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!"

We crave pardon, gentle ladies all, if, in our estimate of causes,