PHILIP'S LIFE WORK 
 
 A TEMPERANCE TALE. 
 
 By E. K. E., 
 
 Author of •' Lilian's Hetroepect," Etc. 
 
 
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 TORONTO : 
 
 BAPTIST PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 1881. 
 

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PHILIP'S LIFE WORK. 
 
 Chaptkr I. 
 
 Had anyone prophesied, when 1 was seventeen, that before 
 anoiher l)irihday has passed over my head, I should be an 
 orj)han. dependent on my own unaided efforts for a livelihood, 
 I sliould have utterly repudiated the idea that such a thing 
 could happen. 
 
 Such sudden and dreadful calnmities did occur sometimes, 
 I should hav., admitted, might occur in the case of someone 
 with whom I was acquainted, but net to me : certainly not to 
 me, t e cherished idol of a father and mother, whose only child 
 1 was, whose love was the gre ist blessing of my existence, 
 and whose death, 1 should then have considered, the greatest 
 misfortune that could possibly befall me. ^ 
 
 It is ever thus we reason and expect. Trouble may come 
 to our town, our street, our ne^H door neighbor, but not to us : 
 no not to us. Mentally we clothe ourselves with shield and 
 buckler, which shall ward off its approach. But what avails 
 it ? The stroke falls nevertheless, and it is quite as well some- 
 times, that we had so little knowledge of its vicinity. 
 
 My father, a hard-worked and poorly paid dissenting minis- 
 ter, had never been of a strong constitution, and that consti- 
 
 i^ o f^ ^7 ^ 
 
PHiMp's r.iFE Work. 
 
 tution, such as V. was, having for years l)ecn taxed to the 
 utmost, l)oth l)y bodily fatigue and mental exertion, sudden 
 prostration was the result, and death ere long the final conse- 
 quence of tampering with nature. 
 
 My mother, notwithstanding her doting love for myself, 
 never recovered the shock of my fiither's death, and in three 
 months I had again to see my best-beloved carried from my 
 sight forever, to the resting j)lace from which there is no return; 
 and to feel, that now I was indeed alone, in a world which had 
 little attraction for one situated as 1 wa«;, and no compensation 
 to offer for such a loss as I had sustained. 
 
 For a week after my mother's burial, I sat in a stupor, from 
 vrhich I thought nothing again could ever rouse me ; and 
 though both neighbors, and those who had been members of 
 my father's congregation, showed me no little kindness in this 
 my time of bodily and mental prostration, I was utterly indif- 
 ferent to their affectionate efforts, to divert me from my sor- 
 row, and would as soon they had left me to my despair, nor 
 troubled me with a sympathy whirh brought no healing with it. 
 
 But this could not go on for ever. I was not only an orph- 
 an, but a penniless one ; albeit for the fu st week of my bereave 
 mem the first fact alone occupied my thoughts. Of the latter 
 I never thought for a moment, until the lawyer who had charge 
 of my father's affairs brought it to my remembrance with 
 lawyer-like decision and abruptness. 
 
 Ushered into the room one day, where I was sitting as usual 
 in sad and solitary musing, by the lady, who had since my 
 mother's death, constituted herself, or been constituted by 
 him, my companion and guardian, he had scarcely shaken 
 hands and seated himself, when he began : 
 
PII 11,11' S 1,1 FK WORK. 5 
 
 " Weil, inv dear, what arc you going to do ?" 
 
 " W'liat do you nu-an ?" I irniuircd, not having the least idta 
 what the (juery had rclerence to. 
 
 " Mean !" he e.xclaiuicd, a little irritated 1 thought, "why 1 
 mean, of course, what are you going to do for a livelihood ?" 
 
 " 1 don't know,' 1 returned, absently. 
 
 •' Well, my dear, e.xcuse nie, but you would recjuire to give 
 the subject some consideratit)n." 
 
 "Have 1 nothing?" I exclaimed, beginning dimly to com 
 prehend my situation, recalling also how often my mother had 
 deplored her sickness and inability to exert herself for our 
 maintenance, and her distress at the thought that we were 
 unavoidably contracting debt it might never be in our power 
 to pa\-. 
 
 " Nothing whatever, except the furniture of the house," he 
 re))lied, pointing to the well-worn but much loved artcles which 
 filled trie room ; " that will bring about fifty pounds, thirty of 
 that has to go to pay your debts, and you can t live on the 
 interest of twenty pounds." 
 
 " What would you advise me to do ?" I asked, too indiffer- 
 ent to think for myself, and too much accustcmed to depend 
 on others, to decide on any course not at first suggested to me. 
 
 " VV^ell, what can you do ?" asked the lawyer briskly. 
 
 " How do vou mean ?" 
 
 " What can you do to earn an honest penny ?" 
 
 " Oh I nothing," I returned, dreamily. 
 
 •' Nothing I my dear, you must do something ; come now, 
 like a good girl, rouse yourstlf, and consider the matter; my 
 time is too precious to waste idling here. Can you play, or 
 draw, or anything like that ?" 
 
■ PHILIP S [.IFF, \VC)RK. 
 
 " Oh ! no, T did get imisic and drawing lessons at school, 
 but 1 can't play or draw anything to speak of." 
 
 •'Can you sing, then, or do fancy woik ?" }- 
 
 '•No!" 
 
 " What can you do ? can you read and spell ?" 
 
 '• Ves." 
 
 " Nursery governess,' muttered the lawyer aside, as if he 
 were labelling nie for sale. " What folly ! daughter of a poor 
 minister, and no accomj)lishinentK to fall back on !" 
 
 " Well, my dear, I will see what 1 can do lor you, and will 
 let you know when anything turns uj). You had better keej) 
 Mrs. Simmond's with you for company, and I will call again 
 in a day or two ;" and without further parley the lawyer took 
 his departure, and I was left with a dreamy notion, that I was 
 by some means to be transformed mto a nursery governess, 
 and the lawyer was to be the means of bringing it about. I 
 did not then know that this fussy little man had no call or in- 
 ducement to interest himself in my affairs, other than the 
 respect he bore my father's memor)-, and the promise given to 
 him on his death-bed ; but even had 1 been aware that in my 
 own case money requital was with him "no object,' I believe 
 I was too stunned, and oo much absorbed with the aching 
 sense of loss which filled my heart, to think about it, or feel 
 grateful for his undeserved efforts on my behalf. 
 
 I do not know how long 1 had sat alone after his withdrawal, 
 when Mrs. Simmond's, ni) present companion, and wife of a 
 deacon in my father's church, entered the room, exclaiming, 
 " Oh : Miss Eleanor, you have let the fire go out !" " Poor 
 dear," she continued, more tenderly, "how cold you are. 
 Come to the kitchen fire, till 1 kindle this one, and then we 
 
PHILIPS MFE WORK. 7 
 
 will get a cup of tea. I am su sorry I went napping and left 
 you so long alone." * 
 
 Too indifferent to he disol)L(lienl, I languidly obeyed, — 
 but before the cup of tea could be |»repared, the heat of the 
 kitchen fire had done its work, and I was soon last aslee]) ; and 
 in the morning, the only thing I remembered of the previous 
 evening, was the kind voice of Mrs. Simmond's, as she coaxed 
 me to retire, and herself undid the fastenings of my do hes, as 
 she assisted me to bed. 
 
 Another week had scarcely passed, when I received a com- 
 munication from the lawyer, in which he informed me that 
 something had " turned up ;" a most fortunate c hance, as he 
 termed it, viz., a nursery-governesship in the family of James 
 
 Maxwell, of Maxwell Grange, in the neighboring town ol W 
 
 and I was to enter on my duties two weeks later. 
 
 1 knew some of the family of James Maxwell quite well by 
 sight, and was also acquainted, by heresay, with some of its 
 antecedents, viz., that the owner of Maxwell Grange, or Max 
 well as they liked to have it called, had retired from business 
 twenty years before, and had, within the last ten years, married 
 his second wife, who had brought him three children in addi- 
 tion to the two daughters by his first marriage. 
 
 I had often, girl like, admired the pretty toilets of the young 
 ladies, as the carriage drove through our village, and wished 
 that my father could afford me such handsome dresses, and 
 tasteful bonnets, as those which were worn by the fair sisters. 
 
 The children, I was not acquainted with, by sight or other- 
 wise, but when the lawyer himself, in a personal visit, corrob- 
 orated the intelligence that Maxwell was to be my destination, 
 he also informed me that the younger family consisted of two 
 
8 
 
 IMdirp's r.IFK WORK. 
 
 boys and a p^irl, who were to be my pupils ; and for whose in- 
 struction F wa.-. to receive the sum of fifteen fmunds annually. 
 
 Already, I was beginning' to feel some degree of interest in 
 my future duties, and Was thankful, that if I had to go out and 
 earn my own living, it was not to be the means of taking me 
 further from the place, which had been my home, and whi( h 
 was hallowed by so many sacred memories ; and that it was to 
 take me into a family, in whom I had felt considerable curi- 
 osity, before I had the least idea that I should so soon be 
 brought into such intimate relations thereto. 
 
 The furniture was immediately advertised to be disposed of 
 on a certain day, and the remainder of the money it brought, 
 after the debts were paid, to go to the improvement of my 
 wardrobe, which was scarcely in a suitable condition for enter- 
 ing on my situation. 
 
 In the meantime, I was to go home with Mrs. Simmond's, 
 as, after the sale, the house was to be ticketed, "To let." 
 
 So ended the (juiet and happy and contented childhood, 
 which had been blessed by a father's and mother's love ; and 
 so began the life of dependence and solitude, which mostly, 
 if not always, is the orphan's portion. 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 ^ -'.• . 
 
 H 
 
PHILIPS MFF. WORK. 
 
 *'* 
 
 
 " Chapif.r ir. 
 
 I Iiad been three days installed as mistress of the shal)l)y 
 room, which did duly as school room for the Maxwell children ; 
 hut though I had been able to maintain tolerable cheerfulness 
 since 1 had assumed the above position, I had as yet felt little 
 interest in my pupils, or in the duties which pertained thereto. 
 
 On the fourth morning, 1 rose with a sense of depression, 
 which, struggle as 1 would, I could not overcome. The com- 
 parative cheerfulness of the previous da>s had all forsaken me, 
 and the duties I had looked on yesterday, as helps to restore 
 the interest I had lost in men and things, I felt to-day to be a 
 weary diudgery, from which I could see no way of escape, 
 through endless years of loneliness and self-denial. I knt w 
 nothing of teaching, and therefore could not love it for its own 
 sake ; and as I knew c[uite as little of children, never having 
 been brought into intimate contact with them, I almost dread- 
 ed the little beings, who were confided to my care, and feared 
 I should never be able to exercise the control over them, which 
 alone could make my position bearable. 
 
 When I entered the school-room, and took up the work with 
 which 1 occupied the first half-hour, while the children had an 
 opportunity of recalling their simple lessons prepared the 
 previous evening, I could not keep back the tears which rose 
 to my eyes, as the sad and bitter thoughts which haunted me, 
 returned again and again, to rob me of the composure I was 
 striving to regain, before summoning the children to their tasks. 
 
 8 
 

 lO PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 Ignorant as I was of child-nature, I supposed of course, that 
 the children were as deeply absorbed with their lessons as I 
 was with my own affairs, and was therefore considerably 
 startled by the following conversation, conducted among them 
 in a stage whisper, which, my seat being at some distance, I 
 was evidently not supposed or intended to overhear. 
 
 '* I say, Harry, ain't she a molly coddle? My ! if she ain't 
 crying," whispered the second boy to his elder brother. " A 
 queer governess she is." * •. . 
 
 " Hush, Arthur, she'll hear if you don't look out," replied 
 Harry, keeping his eyes fixed on his book. 
 
 " You are not kind, Artie; you imow (juite well she has lost 
 her ma, so no wonder she cries," put in five year old Daisy, in 
 Dathetic tones. 
 
 " My, that s nothing. Didn't Sylvia and Meta lose their 
 mamma, too, and papa got them a new one? I know, for 
 Jane told me all about it." 
 
 '^ Oh, yes, but she has no papa either, so how can he?'' 
 
 " How do you know?" ■ .: 
 
 "That lawyer-man told my pa, when he was here one day. 
 Fie said Miss Maitland was an orphint, and I asked Jane what 
 an orphint was, and she said it was a little girl that had no 
 father and no mother ; so there now !" 
 
 " Well, anyway, if she's such a cry-baby, she'll never be able 
 to manage us," and the young gentleman drew himself up, as 
 if he felt himself a match for half-a-dozen governesses such as 
 his present one. 
 
 The little urchin never knew how much good his saucy , 
 words did me. They showed me that to rule these children . 
 well, I must first, be able to rule my own spirit, and in some . 
 
f '• 
 
 PHILIPS LIFE WORK, 1 I 
 
 degree overcome the grief which was tugging at my heart- 
 strings, and rendering me unfit for the battle of life, which lav 
 before me ; and from which 1 could not withdraw, even if 1 
 would ' . • . ' . . ' , 
 
 I had no thought yet of gaining the hearts of my young 
 charge, and thus ruling them by the highest law of all, the law 
 of love; but my pride was aroused, and I resoKcd that they 
 should at least obey me. 
 
 Choking back the sobs which were hard to suppress, and 
 resolutely swallowing the lump which had been in my throat 
 all the morning, 1 told the children, in more decided tones 
 than I had yet made use of, to come and recite their lessons. 
 
 I saw, or imagined, a look of surprise on their faces, as they 
 obeyed the command, but though I did not forget the preced- 
 ing conversation, I do not suj)pose anv of them imagined I had 
 been a listener to the little talk, which was probably forgotten 
 by them, almost as soon as over. 
 
 The forenoon tasks were nearly finished, when a knock came 
 to the door, and was followed by the entrance of Miss Max- 
 well, of whom hitherto I had seen very little, except at meal 
 times, as she had not before favored the school room with a 
 visit. Rising timidly, but politely, I hastened to offer her a 
 chair, but she merely bowed, as if in acknowledgment, saying, 
 '* I only want a book. Miss Maitland," and getting what she 
 had come fo**, immediately retired. 
 
 I was somewhat awed by the elder Miss Maxwell ; the 
 youngest I had not yet seen. In the first place, she was so 
 lovely, and dressed so handsomely ; and in the second, main- 
 tained such a haughty demeanor towards me when we did come 
 in contact, I could not but feel myself at an immeasurable 
 
12 Philip's life work. 
 
 distance from such a superior being, and was conscious of a 
 species of self-contempt when in her presence, which was by 
 no means a pleasant emotion. Annoyed now at the blush, 
 which had risen to my face on her entrance, and fearing the 
 children might perceive it, in some confusion I resumed my 
 seat ; but apparently they were more engrossed with their sis- 
 ter, than my humble self. 
 
 "My! ain't she a beauty, Miss Maitland?" ejaculated 
 Arthur, as the door closed behind her. " She's on her new 
 dress, too ; I can guess whose coming." 
 
 "Is it her beau ?" asked Daisy, mysteriously. 
 
 " Your sister is very lovely," I said, replying to Arthurs 
 question, "but why do you use 'my' so often, Arthur? It was 
 not required just now ; and then 'ain't,' that is bad grammar; 
 you must say, ' isn t she,' and not, 'ain't she.' ' 
 
 "O! bother, /can't help it. Miss Claxton never could cure 
 me of it, and she tried hard.' 
 
 " Well, / intend to cure you of it, and will give you an extra 
 task every time you use either expression in my presence." 
 
 The merry blue eyes were lifted to mine in astonishment ; 
 but Arthur was mu^e. I believe he dreaded opening his lips, 
 lest he should earn a task by making use of one of the prohib- 
 ited syllables. 
 
 He indemnified himself afterwards, however, for I heard him 
 during the play which intervened between forenoon and after- 
 noon lessons exclaiming to his brother, " My ! Harry, I believe 
 she is going to manage us after all. ' " I believe you," was 
 the laconic reply. But it let me know that my pupils were begin- 
 ning to suspect I might possibly be made of sterner stuff than 
 they had at first imagined, a discovery I myself was also mak- 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 13 
 
 ing. Hitherto my own will had been in such complete and 
 willing subjection to that of my father and mother, who had 
 sought to gratify me in every possible way, in which the dic- 
 tates of their loving hearts, and slender means, could be made 
 to harmonize, I had never required to exercise the primness, of 
 which I was beginning to think I possessed a moderate share. 
 
 " Miss Maitland," said Harry, at the close of the afternoon, 
 when the children had finished the preparation of the lessons 
 fur the following day, " do you know our sister Meta is coming 
 home next week. I am so glad." 
 
 " I am glad also if you are, Harry Are you very fond of 
 your sister, MissMeia?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered the boy, heartily. 
 
 "She's not so pretty as Sylvia,'' explained Arthur, as if he 
 feared his brother were misleading me as to her pretensions. 
 
 ' Well, 1 think she is," said Daisy; "she is so kind." 
 
 " But kind's not pretty, you little goose." 
 
 " Yes it is ; Jane says, ' handsome is as handsome does,' so 
 there now." 
 
 I could not forbear smiling, but was compelled to reprove 
 the little prattler : " You must not say ' there now,' Daisy, at 
 the end of your sentences. It is a very bad habit, and not at 
 all ladylike." 
 
 " Serve you right, Miss," muttered Arthur, as Daisy hung 
 her head. 
 
 " When is your sister coming ?" I asked, anxious that the 
 children should continue their present theme, 
 
 " On Thursday, I think. You know she's been living with 
 grandma and aunties for three months. She had a fever, and 
 was sent away for fear we would all take it." 
 
14 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 " 'Should all take it,' would be better, Harry," I said mild- 
 ly, loathe to correct the manly little fellow, but doing it from 
 a sense of justice to the others. 
 
 '• Thank you, Miss Maitland : I will try to remember," and 
 Harry continued, quite unembarrassed, " 1 know you will like 
 Me: a. Miss Maitland; everybody does; the house has been 
 (juite lonely without her." 
 
 At this moment the dinner bell rang, and I left the children 
 in the school-room, where tea was served for them by Jane, 
 and after a hurried rush to my room to smooth my hair and 
 wash my hands, I joined the family at dinner. 
 
 I was glad that the lawyer had made it a special condition, 
 when entering on an engagement for me with Mrs. Maxwell, 
 that I should sit at table with the family ; and was more thank- 
 ful to him for the words in which he made known to me the 
 fact : " Your mother was a lady. Miss Eleanor, you know, both 
 by birth and education, and your father was certainly a gentle- 
 man, by the latter, if not by the former. You are as good as 
 the Maxwell's any day (and perhaps a shade better, he added, 
 sotto voce)^ so I don't see why }ou should eat your meals at a 
 different table.'' 
 
 For this consideration from o ie, whose sensibilities were, as 
 I supposed, by no means too acute, 1 was truly grateful ; for it 
 seemed as if this trifling circumstance lent a dignity both to 
 myself and my position, which it would have been hard to 
 maintain, had I been entirely cut off from die society of those 
 with whom, notwithstanding my dependence, I still felt, in my 
 heart, on terms of perfect equality. 
 
 This privilege however, though it satisfied my self-respect, 
 did not afford me much pleasure ; as, during meal times, the 
 
THII-IPS MKi: WORK. 1 5 
 
 members of the family very rarely addressed nic, and I was 
 not enough interested in the ])eople and subjects they discussed 
 to be entertained by the conversation, which went on indepen- 
 dent of me. 
 
 They were all perfectly polite however, when they remem- 
 bered my presence ; but it was this remembering that was 
 significant of how little importance they considered me. lUit 
 I icas nothing to them but the children's governess, so what 
 more could be expected of them ? 
 
 I had nothing to find fault with in any of them, unless it 
 was Miss Maxwell's hauteur and reserve, which 1 thought, not- 
 withstanding our relative positions, was uncalled for, from a 
 girl of my own age, and showed a lack of good feeling towards 
 one situated as she knew I was. 
 
 Mrs. Maxwell belonged to the managing class of women, 
 and I conceived that on this she prided herself. She managed 
 her house, her children, and her servants in a wonderful man- 
 ner ; and 1 already suspected that she could manage her hus- 
 band also at times, if she set herself to do it. The latter 
 seemed to be of ra'her an easy-going temperament, and so far 
 as I could judge, was both a devoted husband and affectionate 
 father. 
 
 He could however be very decided in some matters, as I 
 had had occasion to observe, and when once he got on one of 
 his " obstinacies," as afterwards I heard his wife call them, 
 there was no moving him. 
 
 Of Sylvia Maxwell's character, I could not judge. She was 
 as yet a sealed book to n-„e, but her beauty excited my intens- 
 est admiration. I had never seen any one so beautiful, and 
 could not forbear looking at her, as often as opportunity 
 
l6 PHILIPS LIFT WORK. 
 
 offered, though careful I should not be discovered doing so. 
 She looked very lovely that day, in her dinner dress (with a 
 sweet child-like loveliness, somewhat at variance with the 
 haughty manner already referred to), and I did not wonder 
 that Mr. Percy Carstairs, to whom I had been introduced on 
 entering the room, should apparently find her so. She could 
 unbend to others, if not to me, as 1 soon observed, for Sylvia, 
 during dinner, was very bright and fa.scinating, and even ten- 
 der, I thought, to this fascinating young gentleman, of whom 
 I could not help wondering if he were the " beau," referred to 
 by Daisy in the morning. 
 
 Dinner over, I had no further opj)ortunity of judging, for. leav 
 ing the gentlemen to their wine, Mrs. Maxwell and her daughter 
 repaired to the drawing-room, and, as I had never been invited 
 to join them there, I betook myself into my own room, and 
 early in the evening to bed, thankful that another day was 
 over, and I was at liberty to lay down my weary head on my 
 pillow, and it might be, in my dreams, hold converse with the 
 loved ones, whose memories were often present to my sleeping 
 as well as my waking hours. 
 
PHI MP's I, IKE WORK. 17 
 
 (!hapti:r III. 
 
 It was Saturday morning, and I was seated in the breakfast- 
 room where the family generally sat during the day, (only using 
 the drawing-room in the evening, or when they had company). 
 Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell were my companions in the apartment, 
 and it happened thus : 
 
 In the little talk between Mrs. Maxwell and myself, on my 
 arrival at Maxwell, it had been proposed by her, that as the 
 children had no lessons on Saturdays, I should give part of my 
 time (the forenoon generally) to her, to assist in any little mat- 
 ters in which she might require my services ; and I was the 
 more willing to agree to this, that I lelt that these might prob- 
 ably be the only glimpses of family life I should have, much 
 dearer to me than the wearisome routine of teaching, to which 
 I seemed destined. 
 
 Harry, who was left pretty much to his own devices on holi- 
 days, and could be trusted, was absent on some expedition of 
 his own, and the younger children were out walking with their 
 nurse. 
 
 . I did not know where Sylvia w^as, probably in her own room 
 reading a novel ; an occupation which I had heard her father 
 say, occupied a good deal of her time. 
 
 - It seemed quite novel to be sitting there with the master and 
 mistress of the house, who were as yet almost complete strang- 
 ers to me, but still I liked it, and the work which occupied 
 me, viz., repairing some old lace on which it seemed Mrs. 
 
iS F'HILI1''S LIFE WORK. 
 
 Maxwell grea'.ly prided herself, but whose best days were ap- 
 parently over. Mrs. Maxwell herself assisted at the task, and 
 while we worked, and Mr. Maxwell read the newspaper, per- 
 fect silence reigned among us, until Mrs. Maxwell, who seemed 
 to have been deeply cogitating on something, suddenly cleared 
 her throat, and addressed her husband : ** Well, James, what 
 about that dinner-party ?" 
 
 " What dinner party, my dear ? I have heard nothing of it " 
 
 " You know I was proposing that we should have a dinner- 
 party next week. Meta will be hon: , and besides it is some- 
 time since we had anybody." 
 
 ■ *'My dear, you know quite well that my f[uiet little Meta 
 dosn't care for dinner parties ; so why have one in her h)nor ? 
 and then * not had anybody,' it seems to me as if we were hav- 
 ing dinner parties all the time. Remember, my dear, my 
 purse is not so long as it might be, if I am a retired gentle- 
 man," he added laughing. 
 
 " I think I ought to know the length of your purse as well 
 as anyone ; who so well, indeed, when it takes so much ingen- 
 uity to keep from reaching the bottom of it ?" 
 
 '* My dear, you are arguing against yourself," said her hus- 
 band, with a chuckle. 
 
 " Now, James, do be serious ; you know as well as I do how 
 things are going between Sylva and Percy Carstairs. It is for 
 them chiefly I want to have this party ; you know they ha<1 us 
 last, and I am sure expect some attention on our part, to show 
 our approval of the match. It is best to keep the ball rolling,, 
 or things might go off between the young people, just when 
 they seem to be progressing so nicely." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell gave a prolonged Whew ! which, when he had 
 
I'lriMI'S I, I IK WOKK. 19 
 
 finished deliberately, he replied, teasinjj^ly, * Oh, the real reascm 
 comes last, does it ? and my little Met;i was to have* all the 
 honor," and he hughed heartily. 
 
 (T was beginning to like Mr. Maxwell, and to feel increased 
 interest in " little Meta.' ) 
 
 " \'ou may laugh, my dear, but I am (juite in earnest. If 
 you are so indifferent to your daughter's prospects, 1 am not, 
 and I think it is (luite a duly to encourage Mr. Carstairs as 
 much as we can decently do." 
 
 " Really, I don t understard you. Marian ; Mr. ('arstairs is 
 very good as young men go, but I don't see anything remark 
 able ab.)ut him, do you ? ' ' 
 
 " No, I don't see anything remarkable ; but consider liis 
 family. It is something for a merchant's daughter to marry 
 into a family like the Carstairs, who have been a family for 
 generations." 
 
 ' It may be so ; but have you considered the purse? For 
 such a family they are pos tively poor, and Percy is not the 
 man to exert himself to increase their wealth." 
 
 '* No, I do not suppose he will ever be wealthy, but you 
 can't have everything in one son-in-law ; you can marry Meta 
 to money, if you like and then you will have both." 
 
 " Well, now, who shall we have ?'' she continued, as if the 
 thing were settled, and her lord and master's full consent to 
 the dinner party had been obtained. *' Miss Maitland, would 
 you please bring the writing materials here ; you may as well 
 wrhe the notes to-day, and I will have them sent on Monday. 
 Friday, I think, will be the best day to have them. Meta will 
 be home Thursday, and she can help with the flowers and 
 things ; Sylvia is no good for that sort of thing. Just be ready, 
 
20 PHILIPS MFF WORK. 
 
 and I will dictate immediately ; but I want to count first how 
 many there will be : Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs, Percy and Rob 
 ert— four ; then Mr. and Mrs. King — we did not have them 
 last time, and it won i do to leave them out again— that's six ; 
 then we'd better have th'j Thornton girls — it will be better to 
 have some young ladies, in case it might look as if we feared 
 a rival for Sylvia,^ — and, oh, James, had'nt we better ask that 
 Philip Newton and his sister ? — that will make ten, beside our- 
 selves : about as many as we can have." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't ask that man, Marian. If there's one 
 thing I dislike more than another, it is a man with a hobby. 
 You know how disagreeable the fellow made himself at Car- 
 stair's, with his temperance humbug. If a man will go rabid 
 on the Temperance (juestion, why can t he keep his notions to 
 himself, and especially at a dinner-party ?" 
 
 " You must be just, James. You know it was Mr. Carstairs 
 himself who introduced the subject. Mr. (or rather Dr. New- 
 ton, for it seems he is a passed M.D.) did not seek the discus- 
 sion." 
 
 " Well, I don't want to give him a chance in my house ; so 
 please don't ask them." 
 
 " But, James, the Carstairs evidently think very highly of 
 him, and I have heard others express themselves in the same 
 way. We will be meeting them everywhere, and why act as if 
 we were so sensitive to his opinions ? He can't possibly do 
 us any harm with them." 
 
 '* Well, I declare," said Mr. Maxwell, evidently cooling down 
 a little after his outburst : " If we muat please the Carstairs, I 
 suppose we must ; ask the fellow if you have a mind !'' and he 
 resumed his paper as if tired of the subject. 
 
PHILIPS MKF WORK. 21 
 
 Mrs. Maxwell proceeded to dictate and I to write the notes, 
 in wliat 1 considered try l)ebt st) le, and as good penman 
 ship was really one of my tew well-acquired accumj)lishmenis, 
 the notes gave [)eirect satisfaction, and were safely dei)osited 
 in Mrs. Maxwell's writing desk, for transmission to their sever- 
 al destinations, in the beginning of the week. This accomp 
 lished, I again resumed my lace-mending, and Mrs. Maxwell 
 also took up her work, but I fancied her brain was more busily 
 occupied than her hands, as she no doubt planned the details 
 of her dinner-party, and perhaps also the details of a wedding- 
 party, which she saw in prospect, as the not far off consunima 
 tion of the good management she had displayed in bringing it 
 about. 
 
 Mv own thoughts, I must confess, were straying in the .same 
 direction. 
 
 " And so Miss Sylvia has a beau, and a real one too ; and 
 we will soon have a wedding in the house," and I became lost 
 in a vision of wedding finery, ([uite bewildering in its grandeur 
 and beauty, and forgot for the moment that it would probably 
 be a very small share, or no share at all, I should have in the 
 wedding festivities. 
 
 And then I reproached myself, that I could even think of 
 such things, and mother little more than a month in her grave. 
 Could it be that I was already forgetting ? No ! not that ; but 
 the buoyancy of youth was already asserting itself. I was a 
 girl, just like other girls, and these feminine vanities dear to 
 my heart, as to the hearts of most of them ; but I knew not 
 whether I was most glad or sorry, that I could still take an 
 interest in such things. Unconsciously, I began to look for 
 ward to the coming of the second Miss Maxwell, though I 
 
'22 IMIIMPS lIKi: WoKK. 
 
 scarcx'ly know what it was I expected from it, but it was [)lciis- 
 ant to look forward to soinctliing, and I had rot for<;()tt(.ii 
 Harry's assurance, that I should like his sister, or her lather's 
 pet coirnomen, " little Meta." 
 
 Thursday cume, but Mtta had not yet arrived. 1 he child 
 ren, who were to have a half-holidny in the afternoon to wel- 
 come their sister, were busily preparing their lessons for the 
 next day, when Sylvia entered, and, contrary to c con, came 
 up to the table around which we were seated, and, lifting Daisy 
 on her lap, seated herself, saying, " Miss Maitland, don't you 
 think'the children should have a holiday this afternoon? My 
 sister is coming, you know, and they are so fond ai her." 
 
 " Mrs. Maxwell has already requested that they might be 
 freed from lessons this afternoon," I re[)lied, a little stiffly, 
 wondering from whence had sprung Miss Maxwell's unusual 
 affability, and interest in the children's concerns. 
 
 " Ah I that's nice : arn't you glad, Harry ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Harry, very shortly for him. 
 
 " I expect we are glad," exclaimed Arthur, " and most glad 
 that Meta is coming home.'' 
 
 " And what does Daisy say ?" asked Sylvia, fondling the child. 
 
 " I didn't say anything," answered practical Daisy, and the 
 boys laughed. 
 
 Sylvia looked a little annoyed, but recovering herself, laugh- 
 ed too. " You are all too smart for me here,'* she said, " I 
 had better go. I would like to see you after lunch, Miss 
 Maitland ; will you come to my room, please ?" 
 
 " Certainly," I replied, very much surprised at the request, 
 and wondering what Miss Maxwell could possibly want with 
 me in her private apartment. 
 
PHILH'S I.IKK WOKK. 23 
 
 As soon as ilic door closed on his sister, Aitluir t'xclainiod, 
 *' Sylvia's up to sonictliin^, Miss Mailland ; guess she lias a job 
 for you this atlernoon ; that's the way she always managed 
 Miss Claxton. It won't he many h.dr-ho]ida3S she'll let you 
 have." 
 
 "Arthur, hold your tongue, and attend to your lessons," I 
 said sternly,, my cheeks flushing in spite of nv) self. 
 
 Arthur's words had somewhat prepared me for what awaited 
 me, when, half-an-hour after lunch, 1 knocked at Miss Max- 
 well's door, and was rc(iucsted to enter. 
 
 "Sit down. Miss Maitland," said Sylvia politely. "I have 
 a little piece of work 1 would hke you to do for me this after- 
 iKjon ; 1 want this dress altered a little, for to-morruw even- 
 ing," she continued, producing a soft blue crepe dinner dress 
 from her wardrobe. "Jane is no earthly use for anything in 
 the shape of dressmaking. She's a mere nursery-maid, and it 
 is so absurd mamma won't allow us a maid lor ourselves. She 
 says we can't afford it. nor yet lO have a niodtste employed 
 every time a dress wants altering. See," and she began to point 
 out what she would like done. 
 
 It seemed as if all the pride of my mother's family rose un 
 in arms at this cool request, and it was on my lips to say, 
 " You have mistaken my engagement, Miss Maxwell ; I am 
 employed as the children's governess, and not to supply the 
 deficiencies of your so called lady's maid," but I hesitated, and 
 to hesitate was to yield. I remembered my position ; I re- 
 membered, that if I refused this, and was dismissed in conse- 
 quence, it might only be to enter a family, where I might be 
 asked to perform more menial offices, than that now required 
 of me. Battling with the indignation I am sure Miss Maxwell 
 
24 PHILIPS LIFE W(:»RK. 
 
 had perceived, 1 replied, " I am afraid, Miss Maxwell, you will 
 find I am as poor a dressmaker as Jane ; but I will do what I 
 can." 
 
 '' I am sure you will do it well," returned Sylvia, smiling ; 
 "your fingers look just as if they were made for dainty pieces 
 of needlework ;" and giving me the materials required for my 
 work, and smoothing her hair and adjusting it at the pier glass, 
 she left me to it, and the reflections it called forth. 
 
 The afternoon passed slowly away, and as I particularly dis- 
 liked sewing of the kind I was engaged with, I found the 
 hours twice as long as those usually spent in teaching. 
 
 I heard the bustle of Meta's arrival in the hall, and the voices 
 of the children as they eagerly welcomed her; and then the 
 young ladies ascend to the apartment of the former, situated 
 on the same floor as that of Miss ivlaxwell. In a few minutes 
 they again descended, and I heard and saw nothing more of 
 any of them until half-past five, when Sylvia came up to dress 
 for dinner ; and my work, just being completed, I was thanked 
 and dismissed, Miss Maxwell expressing herself, as very much 
 satisfied with the manner in which I had accomplished it. 
 
 When I went down to dinner, half-an-hour later, I found the 
 family just about to take their places at table, and was intro- 
 duced by Mrs. Maxwell to her step-daughter. " This is Miss 
 Maitland, Meta," she said, quietly, and we exchanged bows, as 
 we took our seats : the conversation, which had been interrupt- 
 ed by my entrance, being resumed as soon as the covers were 
 removed. Mr, Maxwell was in excellent spirits, and seemed 
 delighted to have his second daughter home again, and plied 
 her well with questions relative to her visit with his wife's rela- 
 tions, to all of which she replied in a happy girlish manner, 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK, jc 
 
 which I found very fascinating, in contrast to Sylvia's dignified 
 manner ; as also the sweet tender face, which was certainly not 
 nearly so pretty as that of h,.r elder sister, but infinitely more 
 winning, to me at least, if not to others. I felt sure I'should 
 love Meta Maxwell, and though, as usual, 1 was scarcely ad- 
 dressed, 1 listened with much more interest to the conversation 
 going on among the others than I generally felt, and was actu- 
 ally sorry when the meal, which I generally found so tedious, 
 came to an end. 
 
 When 1 retired to my own room, (how I wished they had 
 asked me for once to join them in the drawing-room), I con- 
 sidered if it were possible the friendship I already longed for, 
 could ever be established between Meta Maxwell and myself' 
 1 scarcely hoped it, and yet asked myself, (as I recalled the 
 pale-faced, soft-eyed girl, who had sat opposite to me at table, 
 and occasionally looked at me with apparent interest, while 
 she talked to the others), " Why not ? " but the question was 
 left unansweied, for it remained with Meta herself to say 
 whether it could be so. 
 
26 piiiLir's life: woF<k. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 " Miss Maitland, would you like to help mc this afternoon?" 
 asked Meta, as we finished lunch on the following day. " Yon 
 know mamma depends on me to arrange the flowers and some 
 other little matters, and will, I daresay, if yoj would really like 
 it, agree to another halt-holiday ; will you not, mamma?" 
 
 " I am afraid, Meta, the children will be spoileii with so 
 many holidays ; but if you think you will really recpiire Mi:-s 
 Maitland to assist you, I have no serious objections." 
 
 As Meta thanked her mother, I looked gratefully at the 
 former ; for I more than suspected her request was but a 
 device to give me pleasure, and not that she really recjuired 
 any assistance in her work. 
 
 What a hapi)y afternoon that was, very different from the 
 ])revious one, for as Meta and T occupied ourselves with the 
 irmumerable little arrangements and alterations, she thought 
 necessary to make in the different appartments, we gradually 
 (rrew more intimate, and I became more and more enamored 
 (^f the young gir), for whom, despite our recent accjuaintance, 
 I had already conceived a life long friendship. 
 
 I had never felt any great regard for the girls I had come 
 in contact with at school ; and he society of my father and 
 mother had almost sufficed for me, out of school hours. 
 Neither was I favorite with my young companions, and 1 do 
 not wonder that such should have been the case, for there is 
 a[)t to be a self-absorption about an only child, neither agree- 
 
F»HIMPS I, IKK WORK. 27 
 
 able nor winning to those who, happening to be members of 
 a large family themselves, have been obliged to realize that 
 they are but units among units, and permit their peculiarities 
 to be rubbe i down, by constant contact, and the brothers arid 
 sisters, whose e([ual right to consideration and regard, they are 
 forced to acknowledge. 
 
 I did not imagine that Meta had, as yet, felt any drawing 
 towards me sucli as I felt towards her, for 1 belived it was out 
 of the simple kindness of her heart she had secured my help 
 that afternoon ; and 1 was the more convinced of this, from 
 being an unwilling listener to a dialogue with her mother, as 
 I was engaged in dusting some deUcate ornaments in the 
 drawing-room ; they being seated in the little card-room, which, 
 opened from the apartment, but had also a door communicat- 
 ing witli the hall, by which they had entered, and w-ere conse- 
 (juently unaware of my vicinity. Meta had evidently forgotten 
 her recjuest, that I should leave the work with which we had 
 been occupied together in the breakfast-room, and attend first 
 to the vases in the drawing-room, that they might be ready for 
 the flowers she had left me to arrange on the lawn, where the 
 gardener had brought them. 
 
 I felt very guilty,, when 1 heard her say : " Mamma, will you 
 ask Miss Maitland to join us in the drawing-room this even- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " I don't think so, Meta ; there is no necessity for doing so.' 
 
 '' I suppose not, but I wish you would. She seems so sad, 
 poor girl ; I think it would be a kindness to try and cheer her 
 up." 
 
 "I would like to act as kindly towards Miss Maitland as possi- 
 ble. She is a minister's daughter, and I believe her mother 
 
28 PHILIPS MFF WORK.. 
 
 was of very good family, and so far as that goes, she might, 
 with perfect propriety, associate with any of our guests ; but 
 you know, Meta, it does not work well to be too familiar with 
 people in such a position as hers now is. They are apt to 
 presume on it." 
 
 " I am quite sure Miss Maitland will never presume on any 
 kindness. I have read her character, as far as that goes, al- 
 ready," answered Meia warmly ; and in my heart of hearts I 
 thanked her for the simple tribute. 
 
 " Well, you can ask her to join us tonight, if you lii^e : we 
 need not repeat it too often." 
 
 " No, mamma, you had better ask her yourself, or she might 
 think I had been interceding tor her." 
 
 Feeling how awkward it should be for all parties, did they 
 come into the drawing-room, and make the discovery of my 
 presence, I hastily finished my work, and, slipping quietly out 
 of the room, returned to the breakfast-roonj, where, sometiiiie 
 afterwards, Mela joined me. 
 
 When all our preparations were completed, and I was about 
 to ascend to my room to dress, (for though on ordinary occa- 
 sions I was not expected to make any alteration in my after- 
 noon toilet, I thought to right I might venture to dress like 
 the rest) Mrs. Maxwell, who was preceding me up the stair- 
 case, turned and said quietly, " Will yoj join us in the draw- 
 ing-room this evening, Miss Maitland ?'' and, for Meta's sake, 
 I pocketed my pride, and replied, '* I shall be very happy." 
 
 Reader, this was my first dinner-party, so you need not won- 
 der, that as I braided my hair, and put on my best dress (a 
 black silk one, heavily trimmed with crape), my hands trem- 
 bled, and the flush of nervous excitement mounted to my 
 
PHIfJPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 29 
 
 usually pale cheeks. I had sometimes, it is true, been "out 
 to dinner," with some of the members of my father's congreua- 
 tion, and had also occasionally, in my father's house, helped to 
 entertain a passing guest ; but a dinner-party, properly so call- 
 ed, was a new ordeal, and one from which I involuntarily 
 shrank, though unwilling to excuse myself, which 1 might easily 
 have done, had I been so minded. 
 
 My toiled, completed, I was at a loss whether I ought to wait 
 till the dinner-bell rang, and then descend to the dinning-room 
 as usual, or repair now to the drawing-room, and meet the 
 guests beforehand. 
 
 It was the first time I had keenly felt the irksomeness of my 
 position, and, as the time was fast approaching for the guests 
 to arrive, I was in great distress, fearing to appear presumptu- 
 ous if I descended early, and eciually dreading that Mrs. Max- 
 well might reprove my rudeness, did I enter the dining-room 
 after the guests were seated. 
 
 I felt it a humiliation even to have to incjuire, but, as I fan- 
 cied I heard Meta still stirring in her room, I resolved to go 
 and ask her to direct me. 
 
 " Oh, you had better go down with me," said Meta, brightly, 
 when I had timidly knocked at her door, and made known my 
 errand. " It will be more pleasant to meet the people before- 
 hand, you know ; just wait till I pin this flower in my hair, and 
 I am ready." 
 
 " Allow me to pin it for you," I said eagerly, positively glad 
 of an opportunity of doing something for her. She seated her- 
 self at once in the nearest chair, and handed me the flower, 
 smiling, which, when I had pinned among her chesnut locks, 
 I did a very silly thing : I stooped and kissed the hair on which 
 
30 PHILIPS MFE WORK. 
 
 the flower rested, with something, I should fancy, of the feel- 
 ing with which a devotee might sahite the i)atron saint, to 
 whom he believes himself indebted for all the good h:s lot 
 possesses. 
 
 I was as much astonished as Meta could be, at this impul- 
 sive action, and blushed with confusion as ioon as it was done. 
 15ut Meta, though for a moment she looked at me with sur- 
 prise, out of her soft grey eyes, only said quietly, " Thank you, 
 Miss Maitland ; we are friends are we not ?' and I was too 
 stupid to make other reply than a simple "yes." Had Mela 
 guessed that in my lonely and desolate condition 1 had longed 
 for a friend ? It seemed indeed as if this young girl had an 
 instinctive knowledge of the hearts and desire of others ; and 
 I was beginning to think, that it must simply be, because Mela 
 -in one sense loved everybody, and that everybody, as Harry 
 said, "loved Meta." 
 
 When we reached the drawing-room, where the others wee 
 already assembled, Meta contrived to keep me near her, and 
 when the guests were announced, introduced them to me as 
 they paid greeting to herself Dr. Newton and his sister were 
 the last to arrive, and as they were strangers to his second 
 daughter, Mr. Maxwell brought them, after a few minutes con- 
 versation with Mrs. Maxwell and Sylvia, to introduce them to 
 her. This done, he turned away, without repeating the intro- 
 duction for my benefit ; and feeling hurt at what, though I 
 knew it was no intentional insult, but a mere oversight, I was 
 about, blushingly, to withdraw to a distance, when Meta hast- 
 ened to rectify her father's error. 
 
 " Let me in turn introduce to you Miss Maitland, Miss 
 Newton ; Dr. Newton, Miss Maitland ;" and we had just ex- 
 
PHILIPS 1,1 i'K WOkK. 1,1 
 
 chanL^^ed bows, when dinner was announced. 
 
 Mr. Maxwell led tiie way to the dining-ruoin with Mrs. Car- 
 stairs, Mr. Carstairs takin;^' Mrs. Maxwell ; Percy of course took 
 Sylvia, and Robert devoted hiinselt" to Miss Newton and one 
 ot the Miss 'I'horntons ; Mr. King took in his wife and the 
 other Miss Thornton, and Dr. Newton Meta and myself. 
 
 I was very well pleased with this arrangement, for 1 was very 
 lavorably impressed with the earnest and handsome counte- 
 luince of the man whose hobby had so much annoyed Mr. 
 Maxwell. 
 
 Like most dinner-parties, this one was rather stupid at first, 
 the conversation chiitly consisting of disjointed utterances be- 
 tween those seated next to each other ; but Dr. Newton and 
 Meta seemed already to be becoming good friends, judging 
 from the llow^ of talk which went on between them. I could 
 distinctly hear everything said by the gentleman, (who though 
 engrossed, so far as conversation went, with the daughter of the 
 house, was also very attentive to my own wants) ; but I could 
 only catch the sweet sentences o\' Meta's voice, as she convers- 
 ed with her new acquaintance, and wish I possessed the quiet 
 and modest self possession which could make her thus to enjoy 
 conversation with a stranger : and the frank, unaffected, girlish 
 manner, which I fancied he, like myself, found so winning. 
 
 When dinner was about half through, I suddenly became 
 aware that conversation among the rest was becoming general, 
 and was surprised, and a little startled, to find that they had 
 actually got on the theme so much disliked by the master of 
 the house, and the discussion of which, I had heard him say, 
 Philip Newton should have no chance to introduce at his table. 
 
 " Well," said old Mr. Carstairs, whose voice was the first I 
 
32 PHILIPS LIKK WORK. 
 
 distinctly heard, "I don't think total abstinence is such a bad 
 thing. Of course, it is hard for an old man Hke me to give uj) 
 his wine after being accustomed to it all his life ; but for the 
 young people, 1 think it would be a splendid thing if they had 
 nothing to do with it." 
 
 " But, my dear friend," said Dr. King, the clergyman of the 
 church the Maxwell's attended, " why do you advance such a 
 theory as this? If a young man can enjoy his wine in mod- 
 eration, as I have done all my life, why must he, because some 
 abuse this gift, like many others, give up entirely, what had 
 never done him any harm, and may be the means of doing 
 him a great deal of good." 
 
 " My dear sir," said Philip Newton, so sternly, that I looked 
 up at him in surprise, " it is such as you that temperance re- 
 formers have to dread. You do twice as much mischief as 
 twenty drunkards. 7/iey are beacons which warn a man of his 
 danger ; you allure him to destruction by your moderate ex- 
 ample." " Forgive me, dear sir," he ended, becoming aware 
 how sternly he had spoken, and that all eyes were now fixed 
 on him, " If I have spoken too strongly ; and forgive me also, 
 Mr. Maxwell. I believe I forgot, for the moment, that I was 
 at a private dinner table, and not on a public platform." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell bowed, but made no other reply. He was 
 evidently annoyed that such a discussion had arisen, but knew 
 not how to put a stop to it, if it were the will of his guests that 
 it should proceed. As for Dr. King, he replied, good-humor- 
 edly, ' Well, Dr. Newton, I can Derceive the force of your as- 
 sertion in one way, but I must say, utterly fail to see it in the 
 other. You might as well argue that the moderate eater is the 
 destroyer of the glutton ; the moderate reader of the book- 
 
I'im.II'S I, I IK WORK. 33 
 
 worm ; the man of moderate recreation of the idler and spend- 
 thrift." 
 
 *' I hold, Dr. King, that there is no comparison between 
 those things you have named, and the greatest cinse of our 
 nation— strong drink. The glutton and the bookworm hurt 
 no one bnt themselves, and though the idler and s^.'^ndthrilt 
 may blast the prospects uf his family, so far as creature com- 
 forts go, he cannot [)Ossibly bring upon them the utter misery 
 and ruin which too often falls to the lot of those who have a 
 drunkard for their husband or father. I should imagine that 
 the consideration of the fate of the thousands of poor women, 
 whose ha])piness has been blasted, and home and family de- 
 stroyed, by this monster fiend of drunkenness, would be suffi- 
 cient to rob your wine ot its flavor, for ever and ever." 
 
 '* Yes, that is the worst of it," said mild old Mr. Carstairs ; 
 " it is the women who suffer ; and how seldom, comparatively 
 speaking, do we meet a female drunkard, even among the low- 
 er classes. Such a thing is almost unheard of among the up- 
 per ten. ' 
 
 " Unheard of it may be, Mr. Carstair's, but by no means 
 non-existent. Drunkenness is, I believe, much commoner 
 even among the ladies of the upper classes than most people 
 have any idea of As for ' drinking,' we all know how common 
 that is. It is very hard, I believe, to draw the line where 
 ' drinking,' stops, and drunkenness begins." 
 
 " I should fancy it was very easy," said Dr. King, with the 
 suspicion of a sneer. " You are young. Dr. Newton ; when 
 you are as old as I am, you will smile at your present enthu- 
 siasm." 
 
 '' God forbid !" said Dr. Newton, solemnly. 
 
 5 
 
34 PiirMi's r-iM, work. 
 
 "I wish you would explain to us your last remark, Dr. 
 Newton," said Mr. Carstairs. " How do you mean that it is 
 hard to draw the line between drunkenness and drinking ?" 
 
 " In this way, dear sir, that I believe there are hundreds of 
 men and women, or, I might say gentlemen and ladies, often, 
 and sometimes daily, under the influence of drink, who would 
 scorn to be called, or to call themselves, drunkards. 1 hold, 
 that the young man or young girl, who has been conscious 
 even of a momentary giddiness after her glass of wire at 
 dinner, has been under the influence of litjuor, and has taken 
 the first step in the downward path ot drunkenness." 
 
 '• Come now, Philip, you are going too far when you attack 
 the ladies,' exclaimed Percy Carstairs, laughing. 
 
 The hot blood had been mounting to Mr. Maxwell's fore 
 head. He was evidently very angry and could not control it 
 longer. " Friend.5," he said, " 1 think this c'iscussion is be- 
 coming very unseemly. Please let us begin a new one wilh 
 the dessert." 
 
 The chief s!)eakers had been too busy to observe the dis- 
 comfiture of their host, but with read/ politeness began to 
 discourse on other themes ; J)r. Newton evidently being care- 
 ful, both to lead and follow in those such as were introduced, 
 so that there might be no lack of conversation, consequent on 
 the sudden conclusion put by the master of the house to their 
 previous one. 
 
 In the drawing-room that evening, I heard Philip Newton, 
 who seemed already to covet the good opinion of this young 
 girl, saying to Meta, " Were you shocked, Miss Meta, by my 
 remarks during dinner ? ' 
 
 Meta paused, then replied very seriously, " A little. I fear 
 
PUHJF'S I.I IK WORK. 35 
 
 your father thought nie very rude, and perhaps you also ? " 
 *• No , " said Meta again (juielly, " T respect earnestness." 
 '* I say, PhiHp, my bov," said Percy Carstairs, coming up at 
 
 this moment, and hnking his arm in that of his friend, " you 
 
 seem dreadfully in earnest on this total abstinence (question." 
 '* It is the purpose of my life," said Phili[), with grave em- 
 
 ])hasis. " How I wish Percy you would join me in advancing 
 
 it." 
 
3^ Pini,II''s I.II-K WORK. 
 
 ('HAI'TFk V. 
 
 " Meta, my dear, why don't you take your wine ? I have 
 noticed for several days you have left it untouched." 
 
 " I have not taken any for some weeks, pa[)a." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because I don't feel that I want it." 
 
 " But you look as if you wanted it, child ; you do not seem 
 at all strong yet ; take your wine, it will do you good." 
 
 " That's what grandma and aunties always said," returned 
 Meta, meditatively. 
 
 " And quite right, too," said her father ; " you need all the 
 help you can get to put some color into those pale cheeks ; 
 doesn't she Marian ?" 
 
 '' Of course she does ; but Meta has taken some strange' 
 fancies into her head lately." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell looked as if he were afraid to ask what those 
 fancies might be, and only said, " Meta, if you wish to please 
 me, you will take your wine regularly. / think you reciuire it, 
 and so does your mother." 
 
 Judging from results, Meta had no desire to please her 
 father, for her wine at dinner remained day after day untouch- 
 ed ; but no further notice was taken of the circumstance. 
 
 This was about a month after the dinner party recorded in 
 my last chapter : a month, in the course of which Meta and I 
 had indeed become friends in the truest sense of the word. I 
 not only felt now, that I loved Meta Maxwell as I had never 
 
PHII.IPS I.IKK WORK. 37 
 
 loved any but my near and dear ones, but also fell sure her 
 warm affection was my own. It is very customary to sneer at 
 gitl-friendsliips, and often they are but a mixture of afleclation 
 and folly, but looking back tiirouizh the years which have i)ass- 
 ed since first we })ledged ourselves to each other as friends. 1 
 have never had reason to regret or feel ashamed, of what we 
 then considered, and still consider, a sacred bond. 
 
 During this month also, things had come to a crisis be ween 
 Sylvia and Percy Carstairs, in so far, that the proposal, for 
 which Mrs Maxwell had planned and watched, and for which 
 Sylvia had looked and acted her most attractive, had actually 
 been made ; but strange to say, had not yet been accepted by 
 the young lady. Much to her father's surprise, and mother's 
 annoyance, Sylvia had re(iuested a month to think about it ; 
 and though Percy Carstairs himself, and his family also, evi- 
 dently did not relish this off hand fashion of receiving a pro- 
 |)Osal which they considered, did Sylvia Maxwell much honor, 
 the former had agreed, to what he probably imagined was 
 merely a lit of coyness on the oart ot his beloved, which might 
 be intended to enhance the yielding, which he knew would 
 come. 
 
 During this month also, the acquaintance had increased, 
 and, so far as some of the f^imily were concerned, friendship 
 ripened, with Dr. Newton and his sister. Notwithstanding 
 Mr. Maxwell's coldness, which, though not particularly mark- 
 ed, was quite apparent. Dr. Newton seemed to tlnd his visits 
 at Maxwell very agreeable ; but this is not to be wondered at, 
 considering that the lady of the house both received and in- 
 vited such visits with particular affability, and the young ladies 
 were always both polite and friendly to himself and sister. 
 
38 PHI lip's 1,1 fk wokk. 
 
 Miss Newton was a rather (juiet, sad-looking girl, of twenty- 
 eight or thereabouts, who impressed me with the conviction, 
 that her life had not flowed entirely in smooth channels, but 
 rather that it had been through some stormy scenes of trial and 
 sorrow, she had reached the present calm. Slie was also very 
 reserved, but seemed to have taken a great fancy to Meta, 
 which was to some extent reciprocated by the latter ; though 
 I doubt if she found Miss Newton any more communicative to 
 her, than to the rest of her acquaintance. Very little was 
 
 known in W of the Newton's previous history, for it was 
 
 only during the last three months they had come to the place, 
 and that through the recommendation of Mr. Carstairs, who had 
 been on very intimate terms with Philip's father. The latter 
 had left Scotland in early manhood, and shortly after his mar- 
 riage, to settle in America, where a brother had already found 
 a home, and fast increasing wealth. 
 
 During the years that followed, communication gradually 
 became very rare between the former friends, and at length 
 ceased altogether, until Philip, grown to manhood, and an 
 orphan, had written to Mr. Carstairs, of whom his father had 
 often spoken, telling him of his intention to return to Scotland 
 with his only sister, and settle down in some place, where he 
 could advantageously practise his profession. 
 
 As there happened at the time to be a very good vacancy 
 
 for a medical man in W , Mr. Carstairs at once wrote, 
 
 and advised him to come thither, extending to him a cordial 
 welcome to his own home, until a suitable house could be ob- 
 tained, and arrangements made, for entering on a home of his 
 own. 
 
 It had only been a few weeks before my arrival at Maxwell 
 
PHILII^'s I.IKK \V(^KK. 
 
 39 
 
 that this .had been arranged ; and only since my arrival there, 
 that Dr. Newton had began the practice of his profession. 
 
 While staying at "The Lindens," Mr. Carstairs estate, which 
 was about a mile out of the town, Dr. Newton and the sons ol 
 his host, though differing widely in almost every characteristic, 
 became (juite intimate ; and the warm affection, which Mr. 
 Carstairs had felt for Philii)'s father, seemed to have been 
 transferred by him, and bestowed by his family on the son, 
 who was also a general favorite in the community, though 
 some affected to sneer at his "peculiar views," which they as- 
 sured him would certainly injure him in his profession. 
 
 Hut at this Philip, only smiled a " be it so," and went on his 
 way, not only professionally, but both publicly and privately, 
 seeking to adva ce in every possible way, the i)rinciples. the 
 advancement of which, I had heard him tell Percy Carstairs, 
 was I he purpose of his life. 
 
 Since the evening of the dinner-party, when the subject of 
 total abstinence had been so forcibly brought before us, Meta 
 and T had somecimes taken counsel together on the subject, 
 which seemed from that time to have taken considerable hold 
 (jf her mind. 
 
 It began by her asking me one day, if I thought it was true 
 what Philip Newton had said about drinking and drunkenness ; 
 but I knew less about it than she did herself, for I had never 
 even heard this question of total abstinence discussed, and 
 though I had never seen wine in my father's house, except 
 during his own, and my mother's fatal sickness ; I knew not 
 whether they held strong views on either side. 
 
 As for me, I had never tasted a glass of wine during their 
 lifetime ; and when I came to Maxwell, though wine was 
 
40 Philip's life work. 
 
 placed on the table every day, had merely from habit continued 
 its disuse, and therefore, though inclined to sympathise with 
 Philip Newton's views on the question, did not think it neces- 
 sary to pledge myself, against what I had never indulged, and 
 never meant to indulge in. Once, when I said this to Philip, 
 for we had also become good friends through Meta's influence, 
 I believe, he repHed, " I believe you are mistaken. Miss Mait- 
 land. You might refrain from drinking wine or such beverages 
 all your lite, so far as others can judge, merely as a matter of 
 taste, and principle have nothing to do with it ; whereas, if 
 you give your name and influence to the temperance cause, 
 you proclaim to the world your disapproval of the drinking 
 customs, and your belief in the temporal and moral ruin they 
 are bringing on our homes and country." 
 
 And so it came about, that through Philip Newton's influ- 
 ence, I became a total abstainer, both by precept and example ; 
 and I have never had cause to regret, but great reason to 
 thank God, that so I was led to put on the badges of those, 
 whose warfare is next in importance to that of the Christian, 
 and " well done " is we believe equally well assured. 
 
 As for Meta, she had never tasted wine since the night 
 already referred to. It seemed as if Philip's assertion had car- 
 ried such weight, and indeed filled her mind with such a horror 
 of the wonted beverage, that she could not bear, even in spite 
 of her father's displeasure, to put it between her lips. 
 
 " How I wish, Nora," she said one day, " that papa would 
 allow me to do as you have done. It hurts my conscience, 
 now that I have thoroughly made up my mind about it, not to 
 act according to v/hat I believe is right ;" but Mr. Maxwell, 
 when appealed to, more than once, by his daughter, waf= firm 
 
PHIIIPS LIFE WORK. 4 1 
 
 as a rock. " No, Meta, you will never get my consent to such 
 absurdity. If you take this step, you will incur my severest 
 displeasure. You have always, hitherto, been a docile and 
 obedient ciiild ; what has come to you, that you have learned 
 to dispute the wisdom of what you know your family approve ? 
 Your so-called temperance notions have with them a reproach 
 to the rest of us ; anyone would imagine we were a family of 
 drunkards." 
 
 Meta was silenced. This was one of Mr. Maxwell's "obstin- 
 acies," in which his wife, who knew him best, said it was hope- 
 less to move him ; so what could Meta do ? either enter mtu 
 stiife with the father, who had ever been most kind and ind'^1- 
 gent cowards his family, and especially to herself, his favorite 
 child, or submit to his decision. She did the latter, very un- 
 willingly ; and for a tune the subject lay at rest between them. 
 
 I had discovered, long ere this, what a tender conscience 
 Meta's was ; and had already felt the ennobling influence of 
 personal contact with her. It had not taken me long to get 
 over the feeling of inferiority I had at first been conscious of 
 in Sylvia's presence, for now I did not compare her, so lovely, 
 so dignified, so beautifully dressed, with myself, so plain, so 
 poor, in proportion so meanly clothed ; I compared her with 
 Meta, whose superiority I knew was real, and (i hough the lat- 
 ter had never made me feel as Sylvia had done) beside whom 
 she suffered in contrast. In Meta's presence, one never felt 
 conscious of clothes, and scarcely conscious of self, and this 
 partly I believe, that Meta herself was seldom conscious of 
 either. What a comfort was this to one so self-contained, self- 
 conscious, and I might almost say so self absolute, as myself. 
 
 My mind was grovfing, and my heart expanding, day by 
 e 
 
42 PHILirS LIFE WORK. 
 
 day, from this companionship^ and Maxwell was becoming to 
 me, not merely the scene of a daily routine of uncongenial 
 duties, but the place, whicli contained the only one 1 had 
 learned to love besides my father and mother. But I was 
 learning to love my pupils too, and they Avere learning to love 
 me. This also, I believe, was Meta's doing. 
 
 At firsi, Mrs. Maxwell greatly disapproved the intimacy, 
 which she could not but peiceive had s[)rung up between her 
 daughter and myself, and remonstrated with Meta on the sub- 
 ject ; but by degrees I had also won a measure of her regard, 
 and though she still thought it undignified in Meta to call me 
 Nora, and seek my society as she did, had ceased to take any 
 further notice of it. 
 
 As for Sylvia, she had been very indignant at what she con 
 sidered Meta's bad taste, and lack of self respect ; and had 
 only put on additional hauteur in her demeanor towards me, 
 but of late, this had for some unaccountable reas n, changed, 
 and she also, at times, began to seek my society, often by so 
 doing depriving us of the precious moments we had been wont 
 to spend together. 
 
 My evenings were not now spent in my own room, but, 
 when not invited to the drawing-room, generally in the school- 
 room, for here Meta could sometimes join me, without excit- 
 ing particular comment, and here also I could better pursue 
 the studies which, by Meta's advice, I had begun. Lament- 
 ing to her one day my inefficiency to follow the profession I 
 had begun, she said : '' It is not too late, dear Nora ; why not 
 commence now, and study a little every evening, and so repair 
 the deficiencies in your education ?" It was like an inspira- 
 tion. Why not even yet atone to myself for former neglect 
 
Philip's life work. 43 
 
 and idleness ? Encouraged by Meta's help and approval, and 
 feeling also as if the approval of my dear parents was present 
 with me, I hopefully set myself to overcome the difficulties in 
 my path, and resolved still to become, if not an accomplished 
 woman, at least a more improved one. 
 
44 Philip's life work. 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 The month of Sylvia's probation had nearly expired, when, 
 one Saturday, she asked me, as she sometimes did, to do 
 something for her in her own room ; and as I had at first sub- 
 mitted to the supplementary duties she contrived to find for 
 me, I had no excuse to offer on the present occasion, though 
 very much disappointed at having to give up a walk with Meta 
 which was my great Saturday afternoon treat, and on which we 
 had just been setting out when Sylvia called me. 
 
 " Could you not wait, Sylvia, till we return ? The best part 
 of the day will be over if we do not go now, and Nora has so 
 few walks." 
 
 I don't think Miss Maitland will mind ; I won't detain her 
 long." This was Sylvia's way of ignoring things she had not 
 a mind to perceive, so there was nothing for it but to lay aside 
 my hat, and join her as requested. 
 
 To-day it was s mie trifling repairs of gloves, &c., with which 
 she occupied the hours of my weekly half-holiday, and my 
 heart burned with indignation at the utter selfishness she dis- 
 played in so doing ; but I had not been long seated at my 
 work, when I began to >uspect Sylvia had other motives to-day, 
 in seeking my presence, than those which furnished the osten- 
 sible reason. 
 
 Though she pretended to read, she^did not seem to be much 
 engrossed by her book, but would lay it aside every now and 
 again, to talk in much more confidential strains, than she had 
 
Philip's life work. 4.5 
 
 ever adopted with me. At length, when she had vainly tried 
 
 to lead me into a conversation relative to Percy Carstairs and 
 her own love aftairs, she asked, abruptly, " Don't you pity me, 
 
 Miss Maitland ?"' 
 
 " No," I said, really surprised now, and eager to know what 
 was coming. 
 
 " Don't you know I have to decide the question, * to be or 
 not to be,' next week, and I am in a perfect dilemma." 
 
 " 1 don't know why you should be in a dilemma," I replied, 
 quite seriously. " I should fancy you would know whether 
 you war ted it ' to be or not to be.'" 
 
 *'No indeed, that is just what I do fw/ know," returned 
 Sylvia, laughing ; *• I wish you would give me your advice. 
 Meta would be the natural person for me to consult with, but 
 we have no sympathy with each other ; she has such strait- 
 laced notions about thin${s, I have no patience with her. We 
 are not like sisters at all." 
 
 " I would not suppose you would require anyone's advice 
 about such a thing ; yoir own heart should tell you what to do." 
 
 " That sounds exactly like Meta ; but if my heart do not tell 
 me, what then ? ' 
 
 " If your heart do not distinctly say * to be,' I should think 
 you would decide that it is ' not to be ;' but " I hesitated. 
 
 " Well, but what ? ' 
 
 " But, I thi?,k, having encouraged Mr. Carstairs thus tar, 
 you are almost committed to accepting him." 
 
 ** I am afraid you are right. If there were only him, it would 
 not be so difficult." 
 
 Sylvia said this with a look of childish distress, which would 
 no doubt have been infinitely bewitching to Percy Carstairs, 
 
46 Philip's lift. work. 
 
 if not accompanied by her present words ; but to me, the ex- 
 pression savored only of affectation, and the words were per- 
 fectly incomprehensible. 
 
 As she paused tor me to say something, I asked, " Has Mr. 
 Carstairs a rival, then ?'' 
 
 " Why, you know as well as I do ; and I am not sure that I 
 do not prefer Dr. Newton to Percy." 
 
 " Dr. Newton !" I exclaimed, in astonishment : " I don't 
 think- " 
 
 " You don't think what ?'' asked Sylvia, eagerly. 
 
 " I don't think Dr. Newton is Mr. Carstairs' rival," I con- 
 tinued ; but almost trembling at my audacity. '* I think it is 
 Meta ;" and there stopped. The crimson tide was rising to 
 Sylvia's cheeks ; I could not tell whether of mortification or 
 anger. " Meta I" I never thought of such a thing. She is a 
 mere child, and never had an .„ n her life." 
 
 " You forget that she is only eighteen months younger than 
 yourself," I returned, mildly ; " and she has an admirer now." 
 If Sylvia were trifling with Percy, only in the hope of gaining 
 Dr. Newton, I thought it well she should be undeceived as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 " You must think me very conceited. Miss Maitland," said 
 MibS Maxwell afterward, when she had somewhat recovered 
 herself, and was about to dismiss me, " but I trust you will not 
 betray me. Our conversation was of course private." 
 
 •' I shall consider it so," I said, sorry that she should have 
 had to humble herself to say so much. " I do hope, Miss 
 Maxwell," I added, quite warmly, for I seemed to realize how 
 doubtful a thing was Sylvia's happiness, with a man, the ac- 
 ceptance or non-acceptance of whom, she could discuss with a 
 
» 
 
 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 47 
 
 Stranger 'ike myself, " 1 do hope that you will be happy as 
 Mr Carstairs' wife, for it is ' to be/ is it not ?" 
 
 " I suppose so," said Sylvia, essaying a smile. " Thank you, 
 Miss Maitland, for your kind wishes ;'' and as she dismissed 
 me, I saw tears on the long lashes, which 1 fancied were 
 strangers thereto, and my heart melted to the young gnl, so 
 soon to be a wife, yet consciously becoming so without the 
 love, which alone could make the union sacred. 
 
 The following week the family were called on to congratu 
 late Percy Carstairs and his affianced wife ; and shortly began 
 the bustle attendant on the preparations for the wedding fes- 
 tivities, which neither of the families saw any reason to post- 
 pone. 
 
 Percy, whose allowance from his father was to be inci eased, 
 as far as the la.ter's means would admit, from the date of his 
 marriage, rented a villa midway between the town and his 
 father's estate, and here the young couple were to take up 
 house-keeping, as soon as the marriage settlements could be 
 drawn u}), and the bride's trousseau prepared. 
 
 It was a busy month which followed, and as there was plenty 
 found for me to do, in connection with the innumerable things 
 which required to be attended to, the children had more holi- 
 days than they knew what to do with, and Jane was almost at 
 her wits end, between the duties of the nursery, and the end- 
 less demands on her time and patience, made by the bride 
 elect, who had always usurped the largest share of her attend- 
 ance. " Indeed, Miss, I shall be glad when this wedding is 
 over," she said one day, (she was a pretty superioi looking girl, 
 and from the first had quite taken my fancy) ; " Miss Meta 
 scarcely ever requires my attendance, and I will have more 
 
4^ Philip's life work. 
 
 time to attend to the children. It is not easy to be nurse and 
 lady's-maid in one, is it Miss ?" 
 
 " I suppose not, Jane, but you seem to manage wonderfully." 
 " Thank you, Miss," said Jane, and buckled to her duties 
 with renewed vigor. I was quite a favorite with the pretty 
 Abigail, who sometimes consulted me on her private affairs, 
 such as the expending of her wages, etc., but never presumed 
 on any interest shown, or help afforded her, Jane was a trea- 
 sure, and Mrs. Maxwell knew it ; and so it came about, that 
 she had many little privileges, not afforded to the other servants, 
 which helped to reconcile her, in some measure, to the con- 
 founding duties which were allotted to her. 
 
 At length the marriage day came, and it was vtry like what 
 I suppose most wedding days are : a great deal of bustle, an 
 immense amount of finery, considerable eating and drinking, 
 and a few tears. The bride though, in her rich dress of silk 
 and lace, was lovelier than brides generally are, though all are 
 credited with being lovely ; the bridegroom, too, for good looks, 
 must have ranked as a peer among his fellows, and the brides- 
 maid and groom were a nobler looking couple than one sees 
 every day. Philip Newton and Meta *' stood up " together, 
 and as the marriage service went on, I for one, could not help 
 thinking more of the bride I saw in prospect, as Philip's wife, 
 than of the one who was even then pledging herself, for " bet- 
 ter and for worse," to the bridegroom of the day, — " Poor 
 Sylvia!"— "Happy Meta!" were the words which shaped 
 themselves in my thoughts ; but who could say how poor the 
 one, or how happy the other ? 
 
Philip's i,ife work. 49 
 
 (>HAPTKR VII. 
 
 It was the Sunday after Sylvia's marriage, and Mr. Carstairs' 
 eldest son, who had left his charge in the south of England, to 
 come and perform the ceremony, was to preach in the after 
 noon. As I walked to church with Harry and Arthur, for 
 whose good conduct I was responsible during the hours of 
 service, 1 felt (luite rejoiced that the Rev. Mr. Carstairs was to 
 take the place of prosy Dr. King, whose prayers I knew almost 
 off by heart, and whose sermons I listened to with a lazy in- 
 difference, which precluded the possibility ot deriving any good 
 from what he no doubt considered a stirring discourse. 
 
 When we reached the chapel, Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs and 
 Robert, (the latter was very seldom to be seen there), were al- 
 ready in their pew, the first with a look of pride and pleas'ire 
 on his mild old face, which did my heart good to see. The 
 father's heart (affectionate towards all his family^ was evi- 
 dently bound up in this son, who though so far as features 
 and appearance went, the plainest of the three, was, I could 
 well believe, from what I had seen of him, a son to be proud of. 
 
 I respected both the calling he had chosen to follow, and 
 the energy displayed in preferring to carve out a path for him- 
 self, rather than depend on what his father could do for him. 
 It filled my heart with something akin to contempt, to see his 
 brothers, grown to manhood, and perfectly capable of w orking 
 out an independence for themselves, content to receive their 
 pocket money like any school boy, and thus diminish their 
 
 7 
 
5© PHILirS LIFE WORK. 
 
 father's means, not too plentiful, by this constant drain ui)on 
 them. 
 
 It was a mystery to me, how any woman could consider it 
 an honor to marry such a man ; but then my ideas were not 
 aristocratic, and I could not understand why " peoi>le of fam- 
 ily " should prefer such dependence on others, rather than lose 
 caste bv engaging in merchandise or other means of gaining a 
 livelihood. 
 
 But Frank Carstairs had not lost caste, for the ministry is a 
 lawful calling even for the sons of gentlemen. It remained to 
 be seen whether he had chosen his profession for love of the 
 work, or merely as a genteel way of making a living. 
 
 As I noted the earnest manner in which the hymn was read, 
 the fervour of the prayer which followed, and the heart felt 
 eloquence with which the discourse was begun, I could not 
 doubt that the preacher's heart was in his work. Frank Car- 
 stairs was a Christian ; the profession of saving souls, the one 
 he had chosen. 
 
 I knew nothing personally of the saving faith of which his 
 sermon treated, but had known what it was to live in inti- 
 mate communion, and affectionate companionship, with the 
 father and mother, whose faith and practice so fully harmon- 
 ized, and could but recognize the ring of the true metal in 
 others, and to some extent, appreciate the Christianity, which 
 I never yet had sought to attain. 
 
 As the sermon proceeded, I was seized with a deep longing 
 to become possessed of this faith, which alone could save ; but 
 my heart was as hard as a stone ; I wanted to trust, and yet I 
 could not. I wanted to be saved, but wou)d not believe, with 
 the heart belief, which alone could avail. I looked at Meta, 
 
PHILIPS I.irK WORK. 51 
 
 as she sat with her father and mother in the pew in front of 
 me. Her sweet and placid eyes were fixed on the minister's 
 countenance ; she seemed to hang on his words. 1 knew thai 
 in everything that was good, and pure, and true, Meta was all 
 hut a Christian ; was she witii myself, longing to become, not 
 almost, hut altogether such an one. How 1 envied her child- 
 like disposition, when, as she joined the children and myself, 
 for the walk home, she said, " Nora, did not you like the ser- 
 mon to-day .^" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, but still it made me uncomfortable.'' 
 
 " Did it? It made me so happy. Nora, I have trusted my- 
 self to Jesus ; are not you going to do the same ?" 
 
 " I wish I could, Meta : but I am not like you. I am hard 
 and cold and proud. I cannot humble myself like the little 
 child Mr. Carstairs was si)eaking about, whereas to you, I just 
 feel like ai)plying the words which Jesus did, ' F'or of such are 
 the kingdom of heaven.' " 
 
 Meta had no false humility, and did descry the commenda- 
 tion conveyed in my worJs. She was experiencing all the trust 
 and confidence of a little child, and it never occurred to her to 
 dispute, what had brought her so much happiness. 
 
 " You too, Nora, will soon be a child of the Saviour's fold. 
 You are so much stronger than I am, that it is natural you 
 should find it harder to trust than 1 do, but it will come : I 
 know it will." 
 
 Was I stronger than Meta ? (or was this her gentle word for 
 pride ?) I had never thought so, for ever since we had known 
 each other, her mingled strength and gentleness had filled me 
 with wondering admiration. Was it not she who had strength- 
 ened me to overcome my morbid grief ; who had implanted in 
 
52 Philip's life work. 
 
 me the ambition for self-improvement ; who had taught me to 
 exercise in my little kingdom the strongest law in the universe 
 —the law of love. This, and much more, the strength of 
 Meta's character had done for me. Yes, she was gentle, hum- 
 ble, sweet, and yielding, but she was also strong. I thought so 
 then, and I think so still. Darling Meta ! 
 
 A week later than this, the newly married pair came home 
 from their tour, and after a grand dinner in their honor at Mr. 
 Carstairs, and a reception at their own house, we all settled 
 down into our old routine, only the house seemed much quiet- 
 er now, in contrast to the bustle of the last few weeks. 
 
 But changes had begun at Maxwell, and, as is often the 
 case, when such occur, seem fated to go on. I was surprised 
 one day, when the children, as a special treat on Harry's birth- 
 day, had been taken by their mother, in the carriage, to visit 
 Sylvia, by a timid knock at my room door, and the entrance of 
 Jane, who asked with pinker cheeks than usual, " If you please. 
 Miss, could I speak to you for a few minutes ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Jane ; is it about the pattern ? Here it is , I 
 
 found it this morning. With some slight alterations, I think 
 it will suit you nicely." 
 
 " Oh, thank you. Miss : but it wasn't that. You have 
 always been so kind, I thought I would like to tell you, before 
 speaking to Mrs. Maxwell, that I am going to leave." 
 
 " Going to leave, Jane ! you surely don't mean that. You 
 were just telling me a short time ago that you thought you 
 should like the place a great deal better now." 
 
 "So I would. Miss, but— but— , you see, James Sinclair has 
 spoken, and — and — 
 
 "Oh, you have got the ofter of a better place," said I, 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 53 
 
 not understanding Jane's mode of expressing herself. 
 
 " Oh ! no, Miss, 1 am going to be married." 
 
 " Married, Jane ! you are not long in following Miss Max- 
 well's example, and it is to James Sinclair : do I know him?" 
 
 *' Oh yes. Miss ; he is Dr. Newton's coachman. You have 
 seen him often.'' 
 
 So I had, a good-looking iollow enough, and so far as ap- 
 pearance went, quite a suitable match for pretty Jane ; but I 
 recalled something Dr. Newton had been saying during his 
 last visit, and replied gently, " He is a nice looking fellow, 
 Jane, and I don't wonder you fancy him ; but is he steady?" 
 
 '• Oh yes, Miss I am sure he has been a faithful servant, and 
 when he told tlie doctor, some weeks ago, that he was think- 
 ing of getting married, and asked him if he aoplied for the 
 ' buss ' between this and Newton, would he give him a good 
 character, the doctor said, ' Yes, he could conscientiously re- 
 commend him.' " 
 
 " But, Jane, (I am sorry to have to tell you this) I have 
 heard Dr. Newton say, lately, that his coachman had taken to 
 drinking, and had come home sometimes recently the worse of 
 liquor." 
 
 " Oh I daresay. Miss, but they all take too much sometinies, 
 and it was while his brother was staying in the place for a 
 week, that this happened. James is easily led away." 
 
 " Then, dear Jane, I don't think he is the husband to make 
 a woman happy. Take my advice, and give him up, unless he 
 will promise not to touch liquor again." 
 
 " Oh, Miss, it is very easy to say ' Give him up,' but servants 
 have feelings like their betters. I love him, and if I don't 
 marry him, I don't care to marry anybody else." 
 
54 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 Jane was crying, and the tears were in my own eyes ; but I 
 said firmly, '* I believe you love him, Jane, but you can never 
 be happy with a man who even occasionally gets drunk. Bet- 
 ter be an old maid than a miserable wife." 
 
 " That sounds very well, Miss, but Miss Sylvia expected to 
 be happy, I suppose, when she married Mr. Percy Carstairs ; 
 and I am certain sure he gets drunk a little ottener than my 
 James." 
 
 I was conscious of a sudden sinking of the heart at Jane's 
 words. The information they conveyed was new to me, but 
 I could not doubt the girl's sincerity ; she knew what she was 
 talking about. 
 
 " Jane," I said, after a pause, " I am very much shocked at 
 what you have told me. I had no idea of it before, and I can- 
 not think Miss Maxwell knew it ; but even if what you say be 
 true. Miss Maxwell's misery can never make your happiness. 
 Think what you are doing, before it is too late ; Dr. Newton 
 says that if women would only take a decided stand against 
 the drunkenness which abounds, and refuse to marry men who 
 were not abstainers, half the battle would be won ; for then 
 drinking would not be respectable, as I am sorry to say it is 
 considered by many now, but a disgrace, and the men who 
 indulged in it to be hooted at and despised. I trust, dear 
 Jane, that you will be able to persuade your lover to give up 
 the drink, but if not, I earnestly hope you will take my advice, 
 and have nothing to do with him." 
 
 " I know you mean it kindly. Miss, and I thank you, but I 
 don't think he will give up the drink altogether. Perhaps I 
 will be able to persuade him better after we are married." 
 
 " Never ^ Jane ; now is your time ; if you give in now, you 
 
PHILIP'S LIFE WORK. 55 
 
 can never, humanly speaking, hope to influence him." 
 
 Jane left the room in tears, and I also was sad at heart for 
 her and Sylvia's sake. The maid's, however, was likely to be 
 the better lot of the two, for she had her love to aid the endu- 
 rance, which doubtless both would be called on to suffer. 
 
56 Philip's life work. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 The following Monday, Jane gave Mrs. Maxwell a month's 
 notice, and with some little assistance from Meta and myself, 
 set about her simple preparations for her marriage. Her com- 
 ing departure was regretted by all the household, and not least 
 by Mrs. Maxwell herself, who declared she should never get 
 another girl to suit so well as Jane had done. 
 
 Meta begged her mother to engage the new domestic merely 
 as nursery-maid. '' I think it is too much to expect, mamma, 
 of one girl, to act both as nurse and lady's-maid ; and as for 
 me, I do not care to have a maid now that Sylvia has gone, 
 and I am sure no one will be any the wiser, that I do not 
 possess one." 
 
 " It does not sound well, Meta, to admit that we do not en- 
 gage a lady's maid, though,like yourself, I sometimes find them 
 to be more trouble than assistance. We can try it, however, 
 for a time, "she concluded smiling," and so far as you are con- 
 cerned, it may prove a very temporary arrangement." 
 
 Meta blushed, but took no further notice of her mother's 
 words, which I had reason to believe would soon be proved 
 correct. 
 
 Many were the lamentations to which I had to listen from 
 Arthur and Daisy, relative to the coming change in the nurse- 
 ry, and though Hairy said nothing, po sibly feeling that it 
 would be babyish to " make a fuss," I could perceive that the 
 little fellow felt Jane's departure as much as the others. 
 
Philip's life work. 57 
 
 '' Its awfully mean of Jane to go and get married." said Ar 
 thur one day to his confidant, Daisy, when the children did 
 not know 1 was by, '" isn't it, Daisy ?" 
 
 " I don't know, Artie. You know Sylvia got married, and 
 everybody thought it was very nice. Big women always want 
 to get married, I suppose ; I know I shall when I am big, for 
 if you don't get married you're an old maid, and 1 don't think 
 
 its nice." 
 
 " Nice : I think its just as nice as getting married ; what's 
 
 the use? " 
 
 ' Oh ! Artie (it was wonderful the depth of feeling Daisy 
 
 put into the words), think of the white dresses, and the flow- 
 ers, and all the ])iett} things ; but then genkleman's don't 
 have any, so jr>// don't care.'' 
 
 " I don't see what big women, or big men either, want to 
 get married for. I'm sure Meta does'nt." 
 
 " Oh : Artie, you're stupid," whispered Daisy, looking round 
 cautiously, and discovering my ])resence, but as I smiled en- 
 couragingly, she continued : '" bhe's going to get married to 
 the temperance man ; I heard Jane tellinLT Susie." 
 
 " Dr. Newton is the man," said Harry, quite interested, 
 " that's jolly. I think he s an awful nice man. When he ask- 
 ed me one day, what I was going to be, 1 said 'I didn't knc.w,' 
 but when I w\as growed up I wasn't going to be a drink man 
 anyway ; and he looked awful pleased, and said 1 was a noble 
 little fellow, and to be sure and remember." 
 
 " Did he ?" said Daisy, " that was real nice. 
 
 The mistress of the house, the presiding genius of the scoohl- 
 room, and the denizens of the nursery, were at one, it seemed, 
 on the momentous question of Meta's '' settlement ;" but Mr. 
 
5^ Philip's life work. 
 
 Maxwell's opinion had not yet been asked for, and it remained 
 to be seen how he would act when the question had to be de- 
 cided, as he only had the power to do. 
 
 Though Meta had whispered to me a little secret of her 
 own the previous evening, I was considerably startled when 
 her father abruptly entered the room, where his wife and I 
 were seated at work, as oa a previous occasion we had 
 been, when a dinner-party was the theme under discus- 
 sion, and exclaimed excitedly : " Here's a pretty go ; that fel- 
 low has actually asked me for Meta. Sit down, Miss Maitland, 
 you need not run away ; I suppose you know more about this 
 than the rest of us." 
 
 I sat down, trembling for Meta, and he continued : *' Did 
 you expect this, Marian, and have I only been blind ?" 
 
 '' Of course I expected it, James, and should have supposed 
 you would also. I suppose by * that fellow,' you mean Dr. 
 Newton. It is not a very respectful way to speak of your 
 daughter's future husband." 
 
 " Future husband ! You seem to have the matter nicely 
 settled among you. Pray am I to be consulted on the subject 
 at all ?' 
 
 " Certainly, James : I thought you just said that Dr. New- 
 ton had been consulting you." 
 
 " Consulting me, after he has got my daughter's promise ; 
 thats a little too late, I think." 
 
 " I am sure, James, Meta would never promise, unless sub- 
 ject to your approval." 
 
 " Oh ! so he says. It's all very fine : but if that's not mak- 
 ing a fool of a man, I don't know what is. I suppose this is 
 your doing, asking him to the house, and making so much of 
 
Philip's life work. 59 
 
 him. You seem to be in a mighty hurry to get the girls mar- 
 ried ; no sooner do you get Sylvia off your hands, than you 
 begin to scheme for Meta." 
 
 ** I have never schemed for Meta, James ; you know she is 
 not the kind of girl one can scheme for : but for all that, I 
 thin'f (though Dr. Newton has some peculiarities it is true), 
 she will be a very fortunate woman if you permit her to become 
 his ^rife/' 
 
 " And what about the money I was to marry her to ?" 
 
 *^ Is it possible you do not know Dr. Newton will be very 
 wealthy? He is heir to that uncle of his in America, who is 
 an old man, and has amassed (juite a fortune. The Carstair's 
 know all about it, and I have perfect confidence tliey would 
 not p-?ii-lead us. I know, James, you will give your consent 
 to this marriage. It would be extremely foolish to act other- 
 wise." 
 
 " I have no objections to the fellow," returned Mr. Maxwell, 
 softening, '• if only he were not so eccentric, running round 
 the country lecturing, and so tbrth. He really mak-es himself 
 ridiculous." 
 
 "Well, you know, as I said before, James, you can't have 
 everything ; what did you say to Dr. Newton ?" 
 
 "Said I would take a couple of days to think about it." 
 
 "Well now, James, be sure and give him a cordial answer, 
 when he comes for your decision : I do think he deserves it." 
 
 " I suppose I shall consent ; I can't bear to deny that girl 
 anything ; but I'm not sure about the cordiality. It shall cer- 
 tainly be with reservations at any rate. I must go out, I have 
 been detained too long already," and Mr. Maxwell beat a hasty 
 retreat, more I believe for fear he should break down at the 
 
6.0 Philip's lite work. 
 
 thought of the separation his consent would entail, than the 
 business which he insinuated was hurrying away. 
 
 Two days later, Philip and Meta were made happy, by Mr. 
 Maxwell's consent to their engagement ; though one was dis- 
 appointed at the first, and the other with both, ot the reserva- 
 tion with which it was given. 
 
 The first was, that Meta, at least until she was twenty-one, 
 should not be asked to pledge herself in any way to the prin- 
 ciples what Dr. Newton held so strongly, and the second that 
 the marriage should nott ake place until a year from the date 
 of their engagement. 
 
 " I cannot spare my little girl yet," he said fondly to Meta, 
 when he told her what his answer to Philip was to be, " I am 
 sure she is in no hurry to leave her home." 
 
 '• No indeed papa, was Meta's reply ; I am quite contented 
 with this part of your decision." Whether she was contented 
 with the other part, her father did not inquire. 
 
 When it was all settled, and Dr. Newton received as Meta's 
 intended husband, Mr. Maxwell seemed to get over any re- 
 pugnance he had at first shown to the match, no doubt con- 
 gratulating himself, that he had managed well with regard to 
 the conditions on wh ch the former was so received ; for he 
 
 he had secured a good and wealthy marriage for his fovorite 
 daughter, while at the same time, he needed not to look for- 
 ward to the coming separation as an immediate trial, and had 
 
 also, as he supposed, circumvented his f;iture son-in-law, in 
 the designs he no doubt entertained ; viz. to get Meta com 
 mitted to a step, which her father doubted not, when her 
 judgment should be matured, and her present enthusiasm 
 for Philip evaporated, she should regret, and become ashamed 
 of 
 
PHII.IP'S I. IFF. WORK. 6l 
 
 Some time previous to this, Dr. King, who was ratlitr a 
 changeal le man, and was beginning to get tired of his present 
 charge, wlo were also becoming rather tired of him, suddenly 
 sent in his i^signation to the officers of the church, which they 
 with the rest o( the congregation were onlv too willing to ac- 
 cept, and the result was, very much to his father s delight, a 
 call to Frank Carstairs, with whom all had been delighted on 
 
 the Sunday when he preached in W , to undertake the 
 
 vacant office. Shortly after Meta's engagement, Mr. Carstair's 
 himself brought us word (received privately) of his son's intend- 
 ed acceptance of the i)astorate offered to him, brought about 
 mainly by his own ])ersuasior, and some time after followed 
 the public announcement, that the call had been accepted, as 
 also the fact that the new minister was ex{)ected to ente»* on 
 his duties towards the close of the month. 
 
 When the Sunday arrived on which he was expected to 
 preach his first sermon as minister of the congregation, our 
 household were more than LS'ially anxious to attend divine 
 Service, and Meta especially, could not conceal her impatience 
 for the hour when it should be time t'o set out. Instead of 
 Philip s usual call the previous evening, she lad received a 
 note from him, informing her that in consequence of the unex- 
 pected arrival of a friend from America, he could not have the 
 happiness of seeing her that evening, but would see her on the 
 following day, when he would " tell her all about it." 
 
 Meta was very much interested in Frank Carstairs as the 
 instrument of her conversion, and had been looking forward 
 with the greatest pleasure to seeing and hearing him again, but 
 to day her mind was distracted by the very natural curiosity 
 she felt with regard to the friend (gender unknown") who had 
 
65 
 
 THILIl'S LIFE WORK. 
 
 SO aljruptly arrived at PhiliiVs house ; and when we reached 
 the church, and got seated, her first look was towards the pew 
 where the Newton's generally sat alone, but where there sat to- 
 day a noble looking man ot middle age, who, when the service 
 presently began, found the place and looked on the same book 
 with Miss Newton, as if he had been accustomed to tamiliar 
 intercourse with her all his life. 
 
 And what mysterious influence had he exercised over our 
 quiet friend ? Whence the flush in the cheek, the sparkle in 
 the eye, which we had never seen there before ? What was the 
 man to either of them, that they should be so pleased to have 
 him with them, for Phibp too was excited (though he did n t 
 show it so much as dia his sistei), and once or twice looked to 
 Meta with a smile of mingled happiness and raillery, which let 
 us know he guessed the curiosity, which we could not conceal 
 but had no means of satisfvinjj. 
 
 Just as we were stepping into the carriage, for it was raining 
 and we were all to drive home, Philip came up, and pressing 
 Metas little hand in is own, said to her mother, " May I 
 bring up my friend th.. evening, Mrs. Maxwell, and introduce 
 him to you ?" 
 
 *' Certainly, Philip ; bring Miss Newton also, and come lo 
 dinner." 
 
 " Thank you, you are very kind : I will be most happy to do 
 so ;" and the carriage drove off", and Meta and I had still to 
 wait for several hours before we could learn the secret of the 
 new arrival. 
 
PHIMP'S MFE WORK. 63 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 Great was our surprise that evening when Phili[) and his 
 friend made their appearance (Miss Newton was not with 
 »hem) at the tidings which they had come to communicate. 
 
 George Hunter, for that was the name of the gentleman who 
 Wii partaking of Dr. Ntwton's hospitality, had years ago, be- 
 rom eiig.Tged to Clara Newton ; but as time went on, and 
 famil) circumstances precluded the possibility of their being 
 able to marry, Clara insisted, for Mr. Hunter's sake, that the 
 eng gement should he broken < ft. The latter was very indig- 
 nant, at what he calltd Clara's indiiTi rence, and they parted in 
 a iger. 'Vh't gentleman immediately removed to a distance 
 from the pince where the Newt6»n's were located, and all com- 
 munication ceased between the former lovers ; but George 
 Hunter remained a l^atchelor for Clara's sake, and having 
 learned by accident, very recently, that it was now not an im- 
 possible thing, that still they might be united, had at great loss 
 and inconvenience, entrusted his business to a manager, and 
 crossed the Atlantic, that once more in person, he might ask 
 Clara to seal the vows, which had been exchanged in early 
 vouth, and return with him as his wife, to what was in reality 
 her native country. Clara would still have sacrificed her hap- 
 piness for the sake of her only beloved brother, could she have 
 insured /it's happiness by so doing ; but Philip now possessed 
 a nearer and a dearer love, even than her own, devoted and 
 unselfish though it had proved, could ever be, so with some- 
 
64 PfllLlP's LIFK WORK. 
 
 thing of the joy and aniicipatiun which she had experienced, 
 when first George Hunter had asked for licr regard, she accept- 
 ed the happiness so long dehi)ed, and as time was very precious 
 to him, and his immediate return not only ad\ isable, hut need- 
 ful, put aside the maiden hashfulness, which at such a time 
 would have been both foolish and ungrateful, and consented 
 that in two days she should become his wife. 
 
 Sucli was the substance of what Philip told us ; and with 
 this both Meta and I, though curious to know more, had to be 
 content. \\'hat the family circumstances were, which had 
 parted his sister and her affianced husband, Philip did not say, 
 but coming (juietly afterwards to wliere Meta was sitting, not 
 far from me, said, *' Meta, my darling, I know you want to 
 know more than 1 have told you, and guess, from the fact that 
 I do not explain them, that these fiimily circumstances, to 
 which I have alluded, are not such as can be recalled with 
 pleasure. Bear with me then, my own darling, for a little 
 while, and when we indeed become one in heart and life, all 
 the secrets, which now 1 would rather not allude to, shall be- 
 come yours. Here is a note from Clara , she wants you once 
 more to don your bridesmaid's garment.s, and officiate for her 
 as you did for Sylvia." 
 
 Meta showed to me afterwards the note she had received, 
 and its contents revealed to us more of Clara Newton's char- 
 acter and feelings, than all our personal intercourse with her 
 had effected. It ran as follows : 
 
 " Dearkst Meta : — I know you rejoice with me in the hap- 
 piness w^hich has come to me, a happiness which I never ex- 
 pected to enjoy in this world. Years ago, I voluntarily gave 
 up the thought of ever being united to him. whom I learned 
 
Philip's mfe work. 65 
 
 to love when very young, and towards whom my affection has 
 never wavered, through all the years that have j)assed since 
 then ; but (iod, in his merciful goodness, has once more arous- 
 ed me with the assurance of his love, and with the greatest joy 
 and confidence I have consented to become his wife. Are you 
 shocked, dear Meta, because I am willing? to do this, without 
 liie time or prepaiation which is generally considered neces- 
 sary, 'jr can you underbland, tha^ to me, alter the trials of the 
 l-ast years, it would seem almost sinful to trifle with my ha[)i)i- 
 ness, for such considerations ; and not only my privilege, but 
 dntv. to reward the constarit affection, of which I have been the 
 blessed recipient. 
 
 But 1 need not ask this, my own sister, (for my sister I hope 
 you soon will be), I feel that you sym])athize wiih me, both in 
 the joy of being united to one I have loved so long, ard in the 
 sorrow of parting with the brother, who is not less dear on this 
 account. I'o your wachful love I commit him, feeling confi- 
 dent, that with you as his wife, his hai)pincss is secure. It 
 proves, dearest Meta, how much I love and trust you, that I 
 can thus, with strongest cor.fidence, entrust to you the earthly 
 happiness of one with whom my life has been linked in sorrow 
 as well as joy, and whose hajjpiness is dearer to ine than my 
 own life. 
 
 Philip has told you, by the time you read this, how soon I 
 am to become a vv^ife ; will you, dear Meta, act for me as you 
 did for Sylvia, and be my bridesmaid ? The next time you 
 attend a wedding, may you be the one whose happiness, with 
 that of my beloved brother, shall be made complete. 1 earn 
 estly trust Mr. Maxwell mav be induced to shorten the time of 
 his probation, for how lonely will he be until he can claim you. 
 I trust you will come to see me to morrow, and on Tuesday 
 evening, we will expect the family, including Miss Maitland, to 
 witness the simple ceremony which shall then take place. 
 
 Dear Meta I cannot write more; come to me to-morrow for 
 our last talk ; and God bless you abundantly, is the fervent 
 prayer of your loving trusting sister, 
 
 9 Clara." 
 
66 Philip's life work. 
 
 What a wedding was that, which we witnessed two days 
 afterwards. Barren of all the show and finery which had made 
 Sylvia's so magnificent; but full of the love ard trust and joy, 
 which alone can constitute a true marriage. My heart warmed 
 to the quiet and gentle bride, as it never did before. I felt 
 that she was a woman whom her husband would delight to 
 honor, in whom his heart might safely trust. What the bride- 
 groom was could best be told in the fact that such a woman 
 loved him. How sorry I felt, to think that such an one, whose 
 companionship was both an honor and a privilege, had been 
 among us and we knew it not. In my heart I had voted this 
 loving, trusting, self-sacrificing woman, commonplace ; and be- 
 cause, to my eighteen summers, her twenty-eight years seemed 
 a very advanced age, had also privately ap])lied to her the 
 sobriquet of old maid. 
 
 What near-sighted creatures we are ; for how often do we 
 bow down to fancied merit, which, if we knew it, is but arro- 
 gance and self-conceit : and pass by with indifference, those in 
 whose companionship we might truly have been said to enter- 
 tain angels unawares. 
 
 Almost immediately after the ceremony, which was perform- 
 ed by Frank Carstairs, whose family, with our own, were the 
 only invited guests, the newly married pair left for Liverpool, 
 where Philip was to join them towards the close of the week, 
 and whence they were to sail on the following Saturday for 
 America. 
 
 On Philip's leturn, he supj^lied himself with a housekeeper, 
 and settled down for a time to bachelor life. He was oftener 
 now at Maxwell even than of yore, for Mrs. Maxwell felt it 
 incumbent on her to make time pass as pleasantly for him as 
 
PHI [ it's l.IFl", WORK. 67 
 
 possible, and Mr. Maxwell had some remorse of conscience 
 for not acceding to tiie request, which Philip had made siiorlly 
 after his sister's marriage, that Meta might be permitted to be- 
 come his ^^ ife earlier than had at first been intended. 
 
 Mr. Maxwell was often tempted to yeild, for he was becom- 
 ing very fond ot his future son-in-law ; and so long as they 
 managed to keep clear on the one subject of moment, on 
 which they differed, really enjoyed his society. But some- 
 times this bde uoir of Mr. Maxwell's would become the sub- 
 ject of conversation, if not with hmiself, among those in whose 
 coiiipany he might be, and as Philip, though careful as far as 
 possible not to offend one, whose good opinion he was most 
 anxious to retain, never condescended to shirk the manly de- 
 claration of the principles which were dear to his heart, ns a 
 means of benefiting mankind, and clear to his judgment, as 
 the principles of truth, some degree of irritation would at times 
 recur on Mr. Maxwell's parr, and to some extent destroy the 
 comfortable intercourse, vshich for the most part was common 
 betv^ een them. 
 
 But the months sped on in quiet happiness for Meta, and, 
 so far as physical comfort and social intercourse were concern- 
 ed, in increased content for me ; for now I was not only the 
 governess, whom my pupils loved and respected (for their con- 
 duct assured me I had succeeded in gaining both their love 
 and respect), but I had also become more a companion than 
 dependent to the re^t of the f^imily. 
 
 Fired by Meta's example, I had sought faithfully to perform 
 the duties of my position, and had earned my reward, in the 
 commendation and approval of those in whose service I was 
 
 employed. 
 
68 Philip's life work.. 
 
 But though rejoicing in the added benignity of ray lot, there 
 was a worm gna^t ng at my heart, which robbed me of the 
 peace in \a hich alone true happiness can rest ; and in vain I 
 asked myself, why /could not become possessed of the faith, 
 which Meta had exercised so readily, and enjoy the happiness, 
 which no one who looked on her face, or vAitnessed her daily 
 life, could doubt that she possessed. 
 
 Frank Carstair's sermons, earnest in their simplicity, and 
 searching in their candour, were a weekly torture to me, and 
 sometimes I \^ as tempted to wish for one of the })rosy essays, 
 with which old Dr. King had been wont to regale our ears, 
 and under ^^ hich ^^ e might sit in comfort, nor be troubled by 
 the convictions which Frank Carstair's awakened. 
 
 Then again I asked myself, " Why should I be troubled 
 thus? Others around me seemed to get on very well without 
 this religion, in the possession of which he la'd so much em- 
 phasis, and to all appearance be perfectly contented and haj)- 
 py ; why cannot I be the same?" 
 
 Dr. Newton had brough . me light in many a difficulty since 
 first I kne v him, and his it was to illumine my mind on this 
 most important of all subjects. 
 
 " Dear Miss Maiiland," he said one night, " Meta ttlls me 
 you are unhappy ; I wish I could help you. How is it you 
 cannot exercise the simple faith, which will make salvation 
 yours, and bring you the peace of which you are so much In 
 need ? What are you waiting for ?" 
 
 " I am waiting for my heart to become soft. It is as hard 
 as a stone at present, and I don't feel that I love Christ at all, 
 although I know that I ought to love him." 
 
 '* Supposing, dear Miss Maitland, that you were exposed to 
 
PHILIP'S LIFE WORK. 69 
 
 son-e dreadful danger, and I said I would deliver you from it, 
 because I loved you, would you refuse, because you did not 
 love me in return, or would you be thank tul to accept my de- 
 liverance in the first place, and then learn to love me after- 
 wards, because, having so testified my love for you, and brought 
 you the peace of salvation and safely, you could not help 
 
 yourself?" 
 
 " I think were the danger imminent I should be glad of the 
 
 deliverance you offered, even did 1 not love you." 
 
 " Why then do you treat Christ differently? His love and 
 his salvation is mightier than any I could offer. With me 
 there might be a danger, that when you knew me better, you 
 might discover flaws in my character which should prevent you 
 being able to love me ; but with Christ, there is no such dan- 
 ger ; he is altogether lovely and loveable, and the more you 
 know of him, the more you will love him. It is Christ's love 
 to you, and not yours to him, in which you must rest." 
 
 It was like a revekuion. In that moment I consciously ac- 
 cepted Christ as my Saviour, and even in the act, 1 felt love to 
 him already springing up in my heart. For months past 1 had 
 been utterly discouraged, l)ecause I could not teach myself to 
 love the Saviour, who had so loved me, that he gave his life for 
 me ; but in one moment, I had grasped the thought, thai it 
 was not 1, but Christ himself, who could teach nie to love 
 him. My heart flowed over with gratitude, first to Christ, for 
 the great love wlurewith he had loved me, and the salvation 
 he had wTought out for me \ and next to the kind friend who 
 had been th*^ means of leading mc to trust to his deliverance. 
 When I woke from the thoughts, which were crowding upon 
 me, I found that Philip had gone. Had he guessed how his 
 
70 Philip's life work. 
 
 simple words had helped and comforted me, had at last noticed 
 my abstraction, or he would have come to bid me good-night. 
 I wished so much I had said one word of thanks before he 
 left ; but J would have an opportunity on the morrow to thank 
 him in words, and hoi)ed that some day I should have an op 
 portunity of tendering more substantial service for all his un- 
 affected kindness towards me. I had that opportunity in after 
 days, was it better or worse for him that I should have had it ? 
 
Philip's life work. 71 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 It was the eve of Meta's wedding-day, for the months had 
 sped away, and Phihp's patience and devotion were now very 
 near their reward. It was exactly a year from that evening, 
 that Meta had come to my room, and whispered the secret, the 
 influence of which had colored all her life during the past year ; 
 and coupled with another influence, mightier s:ill, had lent 
 a simple dignity to the girlish manner, which had then charac- 
 terized her, a dignity which Dossessed no savor of pride, but 
 rather told of a heart which was too humble for emulation, and 
 too content with the haj)piness it possessed, to covet aught 
 that belonged to another. 
 
 No one who had loved Meta in intimate comi^anionship as 
 I had done, during the twelve months of her engagement, 
 could doubt for a moment her perfect contentment in the 
 luture which lay before her. She loved Philip Newton, with a 
 whole-souled and entire devotion, which was only e(iualled by 
 the love he bore his betrothed wife; and sometimes my heart 
 would whisper to itself, when 1 thought of tht-ir present and 
 future happiness, in and with each other, " If I ever marry, 
 may it be one whom I can respect, as Meta does her future 
 husband ; and may 1 enter on my new life with the same well- 
 placed confidence, which will make her wedding-day such an 
 one of peace and restful happiness." 
 
 But Meta had seemed somewhat tronbled during the la..t 
 few days of her girlish freedom, and I had wondered, is it 
 
79 Philip's life work. 
 
 always so ? and was Meta, blessed though her fate might be, 
 not to be exempted from the tremours which acrompany this 
 most important and decisive step, which can never be retraced, 
 be it for better or for worse. Such were the thoughts which 
 occupied my mind, as I was about to retire, when a gentle 
 knock came to my bed-room door, and Meta entered in her 
 dressing-gown, saying, " Nora, I cannot go to sleep till 1 have 
 a little talk with you ; there is something troubling me, and I 
 want your advice." 
 
 It was the first time Meta had asked me to advise her. for 
 though but a few months my junior, and in some things the 
 most self-distrustful of the two, hers it had always been hither- 
 to to counsel, and mine to follow ; what could it be now in 
 which my advice was required? 
 
 "Well, darling, what is it?" I asked, smilingly; "I feel 
 quite flattered that )ou should wish to consult me." 
 
 " Do not smile, Nora dear, for it is something which vou 
 may think trifling perhaps, (I do not know whether it is so or 
 not), but it causes me uneasiness. It is a something, of which 
 I have never had courage to speak to Philip, and which I have 
 an infinite distaste to speak of now to you ; but I cannot be 
 happy till you tell me what you think of the thing itself, and 
 whether you think J ought to mention it before my marriage." 
 
 A strange creeping sensation came over me at Meta's words ; 
 what could it be, of which she spoke in such mysterious terms ? 
 
 " Tell ine, darl ng," was all I could say. 
 
 ** You remember, Nora, how when you came 1 was absent 
 on a visit to mamma's mother and sisters, brought about by 
 my taking scarlet fever, and having to be sent from home for 
 fear of infection." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 73 
 
 " Well, while recovering from the attack, I was very weak, 
 and was ordered very nourishing diet, and a glass of wine 
 twice a day, in order that I might regain strength. The doc- 
 tor said I absolutely required it." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 "■ Well I got so fond of my wine, I used to long for the per- 
 iods at which it was administered ; and sometimes (don't des- 
 pise me, Nora) got aunties to give me more than was ordered, 
 which they were quite willing to do, saying that in my weak 
 state I required it, and it would do me good." 
 
 " Is this all, dear Meta?' 
 
 ** Not quite : for, Nora, I often used to feel giddy after it ; 
 indeed I never have taken a glass of wine at any time without 
 being slightly so affected by it , but then I never at home took 
 more than one glass of wine at dinner, and sometimes not 
 that, while at aunties, as 1 have told you, I not only sometimes 
 had three glasses in the day, but I longed for it, as I never did 
 before my illness. Since Philip has told us what a deceitful 
 and insiduous enemy this is, I have loathed the thought of 
 ever having regarded it as a friend, and wished, oh 1 so much, 
 that I had never so looked upon it. I am afraid, dear Nora, 
 if I had not met Philip when I did, I might through time have 
 become what I hate even to name. I believe that I am one of 
 those over whom this influence might soon obtain the mastery, 
 and that total abstinence is my only safety." 
 
 " Dearest Meta, my own darling," 1 exclaimed, in an im- 
 pulse of untold tenderness, "your sensitive conscience exag- 
 gerated this, and your feelings are a little over-wrought to-night, 
 in view of to-morrow. I cannot believe you were ever in such 
 danger as you fear, and at any rate it is past. Having resolv- 
 
 10 
 
74 Philip's life work. 
 
 ed to touch not, taste not, handle not, the accursed thing; and 
 with Philip as your guide and husband, your safety is secure. 
 Banish such thoughts, my own darling ; how happy you ought 
 to be with s'ich a husband I" 
 
 " I am so happy, dearest Nora, it ahnost makes me tremble, 
 and )et I know this is sinful Let me rather accept my happi- 
 ness as the gift of a loving God, not fear some trouble in store, 
 because my cup is so full But tell me now, if I ought to 
 mention what I have told you to Philip. ' 
 
 After a moment's thought, I replied, •' \ do not think there 
 is any necessity for your doing so. Remember that Dr. New- 
 ton knows quite well that you were in the habit of taking wine 
 before he knew you, and from his knowledge of it, could judge, 
 if he has ever th. ught of it in connection with you, what its 
 eftects would probably be ; but he also knows your changed 
 principles, and I believe, though he were acquainted with all 
 you have now told me, would wed you to morrow with as much 
 confidence as if you had never tasted wine in your life. Your 
 father will not permit you at present to i)roclaim these princi- 
 ples to the world, but you can adhere to them all the same, 
 and as you have done already, by example if not precept, aid 
 your husband in the great life work which he has chosen." 
 
 Meta went away greatly comforted ; and when she met the 
 family on the following morning there was no trace of last 
 night's anxiety to mar the peace which rested on her open 
 brow, or destroy the calm assurance with which in the after- 
 noon she bade adieu to her sweet and guileless girlhood, and 
 entered on her happy lot as Philip's wife, which I do;ibted not 
 would be equally pure and well-fulfilled. 
 
 But Meta s wedding was not all sunshine. The day which 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 75 
 
 brought her so much happiness, must methinks have come to 
 her elder sister with mingled joy and sorrow, for on the morning 
 of the day when Meta became a wife, Sylvia became a mother, 
 and the tidings that a son had been born to the house of Car- 
 stairs, was brought to u'i by Percy himself, on his arrival for 
 the wedding. 
 
 The same night the happy (?) father honored his son's 
 arrival, and his sister in law's marriage, by leaving his father-in- 
 law's house, and returning to his own ir a state of intoxication. 
 
 I had heard it whispered once or twice that Percy Carstair's, 
 since his marriage, had not changed for the better, and that 
 both the younger brothers were too often to be seen under the 
 influence of drink ; but that Sylvia's husband had descended 
 to such a level as this, I could not have believed, had I not 
 been an eye-witness of h'G degradation. What a monster drink 
 had surely made of hiin when, he could permit himself on this 
 day, of all days, to indulge in what he knew would send him 
 home to his wife m such a condition. 
 
 No wonder now, that Sylvia also had changed, that lines of 
 care had traced themselves on the smooth forehead, and a 
 look of something akin to dread, stamped itself in the clear 
 and beautiful eyes, which had never known what tears of 
 anguish were. The only wonder was, that she could live and 
 suffer so. How 1 pitied her ; how I lamented the day she had 
 become the wife of such a man. But what availed my re- 
 grets ? Her fate was sealed as the wife of a drunken man. 
 She had taken him for better or for worse ; how could she 
 or I have ever suspected what the worse might mean ? 
 
 On the morning following the wedding, Mr. Maxwell appear- 
 ed at breakfast, apparently in any thing but a contented frame 
 
76 I'Hi lip's life work. 
 
 of mind ; and scarcely condescended, as he ate, to address a 
 word either to his wife or myself. 
 
 After sundry (juestioning glances towards her husband, 
 Mrs. Maxwell ventured to inquire, mildly, if he were not feel- 
 ing well. 
 
 " Well enough," was the short reply, " but I am provoked at 
 Percy, making a fool of himself last night. Ft looks very bad, 
 in the circumstances especially, and I am quite ashamed of 
 him. It is this kind of thing that gives these teetotalers a hold ; 
 if these )Oung fellows Ohly had the sense to drink in modera- 
 tion, as r have done all my life, total abstinence would never 
 be heard of I am thankful Philip had gone before he got 
 very bad ; but of course he will hear of it, and what a feather 
 in his cap it will be." 
 
 I could scarcely refrain from a retort, but Mrs. Maxwell was 
 too just to let this pass. " Philip is too noble James, and too 
 much in earnest, about abstinence, to rejoice at Percys' dis- 
 gracing himself; and I believe, will be dee[)ly grieved, both 
 for his own and Sylvia's sake, that he has formed such bad 
 habits. I think it is your diUy, as Sylvia's father, to remon- 
 strate with Percy on this subject. If he does not respect him- 
 self, he ought to be made to respect his wife's family." 
 
 '' I hate most mortally to speak to a man about such a thing ; 
 but I suppose it must be done. If once I begin, it will be no 
 mild language I will make use of, I can tell you. I never felt 
 so indignant in my life." 
 
 Two month's later I learned, through Philip, that shortly 
 after Meta's marriage, Mr. Maxwell had spoken to his son-in- 
 law in no measured terms, on the disgrace he was bringing on 
 his home and family ; but Percy could not be brought even to 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 77 
 
 piomise amendment. " Mr Maxwell," he had retorted, when 
 that gentleman had given full vent to his outraged feelings, '• I 
 may be doing all you say, in fact 1 know I am, and in doing so 
 will probably ere long <:ompabs my own destruction ; but you 
 nre not the man, and this is not the time, to raise a warning 
 finger. Why did not my father and yourself warn us lads long 
 ago, when it might have been of some avail ; how was I to 
 know that what you can use in moderation, and enjoy without 
 injury, wouhl become for me a tyrant, I find myself powerless 
 to overcome ; but wh;) is mastering me to my destruction. As 
 for Silvia, 1 only wish 1 had had the courage not to rnarry her; 
 but I had a hope that she might help me to withstand temp- 
 tation, and I loved her. It would be cruel to blame her, for 
 the miserv 1 have brought upon her, but she has not helped 
 me. be thankful you have married Meta to Philip Newton. 
 With that man lies consistency. Had there been more like 
 him, perhaps 1 had not been where I am to day," 
 
 Such were the words repeated by Percy to Philip, as the 
 words he had used to his father-in-law, when Philip, as he often 
 did, had been vainly endeavoring to awaken him to the possi- 
 l)ility of amendment. '^\o, Philip," he added, ''all your love 
 and all your persuasion cannot save me ; you may despise me, 
 you 7nust desjnse me, l)ut I can't help it. I know where this 
 is leading me, but I caiit help it. Would to God I had known 
 
 you sooner, but now ic is too late." 
 
 Percy turned on his heel, and left his triend,and bitter were 
 the thoughts that passed through Phihp's mind, as he wended 
 his way home to his wife, with a sore heart for her sister's 
 husband ; but he did not tell Meta what had transpired, and 
 was transpiring, in the family. Why let her know the extent 
 of Percy s wrong-doing, when she, like all the rest, was i)ower- 
 less to help him. 
 
78 PHFLIP'S LIFE WORK. 
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 I now began to ask myself the question, which every young 
 Christian is certain sooner or later to regard as subject for con- 
 sideration, viz., What is going to be my work for the Master, 
 whose servant I have now become ? 
 
 How was I, in my humble position and limited sphere of 
 action, going to proclaim to those around, ** what a dear Sav 
 iour I had found ?" Since the great and momentous change, 
 recorded in a previous chapter, I had endeavored, in one sense, 
 to make all my daily occupations work for Christ ; but what 
 more was I going to do ? 
 
 Sunday-school work seemed the most natural, and as I sup- 
 posed, the only work of such a nature for which I was fitted. 
 Meta, for several months, had rejoiced in a class of tall girls, 
 many of whom towered above her in height, but yet looked up 
 to their quiet and gentle mistress with the loving and admiring 
 reverence which her sympathetic and kindly demeanor was 
 well calculated to inspire. 
 
 Could not I also have a class ? but of small girls, for my 
 timidity, if not want of ability, prevented the wish for such an 
 one as that described. Through Meta, I offered my services, 
 but was informed, with regret, by the superintendent, that he 
 had no class to give me, the staff of teachers being complete 
 Seeing my disappointment, Meta offered, as her class was large, 
 to divide it with me, but this was a sacrifice I could not accept, 
 for I knew that she had made herself intimately acquainted 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WURK. 79 
 
 with the circumstances of her scholars, and regarded with n 
 particular and friendly interest every individual girl, and that 
 it would be with very keen regret she would hand them over 
 to another. 
 
 One evening, when I had been drinking tea with Philip and 
 Meta, as 1 occasionally did on Saturday afternoons, the former, 
 in a pause of conversation, as we were gathered around the 
 fire after the tea things had been removed, exclaimed sudden- 
 ly, *' And so, Nora, (by mutual consent we now called each 
 other by our christian names) you cannot get any work to do ; 
 will you trust me to find you some ?" 
 
 *'Cer;ainly I will, if it is work for which I feel myself capa- 
 ble ; but remembei there is not much for which I am capable." 
 
 " Leave me to judge of that. I think if once you are assured 
 of its importance, you will enter heartily into the work I would 
 asMgn you ; and now I will tell you what it is. Vou know I 
 
 am tr)ing to form a Band of Hope in W , and I want you 
 
 to assist me in gathering recruits, and also in the general man- 
 agement of our meetings, and other etcetras in connection with 
 tlio society ; will you consent to help me in this way?" 
 
 " Certainly, 1 will help you in any way you may point out ; 
 but— but — ,'' I hesitated and blushed at the thought of what I 
 was going to say, even in the presence of these dear friends, 
 whose sympathies were entirely on the side of what was nearest 
 my own heart. 
 
 " But what, dear Nora?" asked Philip, as I paused. 
 
 *' I shall gladly help in what you ask me, but it is not exactly 
 the work which I most earnestly desire. I would like to do 
 some special work for the Master I now serve, which shall be 
 the means of bringing others to know and serve him." 
 
8o Philip's life work. 
 
 Pliilip's face was almost stern in its gravity as he replied, 
 *' For whom, dear Nora, am I asking you to work, and for 
 what object ?" 
 
 ''When will Christian workers become alive to the import- 
 ance of this enterprise in which I ask you to assist ?" he con- 
 tinued with earnest enthusiasm. '' How long will they con- 
 tinue to sow the seed among the briars and thistles, w hich make 
 it impossible it can ever take root and grow ? Why will they 
 not, in this matter, act with the common sense and judgment, 
 which the most ignorant farmer would display, in his endeavor 
 to obtain the crop which shall be for the subsistence of himself 
 and family, and realize how necessary is first the ploughing up 
 and cleaning of the soil, in which they seek to sow the most 
 precious of all seeds, which, if it do but take root therein, shall 
 bring forth ' fruit unto perlection.' " 
 
 " Let me ask if the work of the ploughman, who prepares the 
 ground for its reception, be not as necessary and honoral)le, as 
 that of the man who follows with the germ to which, iiaving 
 ])rovided it with the necessities for its development, we look for 
 a plenteous harvest." 
 
 '* Dear Nora, as you know I endeavor as you would wish to 
 do, and as we have all more or less opportunity of doing, to 
 sow the precious seed of the gospel of Christ in the hearts of 
 tho«e with whom Imay come in contact ; but my special life 
 work is to hew down the rank weeds among which it is useless 
 to waste the. precious seed, and thus by first cleansing the 
 hearts of those ot my fellow- beings, who have given themselves 
 heart and soul to the propagation ot the mightiest curse of our 
 nation, open up the soil for the reception of that gospel which 
 shall make them not only pure in outward seeming, but ' clean 
 
PH1LIE>'S LIFE WORK. 8 1 
 
 every whit.' 1 ask you, dear Nora, to help in this ; not only 
 that you may be the means of bringing prosperity and happi- 
 ness to poverty-stricken and ruined households, but that you 
 may also be the means of leading many to accept the gospel, 
 which shall insure not only their temporal peace and happi- 
 ness, but their eternal welfare and felicity. Unless you can 
 regard this as ' work for Christ,' I do not ask you to help me, 
 though, in this matter, I should be glad of the assistance ot 
 any human being, who will lift a helloing hand, whether from 
 the lower motive of promoting human happiness, or the higher 
 one of advancing Christ's work and kingdom ; but I feel, dear 
 Nora, that you will be enabled so to regard it, and that you 
 will enter heart and soul into this precious and honorable self- 
 dedication."' 
 
 The tears were in Meta's and my own eyes as Philip con- 
 cluded ; every word he had uttered had called conviction to 
 my heart, and revealed to me the inner workings of his own ; 
 but I had not yet learned to discourse openly of what I felt 
 most deeply, and I only said ([uietly, " Thank you, Philii) ; 
 please enroll me on your staff of 'preparers of ihe soil.' I 
 will try to do '"hat I can to heln you, and sincerely trust that 
 in so doing I s. ^ll be actuated by both motives to which you 
 have referred." 
 
 The conversation glided into other channels, but Philip did 
 not forget the woik which he had promised to find Li j, and 
 after this a considerable portion ot my spare time was occupied 
 in various ways, tending to the promotion of what Philip had 
 designated his " life purpose." 
 
 One Saturday afternoon, when I >vas engaged in visiting one 
 
 or two of the humbler streets in the town, for the purpose of 
 11 
 
82 Philip's life work. 
 
 distributing the temperance tracts, with whose distribution 
 Philip had entrusted me, I knocked at the door of a house 
 whose outward appearance of cleanliness and respectability at- 
 tracted my attention as I approached. A woman opened the 
 door, whom for a moment I did not recognize, but at the 
 familiar voice, as she admitted me, saying, " Oh, Miss Mait- 
 land, come in," I exclaimed, " Jane ! is it really you ? 1 did 
 not know this was your house ; but what is the matter? have 
 you had an accident ?' for her forehead was enveloped in a 
 handkerchief, which fact had prevented me at first from recog- 
 nizing her. 
 
 "Yes, Miss, I knocked my head yesterday; but it's rot 
 much, and will soon better. I am real glad to see you. How 
 are they all at Maxwell, and Dr. Newton and dear Mi.,s Mela ?" 
 
 -' They are all well ; but, Jane, why is it so long since you 
 came to see us? I have often thought of you, and wondered 
 why you did not come to see the children, ot whom you are 
 
 so fond." 
 
 '' I have got something to keep me at home now, Miss," and 
 with matronly pride, Jane led the way to a neat little cot in a 
 corner of the room, and exhibited her first-born son to my ad- 
 miring eyes, for the child was an improved edition of his 
 pretty mother, and in his clean habilaments and baby slumber, 
 looked very lovely. 
 
 " What a pretty baby ! Allow me, dear Jane, to congratulate 
 you. I am sure you must be very happy with such a treasure." 
 
 " Indeed yes, Miss," she replied ; but a sigh followed the 
 words, and something in her face recalled her husband to my 
 mind, and 1 asked, " How is James ? I almost think you must 
 have done belter than I hoped, and persuaded him to become 
 
Pill lip's life work. ^3 
 
 a teetotaller. Everything looks so snug and comfortable, I 
 feel sure you must be prospering, isn't it so ?" 
 
 To my astonishment and distress, Jane, instead ot replymg, 
 suddenly burst into tears, and sobl)ed as if her heart would 
 break All my attemi)is to soothe her were vam, and at length 
 1 had just to sit down, and wait till the storm had spent itself. 
 When at length she regained some composure, she i,eenied 
 very much ashamed of her outburst, and tried to expkain it 
 avav ^M)o excuse me, dear Miss Maitland ; this is a poor 
 way'to receive your first visit to my dwelling, but I have been 
 very nervous since my baby was born. I ielt ciuite excited on 
 seeing you, and I think this upset me.' 
 
 lane dried her tears, and essayed a smile ; and though 1 said 
 to myself (as time tor reflection while she had been endeavor- 
 incT to recover herself had thrown light on one or two things), 
 - 1 fear, Jane, that is two lies ) ou have told since 1 entered the 
 roou.,"'l affected to accept the explanation, and led the cor,- 
 versation to other subjects. 
 
 Soon Jane had apparently recovered her serenity and cheer- 
 fulness, but though, when I left her ten minutes later, her face 
 was wreathed with its usual smiles uf good-nature and tnend- 
 li iess, as she thanked me for my visit, and bade me good-bye, 
 I could not banish from my mind the conviction, that they 
 were assumed, and that Jane's happiness was a much more 
 doubtful thing than 1 had first imagined, when her neat and 
 tidy dwelling had impressed me ^Mth the belief in their pros 
 parity and led me to hope that she had been the means ( f 
 compassing a reformation in her husband's principles and 
 
 habits. , • 1 1 , 1 
 
 As I said before, I more than feared she had shielceJ her 
 
^4 Philip's life work. 
 
 huslxxnd from my censure, by untruths, but could scarcely find 
 it in my heart to blame her. What a fearful thing it must l)e 
 when a wife has to maintain her husband's honor, at the ex- 
 pense of truth. 
 
 I shrank from the cjuestion \^hich nevertheless turned again 
 and again to trouble me as I continued my way, " Can it be 
 that //^ had any hand in Jane's accident T and I would have 
 given a good deal at that moment to be assured it had not 
 been so. 
 
 "Philip, do you ever hear anything of your o'd coachman 
 now," I asked, when opportunity occurred of relating my un- 
 expected visit to the house of his former servant. 
 
 '•Yes indeed ; I hear a great deal more than I would like to 
 hear, Philip returned sadly. I have kept an eye on him ever 
 since his marriage, and to all appearance that "bus' has been 
 the ruin of him. There is so much temptation to constant 
 tippling in such a position, that I am afraid poor James is in 
 the way of becoming a confirmed drunkard. As it is, he often 
 goes home to his wife, in a state of intoxication, and as, though 
 when sober, he is as aimable and indulgent a husband as one 
 can meet, when drunk, his tempter is furious, he has been 
 known in his paroxysms of rage even \o strike his helpless and 
 devoted wife." 
 
 " Though a humble, she is also a noble woman ; and strains 
 every nerve to make his home attractive ; and though these 
 dreadful truths will come to light, in spite of the best eflorts 
 to conceal them, it has never been through her that her hus- 
 band's conduct has been revealed." 
 
 Ah ! woman, when will you cease to suffer, and bury your 
 happiness, in the tomb of your husband's degradatioiL 
 
Philip's life work. ^5 
 
 Chaptkr XII. 
 
 " KleaiKjr" asked Mrs. Maxwell rather abruptly as we were 
 seated at work together one rainy Saturday afternoon, when 
 the weather had made us more tlian usually dependent upon 
 each other's socieiy, ^ what ciuestion do you think was asked 
 
 me yesterday ;■"' 
 
 '' I don't know, I am sure ; if you tell me what it had 
 reference to, I will try and guess ? ' '• ^Vell then it had reterence 
 
 to yourself." 
 
 ''Tome ! I cannot imagine what it could be. I ihmk you 
 will have to tell me." "Must I ? " Then I was asked when you 
 are going to the manse." As Mrs. Maxwell spoke she lifted 
 her head from her wt rk, and regarded me searchingly ; and the 
 hot blood mounted to my forehead, not so much at her words, 
 as at the look which accompanied them and gave me the key 
 
 to their import. 
 
 " What could they possibly mean ?" I asked hypocritically 
 " Of what interest can it be to anyone, when I go to the 
 manse ? but I suppose they meant with the subscription money 
 for the Missionary Society." 
 
 Oh : no, I thin't< they meant when were you going to stay," 
 and Mrs. Maxwell gave a chuckle of suppressed amusement. 
 
 " I cannot pretend to misunderstand you now Mrs. Ma.x 
 well" I returned in distress "but what can possibly have given 
 rise to such a question ? It is dreadful to have ones name 
 handled in such a manner. Uhat will Mr. Carstairs thin' , 
 
86 Philip's lifk work. 
 
 when he learns, that such jokes are being made at his expense ; 
 and what will he think of me. He will imagine of course, 
 that 1 must in some way have occasioned them." 
 
 " I don't think he will imagine anything of the kind. Frank 
 Carstairsisa sensible man, and Inows ([uite well, that a" a 
 young gentleman pays his addresses to a young lady, some- 
 b dy, is sure to find it out, and talk about it." 
 
 "But Mr. Carstairs has never paid his addresses to me." 
 
 '•Has he not? I have had good opportunity of judging, 
 and I should say he has ; and though I shall be sorry to loose 
 my little governess, added Mrs. Maxwell kindly, 1 do hoi)e 
 these addresses will be received as they deserve. And 1 
 think I have some ground for hope, she continued smiling, for 
 when a young lady begins to worry herself about what a gentle- 
 man will think of her, I should say his case is far from des- 
 perate." 
 
 The reader will perceive from the foregoing dialogue, that 
 the terms on which I now stood with Mrs. Maxwell, were 
 somewhat different from what they had been when first I to. k 
 up my abode in her house ; and I believe, this had been 
 principally brought about by Philip's and Meta's friendship, 
 which had ever stood me in good stead, since first I knew 
 
 them. 
 
 But the lady had a very warm heart as I had discovered 
 under her practical anu managing exterior, and this concern 
 in my future prospects, was not the first token she had given 
 
 me of her regard. 
 
 I credited her now, with the best intentions in having re- 
 vealed to me the fact, that Mr. Carstairs' more than occasional 
 visits to Maxwell, had been subject for comment among her 
 
Philip's lifk work. .s; 
 
 a(:(]uaintariccs, who had been pleased to assii^n lu them a 
 motive, which I need not deny 1 had sometimes shrinkingly 
 (jueationed with myself, whether they might possess ; but how 
 1 wished the preceding conversation could be blotted out, as a 
 thing which had never occurred, for I felt confident, that now 
 the consciousness that our names had been conplcd together 
 in such a manner, would destroy the pleasure in his society, 
 which uj) to this date 1 had ever ex{)erienced, and feared that 
 if the facts of such reports being abroad, should reach his ear 
 it might so disgust him, as for ever to disi)el the respect for 
 myself, on which I believed the love of such a man could alone 
 be based. 
 
 When I confess that such were the fears and feelings which 
 actuated me at this time, I ha\e revealed to the reader the 
 secret, in which 1 would rather not enlarge except to say, that 
 Frank Carstairs since first I met him, had fulfilled in all res[)ects 
 the lean-ideal of my girlish fancy ; had at first become to me 
 a teacher ; then a helper ; afterwards a hero in all that is most 
 excellent in the Christian character, whom it was my privilege 
 to imitate and follow, next to Christ. Latterl) , more than all 
 this ; the one whom 1 felt I should be content to follow through 
 life, not only as a Christian exampler, but as the guide and 
 protector ot my temporal happinest, as well as the promoter of 
 of my spiritual well-being, and growth in grace. 
 
 But it so haj pened that just as my esteem and regard had 
 reached their highest altitude, a circumstance occurred, wl ich 
 shook the one, though it did not destroy the other; and I had 
 to confess to myself, that my idol was but clay after all, and 
 liable to sin and selnshness Uke other men. 
 
 It was Christmas day, and there was to be a family gathering 
 
88 Philip's life work. 
 
 at "The Lindens' in honour thereof; a gathering whicli had 
 never been neglected by Mr. Carstairs and his wife, since first 
 their childrenhad been callable of understanding the observance 
 of the day, or partaking of the festivities attendant thereon. 
 
 Family circumstances were not so happy as they had been 
 in former yeais, when the family had gathered around the 
 festive board together ; for the increased dissipation of his 
 sons, was a source of keen anguish and humiliation to the 
 genial old man, who in spite ©f his own example, had been 
 powerless to keep them in the paths of moderation, in which 
 he believed lay safety and self respect, but it would have broken 
 his heart I believe, even to hint to himself, that eiiher of them 
 had sunk to so low a level, as to cease to appreciate and enjoy 
 the privilege of family reunion and rejoicing, or to so insult, 
 their indulgent Father and his assembled guests as to miscon- 
 duct themselves at such a time. And thus it was that our 
 Christmas dinner had to be cooked at Maxwell, since all the 
 family inclu^^'ing myself, Harry, and Arthur, were favored with 
 invitations to the sumptuous banquet provided for us by 
 Sylvia's liberal and kindly father-in-law ; and great was the joy 
 of my young pupils, that they had not been omitted in the 
 general rejoicing. 
 
 We had all as requested arrived early at ' the Lindens," and 
 after an hour or two spent in various amusements, were towards 
 the close of the afternoon assembled with the rest in the 
 drawing-room, awaiting the announcement of dinner, when 
 Frank Carstairs, whose attentions to myself, had during the 
 afternoon, been more marked than usual, referred in conversa 
 tion to some ornaments, which his Father had received that 
 morning as a Christmas present from Philip Newton ; and 
 
PHI MP's LIFE WORK. ^ 
 
 perceiving as he spoV.e, that T knew nothing of them, "Have 
 you not seen tliem Miss Maitland ? Come to the Hhrary, and 
 let me show them to you ; they are well worth lookmg at, I 
 assure you, and must have cost I'hiHp something." 
 
 As we were h)oking at the bron/e figures, which were really 
 very handsome, Mr. Carstairs followed us into the room. " I 
 say Frank," he half whisi)ered, as he approached, " How do 
 you think it would do to omit the usual toast-drinking to-day 
 and have as little wine used at dinner as possible. I am 
 grieved to see, that both Percy and Robert have been drinking 
 already, and dread very much they may forget tliemselves, and 
 
 take too much." 
 
 " My dear Father," exclaimed his son in astonishment, "you 
 would surely never think of such a thing ; it would not seem 
 like Christmas at all ; it is a sad thing indeed, if we cannot 
 one day in the year, drink a bumper to each others health and 
 happiness, and especially to that of the Father and Mother, to 
 whom we owe so much of both. Percy and Robert ought to 
 be able to take care of themselves, and if they have not enough 
 manliness to abstain from excess, our refraining from our 
 usual custom, will do little good." 
 
 "But dear Frank," and the old man's voice trembled with 
 emotion, " I am so anxious they should not disgrace themselves 
 to day ' If thev do, I hope I may never have another Christ- 
 mas on which \o recall it. Help me my son, to protect your 
 brothers, from contempt and ruin." 
 
 " My dear father, you forget, that how they may act to day, 
 makes little difference. I much fear me, and it grieves me to 
 the heart to say it, their habits are too deeply seated for such 
 a trifle to affect them. But dearest father, it is neither your 
 
 12 
 
90 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 fault nor mine. We have, and do set them I trust, an example 
 of moderation in all things, and you do not know, how 1 have 
 tried to influence them to return to it, but it has been vain. 
 As to giving up our usual family custom, and one which has 
 always offorded me, and I believe all of us, so much pleasure, 
 I think it is utter nonsence. When we cease to mutually re- 
 member, and pledge each other, we may as well cease to meet 
 together at all. It is certainly not the viands provided for 
 which we assemble, but for the expression of the filial, bnnher- 
 ly, and friendly affection, which is thus encouraged and en- 
 gendered." 
 
 With a murmured acijuiescence, Mr. Carstairs left us, and 
 his son, who seemed to be considerably excited, turned to me 
 with the suspicion of a sneer on the lip on which I had never 
 seen such before. " Methinks Philip Newton has almost 
 made a convert of my father, to his absurd ideas on this sub- 
 ject ; but pardon me Miss Maitland, and his manner al'ered, I 
 forgot you also are ' one of them,' so I had better beware ot 
 what I say. I regret very much that we differ on this subject." 
 
 " You cannot regret it more than I do, I ret;irned coldly, 
 as I left the room, without waiting for him to accompany me." 
 
 It is needless to add, that before the evening closed, Percy 
 and Robert, if not actually helpless, were in such a condiiion, 
 that no right-thinking or pure-minded being, would wish to 
 have an/thing to do with their society. 
 
 " I say Miss Maitland, whispered Harry, as we were whirl- 
 ino- along in the carriage on our return to Maxwell, ' Wasn't 
 uncle Percy drunk ?' ^ Yes darling,' I whispered in return, but 
 do not speak of it. Your papa and mamma are very sorry, and 
 so are his own poor father and mother." " Why then, did 
 
PFIILIPS I. IFF, WORK. 9I 
 
 they give him wine for dinner, and drink- it along with him ?" 
 asked the boy. 
 
 A jiuzzling (luestion for me to answer ; but I was saved a 
 reply, for the carriage sto|)[)ed as I was attempting to frame 
 one, which should to some extent shield the parents, towards 
 whom I V" as constantantly seeking to inculcate respect and 
 reverence in the hearts and conduct of my pupils, and yet 
 open the boy's eyes, to the world wide inconsistency, whicli 
 with the unprejudiced in([uiry of childhood, he had alrea<^ly 
 dimly comprehended. 
 
 A cloud had overshadowed the hnpi)iness 1 had lately 
 enjoyed, for 1 could not forget that Frank Carstairs and myself 
 had parted on the evening of Christmas day in coldness if not 
 in anger ; and though I could not sincerely repent the words 
 vcith which I had re[)lied to the expression of his regret at our 
 difference of o[)inion on a most momentous subject, 1 never- 
 theless toi lured myself with the dread that instead of inlluenc- 
 ing him, (as I had hoped I should be able to influence him, 
 some day, if ever we became more to each other than we w^re 
 at present,) they would but serve to raise a barrier between us, 
 which would only increase as time rolled on, and thus for ever 
 render impossible of fulfilment, the sweet visions, in which I 
 had of late to some extent indulged. 
 
 But as the dayo passed, and his visits and attentions con- 
 tuiued as before, my min I changed, and relieved of the fear 
 of losing his affection, which very naturally 1 had at first 
 experienced I began to ([uestion with myself, whether since 
 the revelations made in his father's library, of his feelings and 
 intentions towards the temperance cause, and the cold-blooded 
 selfishness, (for though clothed in feeling language, I could 
 
92 Philip's life work. 
 
 call it by no other namC;) with which he had rejected his 
 father's appeal, on his brother's behalf, Frank Carstairs could 
 ever be to me ^ hat he had been in time gone by, or whether 
 I could ever link my fate with that of a man, whose pulpit 
 precepts of Christian example and brotherly Samaritan-ship, 
 and his daily praciice "A such virtues, in one respect at least, 
 were so much at variance. 
 
 Though I had not yet been called upon to make the great 
 decision, these feelings of uncertainty and doubt, brought a 
 restlessness to my heart, and gave an uneasiness to my manner 
 the latter of which I thought must puzzle mv lover, as mu<:h 
 as it annoyed myself. 
 
 But now events occurred, which to some extent caused my 
 own affairs to lie in abeyance. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell and myself, were seated one evening 
 in the drawing-room, in which I was now a welcome visitor, 
 when I chose to avail myself of the privilege afforded me, when 
 the sound of a carriage driving rapidly to the house, and a 
 hurried ring at the door-bell, and subsequent entrance of some 
 one, alarmed our nerves, and excited our fears of some 
 painful occurrence. 
 
 Presently PhiUp entered the room unannounced, and his 
 mother-in-law rose in anxiety. *'Oh ! Philip, there is some- 
 thing wrong. Meta !" She could say no more, but before 
 Mr. Maxwell or I could utter a word. Philip set our fears at 
 rest, by exclaiming, " Calm yourself dear mother, there is 
 nothing wrong at home. I regret exceedingly I alarmed you 
 so much ; it was very thoughtless of me, but something 
 unexpected has occurred, and I have not much time in which 
 to tell you. 
 
Philip's life work. 93 
 
 "My uncle Henry in America, is supposed to be dying, and 
 I have just received an urgent telegram to hasten to him, as 
 the Doctor says he may be spared for a week or two, and is 
 very anxious to see me before he dies. It grieves me much 
 to leave my wife for so long a time, but 1 cannot neglect such 
 a request, and 1 know none of you would desire that I should 
 do so. My uncle has ever been most kind," and his voice 
 faltered, 'and you are aware that he has made me heir to all 
 he possesses." 
 
 "But my dear Philip, you cannot go to-night,'' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Maxwell, 
 
 " Yes, I can catch the night train for Liverpool, and will 
 be in time to take the Anchor Line steamer, which sails for 
 New York to-morrow. Poor Meia, it is a very sudden leave- 
 taking, but I want you to let Nora come with me to-night, and 
 stay with her till my return. I could not leave her entirely 
 alone. " 
 
 "Certainly, Eleanor shall go ; but would not it be better for 
 Mela to come here to-morrow, and remain with us while you 
 are away.'' 
 
 "I think not," returned Philip meditatively ; "she would 
 prefer I think being in her own home at present. Come dear 
 Nora will you get ready at once, I have but an hour to spare 
 for preparation, and leave-laking. Do not tal<e time to pack 
 anything ; I am sure Mrs. Maxwell will send you all you 
 require to-morro^v." 
 
 Half an hour later, I was in Meta's drawing-room, and Philip 
 was up stairs, making his final preparations for departure. 
 
 Meta was trembling with excit< aient, at the sudden sum- 
 mons he had received afid emotion in view of the parting 
 
94 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 which must now take place, the first which had yet occurred 
 between her husband and herself. As I tried my best to soothe 
 and cheer her, Philip entered and I retired to a little distance, 
 that they might take leave of each other. "Oh ! Philip," cried 
 Meta in a kind of wail as she wistfully regarded her husband, 
 "I do wish you were not going to leave me just now." 
 
 "Hush my darling," and he stooped and took her in his arms 
 whispering "I will be back in time my own darling ; cheer up 
 and do not fear." 
 
 There was a tender embrace, a tight hand-clasp, and he was 
 gune ; and Meta threw herself on the lounge in an agony ot 
 emotion, with ^^hich I could entirely sympathize, but could 
 not allay. 
 
 It was far on in the new day, before she was sufficiently 
 composed to retire to rest, and it seemed to me as if I had 
 but just sunk into an uneasy slumber, when I was awakened 
 by a white figure at my bedside, and Meta's voice saying, 
 "Rise Nora dear I am very ill. I think you had better rouse 
 the coachman, and go for mamma." 
 
 "What is the matter dearest?" Tasked in alarm, and but 
 half-awake, as I sprang out of bed. 
 
 "I do not know ; but I would like mamma to be with me. 
 Do not feel hurt, but I think you had better go home, and 
 send mamma ; it all is well, you can return tomorrow." 
 
 Hastily summoning the chambermaid to remain with her 
 mistress, and the coachman to get ready the carriage, I pro- 
 ceeded with my own toilet, and a wonderfully short time of 
 space had elapsed, w hen my arrival at Maxwell was the means 
 of disturbing the slumbering household, and sending Mrs. 
 Maxwell in considerable alarm to the bedside of her daughter. 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 95 
 
 At day-light I received a note from the former, informing me 
 that Meta continued very ill, and re(iuesting me to take upon 
 myself the duties of mistress of the house as her ow eturn 
 was impossible at present ; which towards evening, vvasi^ aowed 
 by another, containing the intelligence that a little daughter 
 had been born into the world, whose arrival had been neither 
 expected nor desired, for some weeks to come, but whom 
 nevertheless Meta welcomed, with all the joy and gratitude of 
 new found motherhood 
 
 " Both doing well," ^was the bulletin which arrived at 
 Maxwell on the following morning ; but towards the close of 
 the day, there came a change for the worse, and Meta's life as 
 well as that of the new born infant, hung in the balance. 
 
 Oh ! the agony of the two weeks which followed, during 
 which neither her father nor I were permitted to ai)proach 
 her, and the fear that we should never see her again, haunted 
 our waking and sleeping hours. During this time a tender 
 chord of sympathy was established between my employer and 
 myself which I am sure neither of us has ever wished to break 
 but which, though v/e differ in many things, time has but 
 helloed to rivet into a fast and life-long friendship. We 
 waited with ceaseless anxiety and I believe prayed with 
 speechless earnestness, until the cloud rolled away, and we 
 received the blessed assurance that not yet were we to part, 
 with the beloved friend and daughter, whom to know was 
 even with the casual stranger also to love, and who was there- 
 fore to the hearts of those who knew her best unsi)eakably 
 dear. 
 
 "Dear Eleanor," wrote her mother at the close of the second 
 week, "Meta is a great deal better, and the Doctor has good 
 
96 Philip's life work. 
 
 hopes of her recovery ; but she is very weak, and must not 
 see any one yet, as excitement mJght do her great harm. I 
 wonder if the inteHigence of her illness overtook Philip, and 
 hope now it may not have done so ; but I have telegraphed 
 to-day her partial recovery and earnestly trust it may closely 
 foUow the letter if it has been received. Poor fellow how cut 
 up he will be. 1 fully expect his return by the first ship, 
 and hope for Meta's sake I may not be disappointed. 
 
Philip's mfi work. 97 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 
 For two weeks longer during which I had only seen Mcta 
 twice, on each occasion but for a few minutes, Mrs. Maxwell 
 continued at Dr. Newton's house in attendance on her 
 daughter ; and I contrived as best I could, to fulfil her duties 
 in addition to my own at Maxwell. 
 
 The time had dragged heavily away and I was longing for 
 her return home, as well as that of Philip, from whom Mr. 
 Maxwell had received a cable message, apprising him of his 
 uncle's death, and his own almost immediate return to Scot- 
 land. 
 
 Though still very weak, Meta had continued to improve and 
 though unable when her baby was a month old, to leave for 
 any length of time, the lounge, to which she had been re- 
 moved on rising from bed, was t • Dr. said, favorably pro- 
 gressing towards the recovery of wonted health, the attain- 
 ment of which was now merely a question of time ; and as 
 Mrs. Maxwell was impatient to return to Maxwell, and her 
 own home duties, it was decided that I should take her place 
 as housekeeper and companion to Meta. at least until Philip's 
 return, the nurse who had been with her from the first, still re- 
 maining in charge of sick room and nursery, and thus to my 
 great relief freeing me from any sense of responsibility, with 
 regard to the duties pertaining to either. 
 
 When I entered M eta's room on the day when this ex- 
 change had been eftected, eager for the talk with her, for 
 
 13 
 
PHITTP'S IJFF, WORK. 
 
 whirh I had been longing for four weeks, T was somewhat dis- 
 ap[)ointed to find that both she, and the tiny infant which 
 rested on her arm, were asleep ; but touched by the picture 
 before me, paused quietly on the threshold, as I reganled with 
 mingled feelings of tenderness and wonder, the new strange 
 picture of Meta's motherhood. How fragile looked both 
 mother and child, and how completely was the one the 
 miniature image of the other. My thoughts wandered to the 
 happy husband and father, and with sympathetic anticipations, 
 shared in some degree the joy, which must be his, when his 
 eyes sl.ould also rest on what affordei me such strange emo 
 tions, and which must therefore surely thrill his being, with far 
 stranger, sweeter, and to me impossible, experiences. 
 
 Stepping softly for fear of disturbing the sleepers, and ex- 
 changmg a (piiet good-morning with the presiding genius of 
 the room, I ] massed through the bedroom into the cressing 
 room behind where I thought I might find books or work, 
 with which to occupy myself till Meta should awake. 
 
 Finding neither, and lathcr at a loss for employment, I be- 
 gan idly fingering and examining the things about the 
 room ; among the rest a number of vials, which stood on 
 a small table, whose labels were for the most part mcompre- 
 hensible, but which, in an absent kind of way, I continued to 
 read, for lack of more interesting occupation. At length I 
 lifted a black bottle which stood beside them, and this time, 
 read the label thereon both with intelligence and surprise. 
 
 The words which excited the latter were these, ' London 
 Porter." Nothing very remarkable to be sure ; but why this 
 bottle in Meta's dressing room ? Roused to curiosity, I lifted 
 another of similar color and dimensions, " Port wine," were 
 
Philip's iiff. work. 99 
 
 the words, which this time stared me in the face, and sank me 
 [n wondering and painful thought. What could it mean? 
 Presently I breathed a sigh of infinite relief, as I remembered 
 what kind of stuff sick nurses are generally made of, and how 
 necessary they are in the habit of considering these stimulants, 
 to the exercise of iheir duties. 
 
 At this moment the woman of the character aforesaid enter- 
 ed the dressing room, and I had an opportunity ot venting 
 some of the indignation, which had seized me more strongly 
 than the circumstance seemed to warrant. 
 
 " Nurse," I said in polite, but reproving tones, " don't you 
 think it would be advisable to keep your bottles in some other 
 place. I am sure their odour must be offensive to iMrs. New- 
 ton. ' 
 
 " What bottles Miss ?" she inquired looking at the table be- 
 side which I stood. 
 
 " This '" I said, " and this ; Mrs. Newton disaj^pr n-es of 
 their use, and I am sure would dislike that they should be 
 here.' 
 
 'H'hese bottles Miss are for Mrs. Newton's own consump- 
 tion : but I can take them from the room if you like." 
 
 The woman's answer was both quiet aud uspectful. Again 
 I asked myself "what does it mean?" and seized with increasmg 
 anger I exclaimed hastily, "Who dared administer such things 
 to Dr. Newton's wife?" 
 
 This time, my companion regarded me with amazement, and 
 evidently, for the moment, entertained some doubts as to my 
 sanity, but replied- respecjfuUy. as, he/oK,.."Jf you jMease Miss, 
 thev are given by t fie D^aoiTs oWbrviid iritK Mrs. Maxwell's 
 approval." 
 
 J , ,' ' 1111 I *» * • ' • • 
 
 ' ■■ ' • ' > , • I • • . , I 
 
lOO PHIMP'S I, IFF. WORK. 
 
 "What Doctor?" I exclaimed wondering momentaril ,', if 
 Dr. Newton ::ould have advised the use of stiinulents in present 
 circumstances. 
 
 "The Doctor in attendance, Miss." 
 
 Becoming aware how absurd it was to say anything further 
 to one, who was only acting under orders, and in no wi.se re- 
 sponsible for what she administered, on direction from the 
 attendant physician, I tried to calm my indignation, and said 
 quietly, "Oh I very well ; I think I hear Mrs. Newton stirring," 
 
 liefore following the nurse into the other room, I had to sit 
 down for a few minu'es, while I «trove to overcome the astonish 
 ment, and I had almost said disgust with which I had learned 
 of Meta's suJden lai)se from the priiicijiles, which I had sup- 
 posed were never to be laid aside under any circumstances ; 
 but when I did approach the sofa, and held the blue veired 
 hand in mv own and kissed the thin cheek which rested on the 
 pillow, my heart went out as of old to my girl friend, and I 
 exclaimed in a rapture of aftection, '• Darling Meta, how good 
 God has been to spare you to us." 
 
 "Yes Nora, and oh I how good has he been, to give this 
 treasure on my arm to Philip and me.' 
 
 This was the introduction to a great old talk between us, 
 the first since the arrival ot Meta's treasure; a talk full of 
 wonderful anticipations of, and hopes and plans for, the future 
 of the little stranger, who was now of course, the "dearest baby 
 in the world," and would be in the future, ever the joy and 
 comfort of its father's and mother's heart. 
 
 I cannot paint the pcstasy of Meta's fac^,.as she looked at 
 or talked oi:b^\ child, « 7/?"^. I. scarneij: Ul^derstood it; but 
 what ///<?///^/ , -woTthy 'the name, has not felt this indescribable 
 
PHii.irs iiFF WORK. ror 
 
 joy, whose impress was thus perceptible in Meta's counte- 
 nance. 
 
 By and bye the baby awoke, and gave a little cry of distress. 
 
 " Don't you want to take her Nora? Mind you must love 
 her just as much as you love her mother ; more it you like, 
 but not less." 
 
 " I could not love her more,' I returned warmily. **I wonder 
 if it is possible I shall ever love her quite as much?" 
 
 " Of course it is, you shan't be able to help yourself." 
 
 I had tremblingly taken the baby and wonder ng if I should 
 be able to acquit myself in anything of a creditable manner, as 
 a nurse, seated myself in a low chair, and began sundry awk- 
 ward attempts to get her in a comfortable position, my cheeks 
 taking a rosier hue, as I fancied the nurse regarded me with 
 some amusement. 
 
 The baby's head, when I moved her, flopped about in such 
 an alarming manner, and her clothes kept getting so inextric- 
 ably entwined around the infinitisemal form, to the covering of 
 which their voluminous folds were considered necessary, that 
 I was at my wit's end, how to deliver myself from so new, and 
 trying a position. 
 
 As the baby continued crying, my distress increased, and at 
 length the nurse came to the rescue. '' I suppose you are not 
 accustomed to babies, \ iss," she jaid, with friendly amuse- 
 ment ; " I hope you mav get your hand well brought in by-and- 
 
 by." 
 
 I most devoutly did /7of re-echo the sentiment, and there and 
 then registered a mental vow, that however much I might /ove, 
 I would for the present eschew, as much as possible, the pain- 
 ful pleasure of nursing Meta's baby. 
 
I02 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 Once more the little one had gone to sleep, under the 
 nurse's soothing treatment, and we had resumed our interrupted 
 ronversation, i^ently reminded by the nurse from time to time, 
 that she feared Mrs. Newton was talking too mueh ; when at 
 length she left the room, and returned shortly, with a tray con- 
 taining a most appetizing lunch for the invalid. 
 
 '* Oh, here is your lunch I" I exclaimed, jumf^ing up, *'let 
 me wait on you ;" and bringing a small table. I prepared to 
 arrange the tray thereon, so that it could be easily reached from 
 the sofa. 
 
 Presently the nurse brought in one of the bottles, which had 
 raised such excitement in my breast, and placed it with a gla..s 
 beside the other viands. 
 
 Though uncertain whether it were really necessary, in pres- 
 ent circumstances, that Meta should occasionally partake of 
 port wine for medicinal purposes, I could not bring myself to 
 pour out the obnoxious licpiid, and pretended not to observe 
 that she had nothing to drink; but presently Meta reached 
 over, and herself poured out a glassful of her medicine, after 
 which I observed she ate with better appetite. 
 
 " Nora dear," she said wistfully, when in sj)ite of myself, and 
 scarce knowing for what reason, a sinking quietness had fallen 
 upon me, " I am afraid you do not like my having to drink 
 this stuff, but you cannot regret it more than I do. I am more 
 sorry than I can tell you that the doctor shou'd consider it 
 necessary both for my own and baby's sake. ' 
 
 Would Philip consider it necessary I wondered and wonder- 
 ing, I wished again he were only at home ; then I should be 
 
 sure that all was right, and could safely trust Meta, and all 
 her concerns, into his strong and wise, and loving guardian- 
 ship. 
 
PHIMPS r.IFR WORK. jqT, 
 
 riCAPTFR XIV. 
 
 Tt was the cvcninn: of Philip's arrival, and ^ret^, who had 
 f,one down stairs for the first time that shemi<rht weleome him 
 homo, was now with him in the drawing-room, while I as I sat 
 upstairs in Meta's room beside the sleeping babe, about whom 
 .K> doubl much of their conversation treated, in imagination 
 was a listener to the many «'sweet nothings," as they are called 
 which were being exchanged l)etvveen tlie reunited husband 
 and wife. 
 
 The nurse had also gone down to her early tea, so I was 
 alone with the baby, and my own thoughts ; but presently [ 
 expected the drawing-room door to open, and Philip and Me'.a 
 to come up stairs. I felt sure they could not remain long 
 contended, even with each other, while this precious charge of 
 mine, had not yet been exhibited by the one, and made ac- 
 quainted with by the other. 
 
 And now they were indeed coming, Philip^s slow step, and 
 iMetas soft laugh of amusement, telling me that the latter was 
 being carried up stairs baby fashion, in her husl^ands arms. 
 
 As they entered the room however their merriment ceased, 
 and it was with countenance full of emotion, that the youthful 
 father and mother advanced together to look at their mutual 
 treasure. 
 
 After shaking hands with Philip, and a few words of welcome 
 home, I withdrew to a short distance, and turned away from 
 them that they might feel themselves to be more alone. 
 
1(©4 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 After a pause so lengthened, that it excited my surprise, 
 Meta drew a long breath, and whispered, ''well Ppilip?" 
 
 Surprised still more at the sad cadence, so unexpected in 
 Philip's tones as he replied softly, " well darling?" I turned 
 quickly, though unintentionally, to perceive a look of pain in 
 the countenance, in which Meta and I had expected to find 
 nothing but joy. At the sane moment Meta also looked up 
 in her husband's face in surprise and disappointment. " Oh 1 
 Philip, surely you are not disappointed in her ; I thought you 
 would find her so lovely, and love her so inu<-.h." 
 
 " My darling, do not for a moment thmk this ; and forgive 
 my quietness Our darling is the loveliest l)aby I ever saw ; 
 and I cannot tell even you, how much I aheady love her." 
 
 Philip's voice faltered, but Meta's face was now dimpled 
 with relief and joy. *' I knew it must be so : oh : how happy 
 I am." She clung to her husband for a moment, but the dress- 
 ing-bell ringing, interrupted the scene, and afforde.d me an ex- 
 cuse for quiting the room. 
 
 Philip followed me as I retired, saying, *• F« rgive mc, Nora 
 dear; I am afraid in my haste to see my child, my greeting to 
 yourself must have seemed a cold one." 
 
 "No indeed, Philip, you could not be cold even if you would. 
 How content I am to come in third," I continued, smiling. 
 " How rich you are, Philip, and how much I rejoice in your 
 happiness." 
 
 *• Thank you, Nora," and a look of pain followed the words, 
 "I am. indeed rich in such a wife." 
 
 " And such a daughter," I added, surprised at the omission. 
 
 " Yes, and such a daughter." The worda were said slowly 
 and thoughtfully. . 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 105 
 
 *' Philip, what is the matter ?" 1 exclaimed, almost in alarm, 
 
 something is clouding your hapi)iness to-day ; what can it be?" 
 
 "Your sister" , I stopped. His clear eyes now looked 
 
 straight into my own. " Clara is well, and happy ; but Nora, 
 there is sorrow in state for Meta and me. And precious babe 
 will never grow up ; I feel sure of it. She is too lovely, too 
 fragile for this world ; Oh ! that I could spare my darling this 
 sorrow." 
 
 A sob choked the strong man's utterance ; but hastily con- 
 trolling himself, he turned quickly, and re-entered the apart- 
 ment we had left. 
 
 " It cannot be so ; it must not be so " I repeated to myself, 
 again and again, when I had reached my own room, and com- 
 ptllt'd myself to begin dressing for dinner. 
 
 " Philip must be mistaken ; he is surprised at first at the 
 baby's unusual loveliness, and thinks, that because of the cir- 
 cumstarces of her birth, she is all the less likely to live ; but it 
 need not be so ; Mrs. Maxwell says, that many children born 
 prematurely grew up strong and hearty ; and I believe in this 
 matter, she is more likely to know ihan a young man like 
 Philip." 
 
 Somewhat reassured by such reflections, I descended ti the 
 dining room, in recovered cheerfulness, to find the others 
 already there. Philip also in apparent cheerfulness and serenity. 
 
 The following morning, Philip at once resumed his pro- 
 fessional duties, and things so far as he was concerned, bid fair 
 to go on in the old accustomed groove, wherein they had 
 moved previous to his sudden summons across the Atlantic. 
 
 " He was now a wealthy man, but that was to make no 
 
 difference, so far as his profession «as concerned. He loved 
 u 
 
io6 Philip's life work. 
 
 to work, and hated to be idle ; Meta would rather be the wife 
 of a hard-working doctor, than that of even a wealthy hanger- 
 on. They uere agreed in this as in everything else, and could 
 enjoy their money in added luxuries, and increased usefulness, 
 without launching into idle extravagance ; and thus tliey meant 
 to use, and to enjoy, Philip's inheritance. 
 
 Meta's duties however, were all changed, and what an end- 
 less source of occupation and interest, did she now possess. 
 Much improved in health, she proposed to Philip, that the 
 professional nurse should be dismissed, and a younger woman 
 employed in that capacity ; but he, without assigning a reason, 
 negatived this proposal, and Meta, though reluctant, consent- 
 ed for a time, to abide by his decision. 
 
 *' Previous to Philip's return, scarlet fever of rather a b^d 
 type had broken out in the town, and as Dr. Newton was 
 highly valued in his medical capacity, as in many others, his 
 absence from home at this time was more frequent and prolong- 
 ed, than it had been since his marriage. 
 
 Much to our disappointment, he had not partaken of a 
 meal with us, except breaktast, during the first two days ; but 
 in the forenoon of the thirc' v^e were rejoiced to hear his en- 
 trance in time for lunch. 
 
 We were all very cheerful as we sat down to table, tind the 
 painful incident which ensued, utterly unloosed for by any of 
 us, caused a cloud to rest on more than one of the company. 
 It so happened, that just as Philip was in the midst of an 
 interesting recital with regard to some of the incidents of his 
 absence in America, the table-maid, as was her custom, brought 
 a bottle of port-wine, and drawing the cork, placed it by her 
 mistress' plate. - 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. It)? 
 
 It is . impossible to depict the astonishment on Philip's 
 countenance, as the latter began to fill the glass bes'de her. 
 This gave place to almost livid emotion, as he inquired with 
 forced composure, ''Metawhat is this?" 
 
 " Oh Philip " she returned blushing, "I have never had an 
 opportunity of consulting you about this. I have been using 
 
 port-wine on Dr. D 's perscription, and iramma's urgent 
 
 entreaty ; urincipally for baby's sake. Have I done wrong ?" 
 
 Without reply, Philip turned to the maid in waiting, "Who 
 has charge of this poison?' he demanded, in 'sterner displeas 
 urethan I had ever imagined he could liave manifested. "Mrs. 
 
 B the nurse." 
 
 "Go at once and tell her, that I command her to empt/ out 
 every drop of it, and break the bottles ; and never let me see 
 it, either in my house or on my table, again." 
 
 The maid left the room, and Meta, T cannot describe 
 
 the change in Meta ; all her softness gone ; pride, indignation 
 and disdain, striving for the mastery in her usually gentle 
 countenance, she stood looking at her husband, who as his 
 eye fell upon her seemed to become aware of the insult le 
 had put upon her, in the presence of a servant. 
 
 *0h ! my darling wite forgive me, forgive me" he almost 
 wailed, completely broken down by the sight of his loving 
 gentle wife, on whose face he had never yet seen a trace of 
 anger against an) one much less himself, thus transformed 
 "Pity me Meta, and forgive my harshness." 
 
 For a moment Meta stood perfectly still. I know not, but 
 I can guess the dreadful struggle which was taking place in 
 her heart. I know it not, but I firmly believe, that in that 
 moment, she was recalling the solemn vows made to God and 
 
lto8 PlilLIP*S LIFE WORK. 
 
 her husband when she became a wife, and striving with herself 
 and beseeching Heaven, for the victory over the emotions, 
 which if indulged, would shatter her vows, and it might be 
 destroy her married happiness for ever. 
 
 The struggle was over ; and very wan and weak after the 
 storm, Meta crept round to her husband ; " Philip," was all 
 she said, as she threw herself in his arms. 
 
 ** H : / could T thus forget myself" wailed her husband, as 
 he folded her in the strong arms which had never yet failed, 
 which should surely never fail her. 
 
 The scene was too sacred for intrusion, and I quietly left 
 the room ; my heart full of gratitude to God and admiration 
 of my friends. 
 
 Surely nothing can ever come between these two for what- 
 ever comes to them, must but draw them closer to each other. 
 
Philip's life work. ^09 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 And so it was. It seemed as if the episode recorded at the 
 close of my last chapter had but served to draw husband and 
 wife cluser together, and enhance the virtues of each in the 
 eyes of the other. 
 
 Notwithstanding Philip's many absences, and the little share 
 we enjoyed of his time and society, these were happy days 
 which followed ; but they were all too few, for my summons 
 home to Maxwell came, and what had seemed but a brief bright 
 holiday, instead of a change of labor, as was supposed, was 
 
 ended. 
 
 Many were the thoughts which had occupied me during 
 these days, relative to Philip's strange emotion on discovering 
 how far his own views and principles had been set aside by 
 Meta's physician and herself, thoughts of wonder, but not ot 
 blame ; for I felt confident that there had been passages in 
 Philip's life, unguessed at by either Meta or myself, which were 
 probably the main-spring of all that was hard to be understood, 
 in the incident referred to. 
 
 Besides this, the conversation with Meta in my own room, 
 on the eve of her marriage day, almost forgotten until now, 
 recurred to my memory, and strengthened my confidence in 
 Philip's judgment and conduct. No doubt he understood his 
 wife's constitution, and knew what was best for her ; and some 
 innate conviction of my own, born of I know not what, whisp- 
 ered to me that it was best as Ph lip had ordered it, that Meta 
 
no PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 should touch not, taste not, that of which she had been per- 
 suaded to partake, in a time of bodily weakness, for, as was 
 supposed, lier own and lier baby's heahh's sake. 
 
 And so I returned once more to my oft interrupted school- 
 room duties, and Philip continued as busy as ever ; and in the 
 midst of many bereavements to sad and stricken hearts and 
 households, in consequence of the so frequently fated malady, 
 which had established itself m our midst, Meta's sorrow also 
 came, and the fragile flower, which had blossomed in her home 
 for such a little while, was plucked by the Master Reipcr, and 
 transplanted to a sunnier clime, where her loveliness should 
 know no change, and her weakness could noi kllow her. 
 Meta's sorrow ! oh, I cannot dwell on this. \Vh..t sorrow is 
 like unto that of a mother whose child " is not ?" 
 
 Meta was very quiet, very subdued, very gentle ; but the yet 
 pale face grew paler still, the weak form still weaker, and Phil- 
 ip's and all our hearts were rent with anxiety on her account. 
 
 Man-like, and who shall blame him? Philip sought a 
 measure of forgetfulness, and a measure of acquiescence in the 
 still arduous duties of his profession ; and it was we 1 for him 
 that he could obtain them thus; but Meta, — her hi nds were 
 empty, her heart was empty, her home was empty, wh ire could 
 she turn for relief? forgetfulness for her, was impossi )le. 
 
 /cannot guess all" the suffering of these dreadful weeks, but 
 
 there is one who knows it all ; one to whom, I have no doubt 
 
 Meta cried aloud in anguish of spirit, and besought him to 
 
 assuage this fearful agony, which was tearing her girl -mother's 
 
 heart to pieces. Will he forget her? Can He cast off? Nay!. 
 
 but he may try her "as by fire." 
 
 But shall he not alsa bring her through " as gold purified ?" 
 Time 'shall tfell. • ^ '* 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. Ill 
 
 By and bye the fever scourge abated, the little ones at Max- 
 well untouched by the disease ; and Philip, more at leisure to 
 observe his wife's rapidly failing health, began to devise many 
 schemes for its recovery, among the rest a change of air and 
 scene, but Meta clung to the nest from which her little one 
 had flown, and could not be induced to leave it, even for a 
 little while. 
 
 Philip knew that if he did but press his desire sufficiently, 
 Meta, from a sense of duty, would force herself to consent ; 
 but this he thought, would do no good, as long as in mind she 
 clung so tenaciously to home, and so let the matter rest for a 
 while, trusting that in time, she would herself perceive the 
 necessity of rending herself from the grief which was consum- 
 ing all her strength and acquiesce in his attempts for the im- 
 provement of both health and spirits. 
 
 Worse than all the rest, a cloud seemed to have come 
 between the husband and wife, but lately so loving and devot- 
 ed ; and a coldness gradually arose belwee.i them, which surely 
 their mutual sorrow should have made impossible. Was I 
 wrong then in my happy thought concerning them, that what- 
 ever should befall them could but serve to bind them nearer 
 to eJich other, and was their grief rather to be the means of 
 their estrangement ? The family evidently did not perceive 
 that anything was amiss, in this respect ; but my loving, watch- 
 f'll eyes, were quick to note a charge between those, whose 
 happiness was so dear to me, and in much anxiety I pondered 
 on the possible cause. 
 
 As Meta continued to manifest her old desire lor my society, 
 my visits to Dr. Newton's house were more frequent than those 
 of any of the members of the family, who all trusted to me on 
 
Iia PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 those occasions, to " clieer Meta up," a thing I tried very hard 
 to do, but in which I liad very httle success. 
 
 These visits, however, Philip declared, never failed to render 
 her more cheerful, and, as I was leaving one day, and he came 
 to open the door for me, and thank me, as he always did if in 
 the house, he surprised me not a liiile by the words, " Do you 
 know, Nora, T have a scheme for kee})ing you with us altogeth' 
 cr, and am coming to talk to Mrs. Maxwell about it, to morrow." 
 
 Returning hone in a flutrer of exciiemcnt r d curiosity, it 
 needed all my self control to settle mystlf to the afternoon 
 tasks, and withdraw my mind from Philip's scheme. "Miss 
 Eleanor, you are thinking an awful lot to-day," from Daisy, re- 
 called me from a fit of absent-mindedness, and informed me 
 how poorly I had succeeded in concealing my pre-o jcupation 
 from my quick-witted little scholars. " I beg your pardon, 
 Daisy dear," was my apology, as I attended to her request, so 
 oft-repeated but unheard. *' If )ou were governess I fear you 
 should keep me in to-day for inattention, should you not.^" 
 
 "No" said Daisy meditatively,"! think I would lather 
 give you sums." 
 
 Sums were Daisy's particular aversion and often punish- 
 ment, and we all laughed at the babyish deaire for revenge, 
 betrayed in her choice of punishment for myself. 
 
 "Well Daisy, sums let it be," I returned in amisement; 
 but her fit of vengeful feeling had already evaporated and her 
 little dimpled arms were around my neck, and her b: by voice 
 whispering in my ear, "No Miss Eleanor," a kiss instei d. "You 
 are too good for sums ; only naughty Daisy needs su :h horrid 
 things." 
 
 How could I leave these children, and especial y loving 
 
PHILIPS LIFE WORK. II3 
 
 comical Daisy, even for Meta's sake ; and yet if Philip and she 
 really wished it so, I felt tha^ I must consent. 
 
 The morrow brought Philij) and his proposal, which was 
 this : That Mr. Maxwell's two elder children should be sent 
 to school, for which they were quite old enough, and that 
 Daisy should f«^r a time receive instruction in her sim}>le tasks 
 from the nurse, who possessed a good English education, and 
 who. being unusually refmed for one in her position, was per- 
 eclly well-fitted to take charge of her lessons, thus freeing me 
 rom my duties as governess at Maxwell, and enabling me to 
 acquiesce in Pnilip's request, that 1 should take up my abode 
 in his house, as companion to his wife, receiving double the 
 salary to which I had hitherto been accustomed. 
 
 The scheme did not at first meet vviih Mr and Mrs. Maxwell's 
 approval ; but when urged by Philip as necessary to the re- 
 establishment of Meta's health and cr eerfulness, at length 
 consented ; and as my consent had already been given, con- 
 tingent upon theirs, the matter was settled, and two weeks 
 more saw the close of my life at Maxwell, and the beginning 
 of a new one with those, whose interest and happiness were 
 almost as dear to me as my own. 
 
 And all this time affairs remained in statu quo between 
 Frank Carstairs and myself. Every Sunday I listened to his 
 sermons ; every week came in contact with him in some way 
 or other, but this was all. 
 
 I had no reason to suppose that his feelmgs towards me had 
 m any way undergone a change ; on the contrary, time only 
 strengthened my belief in his regard, but I was careful that he 
 should have no opportunity of private conversations, and 
 
 15 
 
114 Philip's life work. 
 
 systematically thwarted his endeavours to obtain more of my 
 
 society. 
 
 Mv mind was in as great confusion as ever, as to what my 
 answer should be, when the day of trial came, as I felt sure 
 come it must ; but wvis determined to postpone it as long as 
 possible, trusting that somethmg might occur to show me the 
 path of duty, and either strengthen me to self-denial, or encour- 
 age me to accept the happiness, I could not help but covet. 
 
PHILIP'S LIFE WORK. I 15 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 After my departure from Maxwell, events continued to hap- 
 pen thick and fast in the united families of Maxwell and 
 Carstairs. 
 
 Within one week, Sylvia left her husband's house, and 
 sought the protection of her Father's, on account of her Perry's 
 dissipated habits, and that husband's brother was brought 
 home to the Lindens, in a state of insensibility, consequent on 
 a fall while in a state of drunkenness, from a wagon, in which he 
 and some boon campaniors had been returning from the horse 
 races in an adjacent village. 
 
 From the effects of the fall Robert Carstairs never recovered 
 and theuwhappy father and mother of such a son had lo stand 
 by his bedside, and see him breathe his last, without one word 
 of recognition of themselves, or repentance of the folly, which 
 had cost him so dear. 
 
 All the family of course clothed themselves in sabe garments 
 and mourned his loss in orthodox fashion but no tear of regret 
 wi'nessed to a life, which, while it lasted, had been unblessing 
 and unblessed ; and no word of affection was uttered for the 
 lad, for v^ hom the wine cup had proved too strong an enemy, 
 and for whose degradation, those who helped him to it, by 
 their superior strength, and moderate example, felt nothing 
 
 but contempt. 
 
 Only the stricken father and mother, mourned as for one, 
 whose death merited their keenest anguish, (as surely so it 
 
Il6 PHIIIP'S LIFE WORK. 
 
 did) ; and only the father and mother, laid to heart the solemn 
 lesson, and learned, though too late, the mistakes of a lifetime's 
 theories. 
 
 The preceding events, as might be ex|)ected, gained at this 
 time for the families concerned, an nn[>lt'asant notoriety. 
 • When Roberts untimely death had been partially forgotten, 
 or become stale as subject for consideration, Sylvia's separation 
 from her husband, still afforded matter for discussion and 
 conjecture. 
 
 As for Percy he had never asked his wife's icturn ; but as 
 through his own extravagance and dissipation, and his wife's 
 ignorance of household management, his money affairs had 
 become very seriously involved, at once vacated the house 
 where their married life had been spent, surrendered the turni 
 ture and other effects to his creditors, and also returned to his 
 father's roof. 
 
 Robert's sudden and melancholy death, had not failed to 
 make a solemn impression on Percv's mind, and it seemed as 
 if, impelled by this, and the tears and entreaties of his broken- 
 hearted parents, he were about to abandon at length the youth- 
 ful habits, which he knew f .11 well bid fair to consign him also 
 to an early grave. 
 
 For a time he confined himself as much as possible to home 
 a.id avoided the society of those, whose good fellowship he was 
 well aware could work his new resolutions naught but ill ; but 
 alas ! the reformation was all too short, and sudden temptation, 
 as quickly yielded to, seemed once more to seal his doom as a 
 mi>erable drunkard. 
 
 The small measure of self-respect he had succeeded in re- 
 gaining, forsook him entirely ; and recklessly casting aside the 
 
PHIIIP'S LIFE WORK. Ii; 
 
 Strivings of conscience, the entreaties ofparents, and the offer- 
 ed help and suggestions of Philip Newton, his best friend, he 
 plunged again into insane indulgence, and resolved to drink, 
 till he should die. 
 
 And during this time I devoted myself to Meta and the 
 private s.udies, which with her and Philip's approval. I 
 still coniinued. Encouraged also by them, 1 resolved to 
 devote the greater part of my salary to music and singing 
 lessons, in which I soon took great delight, and in which I 
 also gave promise, my teacher assured mc, of attaining no 
 slight degree ot excellence. 
 
 How happy I should have been w:th so many resources ot 
 thankfulness and of enjoyment ; an easy life, kind and con- 
 siderate friends, a certain amount of outdoor usefulness, and 
 last, but not least, these new and enthralling pursuits; but, 
 
 I was noL happy. My heart was dissatistied and restless. 
 
 I wanted more than all this, and \ras weary of the uncertainty, 
 as to what my future should be. 
 
 Robert Carstairs' death, fearful and full of horror as it was, 
 had nevertheless, after the first shock, brought to me personally 
 a ray of hope and expectation. 
 
 Surely now, Frank Carstairs would act in a manner worthy 
 ot him ; surely now he would adopt the principles and practice 
 in which my heart and judgment so firml, coincided, and 
 which was the only thing wanting, to make us one in aim and 
 
 in pursuit. 
 
 I looked for some wonderful transformation in his views, on 
 this most interesting and vital question, but looked in vain. 
 The man I could not help but love, though tempted some- 
 times to despise, went on his way, and made no sign : preached 
 
Il8 PHILTP'S MFE WORK. 
 
 a<: elcquently as ever ; sought by private conversation to com- 
 mend the Gospel to those around him ; comforted his bereaved 
 parents, as a dutiful son, and minisrer of Christ might be ex- 
 pected to do ; but continued as before a moderate drinker. 
 
 Sometimes I asked myself, "why do I vex myself about 
 this?" True, P'rank (^arstairs is a moderate drinker. J can- 
 n It know but 1 feel confident he will never be anything worse ; 
 why cannot I be content to trust him and be happy ? I be- 
 lieve his constitution is entirely different from that of his 
 younger brothers and temptation will never come to him, as it 
 has to them ; but after all, my stronger self would urge, this is 
 not the question of importance. Can T respect and honour 
 the man a^ a husband, who acts thus inconsistently, and con- 
 trary to New Testament principles as well as Old Testainent 
 exhortation ? This is the point with which I have to do. 
 Reader, I could not answer yes ! I hud not the courage to 
 utter to myself a final no ! and so the question remained un- 
 answered as before. 
 
 And meantime, some unaccountable change was taking 
 place in Meta. Her health continued feeble, her spirits mel- 
 ancholy and dejected, but this was not the worst. It seemed 
 as if her heart were day by day becoming more alienated from 
 her husband ; and at length I could not but perceive the fact 
 that she actually avoided him, which Philip evidently also 
 noted, and for which in vain, he strove to find a reason. 
 
 Nothing could exceed his kindness, patience and devotion ; 
 but all were in vain to win her from her coldness and reserve. 
 
 I am certain, that for a time, we shared the same fear, that 
 her reason was becoming affected, though no word was uttered 
 between us, in reference to herself, which Meta did not hear ; 
 
PHILIPS I. IFF. WORK. II9 
 
 but as time went on, and no other symptoms made their 
 appearance, I put this fearful dread away, and continued to 
 hope and pray, for her restoration to ha|)piness, and the re- 
 newal of her unselfish love towards one, so worthy of it. 
 
 Often now in the morning she would lie in bed till Philip 
 had gone out, pleading that she was " too tired to rise ;" and 
 as frequently retired to her room, on the same pretext, before 
 his return in the evening. 
 
 What miserable evenings these were becoming, for a gloom 
 was gradually settling down upon us, and I felt too sad at 
 heart myself to cheer the misery away from Philip's brow, the 
 lines on which were day by day becoming more severe. 
 
 To myself Meta was kind and affectionate as ever, and 
 though shunning my society also, to some extent, was often 
 melted even to tearful emotion, as she assured me of her love, 
 and wistfully entreated my continued atfection. 
 
 On several occasions she had given way to hysterical weep- 
 ing, and besought me to help and counsel her ; but whenever I 
 inquired in what way I could do so, she as suddenly became 
 composed, and retired into her usual reserve. 
 
 How it first came to me, I can scarcely te'' ; but, as if by 
 intuition, more than anything else, a h-jrrible suspicion had 
 taken possession of my being. I could scarce at first name it 
 to myself, much less breathe it to either of those it so nearly 
 concerned ; but as I watched, and waited, and weighed, and 
 pondered, I became ere long convinced that Meta's secret was 
 
 my own. 
 
 My eyes open at length to the miserable deceit, which this 
 girl-wife was practising, from day to day, in her husband's home 
 and presence, many things occurred daily, to strengthen my 
 
120 PHILIPS LIFE Wt)RK. 
 
 conviction, that Mcta was systematically yielding to a tempta- 
 tion, the strength of which I had no means of guaging, but the 
 fact of whose existence filled me with horror and dismay. 
 
 What was to be done? Ti.is question troubled me by day 
 and kept me a^ake at night. I could not eat, I could not 
 sleep, and at length Pi.ilip noticed my altered look and man- 
 ner, and kindly attempted to prescribe for me. 
 
 Quietly receiving the medicine prepared for me, I carried it 
 to my own room, promising to take it as Philip directed ; but 
 what could medicine do for such a disease as this ? I felt that 
 the miserable knowledge I possessed, and uncertainty as to 
 what course I should adopt, in connection therewith, were con- 
 suming my very life away. Should I speak to Meta, and be- 
 seech her to abandon this secret habit, which was no doubt 
 strengthening day by day, and would, at length, destroy her ? 
 or should I not rather carry the truth at once to Philip, who 
 loved his young life so dearly, and who was even now mourn- 
 ing, far more than I could do, the unhappy change which had 
 come upon her ? 
 
 While I hesitated and trembled over the dreadful revelation 
 I was called on to make, and alternately pitied and despised the 
 weakness and the sin, of which T could never, never have 
 dreamed my upright, pure hearted Meta, could possibly be 
 guilty, a week had passed away, and still my task was unac- 
 complished. 
 
 During the last day or two, I had occasionally discovered 
 Meta regarding me enquiringly, as if she also had perceived 
 the change, which I could not conceal, and once or twice a 
 frightened look had followed the glance, as if she dreaded it 
 might be caused by discoveries concerning herself 
 
PHII.IP'S LIFL WORK. 12 1 
 
 I resolved one morning that I should delay no longer, but 
 that evening^ ifMeta retired early, unburden my soul to Philii), 
 which at last I had decided on as the wiser course ; for surely 
 there was no argument I could advance with the former, to win 
 her from her unh.ippy position, which she herself had not 
 already pondered, yet resisted. 
 
 It so happened at luncheon the same day, that Pliilip had 
 several incidents to relate, connected with the Total Abstinence 
 Society, which he had been the means of forming n the town ; 
 and also some directions with regard to my share of the work, 
 in which I still continued to helj) him. 
 
 As he continued to enlarge on Tem])erance in general, and 
 many minor things. connected therewith, in particular, I became 
 so uncomfortablv conscious of Meta's discomfort, and uneasi- 
 ness, that I could stand it no lo' ger. Aware that my cheeks 
 were crimsoning and paling by turns, and that presently Philip, 
 so observant, should be certain to inquire the cause, I quickly 
 rose from the table, glanced at the time-piece, and murmuring 
 that it was time for my music lesson, and excusing myself to 
 Meta, hastily left the room. 
 
 No7v I knew whatever Philip might think of my unusual 
 behaviour, I had betrayed myselt to Meta ; and she should 
 now feel certain that her secret was in my possession. 
 
 Dreading what the result of this discovery might be, and 
 fearing interrogation from Philip, fur which I was at present 
 too disturbed Lo be prepared, should they leave the dining-room 
 betore 1 had time to get away, I hurriedly donned my out door 
 garments, and procuring my music, left the house. 
 
 My music lesson over, 1 dreaded to return, and meet Meta 
 alone. If I could pass the time till dinner, when probably 
 
122 PHILIP S LIFE WORK. 
 
 Philip should be at home, and would possibly have forgotten 
 all about my hurri-.d leave-taVing. it would be better. After 
 dinner, Meta should probably retire to bed, and tiien must 
 come that awful interview, which even in imagination, I could 
 scarcely endure the thought of. 
 
 Acting on this programme 1 contiived in one way and 
 another to pass the hours till dinner-time approached, and as I 
 reached the house on my return, was relieved to find Philip 
 just about to enter. 
 
 We both ascended to our rooms, to make some preparation 
 for the meal, my heart throbbing with excitement at the 
 thought of meeting Meta, and in anticipation of what nmst 
 come to-night, and the possible consequences which might fol- 
 low thereupon. 
 
Philip's life work. 123 
 
 Chapikr XVII. 
 
 My worst forebodings of that evening's experiences, could 
 never have distantly approached what turned out to be reality. 
 
 Though I had been ready for some time to go down stairs, 
 I had purposely delayed, until I heard Philip's door open, and 
 his steps descend the staircase, and as I sui)posed enter ihe 
 drawing-room. Wishing to meet Meta first under cover of his 
 entrance, I quickly followed, to find that Philip had been de- 
 tained in the hall, by a question from his coachman, which 
 having replied to just as I reached the threshold, we entered 
 the room together. 
 
 What was our surprise, to find Meta, whom we expected to 
 see in dinner-dress as usual, crouched on the hearth rug, and 
 still in her morning wrapper. She turned as we entered, and 
 looked at us, but did not speak. 
 
 " My darling love," cried Philip approaching her, in anxiety 
 'are you ill ? ' She looked at him again, and I can never, never 
 forget, the cold grasp at my heart, as I perceived the vacant look 
 in the beautiful eyes, and heard the jarring laugh with which 
 she replied to her husband's affectionate enquiry. 
 
 " Oh ! no, I am not ill Philip ; but what is the use dressing 
 up. I can not hide my deformity, and so I'm not going to 
 dress up any moie. Nora knows the reason, don't you Nora?" 
 and she laughed again, a-.d then began to weep. 
 
 " Good God ! it has come at last," cried Philip, staggering 
 to a chair. "Oh ! Nora this is what I have been dreading for 
 
124 PHILIPS LIFK WORK. 
 
 many weeks." Suddenly composing himself, he again ap- 
 proached his wife, and addressing her in the tenderest lang- 
 uage, begged her to go and dress for his sake. " Nora will go 
 with you; come darling," and he tried to raise her, but she 
 resisted his efforts, and continued wee[)ing. 
 
 Ah ! I must not hesitate a moment longer ; this scene must 
 be ended, and Meta conveyed to her room, before there was 
 any chance of a servant entering, and discovermg this domes- 
 tic tragedy. 
 
 " Philip, Meta is not ill ls you suppose," I whispered signifi- 
 cantly ; "let me take her to her room, and do you go on with 
 dinner. Say to the servants that Mrs. Newton is indisposed, 
 and that I shall keep her company in her own room Also 
 that we will not reciuire anything until later." 
 
 "Nora, what do you, what can you mean?" cried Philip 
 almost indignantly, "1 will myself carry my darling up-stairs, 
 and do you if you like, sit down to dinner ; I do not wish 
 any." 
 
 " But Philip," I continued in distress, utterly at a loss how 
 to convey the dreadful truth to his still unawakened perception 
 ' It is better for me to go, oh ! Philip, don't you understand ?" 
 
 He looked blankly at me, as if he feared my reason also 
 were tottering on its throne ; and, in perplexity, again turned 
 to his wife. 
 
 Something in the appeara.ice and attitude revealed the truth. 
 The strong man tottered backwards, and almost fell into a 
 chain his frame shaking with fearful emotion, as, burying his 
 face in his hands, he exclaimed wildly, " Great Gud ! am I 
 twice cursed ? Can this be the woman I have loved so ten- 
 derly ?" 
 
PHILIPS LIFK WORK. 1^5 
 
 Mcta, i)econilng aware of her husband's emotion, and seem- 
 ing to have a dim perception of its cause, arose and tottered 
 to him " Philip, darling ! don't cry, I will dress for dinner if 
 you like ; what shall I we:/— my blue barege or lilac silk ? 
 Tell me, Philip, and I will dress up very grand," and she laid 
 her hand on his arm with a coaxing gesture ; but with one look 
 of horror and disgust, Philip threw her from him, and in mad- 
 dened fury and despair, left the room, and the house, without 
 one backward glance to see the re>ult of what he had done. 
 
 In falling, Meta's forehead^had come in contact with the 
 sharp edge of an ottoman, which stood near, and was now 
 bleeding profusely from a deep wound which it had inflicted. 
 With an upward cry for wisdom, and strength, in this extrem- 
 ity, I raised the stunned and almost senseless girl, and partly 
 guifled, partly carried, her to her own room, which, having 
 entered, 1 laid her on the lounge, and proceeded to bathe and 
 bandage the hurt as best I could. Just as I had finished, the 
 dinner-bell rang, and, determined to shield as much .-s possible 
 the family circumstances from the prying curiosity or suspicion 
 ot the domestics, I descended to the dining room, and, as 
 calml/ as I could, breathed the first deliberate fiiisehuod of 
 which I could remember being guilty, viz., that Dr. Newton 
 had been suddenly called away, and Mrs. Newton being indis- 
 posed, I intended to remain with her in her room, where we 
 would take a cup of tea later in the evening. 
 
 It was nothing new for the Dr. to receive a summons, in 
 answer to which even meals must be set aside ; nor was there 
 anything unusual in the fact of his wife's indisposition ; conse- 
 quently my announcemeni was received with perfect equanim- 
 ity, and the dinner dishes forthwith removed, in accordance 
 therewith. 
 
126 Philip's mfk work. 
 
 Our secret was still our own, and thankful even for so small 
 a boon, in heaviness of heart, and gloomy an'icipations of 
 worse evils to come, I once more ascended to my self-ai)point- 
 ed guardianship, to find that Meta was still wrapt in the heavy 
 slumber which had fallen upon her almost as soon as she 
 assumed a reclining attitude. 
 
 Through the hours of the evening I sat by that couch and 
 watched and waited for Philip's return ; but he came not, and 
 the dreadful thought kept surging through my brain — what if 
 he never returned again ? What if he went away, and left his 
 young wife, in all her helplessness and misfortune, to battle 
 with this foe alone ; to yield step by step, as I foresaw she 
 should, and at length be utterly conquered by the relentless 
 enemy, who was even now dooming her fairyoun^ lite to igno- 
 miny and disgrace? 
 
 Too stunned at first to pray, I could only wring my hands 
 in anguish and terror, and hope that Meta would sleep on. 
 Ah ! what should her awaking be to both of us ? I foresaw the 
 despair, on which possibly, in spite of all my efforts to prevent 
 it, fresh indulgence v as sure to follow. 
 
 How I reproached myself for not having spoken to Philip a 
 week ago, and then this could surely never have happened ; for 
 I felt confident that Meta had never been before as we had 
 seen her to night, and that that was but the result of the dis- 
 covery, that I knew her secret, on which no doubt she had felt 
 that even the measure of self control which she had previously 
 exercised, should be powerless to protect her from our contempt. 
 
 At eight o'clock the servant brought a tray to the door, which 
 I took quietly from her, signalling that Mrs. Newton was asleep, 
 but resolvmg to take «;ome refreshment myselt, to strengthen 
 
Pllir.lPS I. IKK WORK. 127 
 
 me tor the vigil which lay before nie, and which 1 was deter- 
 mined to keep, lest Meta should awake, and 1 not be present 
 to comfort, strengthen, or control, as might be necessary. 
 
 Hour after hour slowly passed m terrible loneliness and 
 dread, and still Meta slej)t on, and Thilip did not return. 
 When four o'clock struck in the hall, and daylij^h' l)eg..n faintly 
 to apjjear, 1 gave up all hope. Either he had gone away, re- 
 solved never to return, or worse stiil, had, in his despair, taken 
 away his own life. What fearful events might not the coming 
 morning bring to this accursed house ; but hark ! Philip's key 
 in the door; Philip's step (yet not Phili|)'s, so slow and weak) 
 on the stair ; presently his hand on the handle of the door, 
 which softly turned, and once more- we three were in the pres- 
 ence of each other. 
 
 One glance at Philii/s haggard face told me the night of 
 agony he had endured ; but something there also set my worst 
 fears at rcot, and I knew that Philip was himself again : strong 
 and tender, faithful and true, forgiving, sympathizing, heli)fiil ; 
 what might not his noble qualities of heart and soul effect, 
 even in this dire extremity which had come upon us? 
 
 A glance at his wife, not this time full of loathing, but of 
 tenderest pity, a quiver as he saw her bandaged forehead, a 
 look into my own eyes, and a fervent " God bless you, Nora ; 
 we will help and save her, you and I," and we sat down to- 
 gether, and waited for her waking." 
 
 When daylight streamed into the room Meta awoke, and her 
 glance fell first upon her husband in surprised inquiry. Then 
 the full a »aking came, and she turned her face away in shame 
 and terror. But now was Philip's time to reassure and com- 
 fort, not to hiirrass or reproach. " My precious wife, my own 
 
i2«s I'iii lip's lifk work. 
 
 darliiiL; Mcta, do not turn away ; let me tell you how I love 
 you ; how I mean to cherish you ; how, with Ood's blessing, I 
 will help and save you. 1 never loved you, my wife, as 1 love 
 you now; 1 will never neglect you in the future as I have done 
 in the past ; forgive me, Meta, that I have so failed in my 
 duty towards you ; but, with Clod's help, I will never so fail 
 again Look u{), my precious one, and tell me you forgive." 
 
 Something akin to worship filled my heart as I heard this 
 noble self-condemnation, assumed in part (though I be'ieve 
 uttered also in self-depreciating sincerity) to save Meta as far 
 as possible from the self-loathing and contempt from which he 
 knew well she mu.-.t keenly suffer. 
 
 Meta turned and looked in her husband's face, her own full 
 of wonder and relief, " Oh, Philip," she cried, " Philip, my 
 husband, help me, help me ! Oh, Philip, why do you not 
 loathe me as I loathe myself? ' She half rose, and he caught 
 her to his breast. " Do not say that Meta; do not think it. 
 You have been bodily and mentally in an unhinged condition, 
 and I did not realize how much care and sympathy you reciuir- 
 ed ; l)ut remember, Meta, in the future you must lean on me, 
 next to (iod ; you need luiman aid and support, as well as 
 God's upholding mercy ; and in the future I beseech you keep 
 nothing from me. Bring all your sorrows, all your weakness, 
 all your temptations, to me, and we will do battle with them 
 together. Do you promise ?" 
 
 " Oh, how gladly !" came from Meta's white lips, with a sigh 
 of unutterable content ; " the very thought that you know the 
 worst, and still love and have promised to help me, makes me 
 strong. Philip, you do not know how I have suffered, and 
 striven to resist." • : • 
 
rim. IP's I.IKE WORK. 120 
 
 '• Vcs 1 do know, Mcta, or can ;ii least guess. 1 Unow just 
 what you are, darling, and all that has hai)pened has not in the 
 least altered niv estimate of your character ; and therefore 1 
 can {.(uess what the woman, whom 1 esteem above every other, 
 must have suffered, before such sorrow could have followed." 
 •• And now, darling," he continued in a cheert'ul tone, " I am 
 troing to prescribe for you ; first, a warm bath ; next, a dainty 
 little bieaktast ; afterwards, a drive with me, during which we 
 will call at Ma.xwell, and tell them that we are about to leave 
 home, as we have at length agreed that a few months' travel 
 is the thing most likely to recruit your health ; that we are 
 going to take Nora with us, etc.. etc. 1 am going in for a 
 holiday, and we are all going to have a good time ; and now I 
 will leave you ; Nora will kindly assist you with your toilet, 
 and I will expect to see you both down-stairs when the break- 
 tast-bell rings."' So saying, and with a long and tender kiss on 
 his wife's lips, Phihp left the room. 
 
 Was this the morning of the night which had just passed? 
 .Surely it was ; and though the battle still remained to be 
 fought, and the victory to be won, with unutterable gratitude 
 and relief, I thanked God, and took courage. 
 
 IT 
 
130 PHIMP'S LIFE WORK. 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 
 " Nora, you do not despise my darling ?" Philip was stoop- 
 ing over a trunk, which stood in the hall, and which he was 
 engaged in cording, preparatory to our journey on the morrow. 
 The words came with a wistful upward glance, as I stood by 
 his side, and the deep brown eyes looked into my own with a 
 ])athetic entreaty in their depths, as he waited for my reply. 
 
 Meta had returned from her drive an hour ago, thoroughly 
 tired out, and was now asleep upstairs ; and Philip and 1 were 
 occupying ourselves urtil dinnertime with preparations for our 
 departure. 
 
 I wanted to say so much in answer to his question, but the 
 rush of emotion his sudden words occasioned (it was the first 
 reference made between us to the events of two evenings prev- 
 ious), kept me silent, and he returned to his work with a sigh 
 
 of bitter disappointment. A pause, and then I stooped 
 
 and whispered, " Philip, there is no feeling in my heart for 
 Meta, but love and pity." 
 
 " I feared it might be only pity, or something worse," he 
 said. " Tell me, Nora, do you really love her as of old ?" 
 
 " I do indeed, Philip ; do not ever doubt it." 
 
 " Then," said Philip, more cheerfully, " we can work to- 
 gether ; and remember, Nora, I, who understand my wife's 
 constitution thoroughly, can comprehend better than you can 
 how all this has come about. And now I have something I 
 want you to do before we leave home." The imperfect light 
 
PHrilPS I.IFR WORH. 1,^1 
 
 from the hall-window c uld not conceal the vivid blush which 
 rose to Philip's cheeks as he continued, ** It is evident that a 
 j)revious order of mine, with reference to the stimulants got 
 into the house during Meta's sickness, has, for some reason or 
 other, been ignored or neglected. I would like you, while 
 Meta and I are absent to-morrow morning at Maxwell, to 
 search every corner of the house thoroughly, and as you think 
 best, or find most convenient, destroy everything of the kind 
 you may meet with. Will you do this ?*' 
 
 " Willingly." 
 
 '* And now, before leaving home, I wish to warn you that 
 our mutual endeavor must be to prevent Meta, if possible, 
 coming in contact with such, even to see or smell them. I do 
 not distrust my wife, but we must make her cure as easy for 
 her as possible. Regard this, dear Nora, as a disease, for dis- 
 ease it is, and treat it accordingly. We must also mutually 
 endeavor to keep her occupied and cheerful, and I believe 
 that these resolu'ions, carefully carried out, with the change of 
 air and scene, and the recovered strength which I have no 
 doubt shall be consequent thereon, will restore her in time to 
 all her wonted health and happiness. Poor Meta I much as 
 we love her, Nora, I do not think that either of us has under- 
 vStood all the anguish she has suffered, from the death of our 
 baby, and the consequent strength of the temptation, which 
 has assailed her in this time of bodily weakness and heart- 
 rending sorrow. Do not blame her too much for what has oc- 
 curred, but blame the false kindness and ignorance which has 
 made such a result possible. Many as young and fair have 
 been led away to their own destruction by this demon, whom 
 men and women will persist in hugging to their bosoms with 
 
132 PHILIPS MFF. WORK. 
 
 infatuated security. I can say this from a little experience, 
 for, Nora, I will tell you the secret of my life : my mother was 
 a confirmed drunkard ; [ never knew her anything else ; but 
 others have told me how fair she was, how loving to husband 
 and children, and how much ;-espected and beloved herself, 
 before this fearful curse laid hold upon her. Clara's, and my 
 own young days, are gloomy days to look back upon ; and the 
 bitterness of their humiliation and grief will follow us to our 
 graves This it was which caused Clara to break her engage- 
 ment to George Hunter, that she might share with my father 
 and myself, the sad home, from which her lovtr would gladly 
 have taken her. I thank God that he has given her back the 
 happiness she was willing to sacrifice so nobly, and I believe 
 he will also bless my new home, and restore the wife of my 
 youth to all her former innocence and purity. Pray for us, 
 dear Nora, and help us by your sympathy and friendship." 
 
 It was the morning following the preceding conversation, 
 and Philip and Meta had gone to pay their farewell visit at 
 Maxwell ; while T, who had bidden them all good-bye yesterday, 
 was busily occupied in the many little etcetras, which can only 
 be attended to on the very eve of departure. I had faithfully 
 performed Philip's behest, had discovered the source of Meta's 
 temptation in a cupboard in the dressing-room, where doubt- 
 less the nurse had stowed the bottles, when Philip had com- 
 manded her to empty out the precious liquid ihey contained, 
 and where she must probably have informed Mrs. Maxwell (to 
 whom she considered herself for the time being responsible) 
 they were to be tound. 
 
 However it had happened, there they were, the preponder- 
 
PHH.IP'S LIFE WORK. 133 
 
 anre of those which were already emptied telling a tale I would 
 fain not have been obliged to read. 
 
 This obnoxious task completed, and every preparation I 
 could think of in readiness for our afternoon journey, I sat 
 down, tired in body and .-spirit, to wait the return of Philip and 
 Meta, and became lost in painful reverie, for even in the 
 micst (A much to make me thankful, there were also sad end 
 painful thoughts, which would not be banished -thoughts of 
 Philip's grief, of Meta's humiliation, and my own separadon, 
 it might be for months, from one in whom 1 did not now hesi- 
 tate to confess to myself, my worldly happiness centered. But, 
 after al), was not this separation the very thing which should 
 htlp me to overcome the feelings w th which he had inspired 
 me, and give me courage to refuse, should it be offered to me, 
 to share the destiny which, but for one thing, I should be but 
 too willing to make my own. Then another " but," with which 
 the reader knows i had struggled oitentimes before, came again 
 to trouble me, and I asked myself, " Can it be that my thoughts 
 are becoming morbid on this subject, and the expediency of 
 this sacrifice, which I dared scarcely in imagination look at, 
 be but the quixotic chmiera of my own brain?" If so, still I 
 could not help it, and the trying events oi the past ten days 
 had been anything but calculated to deaden my sensibilities 
 with regard to what so much concerned my happiness. 
 
 A knock at the door intenupted my thoughts: "If you 
 please. Miss Maitland, Mr. Carstairs is down stairs, and wishes 
 
 to see you." 
 
 Notwithstanding my interrupted meditations, the name 
 awakened no particular emotion ; I knew that Frank Carstairs 
 had been absent on Sunday, at a considerable distance, filling 
 
134 PHH.IP'S LIFE WORK. 
 
 the pulpit of a brother minister, and was not expected home 
 till the end of the week. It could, therefore, only be his 
 father, who had called to bid us good-bye, and with kindly 
 thoughts in my heart for the genial, but sorely afflicted, old 
 man, I descended just as I was, which was in considerable dis- 
 habille, the result of my morning's work, and, opening the 
 drawing room door, stood in the presence of the very person 
 I had convinced myself there was no danger of meeting. 
 
 In spite of my best endeavors I could not regain composure, 
 and as Frank Carstairs advanced, and taking my hand, pressed 
 it in hij own with a tenderer clasp than he had ever before 
 essayed, I blushed and trembled, and replied to his remarks 
 in a wildly random manner, the consciousness of which cover- 
 ed me with increased confusion. 
 
 The fact that this unusual behaviour had brought a ftush of 
 pleasure to the countenance of my companion, and an addi- 
 tional warmth into the tones which were addressing me, did not 
 tend to reassure me. I knew what was coming, and that even 
 now my fate was trembling in the balance. 
 
 " Miss Eleanor, as you can guess, I have come to bid you 
 good bye. I was very much surprised when Philip wrote me 
 of your sudden resolve to leave home, and hastened my return, 
 that I might see you before >ou go. Nora, I cannot let you 
 go away, without your promise to become my wife on your re- 
 turn. You know, as well as I can tell you, I believe, how 
 much I love you ; and also that T would have a^ked you this 
 long ago, if only you would have permitted me. You have 
 avoided me of late, and made me fear ofttimes that my suit 
 must be obnoxious ; but, Nora, tell me it is not so, but rather 
 that the hopes which I have at other times presumptuously 
 
Philip's life work. 135 
 
 indulged, that I am not utterly indifferent to you, have not 
 been without foundation. You do not speak, and I scarcely 
 know whether to fear or hope ; Nora, give me your answer ?" 
 
 Ah, how fain would I have given the reply my heart dictated, 
 but something stronger even than the desire to snatch the hap- 
 piness within my grasp held me back. " Oive me time to 
 consider," at length I faltered ; '* I do not know, I cannot tell,— 
 
 " But, Nora, you leave home this afternoon, and will be gone 
 probably for several months ; why will you not give me my 
 answer now ? Forgive me, but I cannot help but think you 
 have a measure of regard for me ; is it not so?" 
 
 He approached closer, and seemed as if he were about to 
 forestall my reply, by assuming it to be an affirmative. 
 
 Maiden bashfulness aided my but half formed resolution, 
 and I drew back, saying stiffly, " I hope you will forgive me, 
 but I cannot accept the affection you offer; and now, if you 
 will excuse me, I will bid you good-bye, and hope you will be- 
 lieve that my grateful friendship shiiU always be yours, if you 
 care to possess it." 
 
 •* Will you not give me the reason for your derision ; you 
 say you decline my affection, but you have not said you cannot 
 return it. Tell me plainly that you feel for me only as a friend, 
 and can never regard me in a nearer and dearer relationship, 
 and ] will go away, and never molest you again ; or, if you are 
 really uncertain as to your sentiments, I will gladly give you 
 time, and renew my suit, when, it may be, I shall have more 
 chance of success." 
 
 Unable to resist this manly and generous appeal, I faltered 
 in my resolve, and in another moment might have yielded, but 
 was saved by a carriage driving to the door, followed by Phil- 
 
13*^ PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 ij)'s voice in the hall, and his steps and Meta's coming towards 
 the drawin'^-room. 
 
 " Here they are T" I exclaimed hurriedly, holding out my 
 hand, "believe me, Mr/Carstairs, 1 am very grateful for the 
 honor of your regard, but cannot alter the reply 1 have already 
 given." 
 
 With flaming cheeks I passed Philip and Meta, as thev 
 entered, and in emotion, which 1 could not t)ossibly conirol 
 longer, ascended to my room, there to give way to an agony 
 of regret for the happiness ^ had deliberately put from me, and 
 yet knew not how I was to live without. 
 
 How easy I had thought it for Jane, the nurse, to give u]) 
 her dearest desires, because wisdom pointed in another direc- 
 tion ; but ah ! me, how hard I found even the prospect of this 
 bitter self-denial, which I was voluntarily taking wiih me, know 
 ing not but I might thus be ruthlessly squandering the best 
 gift heaven should ever send me, in needless yielding to a 
 fancy, a fear, an instinct, which nevertheless I could not resist. 
 
 But even at first I must put my own grief away, and remem- 
 ber the task which lay before me, viz , to comfort and 
 strengthen those who so much required and "deserved my 
 sisterly sympathy'and assistance. The rest I tried to commit 
 to Him, of whom I had often already sought help and guid- 
 ance with regard to what lay nearest my heart, and whom I 
 could not but believe would cause even this sorrow (self-chos- 
 en though it appeared) one of the " all things " which should 
 *' work together for good." 
 
PHILIP'S LIFE WORK. j^y 
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 Four months of absence, during which Meta had recovered 
 health and cheerfulness, and Philip lost the careworn look 
 which had often made my heart ache with unspoken sympathy, 
 and called forth methinks deeper springs of tenderness in the 
 heart of his wife, than ever she had known in the days when 
 all things went well with her, and no trial had occurred to dim 
 the brightness of an unclouded felicity. 
 
 A sweeter humility than ever characterized Meta's daily in- 
 tercourse with us, knitting our hearts to hers with a purer, 
 sweeter affection than we had known in the past, when we 
 thought we loved her as much as it was possible to love below. 
 We did not forget the sad and painful secret which rested 
 with « we three," and should never be breathed to any other ; 
 but remembered it to give God thanks for the wonderful de- 
 liverance, of which he had permitted Philip and I lo be the 
 instruments. 
 
 For myself, the weeks and months of absence had passed 
 more quickly than I had imagined it possible they should. 
 Occupying myself with the studies, which, in our wanderings 
 from place to place, I did not neglect; in the occasional 
 instructions, during more protracted stays in one locality, which 
 Philip's generosity procured for me; in the self-rewarding, 
 though often non-successful efforts to put selfish regrets away, 
 and care for the happiness of others, I attained a degree of 
 cheerfulneoS and serenity which sometimes surprised me. I 
 
138 PHILIPS LIFE WORK. 
 
 had thought my life was to be blighted, and instead, it seemed 
 as if God were sending me a special blessing, in increased con- 
 fidence in his overruling providence, and content that his love 
 should decide my lot, and his wisdom, greater tha.i I could 
 comprehend, "choose my inheritance for me." 
 
 Occasional letters from Maxwell, and a weekly epistle from 
 Frank Carstairsto Philip, comprised our correspondence. The 
 latter I recognized by the handwriting, but was never permitted 
 to read ; and from this fact alone I should have guessed, had 
 I not for other reasons telt certam from the first, tiiat Philip 
 knew my secret, though no reference had ever been made to 
 it either by Meta or himself 
 
 His constant and increased kindness forbade the thought 
 that there had been anything in my reception of Frank Car- 
 stairs' proposal which he disapproved or condemned ; but 
 sometimes the question would arise, " Does even Philip f^con- 
 sider my sacrifice needless, and would he rather 1 had reward- 
 ed the devotion of a man, whose equal shall never probably 
 confer upon me so great an honor ?" 
 
 Sad news and glad news had mingled in the epistles from 
 home, the former consisting principally of the sudden death of 
 old Mr. Carstairs, little more than a month after our departure ; 
 and the latter, coming to us two months' later, with a breath 
 of hope that, even yet, Percy, his son, might be delivered from 
 the depths of degradation into which he had fallen, and be re- 
 stored to his right mind and truer destiny. 
 
 " Frank, who, by the way, bids fair to become another tem- 
 perance lunatic," wrote Mr. Maxwell, "has taken him in hand, 
 sent him off to an asylum for the inebriate, or some such place, 
 and looks forward to his return — a new man I can't say I 
 
PHI MI'S LIFE WORK. 1 39 
 
 feel so sanguine as the reverend gentleman, for I don't believe 
 all the stuff one hears no\v-a-days about total abstinence. If a 
 man hasn't will enough to resolve to take a little, and only a 
 little, and stick to it, how in the name of all that is wonderful 
 is he to have resolution enough to take none at all." 
 
 Smiling at Mr. Maxwell's well-sounding, though Himsy, logic, 
 we turned our faces homewards, with glad anticipation that not 
 the least joyful experience which should meet us on our return 
 should be the sight of one in whose fate we felt so intense an 
 interest, restored to manliness, self-respect, and sobriety. 
 
 Jn mv heart of hearts 1 marvelled at all this, and wondered 
 what had brought it about ; but it was not till we were once 
 again settled in Philip's home, that I learned the whole story 
 of Percy's restoration, from his own lips. 
 
 " Dear Nora, you do not know what a brother Frank has 
 ])roved himself I shudder when I think how low I had fallen, 
 when he came to me with the proposal, which I sincerely be- 
 lieve, has ])roved my salvation." 
 
 " Percy," he said, " 1 am at last l)ecome a total abstainer ; 
 it is many a day since 1 first began to have doubts on the sub- 
 ject involved in this resolution, but always put ttiem from me 
 as unmanly and absurd. After much heart searching and 
 prayer, I have arrived at my present decision ; and my first 
 effort in the cause, which I now hope to have very near at 
 heart, is, my brother, your recovery from the ciirse of strong 
 drink. His proposal that I should leave home, and, by my 
 own consent, put myself under restraint for a time, you know ; 
 the result you also know ; but the kindness, devotion and sym- 
 pathy with which he has visited, cheered and encouraged me, 
 during the time of fierce trial through which I have passed, 
 
14© PHILIPS MFE WORK. 
 
 you do not and can never know. The fact that I am to-day a 
 sane and sober man, my wife and child restored to me, and a 
 home, which in the meantime his generosity has largely pro- 
 cured tor me (but which debt I do hope to repay in time, for I 
 mean to work, and work hard), is a glory to him, which I in- 
 tend others shall see as well as myself." 
 
 ." Nora, what do you think of this brother of mine ?" he con- 
 cluded with a smile, in contrast to his former gravity, as he 
 turned away ; " what Ao you intend shall be 1 is reward ?" 
 
 • •••'•••••• 
 
 The same evening another, and a dearer friend, came to me 
 and repeated the same question ; and from him I could not 
 withhold a reply. Oh ! the happiness of that night, when with 
 unwavering trust and hallowed joy I pledged my faith to " this 
 brother of mine," and learned in return that my hai)piness was 
 due to a brother, as dear to me as Percy's was to him — Philip 
 Newton. 
 
 " Ah ! how you puzzled me that day, for I saw (how pre- 
 sumptuous I am becoming) that you loved, and yet rejected 
 me ; but Philip's penetration enlightened my perception, and 
 set me thinking as I had never thought before, on what I have 
 often laughingly alluded to as Philip's mission." 
 
 " If this young girl," I thought, " can deliberately reject 
 what I am vain enough, no not vain enough, but blessed 
 enough, to believe is very precious to her, from a firm convic- 
 tion of the inconsistency of my preaching and practice, as 
 Philip has often averred to me is the case, as concerns this 
 tempeiance question, there must be something in it that I have 
 never seen before. Nora, you know the decision I have come 
 to for myself, and you may feel certain that the principles I 
 
PHII.IP'S LIFE WORK. I4» 
 
 hold I will also strive, as in me lies, to advance among my 
 fellow men. We will work together, shall we not ?" 
 
 " Are you not very proud," he inquired later, " to have been 
 the means of creating a temperance reformer ?" 
 
 The words were said with a smile, and with an answering 
 one of mingled baslifulness and assurance, as I called him by 
 his name for the first time, I replied, " No, Frank, not proud 
 but very, very happy." 
 
 Three years have passed since I uttered the words, and they 
 have often been echoed in my heart since then. My husband 
 has more than fulfilled the resolutions which called them forth, 
 and Philip s life work we have unitedly made our own. 
 
 Frank's ministry is successful and beloved, and himself much 
 esteemed for his works' sake, which is not now confined to 
 those who comprise his congregation, or with whom he may 
 come in contact in the ordinary walks of life ; but also extends 
 to the poor and outcast, who never seek his ministry, but whom 
 his ministr) seeks, with the old love for souls which ever char- 
 acterized it, united with a thoughtful care for their temporary 
 welfare, and earnest endeavors to reclaim them from the drunk- 
 enness and debauchery in which they are enveloped. 
 
 And now I shall conclude my tale with a conversation which 
 occurred very recently in a railway carriage, as Frank-— our 
 little daughter— and 1 were setting off for our yearly holidays 
 among the mountains, from which we always returned refresh- 
 ed and strengthened. 
 
 Philip and Meta, accompanied by a little boy and girl, stood 
 on the platform and waved us adieu, as the train moved off. 
 
 "Are you acquainted with that Mrs. Newton?" inquired a 
 
142 Philip's life work. 
 
 lady seated opposite to me, who had been visi.ing \V for 
 
 a week, and tlie previous Sunday attended our church ; and 
 with whom 1 had exchanged civilities on that occasion, and 
 also this morning when we entered the carriage together. 
 
 " She is my dearest friend," I returned, and added with a 
 smile, " but why do you call her that Mrs. Newton ?'' 
 
 " Oh, I heard them talking about her at Mrs. A 's last 
 
 week ; she is a little peculiar, is she noi ?" 
 
 " Certainly, she is peculiarly sweet and loveable," I replied, 
 smiling again. 
 
 " Ves, she does seem that ; in fact she looks quite different 
 from what one would expect. After hearing of her strorg- 
 minded ideas and actions on the temperance (question, 1 was 
 surprised to have this fair and fragile girl pointed out to me. 
 I am told she is almost as great an enthusiast and reformer as 
 her husband, and that is saying a good deal. I must not call 
 her anything worse, or Mr. Carsiairs will presently fa\ or us with 
 a temperance lecture," she added smilingly, as she glanced at 
 Frank, who was reading his newspaper in a farther corner, and 
 only smiled quietly in reply, without looking up. 
 
 " She seems very youthful to be the mother of two children," 
 she began again, apparently much interested in the subject of 
 our conversation, and unwilling to let it drop. 
 
 " The youngest only is her child," I replied ; the other is 
 adopted." 
 
 *' Indeed ; how^ strange for a young wife to commence by 
 adopting a child ; but probably the little fellow was some stray 
 waif whose forlorn condition her benevolence could not resist ; 
 the child of drunkard's very likely." 
 
 " You are partly right ; the boy's father was latterly a con- 
 
PHIMP'S UFE. WORK. I43 
 
 firmed drunkard, and when in a fit of drunken rage, gave his 
 loving and industrious wife her death blow. He is now fulfil- 
 ling a term of ten years' imprisonment with hard labor for 
 manslaughter. The child's mother was, before her marriage, 
 nurse to Mrs. Newton's younger brothers and sister, and was 
 much respected by all the family ard not less by myself." 
 
 " How very shocking," exclaimed my companion ; " but how 
 did such a girl happen to link her fate with a mar like that?" 
 
 " Ah ! he was a good-looking, kind-hearted fellow, superior 
 in many respects to his equals in position ; and at the time 
 Jane married l»im only got occasionally drunk Poor jane 
 was willing to undertake his reformation after marriage, but 
 her sad fate has proved how futile were her endeavors." 
 
 ♦' What if the father, when released from prison, should claim 
 his child ? Would Mrs. Newton be willing then, after having 
 become attached to the boy, to give him up?" 
 
 " I believe she would willingly do so, however painful it 
 might be, were she convinced of the father's reformation, and 
 on condition that he should provide ?. comfortable home for 
 his child ; but these th'ngs are in the future, and Meta, I mean 
 Mrs. Newton, has learned the secret of committing each day's 
 affairs to God, contenting herself with the fulfillment of what 
 appears to be present duty and privilege, leaving after results 
 with Him, whose guidance she seeks in all her concerns. 
 Those who know Mrs. Newton best, can best understand the 
 purity of her life* and .motives " .*••.,.. 
 
 "She is not ne^ilj'" feci ptetty is-hp^skiiri, Mrs. Carstairs," 
 
 was the lady's niext rather .irrelevant remark ; ^''bCifthen I have 
 
 been told she i§'niipr< amiafble,.a5Vcl'.miich.i3lBtt6r*rik^ci ; is it not 
 
 . . i ' > , . . . . • *, , • 
 
 so ? 
 
144 Philip's life work. 
 
 I knew well that my husband, though apparently absorbed 
 by his paper, had been a listener to every word of the preced- 
 ing conversation, but was surprised when he forestalled my 
 reply to this question, by himself addressing our fellow-traveller. 
 
 Fearing, i believe, that I, who sometimes spoke hastily, and 
 had not always my " conversation with grace, seasoned with 
 salt," should thoughtlessly utter a comparison between the 
 sisters, too unfavorable to the first-mentioned, he said cjuietly, 
 " Mrs. Carstairs will never, I suppose, become quite as amiable 
 
 a character as her younger sister ; but, my dear Mrs. B , 
 
 she is like the rest ot us, undergoing 'the discipline of life,' 
 and is daily improving under its sometimes harsh, but salutary 
 influence ; and bids fair in time to emulate, if not ecjual, the 
 virtues, which, with her sister are more inherent, but with her 
 may, by the grace of God, be gradually acquired." 
 
 The End. 
 
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