mrs. Harding has supplied immediate wants."

"Well, Mrs. Little!" Mrs. Miller again turned her eyes, searchingly, upon her companion.

"I--I--thought so. It was my impression--I had good reason for--I--I" stammered Mrs. Little.

"It should have been enough for you to check a benevolent impulse in my case by your unfounded suggestions. Not content with this, however, you must use my name in still further spreading your unjust suspicions, and actually make me the author of charges against a n.o.ble-minded woman, which had their origin in your own evil thoughts."

"I will not bear such language!" said the offended Mrs. Little, indignantly; and turning with an angry toss of the head, she left the ladies to their own reflections.

"I am taught one good lesson from this circ.u.mstance," said Mrs.

Miller, as they walked away; "and that is, never to even seem to have my good opinion of another affected by the allegations and surmises of a social gossip. Such people always suppose the worst, and readily pervert the most unselfish actions into moral offences.

The harm they do is incalculable."

"And, as in the present case," remarked Mrs. Johns, "they make others responsible for their base suggestions. Had Mrs. Little not coupled your name with the implied charges against Mrs. Harding, my mind would not have been poisoned against her."

"While not a breath of suspicion had ever crossed mine until Mrs.

Little came in, and wantonly intercepted the stream of benevolence about to flow forth to a needy, and, I doubt not, most worthy object."

"We have made of her an enemy. At least you have; for you spoke to her with smarting plainness," said Mrs. Johns.

"Better the enmity of such than their friendship," replied Mrs.

Miller. "Their words of detraction cannot harm so much as the poison of evil thoughts toward others, which they ever seek to infuse. Your dearest friend is not safe from them, if she be pure as an angel.

Let her name but pa.s.s your lips, and instantly it is breathed upon, and the spotless surface grows dim."

THE YOUNG MOTHER.

[The following brief pa.s.sage is from our story, "The Wife," in the series "Maiden," "Wife," and "Mother."]

A NEW chord vibrated in Anna's heart, and the music was sweeter far in her spirit's ear, than any before heard. She was changed.

Suddenly she felt that she was a new creature. Her breast was filled with deeper, purer, and tenderer emotions. She was a mother! A babe had been born to her! A sweet pledge of love lay nestling by her side, and drawing its life from her bosom. She was happy--how happy cannot be told. A mother only can _feel_ how happy she was on first realizing the new emotions that thrill in a young mother's heart.

As health gradually returned to her exhausted frame, and friends gathered around her with warm congratulations, Anna felt that she was indeed beginning a new life. Every hour her soul seemed to enlarge, and her mind to be filled with higher and purer thoughts.

Before the birth of her babe, she suffered much more than even her husband had supposed, both in body and mind. Her spirits were often so depressed that it required her utmost effort to receive him with her accustomed cheerfulness at each period of his loved return. But, living as she did in the ever active endeavour to bless others, she strove daily and hourly to rise above every infirmity. Now, all was peace within--holy peace. There came a Sabbath rest of deep, interior joy, that was sweet, unutterably sweet. Body and spirit entered into this rest. No wind ruffled the still, bright waters of her life. She was the same, and yet not the same.

"I cannot tell you, dear husband! how happy I am," she said, a few weeks after her babe was born. "Nor can I describe the different emotions that pervade my heart. When our babe is in my arms, and especially when it lies at my bosom, it seems as if angels were near me."

"And angels are near you," replied her husband. "Angels love innocence, and especially infants, that are forms of innocence. They are present with them, and the mother shares the blessed company, for she loves her babe with an unselfish love, and this the angels can perceive, and, through it, affect her with a measure of their own happiness.

"How delightful the thought! Above all, is the mother blessed. She suffers much--her burden is hard to bear--the night is dark--but the morning that opens upon her is the brightest a human soul knows during its earthly pilgrimage. And no wonder. She has performed the highest and holiest of offices--she has given birth to an immortal being--and her reward is with her."

Hartley had loved his wife truly, deeply, tenderly. Every day, he saw more and more in her to admire. There was an order, consistency, and harmony in her character as a wife, that won his admiration. In the few months they had pa.s.sed since their marriage, she had filled her place to him, perfectly. Without seeming to reflect how she should regulate her conduct toward her husband, in every act of her wedded life she had displayed true wisdom, united with unvarying love. All this caused his heart to unite itself more and more closely with hers. But now, that she held to him the twofold relation of a wife and mother, his love was increased fourfold. He thought of her, and looked upon her, with increased tenderness.

"Mine, by a double tie," he said, with a full realization of his words, when he first pressed his lips upon the brow of his child, and then, with a fervour unfelt before, upon the lips of his wife.

"As you have been a good wife, you will be a good mother," he added, with emotion.

THE GENTLE WARNING.

"Do not accept the offer, Florence," said her friend Carlotti.

A shade of disappointment went over the face of the fair girl, who had just communicated the pleasing fact that she had received an offer of marriage.

"You cannot be happy as the wife of Herman Leland," added Carlotti.

"How little do you know this heart," returned the fond girl.

"It is because I know it so well that I say what I do. If your love be poured out for Herman Leland, Florence, it will be as water on the desert sand."

"Why do you affirm this, Carlotti?"

"A woman can truly love only the moral virtue of her husband."

"I do not clearly understand you."

"It is only genuine goodness of heart that conjoins in marriage."

"Well?"

"Just so far as selfish and evil affections find a place in the mind of either the husband or wife, will be the ratio of unhappiness in the marriage state. If there be any truth in morals, or in the doctrine of affinities, be a.s.sured that this is so. It is neither intellectual attainments nor personal attractions that make happiness in marriage. Far, very far from it. All depends upon the quality of the affections. If these be good, happiness will come as a natural consequence; but if they be evil, misery will inevitably follow so close a union."

"Then you affirm that Mr. Leland is an evil-minded man?"

"Neither of us know him well enough to say this positively, Florence. Judging from what little I have seen, I should call him a selfish man; and no selfish man can be a good man, for selfishness is the basis of all evil."

"I am afraid you are prejudiced against him, Carlotti."

"If I have had any prejudices in the matter, Florence, they have been in his favour. Well-educated, refined in his manners, and variously accomplished, he creates, on nearly all minds, a favourable impression. Such an impression did I at first feel. But the closer I drew near to him, the less satisfied did I feel with my first judgment. On at least two occasions, I have heard him speak lightly of religion."