“Lilly, dear Lilly!” he sobbed, pressing his lips upon her brow and cheeks.  “Yes!  I am your father!”

The wife and mother sat motionless and tearless with her eyes fixed upon the face of her husband.  After a few passionate embraces, Canning drew the child’s arms from about his neck, and setting her down upon the floor, advanced slowly toward his wife.  Her eyes were still tearless, but large drops were rolling over his face.

“Margaret!” he said, uttering her name with great tenderness.

He was by her side in time to receive her upon his bosom, as she sunk forward in a wild passion of tears.

All was reconciled.  The desolate hearts were again peopled with living affections.  The arid waste smiled in greenness and beauty.

In their old home, bound by threefold cords of love, they now think only of the past as a severe lesson by which they have been taught the heavenly virtue of forbearance.  Five years of intense suffering changed them both, and left marks that after years can never efface.  But selfish impatience and pride were all subdued, and their hearts melted into each other, until they became almost like one heart.  Those who meet them now, and observe the deep, but unobtrusive affection with which they regard each other, would never imagine, did they not know their previous history, that love, during one period of that married life, had been so long and so totally eclipsed.

THE SOCIAL SERPENT.

A lady, whom we will call Mrs. Harding, touched with the destitute condition of a poor, sick widow, who had three small children, determined, from an impulse of true humanity, to awaken, if possible, in the minds of some friends and neighbours, an interest in her favour.  She made a few calls, one morning, with this end in view, and was gratified to find that her appeal made a favourable impression.  The first lady whom she saw, a Mrs. Miller, promised to select from her own and children’s wardrobe a number of cast-off garments for the widow, and to aid her in other respects, at the same time asking Mrs. Harding to call in on the next day, when she would be able to let her know what she could do.

Pleased with her reception, and encouraged to seek further aid for the widow, Mrs. Harding withdrew and took her way to the house of another acquaintance.  Scarcely had she left, when a lady, named Little, dropped in to see Mrs. Miller.  To her the latter said, soon after her entrance: 

“I’ve been very much interested in the case of a poor widow this morning.  She is sick, with three little children dependent on her, and destitute of almost every thing.  Mrs. Harding was telling me about it.”

“Mrs. Harding!” The visitor’s countenance changed, and she looked unutterable things.  “I wonder!” she added, in well assumed surprise, and then was silent.

“What’s the matter with Mrs. Harding?” asked Mrs. Miller.