A CURE FOR LOW SPIRITS.
FROM some cause, real or imaginary, I felt low spirited. There was a
cloud upon my feelings, and I could not smile as usual, nor speak in
a tone of cheerfulness. As a natural result, the light of my
countenance being gone, all things around me were in a shadow. My
husband was sober, and had but little to say; the children would
look strangely at me when I answered their questions or spoke to
them for any purpose, and the domestics moved about in a quiet
manner, and when they addressed me, did so in a tone more subdued
than usual.
This reaction upon my state, only made darker the clouds that veiled
my spirits. I was conscious of this, and was conscious that the
original cause of depression was entirely inadequate, in itself, to
produce the result which had followed. Under this feeling, I made an
effort to rally myself, but in vain--and sank lower from the
struggle to rise above the gloom that overshadowed me.
When my husband came home at dinner time, I tried to meet him with a
smile; but I felt that the light upon my countenance was feeble, and
of brief duration. He looked at me earnestly, and in his kind and
gentle way, enquired if I felt no better, affecting to believe that
my ailment was one of the body instead of the mind. But I scarcely
answered him, and I could see that he felt hurt. How, much more
wretched did I become at this? Could I have then retired to my
chamber, and alone given my heart full vent in a passion of tears, I
might have obtained relief to my feelings. But I could not do this.
While I sat at the table forcing a little food into my mouth for
appearance sake, my husband said:
"You remember the fine lad who has been with me for some time?"
I nodded my head, but the question did not awaken in my mind the
least interest.
"He has not made his appearance for several days; and I learned this
morning, on sending to the house of his mother, that he is very
ill."
"Ah!" was my indifferent response. Had I spoken, what was in my
mind, I would have said, "I'm sorry, but I can't help it." I did not
at the moment feel the smallest interest in the lad.
"Yes," added my husband, "and the person who called to let me know
about it, expressed his fears that Edward would not get up again."
"What ails him?" I enquired.
"I did not clearly understand. But he has a fever of some kind. You
remember his mother very well?"
"Oh, yes. You know she worked for me. Edward is her only child, I
believe."
"Yes; and his loss to her will be almost everything."
"Is he dangerous?" I enquired, a feeling of interest beginning to
stir in my heart.
"He is not expected to live."
"Poor woman! How distressed she must be! I wonder what her
circumstances are just at this time. She seemed very poor when she
worked for me."
"And she is very poor still, I doubt not. She has herself been sick,
and during the time it is more than probable that Edward's wages
were all her income. I am afraid she has not now the means of
procuring for her sick boy things necessary for his comfort. Could
you not go around there this afternoon, and see how they are?"
I shook my head instantly at this proposition, for sympathy for
others was not strong enough to expel my selfish despondency of
mind.
"Then I must step around," replied my husband, "before I go back to
business, although I have a great deal to do to-day. It would not be
right to neglect this lad and his mother under present circumstances."
I felt rebuked at these words, and, with an effort, said:
"I will go."
"It will be much better for you to see them than for me," returned
my husband, "for you can understand their wants better, and minister
to them more effectually. If they need any comforts, I would like to
have you see them supplied."
It still cost me an effort to get ready, but as I had promised to do
as my husband wished, the effort had to be made. By the time I was
prepared to go out, I felt something better. The exertion I was
required to make, tended to disperse, slightly, the clouds that hung
over me, and as they began gradually to remove, my thoughts turned,
with an awakened interest, towards the object of my husband's
solicitude.
All was silent within the humble abode to which my errand led me. I
knocked lightly, and in a few moments the mother of Edward opened
the door. She looked pale and anxious.
"How is your son, Mrs. Ellis?" I enquired, as I stepped in.
"He is very low, ma'am," she replied.
"Not dangerous, I hope?"
"The fever has left him, but he is as weak as an infant. All his
strength is gone."
"But proper nourishment will restore him, now that the disease is
broken."
"So the doctor says. But I'm afraid it's too late. He seems to be
sinking every hour. Will you walk up and see him?"
I followed Mrs. Ellis up stairs, and into a chamber, where the sick
boy lay. I was not surprised at the fear she expressed, when I saw
Edward's pale, sunken face, and hollow, almost expressionless eyes.
He scarcely noticed my entrance.
"Poor boy!" sighed his mother. "He has had a very sick spell."
My liveliest interest was at once awakened.
"He has been sick, indeed!" I replied, as I laid my hand upon his
white forehead.
I found his skin cold and damp. The fever had nearly burned out the
vital energy of his system.
"Do you give him much nourishment?"
"He takes a little barley-water."
"Has not the doctor ordered wine?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Mrs. Ellis, but she spoke with an air of
hesitation. "He says a spoonful of good wine, three or four times a
day, would be very good for him."
"And you have not given him any?"
"No, ma'am."
"We have some very pure wine, that we always keep for sickness. If
you will step over to our house, and tell Alice to give you a bottle
of it, I will stay with Edward until you return."
How brightly glowed that poor woman's face as my words fell upon her
ears!
"O, ma'am, you are very kind!" said she. "But it will be asking too
much of you to stay here!"
"You didn't ask it, Mrs. Ellis," I simply replied. "I have offered
to stay; so do you go for the wine as quickly as you can, for Edward
needs it very much."
I was not required to say more. In a few minutes I was alone with
the sick boy, who lay almost as still as if death were resting upon
his half-closed eye-lids. To some extent during the half hour I
remained thus in that hushed chamber, did I realize the condition
and feelings of the poor mother, whose only son lay gasping at the
very door of death, and all my sympathies were, in consequence,
awakened.
As soon as Mrs. Ellis returned with the wine, about a teaspoonful
was diluted, and the glass containing it placed to the sick lad's
lips. The moment its flavor touched his palate, a thrill seemed to
pass through his frame, and he swallowed eagerly.
"It does him good!" said I, speaking warmly, and from an impulse
that made my heart glow.
We sat and looked with silent interest upon the boy's face, and we
did not look in vain, for something like warmth came upon his wan
cheeks, and when I placed my hand upon his forehead, the coldness
and dampness were gone. The wine had quickened his languid pulse. I
stayed an hour longer, and then another spoonful of the generous
wine was given. Its effect was as marked as the first. I then
withdrew from the humble home of the widow and her only child,
promising to see them again in the morning.
When I regained the street, and my thoughts for a moment reverted to
myself, how did I find all changed? The clouds had been
dispersed--the heavy load had been raised from my bosom. I walked
with a free step.
Sympathy for others, and active efforts to do others good, had
expelled the evil spirit from my heart; and now serene peace had
there again her quiet habitation. There was light in every part of
my dwelling when I re-entered it, and I sung cheerfully, as I
prepared with my own hands, a basket of provisions for the poor
widow.
When my husband returned again in the evening, he found me at work,
cheerfully, in my family, and all bright and smiling again. The
efforts to do good to others had driven away the darkness from my
spirit, and the sunshine was again on my countenance, and reflected
from every member of my household.