you are satisfied. I can see your heart still, and that is dearei to me than your person. Let me see it as good and dutifu. as I knew it before you left me." “Well, Since you 7. The disappointed exile supported her in his arms. well, my poor mother," he said, "I am satisfied. are the chief sufferer, and show no discontent, it would be too unreasonable that I should murmur. The will of Heaven be done! but it is a bitter-bitter stroke." Again he folded his dark parent to his bosom, and wept aloud; while his wife, retiring softly to a distance, hid her face in her cloak. Her children clung with fear and anxiety to her side, and gazed with affrighted faces upon the afflicted mother and son. 8. But they were not forgotten. After she had repeatedly embraced her recovered child, the good widow remembered her guests. She extended her arms towards that part of the room at which she heard the sobs and moanings of the younger mother. "Is that my daughter's voice?" she asked"place her in my arms, Richard. Let me feel the mother of your children upon my bosom." The young woman flung herself into the embrace of the aged widow. "Young and fair, I am sure," the latter continued, passing her wasted fingeis over the blooming cheek of the good American. "I can feel the roses upon this cheek, I am certain. But what are these? Tears? My good child, you should dry our tears instead of adding to them. Where are your children? me see- -ah my heart-let me feel them, I mean-let me take them in my arms. My little angels! Oh! if I could only open my eyes, for one moment, to look upon you all-but for one little instant-I would close them again for the rest of my life, and think myself happy. If it had happened only one day-one hour after your arrival-but the will of Heaven be done! perhaps even this moment, when we think our selves most miserable, He is preparing for us some hidden blessing." Let 9. Once more the pious widow was correct in her conjec ture. It is true, that day, which all hoped should be a day of rapture, was spent by the reunited family in tears and mourn ing. But Providence did not indeed intend that creatures who had served him so faithfully should be visited with more than a temporary sorrow, for a slight and unaccustomed transgression. 10. The news of the widow's misfortune spread rapidly through the country, and excited universal sympathy for few refuse their commiseration to a fellow-creature's sorrow, even of those who would accord a tardy and measured sympathy to his good fortune. Among those who heard with real pity the story of their distress, was a surgeon who resided in the neighborhood, and who felt all that enthusiastic devotion to his art, which its high importance to the welfare of mankind was calculated to excite in a generous mind. This gentleman took an early opportunity of visiting the old widow when she was alone in the cottage. The simplicity with which she told her story, and the entire resignation which she expressed, interested and touched him deeply. 64 THE SON'S RETURN-Continued. 1. "Ir is not over with me yet, sir," she concluded, “for still, when the family are talking around me, I forget that I am blind; and when I hear my son say something pleasant, I turn to see the smile upon his lips; and when the darkness reminds me of my loss, it seems as if I lost my sight over again !" 2. The surgeon discovered, on examination, that the blindness was occasioned by a disease called cataract, which obscures, oy an unhealthy secretion, the lucid brightness of the crystalline lens (described in a former chapter), and obstructs the entrance of the rays of light. The improvements which modern practitioners have made in this science render this disease, which was once held to be incurable, now comparatively easy of removal The surgeon perceived at once, by the condition of the eyes, that, by the abstraction of the injured lens, he could restore sight to the afflicted widow. 8 Unwilling, however, to excite her hopes too suddenly or prematurely, he began by asking her whether, for a chance of recovering the use of her eyes, she would submit to a little pain? The poor woman replied, "that if he thought he could once more enable her to behold her child and his children, she would De content to undergo any pain which would not endanger her existence." 4. "Then," replied her visitor, "I may inform you, and I have the strongest reasons to believe, that I can restore your sight, provided you agree to place yourself at my disposal for a few days. I will provide you with an apartment in my house, and your family shall know nothing of it until the cure is effected." 5. The widow consented; and on that very evening the operation was performed. The pain was slight, and was endured by the patient without a murmur. For a few days after, the surgeon insisted on her wearing a covering over her eyes, until the wounds which he had found it necessary to inflict had been perfectly healed. 6. One morning, after he had felt her pulse and made the necessary inquiries, he said, while he held the hand of the widow : "I think we may now venture with safety to remove the covering. Compose yourself now, my good old friend, and suppress all emotion. Prepare your heart for the reception of a great happiness." 7. The poor woman clasped her hands firmly together, and moved her lips as if in prayer. At the same moment the covering fell from her brow, and the light burst in a joyous Hood upon her soul. She sat for an instant bewildered, and incapable of viewing any object with distinctness. The first upon which her eyes reposed was the figure of a young man bending his gaze with an intense and ecstatic fondness upon hers, and with his arms outstretched as if to anticipate the recognition. The face, though changed and sunned since she had known it, was still familiar to her. She started from her seat with a wild cry of joy, and cast herself upon the bosom of her son. 8. She embraced him repeatedly, then removed him to a distance, that she might have the opportunity of viewing him with greater distinctness, and again, with a burst of tears, flung herself upon his neck. Other voices, too, mingled with theirs. She beheld her daughter and their children waiting agerly for her caress. She embraced them all, returning from each to each, and perusing their faces and persons as if she would never drink deep enough of the cup of rapture which her recovered sense afforded her. The beauty of the young mother-the fresh and rosy color of the children the glossy brightness of their hair-their smiles their movements of joy -all afforded subjects for delight and admiration, such as she might never have experienced, had she never considered them in the light of blessings lost for life. The surgeon, who thought that the consciousness of a stranger's presence might impose a restraint upon the feelings of the patient and her friends, retired into a distant corner, where he beheld, not without tears, the scene of happiness which he had been made instrumental in conferring. 9. "Richard," said the widow, as she laid her hand upon her son's shoulder, and looked into his eyes, "did I not judge aright when I said that even when we thought ourselves the most miserable, the Almighty might have been preparing for us some hidden blessing? Were we in the right to murmur?” The young man withdrew his arms from his mother, clasped them before him, and bowed down his head in silence. 65. THE CHERWELL WATER-LILY. FABER. 1. How often doth a wild flower bring And far into the aching breast There goes a heavenly thought of rest Dear wild flowers, with a gentle shock, While somewhat of a Christian light Ah! surely such strange power is given Fairest of Flora's lovely daughters How true in all thy goings, The secrets of his flowings. 8. And then that heart of living gold, Which thou dost modestly infold, And screen from man's too searching view, |