Surely, ma'am, but I can pretty well guess what it is," said he, smiling; "you would ask if I've kept my word since that sad time at the fair. I have indeed, and I'm quite sure, with Jane to keep me at home, and make it happy there, I shall not even need the pledge any more."

“Ah, Matthew, do not depend on any earthly motive, however dear: you cannot tell how soon it might fail you. Avoid temptation on the principle of loving obedience to your forgiving Saviour, and his strength will be your safeguard. Jane is a valuable young woman in many things, but you must not fancy that she is so perfect as never to disappoint you in anything."

"I'm sure she will be only too good a wife for me, ma'am," said the lover, responding to Mrs. Oakland's smiling caution.

"Well, I trust she will not be of your opinion, Matthew, but will feel that she cannot do too much to enable you to maintain it. So Jane shall be at liberty whenever you both desire it."

Matthew again warmly thanked her and went his way, and Mrs. Oakland continued for some time to walk slowly up and down the path, as if counting the gravel stones at her feet.

Had she been quite true with Matthew? she asked herself. Was it her duty to warn him of a rock on which she feared his sunny hopes might be wrecked? She had certainly

ventured to speak of himself. But ought she not to have spoken of Jane, and told him her experience of her character in the family-her frequent fits of sullenness, her pride, her bad temper? Probably it was now too late; he would be sure to hope the best, his heart would refuse to doubt or fear, and no good would be done. But she could speak earnestly to Jane, and did so without delay.

A respectable-looking and rather pretty young woman obeyed the summons to the dressing-room.

"Come in, Jane," said her mistress, kindly, "I want to have a little talk with you. Sit down, and try to feel that I really am what I have tried to prove myself, your sincere friend."

Jane had a tolerable notion of what was coming, for she knew that Matthew Hill intended to "break it" to Mrs. Oakland, because she said she could not do it herself, and she knew that her mistress was sufficiently interested in him to think it no liberty that he should do so for her. So Jane only coloured a little, and picked up some tiny ends of thread which she spied on the carpet.

"I will not ask you if you thoroughly know your own mind with respect to Matthew Hill, Jane. He is a young man whose affection any young woman may feel honoured to possess, and I assume that in accepting it you give him a heart full of affection in return, with a determination by God's help to be to him a true, good wife."

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I hope so, indeed, ma'am," said Jane; "I'm sure I mean it." But, Jane, let me remind you that you cannot treat Mr. Hill as you have too often treated me when anything vexed you. You cannot give him a month's notice, and bid him 'suit himself' when you get a little out of temper, Jane."

Jane could scarcely help laughing at the idea; yet she knew full well that it was to her mistress's forbearance and patience that she owed the home she had enjoyed so long, and that she had not been tossed from place to place at the mercy of her own temper.

"Now, Jane," continued Mrs. Oakland, kindly, "I do not want to bring up any of our old grievances, or to remind you needlessly of anything that we have agreed to forget; but, as I parted from Matthew just now, and saw his honest joy in the thought of having you to make him a happy home, I did feel a painful misgiving lest he should be disappointed. I am so fearful lest your temper should prove a hindrance to your

comfort and his, and lest anything disagreeable at home should lessen his love for it, and cause him to seek other companionship and relaxation."

"He assures me there is no fear of it, ma'am," said Jane; "it was only once that he got overtaken, as it were, and he was so ashamed he is not likely to do it again."

"But if, unhappily, he did under sudden temptation so far forget himself and all his promises and resolutions, how would you bear it, Jane? Would your temper be roused, and would you reproach and taunt him, and try to make him feel how he had fallen in your eyes? or would you kneel by him, pray for him, bear with him, forgive him, and let him see that he has grieved rather than angered you, and so lead him to hate his sin, and dread to throw away the love and respect of an affectionate, forbearing wife? Would you mourn his fall with him before God, or would you raise a storm about his offence against you? On the conduct of many a wife at such a moment of trial has hung the future of her own and her husband's happiness."

"I dare say I should be dreadfully put out," said Jane, "but I would try to do right, and I don't think there's any fear of Matthew."

"Well, I pray that it may be so," said the lady; "but suppose other more probable provocations-some hasty word that might seem to reflect on your management or doubt your wisdom; some little failure in attention to your wishes,— would you flaunt and toss your head, and declare that you are not going to be 'put upon' by anybody, that you won't be interfered with-you know your duty, and you don't want teaching, and so on? Or would you say, 'Matthew is tired; I won't say anything until he is rested, and then I can show him that I did my best ;' or 'Matthew has had something vex him at his work; I know he does not mean to be unkind; he

loves me and I love him, and we did not come together to quarrel over trifles; he shall have a nice peaceful evening, and I'll do all I can to make him forget outside worries in home blessings'? Will you do thus, Jane?"

"I can try," said Jane, softly, feeling how thoroughly her mistress had described her usual habit, while giving in contrast a description of duty.

"I know your house will be a model of neatness and cleanliness, Jane," continued Mrs. Oakland, kindly; “but only a loving, gentle spirit can make it truly home to a husband under all conditions of health, and feeling, and circumstance. Remember it is not a trial, a temporary engagement that either may put an end to at will, but for life, through good and ill, joy and sorrow, health and sickness, youth and middle life and old age; always, ever, needing to be kind, affectionate, attentive, punctual about meals and work, self-denying daily, hourly. Oh, Jane! it requires love, much love, constant love, patient love to sustain happily; it requires high principle to persevere uncomplainingly, acting always from right motives within, whatever be the temptations and provocations without. I don't want to discourage you, but wish you to look at it as it really is, and not only at the fair picture that you are both sketching so brightly as you think of each other in the prime of your days, and all things prospering round you. I am no longer an interested party, you know, except as I desire your happiness, therefore I venture to speak earnestly about those points on which I fear you may make trouble for yourself and others. When you have been out of temper with me, I could leave you to recover, and I fancied I knew how to treat and excuse you. But a husband cannot rightly get far out of your way, and he will not always excuse you. He will be surprised at first, then disappointed, then angry, and will forget his own faults in comparison with yours, or he will justify

them by yours, and then will come a struggle for mastery that will drive peace and love from home and heart. Then

'Ruder words will soon rush in

To spread the breach that words begin,
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day,
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said,
Till fast declining one by one
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so late united, seem
Like broken clouds, or like the stream
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As if its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet ere it reach the plain below,
Breaks into floods that part for ever.'

I would not have it thus with you, Jane, and therefore I do entreat you to pray very earnestly for God's help to subdue your temper, and to attain that 'ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,' which, beautiful always and everywhere, is never more lovely than when it adorns the brow and heart of a trusted, honoured wife."

"Perhaps, ma'am," said Jane, struggling with a host of feelings that she could not have very well defined, “perhaps you think I ought not to get married at all."

"Oh no, Jane, certainly I do not, if, conscious of your weakness, you seek the only strength that can control and finally conquer in the battle you must fight with yourself. I know that God will be faithful to you, and if you fail the fault will be wholly your own. Keeping close to the meek and lowly One, dear Jane, you may be a good and happy wife; but if you give way to your natural pride and temper, you will too soon have reason to wish you had remained unmarried. I shall hope the best, and shall enjoy witnessing it."

"And perhaps, ma'am, you will remind me if you see-if