To meet passion with passion does no good, but harm.  The mind, when disturbed from any cause, is disturbed more deeply when it meets an opposing mind in a similar state.  This is as true of children as of grown persons, and perhaps more so, for their reason is not matured, and therefore there is nothing to balance their minds.  It is also more true of those who have not learned, from reason, to control themselves, as is the case with too large a portion of our domestics; who need to be treated with almost as much forbearance and consideration as children.”

These remarks produced a visible effect upon Mrs. Martinet.  She became silent and reflective, and continued so, to a great extent, during the half-hour that I remained.

Nearly two weeks elapsed before I called upon my friend again.  I found her, happily, in a calmer state of mind than upon my previous visit.  We were in the midst of a pleasant conversation, half an hour after I had come in, when one of the children, a boy between seven and eight years old, came into the room and made some complaint against his brother.  The little fellow was excited, and broke in upon our quiet chitchat with a rude jar that I felt quite sensibly.  I expected, of course, to hear him ordered from the room instantly.  That had been my friend’s usual proceeding when these interruptions occurred; at least it had been so when I happened to be a visitor.  But instead of this, she said in a low, mild, soothing voice,

“Well, never mind, Willy.  You stay in the parlour with us, where Harry can’t trouble you.”

This was just the proposition, above all others, to please the child.  His face brightened, and he came and nestled up closely to his mother, who was sitting on a corner of the sofa.  Drawing an arm around him, she went on with the remarks she happened to be making when the interruption of his entrance occurred.  No very long time elapsed before the parlour door flew open, and Harry entered, asking, as he did so, in a loud voice, for Willy.

“Willy is here.  What do you want with him?” said the mother, in a quiet, but firm tone.

“I want him to come and play.”

“You were not kind to Willy, and he doesn’t wish to play with you.”

“Come, Willy, and play, and I will be kind,” said Harry.

“Will you let me be the master sometimes?” asked the little fellow, raising himself up from where he remained seated beside his mother.

“Yes, you shall be master, sometimes.”

“Then I’ll play,” and Willy sprang from the sofa and bounded from the room, as happy as he could be.

The mother smiled, and looking into my face, as soon as we were alone, said—­

“You see, Kate, that I am trying your remedy, patience.”

“With most happy results, I am glad to see.”