As Mr. Abercrombie left the house, Mrs. Abercrombie entered the nursery, attracted by the notes of discord.  Had there been sunshine on her countenance, and firm but gentle remonstrance on her tongue, a quick change would have become apparent.  But, ere this, the shadows she had thrown around her had darkened the atmosphere of her dwelling, and were now reflected back upon her heart, enshrouding it in deeper gloom.  The want of harmony among her children increased her mental disturbance, obscured her perceptions, and added to her state of irritability.  She could not speak calmly to them, nor wisely endeavour to restore the harmony which had been lost.  Her words, therefore, while, by their authoritative force, they subdued the storm, left the sky black with clouds that poured down another and fiercer tempest the moment her presence was removed.

But this state of things could not be permitted.  The mother reappeared, and, after some hurried inquiries into the cause of disturbance among her children, took for granted the statement of those who were most forward in excusing themselves and accusing others, and unwisely resorted to punishment—­unwisely, in the first place, because she decided hastily and from first appearances; and in the second place, because she was in no state of mind to administer punishment.  The consequence was, that she punished those least to blame, and thereby did a great wrong.  Of this she was made fully aware after it was too late.  Then, indignant at the, false accusation by which she had been led into the commission of an unjust act, she visited her wrath with undue severity, and in unseemly passion, upon the heads of the real offenders.

By this time the children were in a state of intimidation.  It was plain that their mother was fairly aroused, and each deemed it best to be as quiet and inoffensive as possible.  The reappearance of harmony being thus restored, Mrs. Abercrombie, whose head and heart were now both throbbing with pain, retired in a most unhappy state of mind to her chamber, where she threw herself into a large chair, feeling unutterably wretched.

And what was the origin of all this discord and misery?  Why came that cloud, in the beginning, to the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie—­that cloud, whose shadow had already exercised so baleful an influence?  The cause was slight, very slight.  But do not, fair reader, blame Mrs. Abercrombie too severely, nor say this cause was censurably inadequate.  The touch of a feather will hurt an inflamed part.  Ah! does not your own experience in life affirm this.  Think of the last time the cloud was on your brow, and ask yourself as to the adequacy of the cause.

“But what was the cause?” you inquire.  Well, don’t smile:  a pair of gaiters had been sent home for Mrs. Abercrombie, late on the evening previous, and one of her first acts in the morning was to try them on.  They did not fit!  Now, Mrs. Abercrombie intended to go out on that very morning, and she wished to wear these gaiters.  “Enough to fret her, I should say!” exclaims one fair reader.  “A slight cause, indeed!” says another, tossing her curls; “men are great philosophers!”