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THE YOUNG WIFE.
Smith, Harrison
Lady's Book (1835-1839); May 1837; American Periodicals
pg. 196

Written for the Lady's Book.

THE YOUNG WIFE.

BY MRS. HARRISON SMITH.

"If you allow any passion, even though it be esteemed
innocent, to acquire an absolute ascendant,
your inward peace will be impaired. But if any
which has the taint of guilt, take early possession of
your mind, you may date from that moment the ruin
of your tranqillity." Blair's Sermons.

It was a stormy morning, the rain poured
down in torrents, and the wind was so cold that,
although in the midst of summer, a blazing fire
was a luxury. The two ladies continued seated
by the breakfast table, even after the cloth was
removed, and the servant withdrawn, instead of
separating as they usually did, for their morning
occupations.

Mrs. Murray sent for her work-basket, put on
her spectacles and busily plied her needle, though
not without frequent intermissions, when she
would look up from her work at Mrs. William
Murray, and seem about to speak--yet would
hesitate--pause, and then resume her work without
uttering a word. The younger, Mrs. Murray,
had taken up a Review that lay on the mantel-
piece, and throwing herself in an arm chair,
seemed absorbed in its perusal. For a long
while the silence was uninterrupted, although it
was evident that the elder lady was struggling
to give utterance to something pressing on her
mind; on again looking up with this intention,
she perceived her daughter-in-law was not reading
--that she did not turn a leaf of the book she
held in her hand, and though her eyes were fixed
on the page, her mind seemed far away.

"Mary," said Mrs. Muray.

"Mother!" exclaimed she, starting from her
reverie.

"I never saw you so absent, Mary, nor, I
may say, so indolent, at this, your usually most
busy hour."

Mary coloured, and with some hesitation, replied,--

"I had something on my mind, about which
I would consult you--but I cannot now--another
time will do."

"You have stated my case precisely, Mary;
for several days have I been wishing to speak to
you of something that weighed heavily on my
mind--but it is so seldom we are alone. You
keep yourself so shut up in your room," she
paused--but receiving no reply, continued,

"Is it kind, Mary?--is it hospitable, thus to
seclude yourself, when you have a visitor in the
house?"

"I mean no unkindness to Mr. Lovel."

"Mr. Lovel!" repeated Mrs. Murray, "and is
there no want of kindness in that term? Your
husband calls him brother, or Charles--or dear
Charles, and on his arrival, presented him as
such to you, recommending him to your sisterly
care and affection--and as such you received
him--oh, how kindly did you treat my poor boy
for the few first weeks. You brought your work
into the parlour, and sat the whole morning while
he read to you, or accompanied your piano with
his flute--you rode with him--you walked with
him--yes, you treated him with the kindness
and frankness of a sister. Oh, Mary, how happy
this made me! I looked on his reform as
certain. After three wretched years of absence,
of ceaseless anxiety--knowing nothing of my
erring, but still darling child, but that he was immersed
in scenes of riot and dissipation--wasting
his time and talents in vicious pursuits, the
prodigal son returned to his widowed mother,--
my heart, my arms opened to welcome him. I,
a dependent on a step-son's bounty, had not even
a crust of bread to bestow on my sick and repentant
child. But your husband, who has ever
been to me as an own son--yes, William, welcomed
the wanderer back with more than a brother's
kindness, and in a manner not to be resisted,
bade him feel himself at home. My poor
boy, who with all his faults has a generous nature,
as frankly accepted, as in similar circumstances
he would have made such an offer. Under
your's and William's kind care, how rapidly did
he recover--his glazed and sunburnt eyes resumed
all their brightness--his cold, pallid cheek
was warmed with the flush of health--his listlessness
and languor yielded to your animating
influence--his countenance beamed with contentment--
and with that joy a mother only can know
I felt as though my son, who had been lost, was
found, that he who had been dead, was made
alive. And it was to you, Mary, and your excellent
husband that I owed this invaluable blessing.
His old pursuits, his old companions were
all forsaken--for more than a month nothing has
seduced him from a home, where he seemed happier
than I ever knew him to be in his happiest
moods."

She paused, but Mary spoke not. Wiping
the tears from her aged cheeks, the fond mother
deeply sighed as she exclaimed,--

"But of late what a change has taken place--
no longer do I see those smiles, which were sunshine
to my soul--no longer do I see him innocently
and usefully occupied by your side, while
I sat by listening with pride as well as pleasure
to his intelligent conversation or sportive sallies.
You now absolutely shun him; you shut yourself
up in your room, or, when forced to join the family
circle, you scarcely reply when he speaks
to you--you turn back when you meet him in
your walks--you scarcely deign to look at him.
Mary, indeed Mary, you are most unkind."

Hitherto Mary had listened wtihout replying
to any of the charges thus urged against her.
She had not even by a look responded to the appeal
made to her feelings--but when Mrs. Murray
ceased to speak--when she wept outright,
her daughter-in-law looked up, and with evident
embarrassment attempted to vindicate her con-
duct.

"When he first came," said she, "I considered
him as a stranger, and left my usual occupations
to attend to him; but now that he has become
one of our family and is completely domesticated,
I treat him as I do my own brother when
he is with us."

"No, no," exclaimed Mrs. Murray, shaking
her head, "no, Mary, you do not deceive yourself,
nor can you deceive me--you no longer
treat him as a brother. Oh wretched woman
that I am," continued she, clasping her hands--
"after such hopes what will become of me if
Charles returns to his old habits--why do you
drive him to the precipice?"

"You are unjust and unkind, mother. I have