"You make yourself quite a stranger to us.

You ought to give yourself some variety." "The fact is, Mrs.Follingsbee," said Mrs.Ferrola, "receptions in New York generally begin about my bed-time; and, if I should spend the night out, I should have no strength to give to my children the next day." "But, my dear, you ought to have some amusement." "My children amuse me, if you will believe it," said Mrs.Ferrola, with a remarkably quiet smile.
Mrs.Follingsbee was not quite sure whether this was meant to be sarcastic or not.

She answered, however, "Well! your husband will come, at all events." "You may be quite sure of that," said Mrs.Ferrola, with the same quietness.
"Well!" said Mrs.Follingsbee, rising, with patronizing cheerfulness, "delighted to see you doing so well; and, if it is pleasant, I will send the carriage round to take you a drive in the park this afternoon.

Good-morning." And, like a rustling cloud of silks and satins and perfumes, she bent down and kissed the baby, and swept from the apartment.
Mrs.Ferrola, with a movement that seemed involuntary, wiped the baby's cheek with her handkerchief, and, folding it closer to her bosom, looked up as if asking patience where patience is to be found for the asking.
"There! I didn't I tell you ?" said Mrs.Follingsbee when she came out; "just one of those provoking, meek, obstinate, impracticable creatures, with no adaptation in her." "Oh, gracious me!" said Lillie: "I can't imagine more dire despair than to sit all day tending baby." "Well, so you would think; and Charlie has offered to hire competent nurses, and wants her to dress herself up and go into society; and she just won't do it, and sticks right down by the cradle there, with her children running over her like so many squirrels." "Oh! I hope and trust I never shall have children," said Lillie, fervently, "because, you see, there's an end of every thing.

No more fun, no more frolics, no more admiration or good times; nothing but this frightful baby, that you can't get rid of." Yet, as Lillie spoke, she knew, in her own slippery little heart, that the shadow of this awful cloud of maternity was resting over her; though she laced and danced, and bid defiance to every law of nature, with a blind and ignorant wilfulness, not caring what consequences she might draw down on herself, if only she might escape this.
And was there, then, no soft spot in this woman's heart anywhere?
Generally it is thought that the throb of the child's heart awakens a heart in the mother, and that the mother is born again with her child.
It is so with unperverted nature, as God meant it to be; and you shall hear from the lips of an Irish washer-woman a genuine poetry of maternal feeling, for the little one who comes to make her toil more toilsome, that is wholly withered away out of luxurious circles, where there is every thing to make life easy.