to their "mammies" in preference to her, and Ruth's words would sound in her ears again.
Those words had been a new revelation to Angelica; they had placed in her hands the golden key which unlocked the secret of her lassitude, and languor, and depression.
For some time after she became cognizant of her own state, the evil seemed aggravated by being comprehended; but the dangerous illness of her little son wakened the mother in her heart, and gave her a motive for exertion. She hung over his bed day after day, and forgot her ennui, her ailments, her low spirits, in ministering to the little sufferer. Then followed a thrill of joy, amounting to ecstasy, when the sweet invalid's first signs of returning health gladdened her maternal eyes.
"Ruth was right, again. Sorrow was good for me. I was suffering from a plethora of happiness," she inwardly exclaimed.
That conviction and that confession were the heralds of a happy change. It was not effected in an hour or in a day; it was hardly perceptible at first, but was gradually felt throughout the household, by children, servants, friends, dependants,—most of all, by Angelica's husband.
Ah! no one divined how simple was the magic that wrought this wonderful metamorphosis! A few passing words of truth, dropped from the kindly lips of a friend, and the discovery of an ailment which proved to be only "a plethora of happiness."
