“LIFE is a mingled yarn;” few of its afflictions but are accompanied with some alleviation—­none of its blessings that do not bring some alloy.  Like most other events that long have formed the object of yearning and almost hopeless wishes, and on which have been built the fairest structure of human felicity, the arrival of the young heir of Glenfern produced a less extraordinary degree of happiness than had been anticipated.  The melancholy event which had marked the first ceremonial of his life had cast its gloom alike on all nearly connected with him; and when time had dispelled the clouds of recent mourning, and restored the mourners to their habitual train of thought and action, somewhat of the novelty which had given him such lively interest in the hearts of the sisters had subsided.  The distressing conviction, too, more and more forced itself upon them, that their advice and assistance were likely to be wholly overlooked in the nurture of the infant mind and management of the thriving frame of their little nephew.  Their active energies, therefore, driven back to the accustomed channels, after many murmurs and severe struggles, again revolved in the same sphere as before.  True, they sighed and mourned for a time, but soon found occupation congenial to their nature in the little departments of life—­dressing crape; reviving black silk; converting narrow hems into broad hems; and in short, who so busy, who so important, as the ladies of Glenfern?  As Madame de Stael, or de Something says, “they fulfilled their destinies.”  Their walk lay amongst threads and pickles; their sphere extended from the garret to the pantry; and often as they sought to diverge from it, their instinct always led them to return to it, as the tract in which they were destined to move.  There are creatures of the same sort in the male part of the creation, but it is foreign to my purpose to describe them at present.  Neither are the trifling and insignificant of either sex to be treated with contempt, or looked upon as useless by those whom God has gifted with higher powers.  In the arrangements of an all-wise Providence there is nothing created in vain.  Every link of the vast chain that embraces creation helps to hold together the various relations of life; and all is beautiful gradation, from the human vegetable to the glorious archangel.

If patient hope, if unexulting joy, and chastened anticipation, sanctifying a mother’s love, could have secured her happiness, Mrs. Douglas would have found, in the smiles of her infant, all the comfort her virtue deserved.  But she still had to drink of that cup of sweet and bitter, which must bathe the lips of all who breathe the breath of life.