The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1851-01-15

eriy affection had carried Lucy to tn
bedside of her child. She clasped tn
sufferer in her arms, scalding tears fallin,
4 upon the child's face, awoke her. Sh
was not frightened, but seemed 10 under
stand the meaning Of it. Extending he
feeble arms, little Lucy twined them abou
her mothers neck.
William approached, but not wore
wasspoken. Silence was only interrupted
by the sobs Of the mother, and the irai
murmur Of welcome of her child. William
gazed moment, but tears blinded him
and he turned away.
Are you indeed my mother?" asked
little Lucy, in feeble tone.
"Yes!-yes, my darling child! | am
your own mother! Oh! my darling!"
What more was said cannot here be
written. 1t was the natural language oil
strong affection and deep passion, which
none can interrupt; it was poetry too sub
lime for expression-eloquence, whose
power can only be imagined.
Again Lucy was at her husbands feet.
1t was TOO much for even his stern nature.
lie had known her patience and humil-
iation, and now his heart reented. He
raised her into his arms, he forgave her
and, all the love and devotion of former
years rushing with renewed power upon
his soul, he pressed her passionately to his
heart.
Lucy felt herrepentance had atom ed,
in some measure, for her faults; her hus-
bands kindness re-assured her; noun.
famous weight of wretchedness was lifted
from her heart, and the light Of hope il.
lumined all IFS darkness. Inspired by
love, and joy, and faith, she arose, beau.
tilul in the strength of her woman's soul.
which seemed endowed with new life and
power yet untried.
The little sufferer called feebly for her
mother as soon as she was out of her sight,
and would not rest if she was not contin.
ually at her bedside. The child seemed
to love her as if she had never known any
care but hers, and no affection but her
mother.
"For one thing" said Lucy to her hus-
band, 81 sincerely thank you. You have
never taught her to hate her mothers
faults"
To the surprise of all, little Lucy began
from that day, to exhibit symptoms of re.
turning strength The presence of her
mother seemed TO inspire her with fresh
vigor. In few days she had so far re-
covered, that the physician declared her
out of danger.
"Iowe her life to you, Lucy" exclaimed
William, with warmth. "You have sna,ched
her from the grave"
"Can then be with her henceforth!"
timidly asked Mrs. Mowbray.
"Let the past be forgotten" murmured
William. 81 forgive everything; | feel
assured that you wish to be to Lucy a
mother. I,too, need to be forgiven for
the unnecessary severity with which have
treated you"
"Nay," cried Lucy, "your severity ,oas
necessary. 1t has made me another being.
trust am now fit to be your wife and
mother of your child. have suffered
much, and have caused you much-too
much suffering; but now that you have
forgiven me, let all be forgotten in the joy
,f the present. feel too thankful in be-
ng restored to my ever dear husband and
larling child, to weep over the past"
The trial was over. The ordeal of fire
vas passed. Suffering had purified the
,earts of the young couple; softened them,
and strengthened them in virtue and love.
The beautiful child that had restored the
husband to the wife. and the wife to the
formed an everlasting tie of af.
ection between them. Little Lucy be.
,ame the idol of their affections, the CEN
re OF their hopes, and she was early
aught to love goodness rightly; to govern
Ter impulses, and to abominate "FITs OF
ASSIGN"