THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 I '.. ,.ii
 
 ANNA LEE: 
 
 THE MAIDEN THE WIFE THE MOTHER. 
 
 T. S. AETHUE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF TRUE RICHES ; OR, WEALTH WITHOUT WINGS,' 
 BTC. ETC. 
 
 1 Maid, wife, and mother ; each succeeding tie 
 That Love reveals from out his hidden stores. 
 Bringing to light fresh springs, that joyously 
 Well forth with richest fulness, as each pours 
 Its wealth of treasures, found alone complete 
 Where love out-pours them, at a mother's feet." 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER RO\V 
 EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 
 
 1876.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 
 
 Cbap. P*g< 
 
 I. Duty before Pleasure, ... ... ... ... ... 9 
 
 II. Gardiner's True Character exhibited, ... ... ... 21 
 
 III. The Beauty and Power of Goodness, ... ... ... 24 
 
 IV. True Maiden Delicacy and its Opposite contrasted, ... ... 27 
 
 V. The Maiden's First Strong Trial, ... ... ... 31 
 
 VI. Tried and Proved, ... ... ... ... ... 38 
 
 VII. A Disappointment, ... ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 VIII. A Wise Selection of Friends, ... ... ... ... 49 
 
 IX. Catching Husbands, ... ... ... ... ... 61 
 
 X. A New Lover, ... ... ... ... ... 55 
 
 XI. An Impression made, ... ... ... ... ... 60 
 
 XII. Wooed and Won, ... ... ... ... ... 63 
 
 XIII. Conclusion, ... ... ... ... ... ... 69 
 
 THE WIPE. 
 
 I. An Effort to begin right A Wise Decision, ... ... 73 
 
 II. A Thoughtless Woman of the World Florence Armitage, ... 81 
 
 III. A Slight Misunderstanding, ... ... ... ... 91 
 
 IV. All Right Again, ... ... ... ... ... 100 
 
 V. House Furnishing, ... "... ... ... ... 107 
 
 VI. A Prudent Course the Wisest, ' ... ... ... ... 113 
 
 VII. A Foolish Wife, ... ... ... ... ... 118 
 
 VIII. A Sad Picture of Domestic Life, ... ... ... 126 
 
 IX. False Friends, ... ... ... ... ... 134 
 
 X. Marriage changes Social Relations, ... ... ... 140 
 
 XL Mrs. Riston's House-warming, ... ... ... ... 144 
 
 XII. How it affected her Husband's Credit, ... ... ... 152 
 
 XIII. Taking a Lower Place in Society, ... ... ... 162 
 
 XIV. True Love tried and proved, ... ... ... ... 166 
 
 XV. A Change, ... ... ... ... ... ... 17 
 
 XVI. Conclusion ., .181 

 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 Chap. IX- 
 
 I. Introduction, ... ... ... ... ... 185 
 
 II. Beginning Right, ... ... ... ... 192 
 
 III. Means and Ends, ... ... ... ... ... 196 
 
 IV. The Secret of Governing Children, ... .. ... 198 
 
 V. A Mother's Influence, ... ... ... ... ... 201 
 
 VI. Correcting* Fault, ... ... ... ... ... 216 
 
 VII. Strong Contrast. ... ... ... ... 223 
 
 VIM. More Contrasts, ... ... ... 231 
 
 IX Fruit, ... ... ... ... ... ... -'3H 
 
 X. An Agreeable Surprise, ... ... ... ... 247 
 
 XI. Going into Company, ... ... ... ... ... 254 
 
 XII. A Painful Bereavement, ... ... ... V61 
 
 XIII. An Important Era in Life, ... ... ... ... 270 
 
 XIV. Happy Consummations, ... ... ... ... 273 
 
 XV. Conclusion, ... ... ... ... 277
 
 ANNA LEE: 
 
 THE MAIDEN-THE WIFE THE MOTHER. 
 
 atben. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE. 
 
 NNA, dear," said Mrs. Lee in a quiet tone 
 to her eldest daughter, a young maiden 
 over whose head the blossoms of only 
 eighteen happy summers had fallen, " it 
 is time you were beginning to dress for the party at 
 Mrs. Leslie's." 
 
 Anna Lee sat sewing near a window, and was bend 
 ing closer towards the light, as it was beginning 
 gradually to withdraw before the shadows of an 
 autumn evening. She let the work fall into her lap, 
 and mused for a short time. Then turning her soft 
 blue eyes upon her mother, she said,
 
 10 ANNA I. 
 
 " I believe I won't go this evening." 
 
 " Why not, Anna ? You have made every prepara 
 tion. What has caused you to change your mind?" 
 
 The maiden sat again silent for nearly a minute, 
 evidently debating whether she should go out or not. 
 Company had been invited at the house of an acquain 
 tance, where she had fully intended to spend the 
 evening. 
 
 " I don't think I ought to go," she replied, a little 
 evasively. 
 
 "Why, dear?" 
 
 " I think I shall be happier at home, mother." 
 
 " But we should not always consult our own feelings. 
 Think whether your absence will not take from the 
 pleasure of some of Mrs. Leslie's guests. Some of 
 your young friends will miss you. I think I would 
 go, Anna; if not for my own sake, for the sake of 
 <.tliers." 
 
 " And may I not stay at home for the same reason ? " 
 said Anna, going quickly to the side of her mother, 
 who sat in a large chair, her face pale and wearing an 
 expression of languor. She drew her arm around her 
 mother's neck as she spoke. 
 
 " You may, if such a reason can keep you at home," 
 replied Mrs. Lee. 
 
 " I think it does require me to stay at home. You 
 are not so well to-day, and I cannot bear to have you 
 worried with giving the children their suppers and
 
 THE MAIDEN. 11 
 
 putting them to bed. John and Charlie are rude to 
 Margaret, and never will let her do anything for them 
 without a disturbance. Your head has ached dread 
 fully, and has only been easy for the last hour. If 
 you should have to see after the children, the pain 
 will come back, and then you will get no rest all night." 
 
 Mrs. Lee did not immediately reply. Her feelings 
 were touched at the affectionate, self-sacrificing spirit 
 of her child. But she could not bear the thought of 
 having her forego the enjoyment of a social evening on 
 her account. 
 
 " I think, Anna," she at length said, " that I am a 
 great deal better, and that it will not hurt me in the 
 least to see after the children. So don't think anything 
 more about me, but go and get yourself ready at once." 
 
 Anna stood in an attitude and with an expression of 
 irresolution upon her countenance. 
 
 " Go, dear," urged the mother ; " I wish you to do 
 so." 
 
 " I'll go and see after the children first." 
 
 And Anna passed with light steps from the room. 
 
 " Dear, good girl ! " murmured the mother, sinking 
 languidly back in her chair, as her daughter vanished 
 from her sight. 
 
 Anna went to the dining-room, where four children 
 were romping and making a loud noise some singing 
 at the top of their voices, and others pounding on the 
 floor, and dragging about the chairs. Among them
 
 12 Aff\A LEE, 
 
 was a little girl named Mary, four years old, who was 
 dancing and singing as loud as the rest. As Anna 
 came in, she became quiet, drew up to her side, and 
 took fast hold of her hand. 
 
 "John," said Anna, .speaking in a mild, yet firm 
 voice, to the eldest boy, who was hammering on the 
 floor, " mother is not well this evening. Your noise 
 will make her head ache." 
 
 John looked up at his sister a moment, but did not 
 heed her words. He continued to make as much noise 
 as before. 
 
 "I've a beautiful story to tell you all," the elder 
 sister now said. 
 
 This had the effect she desired. John threw down 
 his hammer, Charlie let go the chair he was dragging 
 around the room, and all of them gathered quietly 
 around their sister, and looked up eagerly into her 
 face. 
 
 Anna told them a touching little story about some 
 children whose mother took sick and died, and left 
 them to be taken care of by strangers, who were not 
 kind to them as their own dear mother had been. 
 Tears were in the eyes of two of the children; but 
 John, though interested, seemed but little affected by 
 the narrative. 
 
 " Tell us another story, sister," said Mary. 
 
 " Yes, sister, do," urged the other children. 
 
 And Anna told them another story.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 13 
 
 " Now, another." 
 
 " I've told you two good stories. And now I must 
 get you all your suppers." 
 
 " You're not going to get my supper," said John, in 
 an ill-natured tone. " I shall eat with father and 
 mother." 
 
 " And so shah 1 I," responded Charlie. 
 
 " Oh, no," mildly returned Anna. " Mother has 
 been sick to-day; so you must all eat your suppers 
 together, and go quietly to bed. Your noise disturbs 
 her." 
 
 " To bed, indeed ! Ho ! ho ! I'm not going to bed 
 these two hours yet." 
 
 " yes, John, you are. If mother is sick, and 
 wants you to go to bed early, I am sure you will 
 
 go-" 
 
 " I'm going to sit up. If mother is sick, my sitting 
 up won't hurt her. I've got all my lessons to 
 learn." 
 
 " You can study them in the morning just as well, 
 and a great deal better. So, John, be a good boy, and 
 eat your supper with the other children." 
 
 " No, I won't so there now, Miss ! And you need 
 not say another word about it." 
 
 Anna sighed as she turned away from her brother, 
 whose natural disposition was showing its inherent evil 
 tendencies so early, and began to prepare the children's 
 supper. When it was ready, she lifted the two younger
 
 14 ANNA LEE, 
 
 children, Jane and Mary, into their places, and then 
 turning to Charlie, she stooped over him, and whispered 
 something in his ear. 
 
 The boy instantly took his place at the table, with a 
 smile upon his face. But John was not to be moved. 
 He resolutely persisted in refusing to eat his supper 
 then. 
 
 After Anna had helped all the little ones at the table, 
 she went to where John was sitting in a chair, in a 
 sulky mood; and taking a seat beside him, said, in a 
 calm, mild voice, 
 
 " John, mother has not been well all day. She has 
 suffered very much with headache, and is only now a 
 little better. I want to go out this evening, but can't 
 begin to get ready until I have given you all your 
 suppers, and seen you to bed. Won't you then, for 
 my sake, eat with the other children now, and then go 
 to bed like a good boy ? " 
 
 " No, I will not! " This was said very ill-naturedly. 
 
 " O yes, John, I am sure you will." 
 
 " But I tell you I won't I'm not going off to bed 
 just because you wish me to do so. Go, if you will, 
 but don't trouble yourself about me. I'll eat my sup 
 per when father comes home." 
 
 Anna was grieved, as she often before had Y>ei-n. at 
 John's unkindness and self-will And she even felt a 
 rising emotion of anger; but this she quickly sup 
 pressed. Turning from him, she waited upon her
 
 THE MAIDEN. 15 
 
 brother and sisters who were at the table, and when 
 they were done, took them up into their chamber, 
 and laid them all snugly in their beds ; not, however, 
 before telling them several stories, and hearing them 
 say in turn a little prayer. Kissing each sweet face, 
 she took the lamp, and descended to the dining-room. 
 It was nearly an hour since she left her mother in her 
 own chamber. She found John still fixed in his re 
 solution to sit up, as he was in the habit of doing. 
 After one or two efforts to dissuade him from his pur 
 pose, she left him alone, and went into her mother's 
 room. It was still an hour before Mr. Lee was ex 
 pected home. 
 
 " Why, Anna, dear, why are you not getting ready 
 to go to Mrs. Leslie's ? " 
 
 " I've just got the children, all but John, off to bed. 
 He wants to sit up and eat with you and father." 
 
 " Well, let him. He can go to bed himself when he 
 gets sleepy. So now, make haste and put on your 
 things." 
 
 Anna went out, and ascended to her own chamber ; 
 but she was little inclined to do as her mother had 
 urged her. The effort she had made to induce John 
 to do as she wished him, and his unkind return, had 
 depressed her spirits, and caused her to feel disinclined 
 to go into company. But this she conquered in a 
 little while, and recollecting that she was to be called 
 for at seven, she commenced making the necessary pre-
 
 16 ANNA LEE. 
 
 parations. While engaged in laying out and arranging 
 the clothes she intended wearing, loud and angry words 
 were heard by her from the kitchen, between John 
 and the cook. Descending quickly, in order to check 
 the disturbance before it should reach the ears of her 
 mother, she found that the perverse boy had been en 
 deavouring to interfere with some of the cook's opera 
 tions. That individual justly opposed him, and this 
 produced a contention between them, the result of 
 which was a blow over John's bead with the tongs, 
 well laid on, just at the moment of Anna's entrance. 
 John was seizing the shovel, when his sister caught 
 his arm. Feeling that he had been in the wrong, and 
 checked by Anna's presence, he let the weapon fall, 
 though not without an angrily uttered threat of what 
 he would do to the cook. 
 
 Anna now decided that she would not go out If 
 her mother had been well, she would easily have 
 managed John. But Anna knew, from the excited 
 state of her nerves, that if she were compelled to leave 
 her room to check such a scene, it would bring back 
 upon her the dreadful headache and sick stomach from 
 which she had all day been suffering. 
 
 " It will be wrong for me to leave her, and I will 
 not do so," she said to herself, resolutely. 
 
 The person who was to call for Anna, and accompany 
 her to the party, was a young man named Herbert 
 Gardiner. The fair young face and sweet temper of
 
 THE MAIDEN. 17 
 
 Anna Lee had won upon his feelings; and, in con 
 sequence, he had thrown himself into her company 
 whenever he could do so. As for Anna, all uncon- 
 fessed to herself, her heart had begun to feel an interest 
 in the young man. The fact that he was to call for 
 her was a strong inducement ; but a sense of duty was 
 a much stronger feeling, and she suffered it, as has 
 been seen, to prevail. 
 
 Such a state of mind, so far in advance of most 
 young persons, was not a mere natural growth was 
 not the regular maturity of germs of good, hereditarily 
 derived it was the result of sound maternal precepts, 
 and a most earnest care that the tender mind of her 
 child, in its development, should be moulded into a 
 right form. Early had Mrs. Lee taught her first-born 
 the highest and best lesson a human being can learn 
 to imitate God in seeking to bless others. She had 
 taught her to deny herself, and to study to do good in 
 all the relations of life. It is true that the mother had 
 a sweet temper to mould; and a natural ground of 
 good from which quickly sprung into existence the 
 seed she scattered with a liberal hand. Still Anna had 
 her own trials her own struggles against her natural 
 evils, that would lift their deformed heads often 
 and suddenly, causing her exquisite pain of mind. 
 But such temptations, and the consequent disturbed 
 state, were good for her. They made her humbly con 
 scious, that in herself she was weakness and evil, and 
 
 (48) 2
 
 18 A.\\VA LEE, 
 
 that only by resisting evil daily and hourly could she 
 rise into true moral strength and beauty. And it was 
 because she thus, in conscious weakness, strove again t 
 all that was not pure, and good, and innocent in her 
 self, that she grew in grace day by day. 
 
 After fully deciding in her own mind that it was 
 her duty to remain at home with her mother, who was 
 not in a state to see after any of the children, should 
 they awake and cry, as was often the case, and need 
 attention, she went into her chamber and said, 
 
 " I believe, mother, I will remain at home this even 
 ing. I shall not feel happy if I go out, and my un- 
 happiness will arise from a consciousness of not having 
 done right Do not urge me, for I believe to go would 
 be wrong." 
 
 "If you feel so, Anna, I will not say one word. 
 Though I cannot but be grieved to think that you are 
 deprived of the pleasure you would have had at Mrs. 
 Leslie's." 
 
 "Not more than I shall gain at home, mother. 
 Young as I am, I have many times proved the truth 
 of what I have often heard you say that the highest 
 pleasure we ever have, is that inward peace which we 
 all feel when we have denied ourselves some promised 
 gratification for the sake of doing good to others." 
 
 The mother's eyes filled with tears as she turned 
 them upon her daughter. She looked, but did not 
 peak the pleasure she felt
 
 THE MAIDEN. 19 
 
 A domestic came in at the moment, and said that a 
 gentleman had called for Anna. 
 
 " Mr. Gardiner, I suppose," Anna said, as she arose 
 and left the room. 
 
 It was Mr. Gardiner, whom she found in the parlour. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Lee ! " he said, in a slightly 
 disappointed tone, as Anna came in. " Are you not 
 going to Mrs. Leslie's 1 " 
 
 " No ; she replied ; " I am sorry that you have been 
 at the trouble to call for me. Mother has been quite 
 unwell all day, and I do not think I ought to leave 
 her." 
 
 "So you do not intend going?" This was spoken 
 in a still more disappointed voice. 
 
 " No, I cannot go to-night. It would be wrong for 
 me to leave my mother, and I try never to do anything 
 that I clearly see to be wrong." 
 
 But this noble-minded declaration did not awaken 
 in the breast of Gardiner a responsive admiration. He 
 was disappointed, and he could not conceal the feeling. 
 
 After sitting for about ten minutes, the young man 
 went away. The interview was not pleasant to either 
 of them. To stay at home from a party just because 
 her mother was not very well, he considered rather 
 a stretch of filial duty ; and she, perceiving the 
 true character of his thoughts, shrunk from him in 
 stinctively. 
 
 From that time Anna received his attentions with
 
 20 A NX A LEE, 
 
 embarrassment She did not reason much about it 
 She only felt repulsed. And that all this was right 
 will be seen in the next chapter. 
 
 Shortly after Gardiner left, Mr. Lee came home. 
 Anna was still sitting in the parlour, in a musing at 
 titude. 
 
 " Why, how is this, Anna ? I thought you were 
 going to Mrs. Leslie's to-night," he said with kind in 
 terest, sitting down by her side. 
 
 " And so I was. But, you know, mother has had a 
 sick headache all day." 
 
 " Yes. How ia she to-night ?" 
 
 " She's a great deal better." 
 
 "Then, why couldn't you go?" 
 
 " Because the children are very apt to get fretful and 
 troublesome, and sometimes won't let any one see them 
 to bed but mother or me. So I thought it best to give 
 them their suppers first, and get them quietly .put 
 away for the night. After that was done, I began to 
 fear that they might wake up, as is often the case, and 
 require attention ; and I knew if mother went to see to 
 them, her headache would return. She needs quiet 
 and rest These will be everything to her. If I had 
 gone out, and anything had occurred on account of my 
 absence, to bring back her illness, I should have felt 
 very unhappy indeed." 
 
 " You have done right, my dear," said Mr. Lee kiss 
 ing affectionately the fair cheek of his daughter. " I
 
 THE MAIDEN. 21 
 
 am sorry that you have been deprived of the enjoyment 
 you would have had at Mrs. Leslie's ; but it is all for 
 the best. Even in the least things of our life, as I 
 have often before told you, there is a Providence." 
 
 "I believe it, father. Already it has occurred to 
 me, that is for some good that I have been prevented 
 from going this evening." 
 
 " It doubtless is, my child," returned Mr. Lee. 
 " Good always springs from a denial of ourselves in 
 order to benefit others. Ever think thus ever act 
 thus and ministering angels will draw near to you, 
 and guard you from evil." 
 
 Mr. Lee's voice trembled slightly as he said this. 
 
 " But I must go up and see your mother," he added; 
 and turning from Anna, he ascended to Mrs. Lee's 
 chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 GARDINER'S TRUE CHARACTER EXHIBITED. 
 
 HERBERT GAUDINER was the son of a retired merchant, 
 who had gained in trade a very large property. Her 
 bert, his only child, had received all the advantages of 
 education that wealth can give ; although it cannot be 
 said that he had improved those advantages in any 
 remarkable degree. He was bright enough, as regards 
 intellect; but a high motive for study was wanting.
 
 22 AXXA 
 
 His father's wealth and social standing left him but 
 little to strive for. 
 
 Old Mr. Gardiner had started in life without friends 
 or capital, and had, by honest industry and steady 
 perseverance, worked his way up, until he stood side 
 by side with the most successful. He had a ju>t 
 estimate of the virtues by which he had risen in society, 
 and often strove to impress his son with a deep rcpinl 
 for them. But his precepts did not take very deep 
 root in the ground of the young man's mind. 
 
 As soon as he came home from college, he was placed 
 in a mercantile house. He did not, however, take 
 much interest in the business, although, more to meet 
 the requirements of his father than anything else, IK- 
 attended to his duty sedulously enough to pn-vi-nt his 
 employers from becoming so much dissatisfied with 
 iiini as to dismiss him. After he became of age, his 
 father proposed that he should go into business with 
 some one who had less capital, but a more thorough 
 knowledge of trade than he possessed. Such a person 
 was not hard to find. A young man, whose only 
 capital was business capacity, honesty, and energy of 
 character, soon presented himself. With him a 
 co-partnership waa formed, and a capital of five 
 thousand pounds was placed in the hands of the new 
 firm. 
 
 Satisfied with the part he had done or, the part 
 that had been done for him, namely, furnishing capital
 
 THE MAIDEN. 23 
 
 Gardiner did not see that there were very strong 
 claims on him for personal application. He attended 
 at the office daily, and took a certain part in the 
 general operations that were going on, but did not 
 burden his mind with any details, nor trouble himself 
 with any care as to the ultimate result of their opera 
 tions. He had confidence in his partner, who, glad to 
 get capital to work with, prosecuted the business with 
 vigour and success, for mutual benefit. As for Gardiner, 
 he took his pleasure in his own way. His most 
 favourite companions were not of the safest kind, nor 
 was his own moral character likely to be elevated by 
 associating with them. 
 
 He was about twenty-three years of age when he 
 first met Anna Lee, and became charmed with her 
 beauty. His marked attentions, and the evident 
 pleasure he felt in her society, did not escape the 
 notice of Anna, nor fail to make an impression upon 
 her. And more than this, she was not insensible to 
 the fact, that he moved in a higher circle than any to 
 which her position in society would admit her. He 
 was the son of a retired merchant of great wealth ; she 
 the daughter of a man in moderate circumstances, who 
 had to struggle hard to support and educate a large 
 family. It was not long before the thought of Herbert 
 would quicken her pulse, and the sight of him make 
 the blood warmer on her cheek. 
 
 His true character, however, was little known to her,
 
 S4 A.\\VA LEE, 
 
 and could she have seen him amid the favourite sharers 
 of his coarse pleasures, and the dissipation in which 
 many of his evenings were spent, she would have 
 dismissed him at once and for ever from her mind. 
 It suited Ids present purpose, however, to assume a 
 virtuous character. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BEAUTY AND POWER OF GOODNESS. 
 
 ANNA remained sitting in a slightly pensive mood, in 
 the parlour below, after her father left her. The manner 
 of Gardiner had disturbed her feelings. It opened up 
 to her eyes a new view of his character. It presented 
 him to her from a new point of vision. She had 
 denied herself a desired pleasure for the sake of a sick 
 parent, and he had not approved the act nay, had 
 clearly disapproved it. 
 
 " Have I done right or wrong ? " she asked herself. 
 
 Then reviewing her conduct, and weighing all the 
 reasons that had decided her course of action, she mur 
 mured, "Right," and rose to her feet The tea-bell 
 rang at the moment, and she ascended to the dining- 
 room, to meet her father and mother with a cheerful, 
 happy face. 
 
 " I'll pour out the tea," she said, as her mother came 
 in leaning upon her father's arm. "Take you my place,"
 
 THE MAIDEN. 25 
 
 " No, dear. I can wait on the table well enough," 
 returned Mrs. Lee. 
 
 " But I can do it better. So sit down in my place." 
 
 " Yes, dear, you had better," said Mr. Lee. " Even 
 the slight exertion of pouring out the tea may disturb 
 your nervous system too much, and bring back that 
 dreadful pain in your head. Let Anna wait on the 
 table this evening." 
 
 Mrs. Lee objected no further, and Anna did the 
 honours of the table. 
 
 John was very quiet, and had a thoughtful look. 
 The fact was, remembering that Anna had urged him 
 to eat his supper and go to bed when the other children 
 did, because she wished to go out, and seeing that, 
 although called for, she had yet remained at home, he 
 felt that he had been unkind to one who was always 
 kind to him, and who, on account of his perverseness 
 and ill-nature, had been deprived of an expected enjoy 
 ment. Had Anna permitted herself to get angry with 
 John, and been led to speak to him from such irritation, 
 he would have remained indifferent. But the gentle 
 forbearance and self-denial of his elder sister touched 
 the boy, and awakened his better feelings. After tea 
 he called her aside, and told her he wanted to go to 
 bed, and that he was sorry he had not done as she 
 wished him to do before. She forgave him with a 
 kiss, when the boy threw his arms round her neck and 
 burst into tears.
 
 26 ANNA LEE, 
 
 " You are so good, and I am so bad," he sobbed, 
 " sister, I wish I could be so good as you arc." 
 
 With kind words Anna soothed her brother's mind, 
 and urged him, in future, to try and love all around 
 him, and to be obedient to the wishes of those who 
 sought to do him good. He promised never to dis 
 regard what she should say to him, and to strive to 
 conquer his bad temper. 
 
 She kissed the penitent boy again, and he went up 
 to his chamber, with subdued feelings, but strong 
 resolutions, to do right in future. 
 
 "What a dear good girl our Anna is," said Mr. 
 Lee, after Anna, on leaving the tea-table, had been 
 drawn out of the room by John. 
 
 " She is a blessing to our house," returned Mrs. Lee, 
 earnestly. " What should I do without her 1 For my 
 sake, she has denied herself the pleasure of going to 
 Mrs. Leslie's to-night, although she had made every 
 preparation, and had promised herself, I know, much 
 enjoyment. I urged her not to think of me ; but she 
 was firm, and presented her reasons in such a way, 
 that I could not strongly oppose her." 
 
 " She has acted from a sense of right, and I am glad 
 that she has done so." 
 
 " I cannot but say the same, although my feelings have 
 pled strongly for her ; and I have felt sad to think that 
 my indisposition was the cause of her disappointment." 
 
 "To me," returned the husband and father, "thLb
 
 THE MAIDEN. 27 
 
 little incident, trifling as it may seem, has given a 
 deeper satisfaction than anything that has occurred for 
 a long time. I see in it the true safe-guard for our 
 child, in this the most critical period of her life. If a 
 self-denying preference of duty to pleasure supply the 
 mainspring of her actions through life, she will be 
 safer against the world's alluring snares, than by any 
 care which we can bestow. In this I trust we may 
 trace the evidences of that true principle of vital 
 Christianity, which can alone supply a never-failing 
 defence against the temptations that beset us here." 
 
 When Anna re-entered the room, and their eyes 
 rested upon her face, it was with warmer affections, 
 mingled with something of pride. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TRUE MAIDEN DELICACY AND ITS OPPOSITE 
 CONTRASTED. 
 
 " WHAT in the world kept you away from Mrs. Leslie's ? " 
 said a young friend and companion, about her own age, 
 who called in to see Anna Lee on the next day. Her 
 name was Florence Armitage. "We had a most 
 delightful time. Everybody was asking for you, and 
 everybody was disappointed at your absence. I was 
 afraid you were sick, and have called in to see. What 
 did keep you away 1 "
 
 28 ANNA /.. 
 
 M Mother was not well, and I did not think it right 
 to go out and leave her." 
 
 " Was she very ill ? " 
 
 " She had one of her violent attacks of headache, and 
 was in bed nearly all day." 
 
 " I'm sorry. But did that keep you at home 1 " 
 
 Yes. The children were to look after, and I knew 
 if I were out of the way, and mother not able to attend 
 to them, that there would be trouble. Something, 1 
 was afraid, might occur to disturb her mind, and bring 
 back the headache ; and then she would have been sick 
 all night. I would rather have missed a dozen parties 
 than that should have happened." 
 
 Florence did not seem altogether satisfied that the 
 mere fact of her mother's not being well was a sufficient 
 reason why Anna should forego the pleasures of com 
 pany. But she did not say this. She only remained 
 silent for a moment or two, and then began to speak 
 of the delightful time they had had. 
 
 " I do not know when I have spent a more pleasant 
 evening," she said. " We missed you very much. 
 And that is not all Your absence deprived us of the 
 company of another, whose presence all would have 
 welcomed. Or, at least, it was the opinion of some of 
 us that such was the case. Mr. Gardiner was not 
 there." And as Florence said this she looked at Anna 
 with an arch smile. 
 
 The latter could not prevent a soft blush from steal-
 
 THE MAIDEN. 29 
 
 Ing over her face, and her eyes were again cast upon 
 the floor. Lifting them, however, after a thoughtful 
 pause, she said to her friend in a serious voice, 
 " Are you sure Mr. Gardiner was not there ? " 
 " He came, it is true ; but only stayed a little while. 
 It was almost as good as if he had not been there at all." 
 "But you ought not to say my absence kept him 
 away." 
 
 "No. Only that your absence caused him to go 
 away ; " replied her friend, smiling. 
 
 "You have no right to draw such an inference, 
 Florence. I would much rather it should not be done. 
 I am yet too young to have my name associated with 
 that of any young man." 
 
 " How old are you, pray ? Perhaps I have mistaken 
 your age. Are you fifteen yet 1 " continued Florence, 
 in the same sportive mood. " I know you like young 
 Gardiner," she continued. "You can't help it. And 
 all I blame you for is, that you did not go to Mrs. 
 Leslie's with him." 
 
 " And neglect a sick mother 1 " 
 " It was not any serious matter, that you know well. 
 Only a sick headache. You could .have gone well 
 enough." 
 
 " Not with a clear conscience, Florence, and without 
 that, I could not have been happy anywhere. External 
 circumstances are nothing in the scale of happiness, if 
 all be not right within. I can say from my heart, that
 
 30 AFNA L/-I-, 
 
 I enjoyed myself far more at home than I could 
 possibly have done at Mrs. Leslie's, no mutter wlm 
 was or was not there." 
 
 "You do not deny, then, that you like young 
 Gardiner 1 " 
 
 " I said nothing in regard to him. Why should I 
 deny or affirm on the subject ? I do not know any 
 thing about him. I have only seen him a few times 
 in company; and I would be a weak one, indeed, 
 either to think or wish myself beloved by a man who 
 is almost a total stranger." 
 
 " He is no stranger. Does not every one in the city 
 know his family and standing ? " 
 
 " But what do you or I know about him ? of his 
 feelings, character, or principles ? " 
 
 " You are a strange girl to talk, Anna." 
 
 " I think not. Is it not of importance to know 
 something of the governing principles of the 111:111 
 whose attentions are received 1 who is admitted, in a 
 character so marked and peculiar, to your intimacy ? " 
 
 " Certainly. But, then, it is easy enough for any one 
 to see, at a glance, what a young man is. I can do so. 
 There is young Hartley, for example, whom we both 
 know. It is no hard matter to see what he is." 
 
 M How do you estimate him ? " 
 
 " As a very narrow -minded person. I do not like 
 him at all." 
 
 " Why ? "
 
 THE MAIDEN. 31 
 
 " I have just said ; because he is narrow-minded." 
 " That is, you think so. Now, I differ in opinion, 
 judging from the few opportunities I have had of 
 observing him. I should call him a young man of 
 strong good sense, and one who could never stoop to a 
 mean action." 
 
 " You do not know him as well as I do." 
 " Perhaps not. As before intimated, I do not think 
 much about the characters of young men." 
 
 "It seems you have thought about Hartley's 
 character." 
 
 "My opinion of him is only one of those first 
 impressions which are usually received by us all. I 
 have met him some three or four times ; and in every 
 conversation I have had with him, I have been pleased 
 to remark a strong regard for truth and honour, and a 
 generous feeling towards every one, except those who 
 deliberately do wrong." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE MAIDEN'S FIRST STRONG TRIAL. 
 
 SINCE last meeting with Gardiner, Anna had examined 
 her own heart closely ; she had thought much about 
 him, and endeavoured to analyze his character as 
 accurately as possible. The result was a distinct 
 conviction, that, although she could not but feel an
 
 32 
 
 ANNA LEE, 
 
 interest in him, he was not one whose moral feelings 
 harmonized with her own. The glimpse she had 
 obtained of his character, when she told him she must 
 remain at home on account of her mother's illness, was 
 enough to cause her to shrink from him. 
 
 In meeting him again, she could not but manifest 
 the reserve and coldness she felt This disturbed him ; 
 and his disturbed feelings reacted on hers, and thus 
 drove them further asunder. When they parted that 
 night both felt unhappy. 
 
 From this time, Gardiner, who was piqued at Anna's 
 coldness, was resolved to win her. The very indiffer 
 ence she manifested only confirmed his purpose. 
 
 He called frequently on Mr. Lee, and managed often 
 to throw himself into his company in a business way. 
 In every interview, Gardiner was exceedingly polite 
 and deferential; the effect of which on the father's 
 mind could hardly fail to be favourable. 
 
 As for Anna, the oftener she met with the young man 
 the stronger became her dislike to him. She could 
 not tell why; but her heart shrunk from him more 
 and more daily. 
 
 One evening she was sitting at her piano, and 
 playing over some favourite piece of music, when a 
 domestic came in, and said that her mother, who was 
 alone in her room, wished to see her. 
 Anna went up, as desired. 
 " Sit down, dear, I have something I wish to say to you."
 
 TIIE MAIDEN. 33 
 
 The manner in which Mrs. Lee spoke caused the 
 heart of Anna to sink heavily. There was something 
 strange and ominous in it. She dropped into a chair 
 by her mother's side, and looked earnestly in her face. 
 Something half whispered to her the nature of what 
 she was to hear. 
 
 " Your father, Anna, who went out a little while ago, 
 wishes me to say to you," began the mother, in a voice 
 that was neither clear nor composed, "that Mr 
 Herbert Gardiner has asked of him the privilege of 
 claiming, with your consent, your hand in marriage." 
 
 The maiden rose quickly to her feet, and stood with 
 a quivering lip before her mother. 
 
 "You have no doubt expected as much, Anna," 
 added Mrs. Lee, after a pause. "Mr. Gardiner has 
 visited you frequently of late." 
 
 Anna tried hard to speak, but it was nearly a minute 
 before she could articulate. At length she said, in a 
 tremulous voice, the tears starting from her eyes as 
 she spoke, 
 
 " Mother dear mother ! Do not speak to me of 
 that. I love you too well to wish to part from you." 
 
 And she sunk by her mother's side, and hid her face 
 in her lap. Mrs. Lee was deeply moved. She placed 
 one hand tenderly upon Anna's head, and, with the 
 other, clasped the hand of her child that had fallen 
 upon her bosom. For some time all was still. Then 
 Mrs. Lee endeavoured to raise Anna from her recum-
 
 34 AXXA LEE, 
 
 bent position; with some difficulty she succeeded in 
 doing so, and placing her in a chair by her side. But 
 the face of the maiden remained concealed in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Anna, dear," again began the mother, " I respond 
 with deep tenderness to the love you express. It wiJl 
 be a sad day for me when I am called upon to give you 
 up. But I cannot hide from myself the fact that I 
 shall have to meet and go through the trial, sooner or 
 later. I will not shrink from it, even if it should be 
 to-morrow, if your best interests are concerned." 
 
 There was a pause, but no reply. Mrs. Lee re 
 sumed, 
 
 " Let your mother speak to you freely. She loves 
 you best Heretofore she has always communicated 
 with you unreservedly. Let her do so now. Be calm. 
 Be a woman. Meet this subject, the most important 
 in your life, with unruffled feelings. As I before said, 
 Mr. Gardiner has declared to your father that he 
 wishes to address you with views of marriage. He, in 
 fact, through your father, offers you his hand. Do 
 you accept it 1 " 
 
 There was a breathless silence. 
 
 " Speak, my child ! What is your decision 1 " 
 
 "If left to my decision, mother, it is soon m . 
 was the murmured reply. 
 
 " It rests with you, of course." 
 
 A quick shudder passed through the maiden's frame.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 35 
 
 which was distinctly felt by Mrs. Lee. Then she said, 
 in a firm voice, 
 
 " I decline his offer ! " 
 
 " Anna ! " and Mrs. Lee half started to her feet in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Did you not say that I was to decide ? " 
 
 " True. But how can you decide against him, of all 
 others?" 
 
 "Because, of all others, I least regard him. The 
 oftener I see him, the more strongly I am repulsed by 
 him." 
 
 " Why ] " 
 
 " I cannot tell." 
 
 A long silence followed, during which the mother's 
 mind gradually became clear, and its perceptions dis 
 tinct. Both herself and husband had been greatly 
 pleased at the offer of Gardiner, and neither of them 
 had entertained the most remote idea that Anna would 
 have declined it. In doing so as promptly as she did, 
 Mrs. Lee was thrown back upon herself, disappointed 
 and confounded. But her good sense, just perceptions, 
 and genuine affection for her child, restored, gradually, 
 her mind's true tone and balance. 
 
 " It is for you, and you alone, Anna," she at length 
 said, in a serious, yet affectionate voice, " to decide this 
 matter, and your decision must settle the question. 
 But in making it, have you well considered 1 " 
 
 " Mother, I have. Though too young to be called
 
 36 ANNA LEE. 
 
 upon to decide a matter of so much importance, 1 have 
 yet been compelled to do it; and it has not been with 
 out many a hard struggle, and many an earnest prayer 
 for guiding light to Him whose wisdom is a lamp to 
 our feet. I cannot say I have not been tempted 
 strongly to make the decision in his favour." 
 
 " You knew, then, of his intended proposition 1 " 
 
 " No. But I heard from a mutual friend that he 
 was visiting me with serious intentions of marriage, if 
 I would consent, which seemed to be thought a mutter 
 of course. At that time I weighed the matter well, 
 and shortly afterwards decided my course. Nothing 
 has since occured to make me waver, but rather to con 
 firm my resolution. The oftener I meet him, the more 
 repulsive does he seem to me. Sometimes I have a 
 feeling of suffocation when in his company. And never 
 do I come into his presence without sending up an al 
 most involuntary prayer for wisdom and humble trust 
 in the providential care of my heavenly Father." 
 
 Mrs. Lee drew her arm tightly around her child. 
 She was a woman with a true heart and enlightened 
 perceptions, and was therefore satisfied that Anna was 
 not governed by any childish impulse. Feeling thus, 
 not the honour nor wealth of the world could have 
 tempted Mrs. Lee to sacrifice her child. 
 
 In about an hour Mr. Lee was heard coming in at t he- 
 street door; and Anna, first kissing her mother tenderly, 
 glided up to her own chamber. Closing the door after
 
 THE MA WEN. 37 
 
 her, she sunk down by her bedside upon her knees, 
 and remained in that attitude for nearly half an hour. 
 When she arose, her face was very pale, but elevated in 
 expression, and beautiful to look upon. Seating her 
 self by the window, she lifted her eyes to the pure sky, 
 jewelled with its myriad stars, and bathed in the soft 
 moonlight. There was about her feelings a holy tran 
 quillity a deep consciousness of having acted right in 
 a matter involving most vital consequences. The 
 scene accorded with her feelings. Her state of mind 
 was such that nature could speak to her heart, with its 
 low but earnest voice, in language free from perverted 
 human passion. She listened to this voice. Her 
 heart felt its breathings, and answered to them as the 
 murmuring ^Eolean answers to the gentle breeze that 
 seeks caressingly its yielding strings. 
 
 " This is my first strong trial ; " thus she thought 
 after a time " the first temptation my woman's heart 
 has had to endure. How easily might I have fallen 
 into this snare, but for the early instructions, and the 
 example set me by a true-minded mother. She gave 
 me right principles by which to estimate all things 
 around me, and guided my opening affections to things 
 pure and elevated. Had I not been blessed with such 
 a mother so wise, so thoughtful, so judicious my 
 weak heart might have been dazzled by a brilliant offer, 
 and I led to accept it, to the destruction of all my best 
 hopes here, and perhaps hereafter."
 
 38 ANNA LEE, 
 
 Anna slightly shuddered as this idea came vividly 
 before her mind 
 
 Some readers may think that the little knowledge 
 Anna had of the character of Gardiner was not enough 
 to cause her to feel, in rejecting his suit, so strongly as 
 here represented. Let such an one know, that a 
 maiden with moral feelings as pure and unselfish as 
 were those of Anna Lee, needs but to have a corner of 
 the veil lifted in order to enable her to determine the 
 quality of a lover's mind. As the quality of the whole 
 ocean may be determined by that of a single drop, so 
 may she, by a single clearly-seen phase of his moral 
 character, determine its whole nature. And Anna Lee 
 did so. Not fully, at first, but undoubtingly ; when, 
 added to her rational convictions, came an instinctive 
 feeling of repulsion towards him, as one who was im 
 pure and deeply selfish. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TRIED AND PROVED. 
 
 ANNA shrunk from meeting her parent on the next 
 morning. What her father's views of the course she 
 had taken would be she could not tell She believed 
 that he would not for a moment hesitate to approve of 
 her declaration ; and yet doubt would cross her mind, 
 and disturb her young heart to its very centre.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 39 
 
 When the breakfast bell rung, she descended from 
 her chamber. Her first glance was at her mother's 
 face. The expression of that told her instantly that all 
 was not right. She did not look at her father for some 
 time after. At length her eyes sought his countenance ; 
 it was thoughtful and somewhat stern. What could it 
 mean 1 Did he wish her to marry a man against whom 
 her whole heart revolted ? It could not be. Yet why 
 this change ? 
 
 So deeply did the unhappiness evidently felt by her 
 mother, and the stern look of her father, affect Anna, 
 that she found it impossible to swallow her food, and 
 soon retired from the table. 
 
 Before Mr. Lee left the house, he took his wife 
 aside, and said, in a serious voice, 
 
 " Anna, you must not let this matter go to rest at 
 once. An offer of marriage, such as this, can never be 
 had again for our daughter. Think Herbert Gardiner 
 is the only son of one of our wealthiest and most 
 esteemed citizens ! The character of the family is un 
 tainted, and that of the young man, as far as my know 
 ledge goes, unexceptionable. What folly, then, for our 
 child to refuse such an offer ! " 
 
 " External advantages ! " replied Mrs. Lee, " what 
 are these, my dear husband, when set against internal 
 discordance 1 Nothing ! nothing ! Dust in the balance ! 
 As the mother of Anna, I would rather see her laid, in 
 her maiden sweetness, in the grave, than become the
 
 40 ANNA LEE, 
 
 wife of a man for whom she has so strong a feeling of 
 repulsion as that entertained towards Gardiner, no 
 matter what external advantages might be offem! ." 
 
 Mr. Lee looked grave. The offer of Gardiner had 
 flattered a certain weakness in his character, and ob 
 scured the good sense for which he was distinguished. 
 Mrs. Lee had also felt greatly pleased. But her inter 
 view with Anna had made all right, so far as she was 
 concerned. 
 
 The conversation which passed between the father 
 and mother ou the preceding evening was perhaps the 
 most unpleasant ever held by them. Mr. Lee would 
 not listen to Anna's objection, and Mrs. Lee was equally 
 firm in sustaining her daughter in the position she had 
 taken. The discussion was kept up for a long time, 
 and ceased at last, not in the settlement of the differ 
 ence, but in the unsatisfied and unhappy silence of 
 both parties. The morning, it has been seen, presented 
 the affair in no better aspect 
 
 Still unreconciled to his daughter's objection to 
 Gardiner, Mr. Lee left home, and went to his office. 
 Nothing more passed between Anna and her mother 
 on the subject during the morning. Both avoided speak 
 ing about it At dinner-time Mr. Lee was grave and 
 silent His manner affected Anna so painfully that slio 
 was obliged to leave the table. As she did so, her father 
 glanced at her, and saw that her eyes were not only full 
 of tears, but that large drops were falling over her cheeks.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 41 
 
 Anxiously did Anna wait for his return at evening, 
 in order, once more, to look into his face, in the hope 
 that its coldness would have passed away. But the 
 more Mr. Lee thought about the matter, the more he 
 was dissatisfied. There was, therefore, no light in his 
 countenance for his daughter's eye. There still rested 
 a heavy cloud upon his brow. This continued for three 
 days; at the end of which period he was to give an 
 answer to the application made by Gardiner. The 
 nearer the time approached for meeting the young man, 
 the more unhappy did Mr. Lee appear in the presence 
 of his family. On the morning of the day on which a 
 reply to Gardiner's proposition was to be given, he 
 seemed unusually grave. Poor Anna was wretched. 
 Never in her life had she suffered so acutely. She 
 loved her father with the purest feelings with the 
 deepest tenderness; there was no sacrifice that she 
 dared make, that would not have been cheerfully made 
 for his sake. But more had been asked than she could 
 in conscience do ; for with her the marriage rite was 
 felt to be a religious obligation, and the marriage union 
 one that should be made in the sight of Heaven, thus 
 she had been taught to regard them by her mother, 
 who, since she anticipated such a proposition, had 
 sought, gently and almost unconsciously to her child, 
 to lead her to think of marriage as one of the most 
 sacred acts of a woman's life. 
 
 There were times, it is true, when she felt like yield-
 
 42 ANNA 
 
 Ing to Ler father's Wishes, or to what she had the 
 strongest reasons for believing were his wishes of 
 giving herself up, passively, if her heart were crushed 
 in doing so. But the precepts of her mother had been 
 too deeply stored in her mind. She understood clearly, 
 that, in the sight of Heaven, she dared not make such 
 a sacrifice ; that marriage was too holy a thing to be 
 perverted. 
 
 Anna knew that on this day an answer would have 
 to be given to Mr. Gardiner and she therefore under 
 stood why her father seemed more than usually op 
 pressed in his feelings. After he had gone out, she 
 went up to her own room, and there spent the whole 
 morning alone. Anxiously did she await his return at 
 dinner-time. As the hour of his coming approached, 
 the unhappy girl became more and more wretched. 
 An undefined fear took hold of her a dread of some 
 impending evil When the clock struck three, and she 
 heard, soon after, her father's well-known footstep along 
 the passage, and on the stairs, her heart stood almost 
 still Mr. Lee went direct to his wife's chamber. Ten 
 minutes more of anxious suspense passed, when Anna 
 heard the ringing of her mother's bell. A domestic 
 went up to her room j then the steps of the same 
 domestic were heard ascending to her chamber. The 
 door opened. 
 
 " Your mother wishes to see you." 
 
 The maiden started, and turned as pale as death ;
 
 THE MAIDEN. 43 
 
 but she obeyed the summons, though with a sinking 
 heart At her mother's door she paused for nearly a 
 minute, and strove, by a powerful effort, to subdue her 
 agitated feelings ; but she strove in vain. When she 
 entered, she was hardly conscious of anything beyond 
 a fear of something undefined. But her eyes sought 
 instantly her father's face. A great change had taken 
 place. Instead of the stern, cold, offended look that 
 his countenance had worn for three days, it was sub 
 dued, and tender, and full of affection. He reached 
 his hand towards her, and she sprang into his arms, 
 and sunk weeping upon his bosom. 
 
 " Dear father ! you love me still ! " she at length 
 murmured, lifting her head, and looking him in the 
 face. 
 
 " Love you, my child ! I have always loved you ; 
 but now more deeply than ever." 
 
 " Then I am happy happy ! " she said, again letting 
 her head fall upon his breast. " I want no other love 
 but the love that makes this home so sweet. It is the 
 first love the best love and the most unselfish of 
 all" 
 
 Mr. Lee drew his arm tightly around his child, as a 
 response to the sentiment she had just uttered. 
 
 "Yes, my daughter," he said, "the loves that make 
 our childhood's home happy are the most unselfish. 
 May they be long continued to us ! " 
 
 "Amen," was the solemn response, breathed half
 
 14 ANNA L /:/:. 
 
 involuntarily, yet sweetly, by the maiden, as she 
 clasped tightly her father's hand. 
 
 Mrs. Lee's eyes were full of tears : Imt her whole 
 face was elevated and glad. She looked calmly on the 
 scene passing before her, silently lifting her heart in 
 thankfulness for so good a child. 
 
 " Will you pardon the late strangeness of my manner 
 towards you, Anna ? " Mr. Lee said, after a little while, 
 raising his daughter up, and looking into her face. 
 
 " Do not speak of it, father," she returned, quickly. 
 " If you love me if you do not blame me if you will 
 let me still call this my home, and you my best 
 beloved, I ask no more. My cup will be full ; full to 
 the brim." 
 
 " Blame you, Anna ? No ! If there has been any 
 blame, I must bear it You have been right Love 
 you 1 We cannot tell you how much we love you. 
 And may the day be far distant when you shall go to 
 another home ! " 
 
 " You have made me happier, dear father, than I 
 have ever been," Anna said, struggling to hide the 
 emotion that was swelling in her bosom. " Do not 
 again feel offended with me. You have taught me to 
 act from a sense of right in all I do, you have wisely 
 sought to elevate my understanding, and have given 
 me principles by which to determine all my actions. 
 These principles I will ever strive to make rules of con 
 duct By them I will seek to determine between right
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER RECONCILED. 
 
 J S 43.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 45 
 
 and wrong; and, choosing the right, I will endeavour 
 to abide by it, in all firmness and conscientiousness." 
 
 " Do so, my child, even if your father, strange as 
 such a thing may be, should rise up in opposition. 
 Obey him just so far as he wishes you to obey the 
 truth he has taught you, but no further. You are now 
 a woman, and by your own acts you must be justified 
 or condemned. Take no step in life without a clear 
 perception that it is right. Seek aid and light from all 
 who are wiser than yourself, but let their wisdom guide 
 you, if guided by others at all. If you cannot see with 
 them, do not act from them. Avoid this, as you would 
 a great evil." 
 
 After a slight pause, Mr. Lee added, 
 " I saw Mr. Gardiner to-day, and declined for you 
 his offer. Deeply thankful am I that you had the 
 resolution to refuse him. You acted with true wisdom, 
 and a noble firmness that I shall ever admire. Of all 
 that occurred, your mother will inform you at another 
 time." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Lee went to his office on the morning of 
 the day named as that on which he was to give an 
 answer to Herbert Gardiner, he felt in a very uncom 
 fortable state of mind. The cause for this was twofold.
 
 46 .1. V.V.I LEE, 
 
 First, he could not help feeling a stnmi: desire for the 
 proposed union; and second, he felt that the interview 
 with the young man would be an embarrassing one. 
 But it could not be avoided. 
 
 He was sitting in his own private room, about eleven 
 o'clock, when Gardiner came in, smiling pleasantly, and 
 bowing with perfect ease and self-possession. But in 
 a few minutes his manner changed. The disturbed 
 state of Mr. Lee's mind was communicated to his own. 
 
 "You know the nature of my business, Mr. Lee," 
 he said, after talking indifferently for a short time. 
 " What is the answer I am to receive at your hands 1 " 
 
 " I regret exceedingly," returned Mr. Lee, " to be 
 compelled to decline your very flattering offer; but my 
 daughter is firm in her opposition to our wishes in the 
 matter. We have " 
 
 " Your daughter objects ? " the young man said, 
 with an instantly flushed face, rising quickly to his 
 feet " Humph ! " 
 
 There was an air of contempt and conscious superi 
 ority in the manner of Gardiner that seriously offended 
 Mr. Lee. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said, his own manner also changing, 
 " she objects, and she, doubtless, has good reasons fur 
 it; for she never acts from prejudice or caprice." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Don't she, indeed ? " The young man 
 had lost control of himself, and spoke very cuntfiiiptu- 
 ously. He was quick-tempered, proud, and could ill
 
 THE MAIDEN. 47 
 
 bear opposition. The unexpected rejection of his suit 
 from one whose social position he considered below his 
 own, had chafed him severely. For nearly a minute 
 he returned Mr. Lee's steady gaze; and then turned 
 on his heel and strode from the room. 
 
 The father of Anna drew a long breath, as soon as 
 he found himself alone sat with eyes upon the floor 
 for some time, and then got up, and walked to and fro, 
 in a deeply abstracted mood. While doing so, one of 
 the Directors of the Company, of which he was the 
 President, an intimate friend, came in. He noticed 
 that Lee was disturbed, and inquired the reason ; when 
 he related the interview which had just transpired. 
 
 "The vain fop!" ejaculated the friend. "And he 
 really had the assurance to offer himself to your sweet 
 Anna ? " 
 
 "He offered himself," replied Mr. Lee; "but why 
 should that be called assurance ? " 
 
 " Humph ! You certainly do not know him." 
 
 " I never heard a breath against him in my life." 
 
 " I have, then ; and words too. Why, this Herbert 
 Gardiner is totally unfit to be the husband of a pure- 
 minded creature like Anna, or indeed to be permitted 
 to enter the society where she is." 
 
 " You speak strongly." 
 
 " Not more so than I should speak. It is strange 
 that you have never heard his character. I thought 
 that it was notorious."
 
 48 AWVA 1 
 
 ' He is in business with a very excellent young 
 man." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! his capital does that But a business 
 connection and a marriage are two very different things. 
 I might be willing to enter into business relations 
 with a man that I should not like to see the husband 
 of my daughter." 
 
 "Very true. But tell me something specific about 
 Gardiner." 
 
 "Let it suffice then to say that his associates are 
 often of the vilest character, and his habits exceedingly 
 irregular. Depend upon it, he would have cursed 
 your child in marrying her. From all I have seen 
 and heard of that young man, I would sooner see Anna 
 in her grave than his wife ! " 
 
 " I rejoice, however, there is no danger of such a 
 sacrifice. But why should he have sought my 
 daughter's hand 1 " 
 
 "It is a tribute to her loveliness. Even one like 
 him could bow before it But the love of mere 
 external grace and beauty by a man without principle 
 is only of brief duration. These do not minister long 
 to his selfishness and then the flower that charmed 
 for a brief season is thrown aside with indifference, or 
 trampled upon with scorn." 
 
 When Mr. Lee returned home, his feelings were 
 widely different from those with which he had left his 
 family in the morning. The reader has seen the change.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 40 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WISE SELECTION OF FRIENDS. 
 
 ABOUT a week after the interview described in the last 
 chapter, a note was left for Anna Lee, containing an 
 invitation for her to spend an evening at the house of 
 Mrs. Leslie. "A few friends are to be present," was 
 added in the note. 
 
 " What have you there 1 " asked Mrs. Lee, coming 
 into Anna's room about ten minutes after, and finding 
 her daughter sitting in a thoughtful mood, with Mrs. 
 Leslie's invitation in her hand. 
 
 Anna gave her mother the note. After reading it, 
 she handed it back, and said with a smile, 
 
 " Mrs. Leslie is very kind, always to remember you 
 when she has company." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 This response was cold, and made in an equivocal 
 tone. Anna said nothing more, and Mrs. Lee did not 
 refer more particularly to the subject. On the day 
 before the one to which the invitation had referred, 
 Anna said to her mother, 
 
 " After thinking a good deal about it, I have made 
 up my mind not to go to Mrs. Leslie's to-morrow, nor 
 ever again." 
 
 " Have you a good reason 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps not one that I could make fully plain to 
 (-ts; 4
 
 60 % AN A' A LEX, 
 
 everybody. But I think you can understand me. 1 
 do not fed right, when I think of going there." 
 
 " There must be some reasons for such a feeling." 
 
 "And there are. But even these reasons are so 
 linked with feelings, that my mind cannot separate and 
 give them distinctness." 
 
 " Freely state to me all your reasons and feelings," 
 said the mother. "Perhaps, together, we can arrive 
 at a distinct, rational conclusion." 
 
 " I have liked Mrs. Leslie, because she always seemed 
 pleased to have me visit her, and showed me very kind 
 attentions," Anna remarked. " But, at the same time, 
 there has been something about her that I could not 
 understand, and from which I have felt an involuntary 
 shrinking. She is the intimate friend of Mr. Gardiner; 
 and, I think, must be thoroughly acquainted with his 
 character and habits. She may be a woman of sound 
 principles; but my mind has many doubts. Anyhow, 
 I do not wish to meet Mr. Gardiner, as I certainly 
 shall, if I go to her house." She then described to 
 her mother the general impression left on her mind by 
 her former visits to Mrs. Leslie, and the reasons she 
 had for thinking she might have a purpose in this 
 invitation. 
 
 "I now understand you fully," Mrs. Lee said. 
 " You are right in not wishing to go to her house again. 
 I would not have you do so on any account Such a 
 woman is a young maiden's most dangerous friend.
 
 THE MAIDEN. 51 
 
 She should be shunned as carefully as you would shun 
 an open enemy." 
 
 "I am glad you feel as I do about going to her 
 house," returned Anna, seeming much relieved. " Be 
 tween her and me there is nothing really congenial. I 
 take no pleasure in talking all the time about young 
 men; and she seems to think there is no theme so 
 interesting nothing so pleasant to a maiden's ear." 
 
 There was a gay company at the house of Mrs. 
 Leslie on the next evening. But Anna was not there. 
 
 CATCHING HUSBANDS. 
 
 ANNA LEE sat sewing one morning, a few days after 
 she had declined going to Mrs. Leslie's, when Florence 
 Armitage, gaily dressed, called in to see her. There 
 were many things about Florence that pleased Anna, 
 although she did not approve of much she did and said. 
 Her mother was a weak woman, and her father was too 
 much absorbed in business to pay attention to his 
 family; so that, between them, her home education 
 had been very much neglected, and very badly managed 
 as far as it went Anna really pitied her for the 
 defects of her character ; and, whenever an opportunity 
 occurred, strove to correct them. 
 
 "Come, Anna, put up your work," Florence said
 
 52 ANNA LEE, 
 
 " The day is too fine a one to be spent in-doors. I 
 have called on purpose to take you out." 
 
 " I am sorry to disappoint you, Florence," Anna 
 returned, smiling, " but I cannot go out to-day." 
 
 " Yes, you can, I know. What in the world is there 
 to keep you at home ? " 
 
 A great deal We have a large family; and that 
 makes plenty of work. It is as much as mother and 
 I can do to keep the children's clothes in order, after 
 we get one half of them made by a sempstress." 
 
 " One half ! You don't pretend to make half of 
 their clothes ? " 
 
 " Yes. Why not, if we can ? " 
 
 "Just for the reason that you ought not to make a 
 slave of yourself." 
 
 " And I do not. I must be engaged, usefully, all 
 the while, and nothing more useful offers. I should 
 be very sorry, indeed, to sit down and fold my hands 
 in idleness, and put father to the expense of a sempstress 
 in the house for the whole year round. It would injure 
 me, and be a burden to him. I am sure I should not 
 be as happy as I now am, in the consciousness that I 
 am doing only what I ought to do." 
 
 " You are a strange kind of a girl, Anna ; and yet, I 
 sometimes wish that I were just like you. But I am 
 not, and cannot be, so there is no use in wishing." 
 
 Florence Armitage's purpose in calling was to invite 
 Anna to join her in a promenade in one of the gayest
 
 THE MA IDK3. 53 
 
 thoroughfares, which formed a fashionable resort of 
 those who deemed it an important purpose of life to 
 frequent such scenes of gaiety, to see and be seen. 
 She urged her friend, but in vain, her answer was 
 decided, 
 
 "No, Florence; for one thing I cannot spare the 
 time and for another, I could not walk out, unless I 
 had a higher end in view than the one you are pro 
 posing to yourself. But suppose you lay off your 
 things, and spend the morning with me." 
 
 "Xo, thank you; I have come out for a walk on 
 Chestnut Street, and I must have it. So, good morn 
 ing, dear, if I am not to have your good company." 
 
 Florence rose, as she said this, and moved towards 
 the door. The friends chatted a few minutes longer, 
 standing, and then the visitor departed, 
 
 On the evening of that day, Anna Lee sat reading to 
 her father and mother, when one of the domestics came 
 in, and said that a young gentleman was in the parlour, 
 who wished to see her. 
 
 " Who is it 1 " asked Anna. 
 
 " He did not tell me his name," replied the domestic. 
 
 The maiden cast her eyes to the floor, and thought 
 for a moment; then looking up, she said, 
 
 " Ask him to send up his name, Margaret." 
 
 " Had you not better go down, Anna 1 Perhaps it 
 may be some friend, who will think you rude," Mr. 
 Lee remarked.
 
 54 ANNA LEE, 
 
 Anna thought again, and then replied, 
 
 " I would rather Margaret would get his name." 
 
 " Go then, Margaret," said Mr. Lee, who was begin 
 ning to feel a deeper respect for his daughter's percep 
 tions of what was right in matters that concerned 
 herself. 
 
 " \\'ho can it be, I wonder 1 " the mother asked, half 
 musingly. 
 
 Anna did not reply, but sat with her eyes upon the 
 page of the book she had been reading. In a few 
 moments the domestic returned, and handed her a 
 card. Her cheek flushed the moment she saw the 
 name upon it. With something of indignation in her 
 voice, she said, . 
 
 " Say to him, Margaret, that I cannot see him." 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked the father and mother at the 
 same moment Anna handed her father the card. 
 
 " William Archer ! " he ejaculated, in surprise. 
 " What brings him here 1 " 
 
 "He has asked for me," replied Anna; "but I 
 c;uiin>t see him." 
 
 "Could you not, then, better let Margaret say that 
 you will thank him to excuse you this evening ? " 
 returned Mrs. Lee. " Tliat would be a milder way of 
 refusing to see the young man." 
 
 " I would rather she should say to him, from me, 
 that I cannot see him. That is just the truth, and I 
 wish him to know it. I would not sit alone and talk
 
 THE MAIDEX. 55 
 
 with that young man for anything that could be given 
 me.'' And the pure-hearted girl shuddered with an 
 instinctive feeling of horror, for his character was too 
 well known. 
 
 Nothing more was said, and the domestic conveyed 
 to Archer Anna's precise words. The young man, half 
 prepared for some such answer, since his name had gone 
 up, retired without a remark, or the evidence of a single 
 emotion. But he was deeply chagrined, and felt angry 
 and bitter towards Anna. A muttered threat of 
 revenge passed his lips as he gained the pavement, 
 and strode off at a rapid pace. But the sweet maiden 
 was safe from all harm he might purpose against her 
 in his evil heart. She was surrounded and defended 
 by her own innocence. 
 
 And were every maiden so surrounded and defended, 
 bhe would be as safe, though she were encompassed by 
 a host of those who sought her ruin. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A NEW LOVEK. 
 
 TUB reader will remember that mention has once or 
 twice been made of a young man named Hartley. 
 A few years previous to the opening of our story, 
 
 James Hartley came to P as a poor boy, and 
 
 obtained, through the recommendation of a friend who
 
 56 .1 .v.v.i LSE, 
 
 knew his family, a situation in ;i wholesale mercantile 
 house. His honesty, industry, and intelligence, soon 
 made him valuable to his employers, who, as he 
 advanced in years, elevated him in their confidence step 
 by step, until, long before he had reached the age of 
 twenty-one, he occupied the position of their chief and 
 confidential clerk. Never, in the slightest degree, did 
 he betray their confidence, or trespass with undue 
 familiarity upon their frankness, and the open generous 
 manner in which they always treated him. When he 
 became of age, so highly was he esteemed and valued, 
 that he was offered a share in the business, and became 
 
 one of the firm of R , S , & Co., and entitled 
 
 to a moderate dividend on the profits. 
 
 During his minority, the young man had devoted 
 himself so closely to business, and given to it so much 
 of his thoughts, that he had neglected to adorn his 
 mind by tasteful reading, and to furnish himself with 
 stores of general information. On entering into 
 company, at a pretty early age, he became aware of his 
 deficiencies in this respect, and to make up for them a- 
 rapidly as possible, he spent most of his evenings in 
 reading and study. Naturally modest, and disposed 
 to think more of his deficiencies than of his attainments, 
 he was retiring in company, and therefore attracted but 
 little attention. He was not much of a favourite with 
 young ladies, because he did not pay them very marked 
 or flattering attentions. This was not the result of
 
 THE MAIDEN. 57 
 
 intention, but arose from want of confidence in himself, 
 which would have pushed him forward, and made him 
 an agreeable companion to all. As he gradually became 
 better and better acquainted with the different ladies 
 in whose society he was thrown, some liked him, and, 
 indeed, highly esteemed him, while others thought him 
 a dull companion. He had never learned to dance, 
 and this tended to keep him back, and to prevent his 
 circle of acquaintance from enlarging; for while most 
 of the young ladies were on the floor, threading the 
 mazes of the graceful cotillion, he was in some corner, 
 in grave conversation with their mothers, or entertain 
 ing some neglected maiden, whom no one thought it 
 worth while to take as a partner. 
 
 From these causes, as just said, he was not a general 
 favourite with young ladies. Their opinions in regard 
 to him were various. Some thought him dull and 
 stupid; while others, with whom he had conversed 
 more freely, considered him sensible enough, but 
 narrow-minded in his views and feelings; others, 
 again, said that they thought they could like him very 
 well, but that they never could get near him. 
 
 Upon the whole, although no one could allege any 
 moral defect against Hartley, there were very few of 
 the younger members of the social circle who cared to 
 be very gracious towards him, or who did not feel 
 under some constraint when by his side. 
 
 Anna Lee first met him after he had been going into
 
 68 ANNA LKK. 
 
 company for a year or two. He was then a member 
 of the house v in which he had served his time. From 
 the moment he saw her, Hartley liked Anna ; but she 
 was so general a favourite, that it was a rare thing, 
 indeed, that he could get by her side; and when he 
 did, she always showed a reserve that, acting upon his 
 feelings, already prepossessed in her favour, closed up 
 his mental perceptions, and caused him to appear to 
 very poor advantage. Of this he was clearly 
 conscious. 
 
 Gradually, as he met Anna Lee again and again in 
 company, Hartley saw more and more of the beautiful 
 order and purity of her character. From pleasure 
 experienced in the observation of these, admiration 
 soon arose in his mind; and this, imperceptibly, as 
 one moral beauty after another unfolded itself to his 
 eyes, deepened into a feeling of earnest regard. At 
 this time he was concerned to observe that Herbert 
 Gardiner, whom he well knew, was beginning to be 
 very marked in his attentions towards Anna; and he 
 was still more concerned to see that his attentions were 
 not apparently disagreeable. 
 
 Coolly, and with more philosophy than is ordinarily 
 to be found in young men, Hartley held himself aloof, 
 and looked on to see the result. 
 
 " What a fool ! " he heard a young friend say, as he 
 came up and joined a group of acquaintances who were 
 standing at the entrance of a neighbour's warehouse
 
 THE MAIDEN. 59 
 
 one day, not long after he had marked the advances of 
 Gardiner. 
 
 " Who's a fool ? " he asked. 
 
 " Why, that pretty daughter of Lee's." 
 
 " What Lee 1 " 
 
 " President of Insurance Company." 
 
 " Pray, what has she been doing ] " 
 
 " It is said she has declined an offer made her by 
 Herbert Gardiner." 
 
 " Why did she decline him 1 " 
 
 " Some girlish whim, I suppose." 
 
 " She did not like his character, it is said," remarked 
 one. 
 
 " What does she know about that, I wonder ? " 
 returned another. 
 
 " Prudish folly ! " ejaculated one of the party, turn 
 ing on his heel, and going off. 
 
 The little group separated at this, and Hartley went 
 to his own warehouse. The fact he had heard thrilled 
 hiin with pleasure, and gave to Anna Lee, in his mind, 
 a far more elevated position than she had before held. 
 
 About a month afterwards, during which time he had 
 not once met Anna, he heard of her refusal to receive a 
 call from Archer. Various reasons were assigned for this, 
 but he was very sure that he Understood the true one. 
 
 " Noble girl ! " he said to himself. " Oh, that every 
 honest woman would stamp, as you have done, the seal 
 of displeasure upon vice ! "
 
 f?0 
 
 Finn and consiscnt in his own conduct, and ever 
 acting from principles of right, settled as truths in his 
 own rational mind, James Hartley was an admirer in 
 all of firmness and consistency; but how much more 
 in r>ne whom his heart had already begun to love ! 
 His own person was plain, and Anna had declined an 
 offer from one who was generally admitted to be one of 
 the most fascinating and noble-looking young men in 
 the city. He had not, as some others who would seek 
 her favour, those graces of mind which are so beautiful 
 and attractive. He possessed not riches, although he 
 was well connected in business. His family was 
 obscure ; in fact, unknown in the city. He was himself 
 modest and retiring, and could not go forward and 
 extort attention, as many had the power of doing. 
 
 These thoughts made him sad with feelings of doubt 
 and discouragement 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AN IMPRESSION MADE. 
 
 " HAVE I not done right, father 1 " Anna said, looking 
 up earnestly into her father's face, as soon as the street 
 door had been heard to close behind Archer. 
 
 " Yes. drar. perfectly right," replied Mr. Lee. Anna's 
 eyes fell again upon the page of the book she held in 
 her hand. Neither her father nor mother made any
 
 THE MAIDEN. 61 
 
 further remark; and she, after sitting silent for some 
 time, resumed her pleasant task of reading aloud to 
 them. But her voice was neither so clear nor calm as 
 it had been. It was slightly tremulous and husky. 
 She read on, for half an hour, and then shut the book, 
 and left the room. Ascending to her own chamber, 
 and closing the door after her, she sunk upon her knees 
 at the bedside, and lifted up her heart in earnest prayer 
 to be guided aright in all the relations of life; and to 
 be endowed with firmness to act truly her part as a 
 woman. 
 
 The incident that had just transpired, and the 
 position she had felt it to be her duty to take, had 
 disturbed her feelings. But now she felt calmer, and 
 more clearly conscious that she had acted right. 
 
 The fact that Anna had refused to see, even in her 
 own house, the young man who had called upon her, 
 soon became known and talked about. 
 
 Many a gay flatterer, who had before flitted around 
 her, kept at a distance. All this favoured our friend 
 Hartley. Anna was more accessible to him in company, 
 for she was not so frequently as before the partner of 
 some gay friend. 
 
 The more intimately Anna knew Hartley, the more 
 she thought about him. There was something, to her 
 eye, beautiful in the honest simplicity of his mind, and 
 attractive in the moral strength of his character. At 
 first he had seemed a common man. She had responded
 
 62 .1. v.v.i LEE, 
 
 to his attentions, whenever she was thrown into his 
 company, because she was kind to all who were worthy 
 of kindness ; but as she met him oftener, knew 
 him better, and marked the orderly character of his 
 mind, and the healthy tone of his sentiments, she could 
 not but admire him. And when he ventured to call to 
 see her at her father's house, she received his visit 
 with pleasure, although she had not the most distant 
 suspicion that his call was anything more than a frii-ndly 
 visit 
 
 After he had gone away, Anna sunk down upon the 
 sofa in the parlour alone, and fell into a dreamy musing 
 state of mind. Many images, dim and but half denned, 
 floated before her; and mingled with them was the 
 form of young Hartley. She heard the sound of his 
 voice, and remembered many sentiments he had uttered. 
 And all this was pleasing to her. 
 
 The young man trod the pavement, as he walked 
 homeward, with light footsteps, and a lighter heart 
 Anna had not refused to see him. And more than 
 that, she had sung and played for him the music 
 sounding sweeter to his ears than anything he had ever 
 heard and seemed interested in all the conversation 
 that passed between them. 
 
 In a week Hartley called again. But this visit was 
 far from being as pleasant as the first Anna seem. <] 
 reserved. What could it mean ? Had she suspected 
 his feelings 1 And did she mean to repulse him 1
 
 THE MAIDEN. 63 
 
 The thought embarrassed him, and made their inter 
 course, during the hour that he stayed, unsatisfactory 
 to both. 
 
 The young man did not venture upon a third visit. 
 He was afraid. The coldness of Anna, it was evident 
 to his mind, arose from a dislike towards him, and he 
 shrunk from the direct issue of an open repulse. 
 
 Two months passed, and not once during that time 
 had Hartley ventured to call upon the maiden who was 
 in all his waking and dreaming thoughts. Two or 
 three times he had met her upon the street, and, al 
 though she had spoken to him, there was something 
 shy about her something altogether unusual in her 
 manner. He interpreted it to mean a dislike for him ; 
 but he was a young man, and little acquainted with 
 the language of a woman's heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WOOED AND WON. 
 
 SOON after, Hartley, who could not erase the image of 
 Anna Lee from his mind, determined, in a moment of 
 half desperation, to call upon her once more. 
 
 " If she dislikes me, I will see it, and I want some 
 certainty," he said to himself. 
 
 Under this feeling he visited her. 
 
 " Mr. Hartley is in the parlour," said a domestic, as
 
 64 JA'.V.i / 
 
 she opened the door of the room where Anna was 
 sitting with her parents. 
 
 Mr. Lee looked into the face of his daughter, ami 
 saw that the announcement had disturbed the quiet 
 tone of her feelings. But whether the effect \\en- 
 pleasing or otherwise, he could not tell. 
 
 " Tell him I will be down in a few minutes," Anna 
 said, rising. She took a light and went to her own 
 room, where she rearranged her hair, put on a collar, 
 and made some trifling alterations in her dress. She 
 lingered a few minutes after this, to give her feelings, 
 which were more than ordinarily ruffled, time to calm 
 down. Then she descended to the parlour. 
 
 Hartley had been waiting for her in a state of nervous 
 uncertainty. Upon the character of her reception of 
 his visit hung all his hopes. If she smiled upon him, 
 he would be the happiest man in existence ; if she 
 repulsed him by her manner, he would be the most 
 miserable. He was in this state of mind when Anna 
 came in, and advancing towards him, offered her hand 
 with a graceful face, and a manner so frank and warm, 
 that the young man took instant courage. In a little 
 while they were conversing together perfectly at ease, 
 and each interested in and silently approving the senti 
 ments uttered by the other. When they separated, 
 both felt happier than they had been for weeks. Why 
 - so with Anna, she l:ardly dared to acknowledge 
 to herself. To Hartley, as far as he was concerned, the
 
 THE MAIDEN. 6fl 
 
 matter was plain as daylight He did not suffer many 
 days to elapse before calling again. To his great delight 
 he was received as kindly as before ; and even half-blind 
 as he was from over-modesty and bashfulness, could 
 see that there was something warmer in the face and 
 eyes of the maiden than expressed an ordinary friendly 
 feeling towards an acquaintance. He now visited Anna 
 regularly, and was ever a welcome guest. 
 
 On one occasion, after Hartley had paid close atten 
 tion to her for two or three months, there was a freer 
 exchange of sentiments, and the conversation was upon 
 subjects that brought out from both an expression of 
 the leading principles that ought to govern in the 
 common affairs of life. Hartley was pleased to find 
 that Anna had sound views upon all the questions that 
 came up ; and she was no less gratified to perceive in 
 him, as she had often before perceived, a basis of good 
 sense, a clearly discriminating mind, and a love of truth 
 for its own sake. They had been speaking of the 
 beauty of moral excellence, when Anna remarked and 
 she did so to see how far his principles led him, 
 
 " But to come to the real truth at last, Mr. Hartley, 
 moral excellence is nothing, if it be not the result of 
 Christian principles in the heart." 
 
 Hartley looked at the maiden, but did not reply. 
 
 " In fact," she resumed, " unless all our actions are 
 regulated by divine love, our morality has but a slender 
 base to stand upon is, in fact, only an assumed and 
 
 M8) 5
 
 66 . (. V.V.i LRE, 
 
 not a real morality, and when the storms of temptation 
 arise, and the floods beat against it, it will fall." 
 
 He still remained a silent but admiring listener, and 
 she went on, 
 
 " A man may render civil obligations to his country, 
 because his interest is involved in doing so ; and he 
 may act in all the varied relations of life with external 
 faultlessness, and yet not be in heart a good man or a 
 good citizen. He may obey the laws, because he 
 thereby secures his own good ; and he may be hospitable, 
 and kind, and generous from a love of the world's good 
 opinion ; but, if he could believe that it would be more 
 to his interest to violate the law, what would hold him 
 in obedience to that law 1 Or, if he were placed in 
 circumstances where he could not forfeit or gain the 
 world's good opinion, would he be generous and hospi 
 table 1 But, if he is a good citizen, and a moral man 
 from religious principle that is, if he be actuated by 
 the pure and lofty principles of a disciple of Christ, 
 seeking in the diligent pursuit of business, no less than 
 in the privacy of his closet, to serve God, then will ho 
 be in reality a good citizen and a truly upright man. 
 Is it not so, Mr. Hartley 1" 
 
 " Doubtless all you have said is true," returned the 
 young man. " But who around us is thus governed by 
 religious principles 1 " 
 
 " Many, I hope." 
 
 " Can you name one I "
 
 THE MAIDEN. 67 
 
 The maiden's cheek became slightly suffused as she 
 replied, after a moment's hesitation, 
 
 " Yes ; one at least." 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 " My father. And it is to him I am indebted for 
 the light that my own mind has received on so im 
 portant a subject." 
 
 " Do you not know another ] " 
 
 " I do. My mother acts from the same high obliga 
 tions." 
 
 " And you do the same ?" 
 
 Hartley looked earnestly into his companion's face, as 
 he said this, that not a single varying shade of its ex 
 pression might be lost. 
 
 " I try to do so,' ! was the modestly spoken answer ; 
 " but I am conscious, every day, that my efforts are 
 altogether imperfect That my character is not yet 
 based upon an ever-abiding love of the truth for its 
 own sake." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so," Hartley returned, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Glad ! " And Anna looked at the young man with 
 surprise. 
 
 " Yes, glad. Like you, I am struggling to make the 
 laws of moral and civil life one with the laws of divine 
 order ; but my efforts are imperfect, and my progress 
 very slow. Sometimes I seem not to advance at all 
 Is not that your own experience 1 "
 
 ANNE IBB, 
 
 " It is ; and I sometimes fear will ever be. Yet we 
 must remember Him who promises that his strength 
 shall be made perfect in our weakness. But why should 
 you be glad at my imperfections 1 " 
 
 Hartley ventured to take her hand. She yielded it 
 passively. Looking steadily into her mild, blue eyes, 
 he said, 
 
 M Because I feared that you were perfect ; and if so, 
 
 1 should have been without hope." 
 
 The eyes of the maiden fell suddenly. A burning 
 blush covered her whole face, yet she did not withdraw 
 the hand that was held by her companion. 
 
 " But like myself, you are conscious of imperfections 
 conscious of weakness and evil, and, like myself, are 
 struggling to rise above them," continued Hartley, 
 tightening his hold upon the small, soft hand that lay 
 so passively in his. " Shall we not help each other to 
 rise into a higher and better life ? Shall we not, to 
 gether, struggle with temptation, and together find a 
 Sabbath rest when we have conquered 1 Shall we not 
 strive to find that strength from on high which we have 
 not in ourselves, and seek from our blessed Saviour, 
 and by the right he hath purchased for us by his own 
 blood, that most precious of all gifts, the Holy Spirit ? " 
 His voice deepened under the excitement of the monu nt, 
 and the earnestness of his own feelings ; and Anna 
 thought he had never before seemed so worthy of her 
 love. He once more appealed to her to respond to
 
 THE MAIDEN. 69 
 
 his feelings, but her look showed that no words were 
 needed to assure him of her sympathy and unity with 
 him. 
 
 Anna could not reply ; but her heart was fluttering 
 with joy. She could only let her hand remain in that 
 of her lover ; and she did let it remain, and even re 
 turned his tight clasp with a gentle pressure. 
 
 When Hartley passed from the door of Mr. Lee's 
 dwelling, he was bewilderingly happy. Anna had con 
 sented, with her parents' approbation, to accept his 
 hand in marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 ANNA'S wedding-day quickly came. To her it brought 
 mingled feelings of pleasure and sadness. The maiden 
 was about to take upon herself a wife's duties, to enter 
 upon an untried sphere of action. To step from the 
 peaceful happy home of her father into the dwelling of 
 a husband. To begin a new life of deeper and more 
 varied emotions. 
 
 Towards her mother, whom she was about to leave, 
 she felt an unusual tenderness ; for she realized, in her 
 own mind, how lonely that mother would be when she 
 was away ; and there were moments when, from this 
 reason, she half regretted having named so early a
 
 70 -!. V.V.I LEE, 
 
 wedding-day. Then her thoughts would turn to the 
 children over whom her care had been exercised, ever 
 since they were babes in their mother's arms. She 
 loved them truly bow could she leave them ? Who 
 could fill to them her place 1 Such thoughts would at 
 times throw a deeply pensive shade over her feelings. 
 Hut the intense love she bore the chosen of her heart, 
 would carry away her mind to him, and she would muse 
 with delight over the thought of becoming one with 
 him in marriage. 
 
 Thus passed the day, amid preparations for the cere 
 monies that were to take place in the evening. Anna 
 was musing alone in her room just before nightfall, 
 when her mother came in, and sitting down beside her, 
 took her hand and warmly pressed it within her own. 
 As she did so, the maiden leaned over against her, and 
 let her head rest upon the bosom that had so often 
 before pillowed it, looking up as she did so into her 
 mother's face with eyes swimming in tears of pure filial 
 lore. 
 
 You are about to leave us, my dear child," Mrs. 
 Lee said in a voice half inaudible from emotion ; and 
 then paused to get a better command of her feelings. 
 Anna closed her eyes to keep the tears from stealing 
 over her face. 
 
 " Yon are about to leave us, Anna," resumed Mrs. 
 Lee, " and I pray that you may be as good a wife aa 
 you have been a daughter. I am sure you will It is
 
 THE MAIDEN. 71 
 
 hard to part with you, my child, very hard ; but it is 
 right that you should go. You are a woman, and must 
 act a woman's part. Act it well, and you will be a 
 blessing to all I believe the man who has chosen you 
 to be his companion through the journey of life is 
 worthy to claim your hand. I believe he will do all in 
 his power to make you happy. I give you away to 
 your husband with a confidence that few mothers can 
 feel You must, you will be happy in his love, for he 
 is worthy of you. Oh, believe that you can never be 
 more than worthy of the love of such a man as James 
 Hartley. Cherish the deep affection he has for you 
 with the tenderest care ; for a heart like his is a rare 
 jewel it is priceless in value. : ' 
 
 Anna lay close to her mother's breast and quiet as an 
 infant. 
 
 More, much more of earnest precept was poured into 
 her ear, to all of which the maiden listened with the 
 most profound attention. Mrs. Lee lifted the veil for 
 her child, and gave her new views of the marriage re 
 lation and of her duties in it. When that child de 
 scended to the crowded rooms below, some hours after 
 wards, and plighted her faith before God and man, it 
 was with sober feelings, and a strong internal resolution 
 to act the wife's part truly, difficult as the task might 
 be to perform. 
 
 Shall we say more ? What more remains to be said ? 
 Anna Lee, the pure-hearted Anna Lee, is married to
 
 72 ANNA LEE, THE MAIDEN. 
 
 tin- man of her choice. She has passed safely through 
 the perib of maidenhood, and is now a wife and a 
 wife wisely wedded. 
 
 But we must not lose Sight of her. As a " Wife " 
 we will still follow her, and see how, in her new 
 relations, she sustains the harmonious consistency 
 of character that made her so lovely as a maiden, 
 and blessed all who came within the sphere of her 
 influence. 
 
 [The reader will readily perceive in what follows that 
 the story is one of American life ; and occasionally 
 narrates conversations and occurrences somewhat at 
 variance with the ideas entertained of married life in 
 England.]
 
 itt. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN EFFORT TO BEGIN RIGHT A WISE DECISION. 
 
 [AMES HARTLEY had been married three 
 weeks three of the happiest weeks he 
 had ever spent; but happier far was his 
 lovely young bride. A form of affection, 
 as every woman is, she could love more deeply, and 
 feel a more intense delight in loving. The more closely 
 she looked into her husband's mind, and the clearer 
 she saw and understood the moral qualities by which it 
 was adorned, the purer and more elevated was her love. 
 They sat alone, side by side, as the day was drawing 
 to a close, the hand of the wife resting, confidingly, in 
 that of her husband. They were yet in the family of 
 the bride's father, who would not hear of their going 
 away. 
 
 " It is plenty of time these three or four months to 
 come for Anna to take upon herself the cares of domestic
 
 . I. v.v.i I. KB. 
 
 life," he would say, whenever any allusion was made by 
 cither his daughter or her husband to their intention 
 of going to housekeeping. 
 
 But both James Hartley and his bride thought dif 
 ferently, as a conversation that passed between them 
 some few days previously will show. 
 
 \\'e have been married now for nearly a month, 
 Anno," remarked Hartley; "and it is full time that 
 we began our preparations for housekeeping." 
 
 " A thing, you know, that father will not consent to 
 our cl 
 
 " So it seems. But is it right for us to remain here 
 longer than is necessary to make proper arrangements 
 for getting into our own house?" 
 
 " Is there any reason why we should hurry these ar 
 rangements 1" returned Anna. 
 
 None in the least We should make them delibe 
 rately and wisely." 
 
 ' And may they not be made as well three months 
 hence as now?" 
 
 You shall answer that question yourself," replied 
 Hartley, smiling. " We are now husband and wife." 
 
 A light, like the flitting of a sun-ray over the face 
 of Anna, was the response to this affirmation. 
 
 "As such," continued the husband, "we occupy a 
 new, peculiar, and distinct position in society. The 
 sphere of our influence is a different one from what it 
 All who approach us are affected differently from
 
 TIIK WIFE. 75 
 
 what they formerly were. You can understand why 
 this is so 1 ?" 
 
 " Clearly. All new relations make a corresponding 
 impression on society. The influence of the maiden is 
 one thing, and the influence of the wife another." 
 
 " And they act in different spheres." 
 
 " Yes. One is on the circumference of the family 
 circle, so to speak, the other in the centre." 
 
 " The exact truth. Now, what position does a wife 
 occupy in a family circle of which she is not the centre ] 
 An orderly one 1 ?" 
 
 Anna shook her head. 
 
 " If not an orderly one, then not the most useful one 
 not the true one." 
 
 " But I, as a wife, would make both centre and cir 
 cumference in the family circle now. Or, rather, you 
 and I would." 
 
 " Even admitting this, which is not exactly clear, we 
 would both be in truer order than when on the circum 
 ference and not in the centre at the same time. You 
 will admit that?" 
 
 " I cannot help doing so." 
 
 "And if in truer order, in a better way of acting 
 usefully in the world." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then, as husband and wife, can we too soon take 
 our true social position 1 ? I think not. Life's duties 
 are not so few, that any of them can safely be neglected
 
 76 A.y.YA LEE, 
 
 for a single day. It is very pleasant to live here, 
 without a thought or care about external things. But 
 I am not at all sure that it is good for either of us." 
 
 u Nor am I, now that 1 fully comprehend your views, 
 which I see to be correct in every particular. Father 
 and mother will regret our leaving them, I know. But 
 you are now my husband, and I am ready, when I see 
 truth in your rational mind, to stand up by your side 
 in obedience to the truth, even though all the world 
 should be offended." 
 
 " Which, of course, they will not be, at our doing so 
 sensible a thing as going to housekeeping in a month 
 or two after our marriage." 
 
 Anna smiled sweetly into her husband's face, as he 
 replied thus playfully to her earnestly-expressed senti 
 ment 
 
 From that time their resolution was taken. 
 
 On the occasion referred to in the opening of this 
 chapter, the subject of conversation was their intention 
 of making early preparations for getting into their own 
 house. On the day previous, they had conversed seri 
 ously with Anna's father and mother, who, much against 
 their will, could not help yielding a rational consent to 
 the reasons offered by their children for the resolution 
 to take their true place in society. 
 
 :iere is now a very good house in Walnut Street 
 to rent, which, I think, will just suit us," remarked 
 Hartley, while they sat, hand and hand, as we have
 
 THE WIFE. 77 
 
 seen. " I looked through it to-day, and find that it 
 has every convenience that could be desired. It is just 
 below street." 
 
 " One of those large, handsome houses?" 
 
 " Yes. You remember them ? " 
 
 " Very well. What is the rent?" 
 
 " Eighty guineas." 
 
 Anna made no reply, but sat with her eyes cast 
 thoughtfully to the floor. She not only had no wish 
 to go into so large and expensive a house, but felt an 
 instant reluctance at the thought of doing so. She had 
 no certain knowledge in regard to her husband's worldly 
 circumstances, but she did not believe that he was rich. 
 She had been living with her father in a plain and 
 comfortable style, and did not think of anything greatly 
 superior. 
 
 Hartley looked earnestly into the face of his young 
 wife, and sought to read its expression. 
 
 " How do you like the house I mention ? " he at 
 length said. 
 
 Here came a trial for Anna, the trial of not agreeing 
 with her husband. Her wish was to yield, in all things, 
 her will to his; but, unless her judgment approved, 
 she could not so yield with a clear conscience. In this 
 matter, her judgment did not approve, and she felt an 
 acute pain at the thought of objecting to his proposal. 
 With an effort, and a look that asked forgiveness for 
 opposition, she said,
 
 78 ANITA LEE, 
 
 u It is a very handsome house. But " 
 
 And she hesitated, while a warm glow suffused her face 
 
 "But what, dear 1 ?" The kindness with which this 
 was spoken re-assured Anna, who felt an inward dread 
 of the effects of opposition. The idea that she should 
 ever be called upon to differ from her husband in any 
 thing requiring concert of action, had, until now, never 
 crossed her mind. 
 
 " Don't you think the rent too high?" she said, in a 
 suggestive tone. 
 
 "Not for the house. It is a very excellent one, 
 and there is not a more desirable situation, I think, in 
 the city." 
 
 " But for us to pay, I mean I " 
 
 Hartley looked again earnestly into the face of his 
 wife so earnestly that her eyes dropped beneath his 
 6xed gaze. Another silence followed; to Anna a 
 troubled one. 
 
 " I don't know but that you are right," the husband 
 said, with a frank smile. " Eighty guineas is rather a 
 heavy rent for two young people like us to pay." 
 
 " But it is not only the rent, dear," returned Anna, 
 brightening up. " A large and elegant house like that 
 must be furnished in a liberal and corresponding style. 
 And then there would have to be a free expenditure of 
 money to maintain such an establishment For my 
 part I do not desire to come before the world, as a 
 young wife, in so imposing a manner."
 
 THE WIFE. 79 
 
 Hartley returned to this an approving pressure of 
 the hand he still held. 
 
 " Still," resumed Anna, "if your circumstances justify 
 such a style of living, and you desire it, I, as your 
 wife, will not object for an instant." 
 
 This remark helped to set Hartley right. The house 
 in which he was partner was doing a heavy business, 
 and there was a prospect of making large profits. If 
 this expectation should be realized, his division would 
 be a handsome one. But if not that " if " had never 
 before presented itself so distinctly to his mind as at 
 this moment. In thinking about commencing house 
 keeping, he had felt ambitious to raise Anna to as 
 elevated a condition as possible. To place her along 
 side of the "best and proudest." All this-was more 
 from impulse and feeling than reason. His pride, not 
 his good common sense, was influencing him. At the 
 first blush, although he did not let it be seen, he felt 
 disappointed at the want of cordial approval manifested 
 by Anna, for whose sake, more than his own, he had 
 fixed upon the handsome house in Walnut Street. 
 But the view she took of the subject, so soon as it 
 came directly in front of the eye of his mind, he saw 
 to be the true one. 
 
 " That may be a question," he said, in reply to her 
 last remark, speaking thoughtfully. "It is true that 
 everything looks bright just now; but it is also true 
 that clouds often come suddenly over the brightest
 
 BO 'v-X LEE, 
 
 skies. It was for your sake that I wished to rent that 
 house. I felt a pride in the thought of making you 
 its mistress." 
 
 14 I shall be much happier as the mistress of a less 
 imposing residence. Let us begin the world without 
 ostentation. As we are about to commence house 
 keeping from a sense of right, let us not consult appear 
 ances, but be governed throughout by the right ends 
 that prompted our first decision. For my part, a house 
 at haft", or even less than half the rent of the one in 
 Walnut Street, will meet all my expectations. To 
 manage its internal arrangements will cost me less euro 
 and labour, and you less money ; and it is needless to 
 be too free with either in the beginning of life." 
 
 "Well -and wisely said, Anna. I fully agree with 
 you. I yielded to a weakness when I set my heart 
 upon the house I have mentioned. I will look further, 
 and see if I cannot find as many comforts as that pre 
 sented, in a more compact and less costly form." 
 
 " I am sure you will And I am sure we will be 
 happier than if we had made our debut in a much more 
 imposing way." 
 
 And thus the matter was settled. The reader cannot 
 but say wisely, when he reflects that James Hartley 
 was without capital himself, and only a junior partner 
 in a mercantile house, which, although it was doing a 
 heavy business, might not at the end of the year, from 
 causes against which ordinary foresight could not guard.
 
 THE WIFE. 81 
 
 divide anything more than very moderate profits. A 
 woman with different views and feelings would never 
 have thought of objecting to become the mistress of an 
 establishment like the one offered by Hartley; but 
 Anna had no weak pride or love of show to gratify. 
 She looked only to what was right; or, at least, ever 
 sought to do so. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A THOUGHTLESS WOMAN OF THE WORLD FLORENCE 
 ARMITAGE. 
 
 "You are going to housekeeping, I hear," -said Mrs. 
 Riston, a young friend, about a week after the conver 
 sation mentioned in the preceding chapter had taken 
 place. Mrs. Riston had called in to see Anna, whose 
 acquaintance she had recently made. 
 
 " Yes," was the smiling reply. 
 
 "You'll be sorry for iU" 
 
 "Why so r 
 
 " Oh, it will bring you into a world of trouble. My 
 husband has been teasing me to death about going to 
 housekeeping ever since we have been married. But I 
 won't hear of it." 
 
 " That is strange. I thought every married woman 
 would like to be in her own house." 
 
 " Oh dear ! no. I know dozens who would throw 
 
 (48) G
 
 J-J ANffA LEE, 
 
 bouses and all into the river if they could. It makes 
 a slave of a woman, Mrs. Hartley. She is tied down 
 to a certain routine of duties of the most irksome nature : 
 and this, day in and day out, the year round. And 
 what is worse, instead of her duties growing lighter, 
 they are constantly increasing." 
 
 " But all these duties it is right for her to perform, 
 is it not?" 
 
 "Not if she con get out of them, or delegate their 
 performance to some one else, as I do. In a boarding- 
 house you pay for having all this trouble taken off your 
 hands. And I think our husbands may just as well 
 pay for it as not I have no notion of being a slave. 
 I did not marry to become a mere drudge, so to speak, 
 to any one." 
 
 " It is a question in my mind, Mrs. Riston, whether 
 it is right to delegate the duties we are competent to 
 perform," was Anna's mild reply. 
 
 "All nonsense! Get out of doing everything you 
 can. At the best you will have your hands full" 
 
 "No doubt I shall find plenty to do; but my labour 
 will be lightened by the consciousness that it is done in 
 order to make others happy." 
 
 " Others happy ! Oh, la ! Who'll try to make you 
 happy, I wonder?" 
 
 " My husband, I hope," said Anna, gravely. 
 
 " Humph ! You will sea Husbands ain't the most 
 unselfish creatures in the world. I believe they we
 
 THE WIFE. 83 
 
 not proverbial for sacrificing much to the happiness of 
 their wives." 
 
 Anna felt shocked at this. But her young friend did 
 not notice the effect her words produced, and continued 
 to run on. 
 
 " You had better take my advice, and tell your hus 
 band, as I have told mine over and over again, that 
 you are not going to become a domestic slave for him 
 or anybody else." 
 
 Anna shook her head. 
 
 " Well ! Just as you like. If you will go to house 
 keeping, so be it. It won't hurt me. Have you picked 
 out your house yet 1 " 
 
 " We haven't exactly decided. Mr. Hartley thought 
 at first of taking a very beautiful house in Walnut 
 Street, at a rent of eighty guineas." 
 
 " But very soon thought better of it, I have no doubt. 
 
 " If I had not objected, he would have taken it." 
 
 " You objected ? Why so ? 
 
 " I thought it would involve more expense and style 
 than two young folks like us ought to indulge in." 
 
 " Upon my word ! But you are a novice in the 
 world ! This is the first instance that has occurred 
 among all my acquaintances of such a thing as a wife 
 objecting to style and expense. Precious few of us get 
 the chance, I can assure you ! And you'll soon wish, 
 or I am mistaken, that you had taken your good man 
 at his word."
 
 84 A Jffy A LEE, 
 
 Anna felt a glow of indignation at this reflection 
 upon her husband. But she forced herself to appear 
 unmoved, merely replying, 
 
 " No ; I shall never wish that I shall never have 
 any want, in his power to supply, that will not be 
 readily met" 
 
 M So you may think now. But take my advice, and 
 don't put any prudential and penurious notions into 
 your husband's head. If he wants to carpet your floors 
 with gold, let him do it He'll never hurt himself by 
 spending money on you or his household. Men 
 rarely, if ever, do, let me tell you. As they grow 
 older, they get to be closer and closer with their 
 money, until at last you can get scarcely anything 
 at all The best time is at first The first few years 
 of marriage is the only golden harvest time a woman 
 ever sees." 
 
 " You have not been married long enough to speak 
 all this from experience." 
 
 " I have seen a good deal more of life than you have, 
 child ; and I have had my own experience. As far as 
 it goes, I can witness fully to what I have said. And 
 yet my husband is as good as the rest, and much better 
 than the mass. I love him about as well, I suppose, 
 as most women love their husbands; though I don't 
 pretend to be blind to his faults. But wh.it kind of a 
 house do you prefer, seeing that the elegant one iu 
 Walnut Street is rather costly and stylish ?"
 
 THE WIFE. 86 
 
 "There is a house vacant close by. Perhaps you 
 noticed the bill as you came up R Street." 
 
 " Just round the corner 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; the rent is thirty guineas." 
 
 "Mrs. Hartley!" 
 
 " It is a very good house, and quite genteel, with a 
 great deal more room than we want." 
 
 " But, my dear, good madam, it is nothing but an 
 ordinary house, built to rent. There is nothing elegant 
 about it. Don't refuse to take the one in Walnut 
 Street for so common an affair as this, if you can get it. 
 Always aim at the best." 
 
 " I have been through it, and find it replete with 
 every convenience for a moderate-sized family. I have 
 no wish to make a display. That would render me no 
 happier. I go to housekeeping, because I think it 
 right to take my true place as the mistress of a family ; 
 and for no other reason. Here I could be happy, 
 without a care. But I would be out of my true sphere." 
 
 " You are certainly the strangest creature I ever met," 
 replied Mrs. Riston. " But a few years will take all 
 this nonsense out of you." 
 
 The displeasure felt by Anna at Mrs. Riston's in 
 sinuations against her husband, began to give way, as 
 she saw more clearly the lady's character, and began to 
 understand that, although there was a good deal of 
 earnest in what was said, there was much more of talk 
 for talk's sake. She, therefore, merely replied in a
 
 K, ANNA LKE, 
 
 laughing voice to Mrs. Riston's last remark, and sought 
 to change the subject Before they parted, the friend 
 could not help saying, 
 
 a But, my dear Mrs. Hartley, I cannot get over your 
 refusing that elegant house in Walnut Street I 
 should like, above all things, to see you in just such a 
 dwelling, elegantly furnished. If I had refused the 
 splendid offer that you did in Herbert Gardiner, I 
 would compass sea and land but I'd show him that I 
 had lost nothing." 
 
 This very indelicate and ill-timed remark caused the 
 blood to rush to the brow of Anna, and her eyes to 
 flash with honest indignation. Her volatile friend saw 
 that she had gone a little too far, and attempted to 
 make all right again, by begging "a thousand pardons." 
 Anna's external composure soon returned, but she 
 sought to change entirely the subject of conversation. 
 But, in spite of all she could do, the lady would, ever 
 and anon, have something disparaging to say about 
 husbands, and gently insinuate that Anna herself, 
 before she was many years older, would find that all 
 was not gold that glittered 
 
 The warmth of Anna's feeling gradually, in spite of 
 herself, passed off, as she continued to converse with 
 Mrs. Kiston, until she became constrained in her man- 
 Mr. This affected her visitor, who perceived, with a 
 woman's intuition, that her sentiments had not met 
 with the approval they too often did from her lady
 
 TUB WIFE. 87 
 
 friends. She tried, before she went away, to soften 
 some things she had said, and laugh at others as having 
 been uttered in jest. After Mrs. Eiston's departure, 
 Anna sat in a thoughtful mood for some time. The 
 remarks she had just listened to shocked her feelings 
 more and more the more she reflected on them. 
 
 " Can there be any happiness," she mused, " in mar 
 riage thus viewed? In the marriage relation thus per 
 verted 1 I can conceive of none. To me, such a union 
 would be, of all things, a condition most miserable." 
 
 While thus musing, another visitor called. It was 
 Florence Armitage. Since her last recorded interview 
 with Anna, she had received a severe lesson. Guided 
 alone by the thoughtless vanity which then appeared to 
 her a sufficient motive of action, she had received the 
 addresses of William Archer, though knowing that his 
 character was not such as a pure-minded woman would 
 desire in her husband. The young man exerted all his 
 powers to render himself agreeable to her, and with 
 such success, that the day was fixed, and everything 
 prepared for their marriage, when an unexpected dis 
 closure proved the baseness of his character, and 
 abruptly broke off all intercourse with him, on the very 
 day appointed for their marriage. Since the severe 
 lesson her heart had received, Florence was a good deal 
 changed. Her thoughtlessness, which had come near 
 involving her in a whole lifetime of misery, and her 
 critical escape, made her feel humble and thankful.
 
 88 .1. v.v.i /. 
 
 She visited Anna frequently, and profited much more 
 than formerly by her truthful precepts. 
 
 On this occasion Anna saw, after a few moments 
 that her friend was slightly agitated. 
 
 " You seem disturbed, Florence, What is the 
 matter 1 " she said. 
 
 The colour deepened on the maiden's face. 
 
 Who do you think I met in the street just now ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell" 
 
 " William Archer." 
 
 " But you did not recognise him ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " In that, I need scarcely say, you were right Your 
 own heart will tell you that" 
 
 " And yet, Anna, I confess to you that I was tempted 
 to do so." 
 
 " Florence ! " Anna's voice and countenance ex 
 pressed strongly the surprise she felt 
 
 " Do not condemn me until you hear all ; until you 
 know the cause of disturbance. I received a letter from 
 him yesterday." 
 
 " Which you immediately returned unanswered ?'' 
 
 " No, I did not feel sure that I ought to do so, until 
 I had seen and conversed with you about it" 
 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 " Here is his letter; read it." 
 
 Anna shrunk from touching the epistle, which 
 Florence held towards her.
 
 ' THE WIFE. 89 
 
 " Eead it aloud, if you particularly wish me to know 
 its contents," she merely said. 
 
 Florence did as requested. The letter contained a 
 most solemn denial of charges brought against the 
 writer by a certain individual, who was, he said, 
 evidently not in her right mind, and whose statements 
 should at least be taken with great caution. He knew 
 that rumour had been busy with his name, and had 
 magnified his faults into crimes ; " and how easy it is," 
 he urged, " to blast any man's character by false charges, 
 if he is not permitted to refute them;" with much 
 more of the same tenor. Altogether, the letter was 
 written with tact, force, and an air of great plausibility, 
 and well calculated to create a doubt as to the correct 
 ness of the judgment which the general voice had passed 
 upon him. He did not, he said, purpose to renew his 
 suit for the hand of Florence ; for that, he was well 
 assured, would be useless. But it was a duty he owed 
 .to himself and society to at least make an attempt to 
 vindicate his character, and in the highest quarter. 
 
 After Florence had read the letter, she looked in 
 quiringly into the face of Mrs. Hartley. Anna returned 
 her steady look, but made no remark. 
 
 " There is, at least, an appearance of truth about this 
 letter," Florence at length said. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley compressed her lips and shook her 
 head, but did not speak. 
 
 " I am afraid, Anna, that you sometimes suffer your
 
 90 AWA LEE, 
 
 prejudices to obscure the otherwise clear perceptions of 
 your mind. We are all liable to err, Anna." 
 
 " True. But if a woman's heart is in the right place 
 that is, has a love for all that is innocent and vir 
 tuous, and a deep abhorrence of everything opposite to 
 these, she will not be very liable to form an erroneous 
 judgment of any man who approaches her, no matter 
 how many semblances of virtue he may put on. As 
 for me, I do not pretend to have very acute perceptions, 
 but from William Archer, you well know, I always 
 shrunk with instinctive dislike." 
 
 "That arose, no doubt, from the estimate common 
 report had caused you to form of his character." 
 
 " And are you prepared to doubt common report on 
 this head t" 
 
 "Somewhat, I must confess. You have heard his 
 solemn denial." 
 
 "Florence! I should think you had seen proofs 
 enough. But, if not satisfied, a half hour's conversation 
 with my mother will convince you that the writer of 
 the letter you hold in your hand is quite as base as you 
 had been led to believe him." 
 
 reply was made. Florence folded the letter, and 
 returned it to her pocket, with a deep sigh, breathed 
 forth unconsciously. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley was deeply pained at observing this 
 change in the mind of her young friend. But she said 
 no more, trusting that the momentary weakness to
 
 THE WIFE. 9i 
 
 which she was yielding would pass away, after con 
 versing with her mother, who knew much more about 
 Archer than the daughter wished to utter, or we to 
 record. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 
 
 AFTER the conversation between Mrs. Hartley and 
 Florence had taken a new direction, the subject of 
 going to housekeeping was introduced. Like Mrs. 
 Eiston, Florence was in favour of the large house in 
 Walnut Street, and urged Anna very strongly to change 
 her mind, and let her husband take it. 
 
 " He is able enough," she said. 
 
 " Are you right sure 1 " 
 
 " He ought to be. Isn't he in the firm of R , 
 
 s , & Co. r 
 
 " As a junior partner only." 
 
 " He wished to take the house, you say ? " 
 
 " At first he did." 
 
 " He ought to know better than any one else whether 
 he could afford to do so or not." 
 
 " True. But he now thinks with me that it will be 
 wiser for us to commence housekeeping in a style less 
 imposing." 
 
 " I must say," returned Florence, " that Mr. Hartley
 
 92 ANNA LEE, 
 
 would have found very few women to object as you 
 have done to a large and elegant house. I am sure the 
 temptation would have been too much for me." 
 
 " If you had clearly seen that it was neither wise nor 
 prudent to do so 1 " 
 
 "That might have altered the case. But I think 
 few but yourself would have stopped to consider about 
 wisdom and pruience." 
 
 "To their sorrow in the end, perhaps. I for one 
 would much rather take an humble position in society, 
 and rise, if good fortune attend me, gradually; than, 
 after taking a high position, be, in a few years, thrust 
 down." 
 
 " If there be danger of that, your course was doubt 
 less best But why should you apprehend any such 
 disaster t" 
 
 "I do not apprehend evil; I only act, as I think, 
 My husband is a young man who has been in 
 business only for a few years. There are now but two 
 of us, and we do not need a very large house. For 
 both of these reasons it is plain to my mind that we 
 ought to take our place in society without ostentation 
 or lavish expenditure. It is barely possible that my 
 husband may not find all his business expectations 
 realized. I do not know what his prospects are, for I 
 am in no way conversant with them. I only know 
 that he had no capital of his own when he was taken 
 into business. That he has told me. Now, if he
 
 THE WIFE. 93 
 
 should be very successful, it will be easy for us to go 
 up higher in a few years. If not, and we had come 
 out in costly style, it would be a hard trial and a mor 
 tifying one to come down." 
 
 " Your good sense is always guiding you aright," 
 Florence could not help saying. " It is best, no doubt, 
 that you should do as you have proposed ; but there is 
 not one in a hundred who would have exercised your 
 prudent forethought ; I am sure I could not have done 
 it." 
 
 A few days after this Hartley and his wife decided 
 
 to take the house in K Street. Then came the 
 
 work of furnishing it. And here the prudent fore 
 thought of Anna was again seen. Her husband pro 
 posed to give up the whole business to a good cabinet 
 maker and an upholsterer, who should use their judg 
 ment and experience in such matters. 
 
 " As neither you nor I know much about these things, 
 it will save us a world of trouble," he said. 
 
 Anna shook her head and smiled at this remark. 
 
 A shadow instantly flitted over the brow of Hartley. 
 It disappeared as quickly as it came, but Anna saw it 
 The smile vanished from. her lips, and her eyes filled 
 with tears. She felt that, because she did ( not see in 
 all things just as he did, he was annoyed. 
 
 " Am I self-willed ? Do I differ with my husband 
 from caprice 1 " were the self-examining questions of the 
 young wife.
 
 9i Affix A I.F.I:, 
 
 Hartley read her thoughts, and said quickly, in a 
 voice of affection 
 
 u You ought to know more about all these matters 
 than I do, Anna; so you shall decide what is best to do." 
 
 44 I wish to decide nothing, James. I only wish to 
 see and decide with you in everything. You don't 
 know how much it pains me to differ : but ought I to 
 yield passively to what you suggest if my own judg 
 ment does not approve ? Ought we not to see eye to 
 eye in all things 1 " 
 
 44 We ought, certainly. But I have been so long in 
 the habit of consulting my own judgment about every 
 thing, that I am, thus early in our married life, forget 
 ting that now there are two of us to decide questions of 
 mutual interest I thank you for so gently bringing this 
 to my mind, and for doing so in the very outset With 
 out thinking whether it would uieet your views or not 
 to become the mistress of a very elegant house, I de 
 cided to rent and fit up an establishment that I already 
 see would have afforded more trouble than comfort 
 Your wise objections prevented the occurrence of tluit 
 eviL Again I have decided to fit up the bouse we have 
 taken in a certain way, and so decided without consult 
 ing you about it Here is my second error, and you 
 have, like a true wife, in the gentlest possible way, given 
 me to see that I was wrong. I thank you for these 
 two lessons, that had much better be given now than 
 at some future time."
 
 THE WIFE. 95 
 
 Hartley bent down and kissed the flushed cheek of 
 his beautiful wife as he said this. 
 
 " And now, dear," he continued, " speak out freely 
 all you have to say. As before, your judgment will, I 
 doubt not, show that mine was altogether at fault." 
 
 " Do not talk so, James," returned Anna, her face 
 covered with blushes. " I desire only to see with you 
 and act with you." 
 
 " I know that, dear ; but I am not perfect. I am, 
 like all others, liable to err. And it is your duty when 
 you clearly see me in error, to balance that error by 
 declining to act passively with me. This I hope you 
 will do." 
 
 Anna was humble -minded, and it pained her to hear 
 such remarks from her husband, for whose moral and 
 intellectual character she had the highest regard, while 
 of herself she thought with meekness. 
 
 " Tell me, dear," Hartley said, after some time, 
 " what is your objection to my plan of furnishing our 
 house ] " 
 
 " Mainly to the expense." 
 
 " Do you think it would cost more than if we at 
 tended to it ourselves?" 
 
 " It would, probably, cost double, and not be arranged 
 more perfectly, so far as comfort and convenience are 
 concerned, than if we were to do it ourselves." 
 
 " I don't understand how that could be." 
 
 " Your cabinet-maker and upholsterer would wish to
 
 !>C . I. V.v.i LEE, 
 
 know if you wanted everything of the best; and you 
 would assent The best would be, no doubt in their 
 estimation, the costliest I saw a house once furnished 
 in this way a house not larger than the one we have 
 token. How much do you think it cost 1 " 
 "How much]" 
 " Nine hundred pounds." 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 ** Yea. And I would agree to furnish a house with 
 just as many comforts and conveniences on half the 
 money." 
 
 Hartley's eyes were cast thoughtfully on the floor. 
 It was some moments before anything more was said. 
 The wife was first to speak. She did so in a timid, 
 hesitating voice. 
 
 " Had we not better understand each other fully at 
 once?" she said. 
 
 " By all means. The quicker we do so the better. 
 Is there anything in which we do not fully understand 
 each other?" 
 
 " Before we take another step, ought not I, as your 
 wife, to know exactly how you stand with the world in 
 a business and pecuniary relation ? I feel that this is 
 a very delicate subject for a wife to introduce. But 
 can I know how to be governed in my desires if I do 
 not know to what extent they can be safely gratified?" 
 M I trust there is no desire that you can entertain, 
 dear Anna, that I am not able and willing to gratify."
 
 THE MISUNDERSTANDING. 
 
 Page 97.
 
 THE WIFE. 97 
 
 " That is altogether too vague," replied Mrs. Hartley, 
 forcing a smile. " As your wife I shall regulate the 
 expense of your household. I wish to do so wisely; 
 and in order to this it is necessary for me to have some 
 idea of your probable income." 
 
 " It ought to be between four and five hundred 
 pounds a year; and will be, unless some unforeseen 
 events transpire to affect our business." 
 
 Hartley seemed to say this with reluctance. And he 
 did so really. The inquiry grated on his feelings. It 
 seemed to him that Anna should have felt confidence 
 enough in him to believe that he would not propose 
 any expenditure of money beyond what was prudent. 
 He would hardly have thought in this way if he had 
 not actually proposed the very thing he tacitly con 
 demned her for suspecting that he had done. He was 
 not really so well established in the world as to be 
 able to rent a house at a high rent, and furnish it in 
 a costly style; nor even to give a carte blanche to a 
 cabinet-maker and upholsterer to fit up, according to 
 their ideas, the house he had decided to occupy. 
 
 The moment he allowed himself to think tlms of his 
 honest-minded wife, he felt an inward coldness toward 
 her, which was perceived as quickly in her heart as it 
 was felt in his. 
 
 Conscious that Anna thus perceived his feelings, and 
 unable at the same time to rise above them, and think 
 with generous approval of her motives, he did not, for 
 
 (4S> 7
 
 98 A NX A LEE, 
 
 some time, make any effort to lift her up from the un 
 happy state into which she had fallen. One unkind 
 thought was the creator of others. 
 
 " What can she mean?" he allowed himself to ask. 
 " Is it possible that she has imagined I was rich ; and 
 now, a doubt having crossed her mind, can she be try 
 ing to find out the exact state of my affairs ? I never 
 could have dreamed this ! " 
 
 Both their eyes were cast upon the floor. They sat 
 silent, with hearts heavily oppressed; he suffering ac 
 cusation after accusation to flow into his mind, and 
 lodge there; and she deeply distressed, from a con 
 sciousness of having been misunderstood in a matter 
 that she felt to be of great importance, and which she 
 had endeavoured to approach with the utmost delicacy. 
 
 Some minutes passed, when better feelings produced 
 better thoughts in the mind of James Hartley. He 
 saw that he had been ungenerous, even cruel in his 
 suspicions. He imagined himself in her situation, and 
 felt how deeply her heart must be wounded. 
 
 " She is right," he sai4 inwardly, lifting his head, 
 with the intention of saying that which should at once 
 relieve Anna's mind. The first thing that met his eye 
 was a tear falling upon her hand. His feelings reacted 
 strongly. Drawing an arm quickly about her neck, he 
 pressed her head against his bosom, and, bending over, 
 murmured hi her ear 
 
 " I am not worthy of so good a wife as you, dear
 
 THE WIFE. 99 
 
 Anna ! What evil has possessed me, that I, who love 
 you so truly, should be the one to make you unhappy ? 
 Surely I have been beside myself ! " 
 
 Anna released herself quickly from the arm that 
 had been thrown around her neck, and turned up to 
 the eyes of her husband a tearful, serious but not un 
 happy face. 
 
 " Oh, James ! dear James ! " she said, in a low, earnest, 
 eloquent voice. " Why do you speak so ] I am only 
 weak and foolish. It is enough that we love truly. 
 If we find it a little difficult at first to understand 
 each other fully, it is no great wonder. Love, true 
 love, will in the end harmonize all differences, and make 
 plain to each the other's heart. Let us be patient and 
 forbearing." 
 
 " What you are ; but I have much to learn, and you 
 shall be my tutor." 
 
 Hartley again kissed his bride; but she looked 
 serious. 
 
 " Not so," she returned. " It is to your intelligence 
 that I am to look for guidance. I am to learn of you, 
 not you of me." 
 
 "Nevermind," was smilingly replied by Hartley. "We 
 will reverse the order for a time, until my intelligence 
 of domestic affairs is laid upon a truer basis than it 
 seems now to be. But I think there will be no harm 
 in our deferring all the matters now under considera 
 tion until to-morrow. Both of us will then be able to
 
 100 X. v.v.i I 
 
 *ee more clearly, feel less acutely, and determine more 
 wisely. Do you not think so t " 
 
 Anna gave a cheerful assent to this, and the subject 
 of conversation was changed. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ALL RIGHT AGAIN. 
 
 lous that he had wronged Anna in thought as 
 well as in feeling, Hartley's words, tones, and actions 
 expressed towards her the tenderness that this con 
 sciousness awoke in his bosom. By every little art in 
 his power he strove to obliterate from her mind a re 
 collection of what had passed. 
 
 As for Anna, she was grieved to find that her well- 
 meant, indeed her conscientious efforts, had been mis 
 understood. It would have been the easiest thing in 
 the world for her to remain passive, and let her husband 
 make all arrangements as his taste might dictate. But 
 would this be right? That question she could not 
 answer in the affirmative. 
 
 " He will think me self-willed," she said. "Twice 
 already have I opposed his wishes, and how can he 
 help feeling. that I do this from an innate love of hav 
 ing things only my own way? Oh, if he but knew my 
 heart ! If he could, see how gladly I would yield up 
 everything to him if it would be right for mo to do so !"
 
 THE WIFE. 101 
 
 While Anna thought thus, her husband was experi 
 encing the good results of her firmness. He was closely 
 examining his own ends of action, and asking himself 
 many questions, the answers to which enabled him to see 
 the true nature of the ground upon which he was standing. 
 In his heart he rendered his young wife full justice. 
 
 When next they recurred to the subject that had 
 awakened a discordant string, it was seen in its true 
 light by Hartley. He was the first to bring up the 
 question about which there had been a difference of 
 opinion, felt much more strongly than expressed. 
 This was on the succeeding day. 
 
 " I have been thinking a great deal about what took 
 
 place yesterday," he began by saying in a serious voice. 
 
 Anna's heart gave a sudden bound. She looked 
 
 earnestly at her husband. He could see that her lip 
 
 slightly quivered. 
 
 " You are right and I am wrong," he continued ; 
 " all that concerns us should have our mutual consi 
 deration. As my wife, you ought to know exactly how 
 I stand with the world, and I should not, through false 
 pride, have any wish to conceal this from you. I have 
 had many serious thoughts since yesterday, and to-day 
 I feel that I am a wiser man. Will you forgive my 
 ungenerous " 
 
 " James ! dear James ! I cannot hear you speak in 
 this way," interposed Anna. " It is wrong for you to 
 do so. Let what is past be forgotten. In the present
 
 108 . 1. V.V.I LEE, 
 
 let us live to good purpose ; to the future let us look 
 with hope." 
 
 " Very well Let the past go with all its lights and 
 shadows. To-day that is, now hi the present time 
 we must act What is our first duty 1 " 
 
 Anna made no reply. 
 
 " We have rented a house, and must furnish it" 
 
 Anna still remained silent 
 
 " How shall it be done 1 I proposed one way; but 
 it did not seem to you to be the right way, and like .1 
 true wife you said so, and gave an admirable reason. 
 It was likely to involve a waste of money. You sug 
 gested, on the threshold of our married life, that we 
 ought to understand each other fully. I have thought 
 about that ever since. At first I could not bear to 
 think of talking to you about the ordinary concerns of 
 life it seemed descending from a world of romance 
 to a world of vulgar realities. Your intimation that 
 you ought to know something about my pecuniary 
 affairs, I confess, did jar upon my feelings; and I 
 could not help showing it But, Anna, you were 
 right How could you, as you truly said, govern your 
 self in your desires, or regulate your expenditures, if 
 you did not know how far I was able to meet them ? 
 It is right, then, that you should know precisely how 
 I stand with the world ; and in telling you the exact 
 truth, I cannot but suffer a little from wounded pride 
 especially when the huge house in Walnut Street comes
 
 THE WIFE. 103 
 
 up in iny imagination. It is not to be concealed that 
 I am not in a situation to rent such a house, and incur 
 the heavy expenses that it would involve. I thought 
 that I was, or rather imagined, without much thinking 
 in the premises, that I was bound to make my wife 
 the mistress of a very handsome house, with costly 
 furniture, and all that appertained to an elegant estab 
 lishment. But my wife had the good sense to unde 
 ceive me in this, and I thank her most sincerely for it ! 
 
 " To come down to the main point, then, without 
 further preliminaries, I am, as you know, a partner in 
 
 the firm of K , S , & Co., one of the most 
 
 flourishing houses in the city. But I am a junior 
 partner, and entitled only to a certain dividend on the 
 profits. This dividend, I have every reason to believe, 
 will be between four and five hundred pounds. It may 
 be less. I ought not to conceal from myself the fact, 
 that a series of heavy losses would reduce my income 
 much below the sum named ; still, I do not really 
 apprehend anything of the kind. To all human ap 
 pearance, our customers are some of the safest in the 
 country. But it is the part of wisdom to exercise a 
 prudent forethought." 
 
 Anna listened with deep attention. She did not 
 reply, although her husband paused some moments to 
 give her an opportunity for doing so. 
 
 '' There is every prospect, however," Hartley resumed, 
 "of my acquiring wealth rapidly. Our house has
 
 104 
 
 doubled its business in the last year, and if we go on 
 increasing in the ratio that we have done for some time 
 past, there will not be a richer firm in the city. My 
 proportion of profit is to be increased to a fifth, at the 
 expiration of five years from the time I was taken into 
 the concern." 
 
 Hartley again paused ; but Anna still continued 
 silent 
 
 " I have now told you all freely," he said. 
 
 For which I thank you !" Anna replied in a serious 
 voice. " I can now move forward without a feeling of 
 insecurity. I shall know the ground upon which I 
 tread." 
 
 " You will not, I hope, feel that there is any necessity 
 for a very close economy ? " 
 
 " All that either you or I want to make our condi 
 tion as pleasant as -would be desired, you are, I doubt 
 not, fully able to afford. If there is no necessity for a 
 very close economy, there is as little for a very free 
 expenditure. Under all the circumstances, will it not 
 be wise for us to set some limit to our wants 1" 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 " Determine how much, situated as we are, it should 
 cost us in the year to live." 
 
 I fully agree with you. Suppose, then, we say fivo 
 hundred pounds." 
 
 Anna smiled. 
 
 " Too much or too little ? " asked Hartley.
 
 THE WIFE. 106 
 
 u Too much by at least two hundred pounds.'* 
 
 Hartley shook his head. 
 
 " We cannot live in a style that my business connec 
 tions require that I should live in, on three hundred 
 pounds a-year." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. Three hundred pounds, 
 if prudently expended, will go a great way. My father, 
 I know, supported his family, and sent three of us to 
 school for a number of years, on greatly less than that. 
 And we lived as respectably then as we do now. We 
 have rented a very good house. Let us furnish it well. 
 After that is done, we shall find the lowest amount I 
 have named quite sufficient for us. If not, it can be 
 easily increased." 
 
 "Very true. I believe you see this whole matter in 
 the best light. The furnishing of our house, as you 
 have intimated, is now our first business. How and 
 where shall we begin 1 As far as I am concerned, I 
 know nothing at all about it." 
 
 "It is but little that I know;" replied Anna, "but 
 there is one on whose experience I can safely rely my 
 mother. If you think it best, I will consult her." 
 
 " That will be the wisest course. A moment's reflec 
 tion would have taught me this at first." 
 
 " My father has usually left all things relating to the 
 internal economy of the family to her judgment." 
 
 "As I should leave all such things to yours," said 
 Hartley, with a smile.
 
 106 A.\'.\A LEE, 
 
 \u, no. Don't misunderstand me ! " quickly replied 
 Anna. " My mother, as far as I can recollect, never 
 bought anything of importance without referring to my 
 father. Her familiarity with domestic affairs enabled 
 her to judge correctly in regard to what was needed ; 
 but bis taste was consulted, and what he approved, I 
 have noticed that my mother almost always selected. 
 This set of chairs was bought about a year ago. I 
 remember hearing mother say to father one day, 
 
 "' If we can afford it, I think we should get a new 
 set of chairs.' 
 
 " We were sitting in the parlour here when she said 
 this. Father looked around and examined the chairs 
 attentively for a little while. 
 
 " ' They do look rather worn,' he answered, ' I did 
 not notice it before. Our new carpets really shame 
 them. By all means we must have another set' 
 
 " The kind to be selected was then talked about. 
 Mother proposed a plainer and cheaper style of chairs, 
 but father thought they could afford a set like these, 
 and mother acquiesced. On the next day they went 
 together to a chairmaker's. I accompanied them. 
 Four or five different patterns were shown ; but mother 
 made no choice, until she heard father express himself 
 Tery much pleased with these. Without the slightest 
 appearance of being governed by his taste, I saw that 
 she inclined, gradually, to a choice of those my father 
 had liked, and when she finally said which she liked
 
 THE WIFE. 107 
 
 best, it was done so delicately, that I am sure father 
 did not suspect that his taste had guided hers. And 
 yet it was so or so appeared to me. I have witnessed 
 the same deference to his taste frequently since. Now, 
 just as my father leaves domestic affairs to my mother's 
 judgment, do I wish that you would leave them to 
 mine; and just as my mother consults my father's taste, 
 do I wish to consult yours. Shall it not be so ] " 
 
 "It shall!" was Hartley's instant reply, kissing, with 
 warmth and tenderness, the sweet lips of his young 
 wife, as he spoke. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOUSE FURNISHING. 
 
 ON the next day Hartley, accompanied by Anna and 
 her mother, started out to select furniture. It must 
 be told that Anna did not defer to the taste of her 
 husband quite so fully as she had represented her 
 mother as doing to Mr. Lee. At the cabinet-maker's, 
 there were several pieces of furniture that she induced 
 him to purchase, notwithstanding he had expressed a 
 decided preference for a different style of the same 
 article. The reason may be easily guessed. A differ 
 ence of, perhaps, five pounds in a sofa; as much more 
 in a set of chairs, or a pair of pier tables, not any better 
 for the additional price, but only a little more showy,
 
 108 
 
 was the only cause for this want of deference to her 
 husband's taste on the part of Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 Sometimes the very natural desire to have things his 
 own way, and the disposition felt to make a show, 
 caused Hartley to feel chafed. But his good sense, 
 aided by the experience he had gained since marriage, 
 brought his mind back again to its true balance. He 
 could not but approve the motives of his wife, and 
 acknowledge that she was acting with prudence. 
 
 After their parlour, and a pait of their chamber 
 furniture, including carpets, had been selected, Hartley 
 gave up all the rest into the hands of Anna. 
 
 In about two weeks the house was ready ; the whole 
 work of furnishing it having gone on under the direct 
 supervision and instruction of Anna, aided by the wise 
 counsel of her mother. When all was completed, the 
 young couple took possession of their new home. 
 Hartley was delighted with everything. The parlours 
 were really beautiful. 
 
 That sofa is much handsomer than I thought it 
 was," he said, looking at it with pleasure. " It had a 
 common appearance to me in Mr. 's wareroom." 
 
 "Because you saw it there in contrast with more 
 showy ones," returned Anna. "I think it a real 
 beauty, myself. I wouldn't ask a better one." 
 
 " Nor I, now that I can see what it really is. These 
 chairs, too, are good enough for any one. I don't know 
 that a neater pattern could be found. In fact, every-
 
 THE WIFE. 109 
 
 thing looks about two-hundred per cent better than I 
 had any idea that it would." 
 
 " If we cannot be happy in a house furnished as well 
 as this is, James, we cannot be happy anywhere," Anna 
 said, leaning hard upon his arm, as she stood with her 
 husband in the centre of their parlour, from which 
 position they had been looking around them. "We 
 want nothing for the sake of display; but only what 
 will make us comfortable, and enable us to maintain 
 that social position in which we can best act for the 
 good of all around us." 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Hartley had commenced house 
 keeping, she was visited, as a thing of course, by all her 
 friends. Some admired everything. Some approved 
 the young wife's taste, and commended her prudence; 
 while others wondered why she chose a particular 
 article of furniture instead of another that was more 
 fashionable, or why she did not get Saxony instead of 
 Brussels carpeting for her parlours; and a great deal 
 more of a like tenor. Among these friends was Mrs. 
 Riston. 
 
 " Ah, my dear ! So you have done as you threat 
 ened," said this lady, meeting Anna with a free air, and 
 then looking around with a scrutinizing eye. 
 
 " Yes," was replied. " I have made a fair start in 
 the world, and hope I shall be able to keep steadily on 
 to the end with a clear conscience." 
 
 " It is more than many of us will do, then let me
 
 110 AWA LEE, 
 
 tell you. Clear consciences are rare things in these 
 days. But let me see what kind of a beginning you 
 have made. These are your parlours." 
 
 The lady looked around for a while, and then shook 
 her head, 
 
 "What is the matter? Are not things to your 
 taste?" 
 
 "Not exactly." 
 
 "What do you see wrong?" 
 
 " Nothing that can just be called wrong ; but much 
 that is not at all in keeping with your husband's con 
 dition in life." 
 
 " I don't know about that I think everything is in 
 keeping." 
 
 " It is more than I do then. How much did you 
 pay for your sofas ?" 
 
 " Twenty pounds for the pair." 
 
 " I thought they were not above that price. What 
 in the world possessed you to buy such common look 
 ing affairs? Or, did your husband think them quite 
 good enough ? " 
 
 The blood mounted to Mrs. Hartley's face, at this 
 reflection upon her husband. 
 
 " No, they were my own choice," she quickly replied. 
 "He liked a pair at forty pounds, and would have 
 taken them if I had wished it." 
 
 Mrs. Riston shook her head. 
 
 "Yon are a silly child, Anna; but you will know
 
 THE WIFE. Ill 
 
 better after a while. It makes me downright angry 
 with you every time I think about that splendid house 
 in Walnut Street which you were foolish enough to 
 refuse. Your husband is able enough to rent it." 
 
 " We both prefer to gain a little more experience than 
 we have, before we dash out too boldly." 
 
 " If you don't dash out now, you will never do it. 
 Take my word for that." 
 
 " No matter. Happiness in this life doesn't consist 
 in dashing out. I, for one, shall be far happier in this 
 quiet little nook, than I would be if I were mistress of 
 a palace." 
 
 Mrs. Biston gave her head an incredulous toss, and 
 said, 
 
 " All that is well enough very good talk. But I do 
 not believe that you are so far superior to the rest of 
 your sex as not to be captivated by elegance and splen 
 dour." 
 
 " I could have had a very elegant house and furni 
 ture of the most costly kind, if I had said but the 
 word." 
 
 " And a great fool you were for not saving the word. 
 You will repent of it one of these days." 
 
 Anna could not help smiling at her friend's ear 
 nestness. 
 
 " A rare display you would make, no doubt," she re 
 marked, playfully. 
 
 "Wouldn't I ! If I had the purse-strings I'd go to
 
 112 A.VXA LEE, 
 
 housekeeping to-morrow. Then I'd show you style ! 
 I'd make my friends open their eyes." 
 
 Anna laughed outright. 
 
 " You may laugh. But I'd do it ! Mr. Riston baa 
 been at me for the last three weeks about getting into 
 a house of our own. I'm half inclined to say yes." 
 
 "Why don't you?" 
 
 " I think I will ; but on one condition that I have 
 full liberty to choose a house and furnish it just as I 
 please." 
 
 " Will Mr. Riston agree to that 1" 
 
 " It's the only condition I'll give him a chance of 
 agreeing to. If he makes a slave of me, I am deter 
 mined to have a palace for my prison." 
 
 " Whether your husband can afford a palace or not 1 " 
 
 "Afford!" Mrs. Riston's lip curled. "I hate to 
 hear a woman utter that word. Afford, indeed ! I'll 
 make him afford it." 
 
 The manner in which this was said sent a chill 
 through Mrs. Hartley. She shrunk back, involuntarily, 
 a pace or two from her visitor. 
 
 " But come," resumed Mrs. Riston, " let me see your 
 chambers. There is nothing very wonderful here." 
 
 Anna led the way upstairs. Not a single article in 
 the chambers met the lady's approval 
 
 fc Cheap cheap cheap," she said, glancing around. 
 " Ah me ! when will women get sense 1 Everything 
 as plain as a pikestaff Have you no taste, Mrs.
 
 THE WIFE. 113 
 
 Hartley ? No love for the beautiful ? Has elegance 
 no charm for your eyes ? " 
 
 " No one can love external beautiful forms more truly 
 than I do," Anna replied, seriously. "But, at the 
 same time, I love moral beauties. When there is a 
 just relation between the elegancies of life and the 
 ability to possess these elegancies, the external beautiful 
 forms are but the correspondents of moral beauties. 
 But, if this correspondence does not exist, there can be 
 no real enjoyment, no matter how beautiful the objects 
 may be with which we are surrounded." 
 
 " All Greek to me, my dear ! Give me the external 
 beauties, and you may content yourself with the 
 moralities, or whatever else you may choose to call 
 them." 
 
 Anna made no further attempt to correct Mrs. 
 Blston's false notions. She saw that it was useless. 
 She permitted her to find fault with, and scold about 
 everything in the house, and when she finally took her 
 departure, bade her a smiling good morning. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A PRUDENT COURSE THE WISEST. 
 
 ONE day, some three or four weeks after Hartley had 
 commenced housekeeping, a member of the firm of 
 R , S & Co. said to the senior partner, 
 
 (48) 8
 
 114 ANNA LBB, 
 
 " I observe that James checked out, yesterday, three 
 hundred pounds." 
 
 " Three hundred pounds ! " Are you sure 1 " 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Strange ! what can he want with that sum of 
 money 1 " 
 
 " You know he is married." 
 
 " Yes. But what has that to do with three hundred 
 pounds)" 
 
 u He has gone to housekeeping." 
 
 "That explains it. He mentioned to me his inten 
 tion of doing so some weeks ago." 
 
 " But don't you think he is pretty free with money]" 
 A young man like him should not expect to dash out 
 in very elegant style." 
 
 " True. But it is a question whether three hundred 
 pounds will furnish a house very elegantly." 
 
 M Three hundred pounds will not go very far towards 
 accomplishing that end, certainly. But it is more than 
 probable that the major part of his furniture has been 
 bought on a regular credit of six months, and that the 
 three hundred pounds have been taken to pay for 
 sundries not included in the bills for cabinet-ware and 
 carpets." 
 
 " That may be. At any rate, it will be just as well 
 for us to know all about this matter. Suppose you 
 make some excuse to call in upon the young couple 
 some evening this week, and see how they look"
 
 THE WIFE. 115 
 
 "I will do SO." 
 
 "Most sincerely do I hope that you will find all 
 right. That a just regard to James's situation in life 
 will be apparent in everything around them. Too 
 often it is the case, that, so soon as a young man is 
 taken into business, he imagines his fortune made, and 
 forthwith begins to spend money as freely as if it were 
 water. Of this weakness I never should have sus 
 pected Hartley. But there is no telling what influence 
 his wife, if she have a love of show and extravagance, 
 may have over him. If any game of this kind is to be 
 played, we will have to throw him over the wall the 
 first chance that offers." 
 
 " Better, I think, to remonstrate with him first. If 
 incorrigible, he will have to be cut off." 
 
 " All this, however, is assuming that he is running 
 wild already. Let us be certain of this first. He has 
 always showed himself a prudent young man." 
 
 " So he has. And it is hardly fair to suspect him 
 too strongly upon the evidence we now have before us. 
 Three hundred pounds may be for the whole expense 
 of furnishing his house. If so, I do not think he 
 has exceeded a prudent limit, when it is considered 
 that his dividend on the profit ought to reach 
 four or five hundred pounds per annum, as business 
 now is." 
 
 As determined upon, one of the partners called in 
 upon Hartley, and sat for half an hour with him, on the
 
 116 ANNA LEE, 
 
 plea of a conference about some matter of business for 
 gotten during the day. 
 
 M Did you see Hartley, last evening ] " asked the 
 other member of the firm, when they met next morning. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well 1 What was the result ? " 
 
 " All right, I should think." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. What is the appearance of 
 things t" 
 
 Elegant" 
 
 " Elegant 1 " 
 
 " Yes; but not too costly." 
 
 " How were the parlours furnished ? " 
 
 " With admirable taste, considering the outlay, which 
 could not have been extravagant." 
 
 "I am really gratified. Then the three hundred 
 pounds must have been to meet the whole cost of their 
 furniture ? " 
 
 " Yes. If ths rest of the house be in keeping with 
 the parlours, which is no doubt the case, three hundred 
 pounds is ample." 
 
 " I thought James had too much good sense to be 
 led aside from prudence. Did you see his wife ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "How did you like her?" 
 
 14 Very muck I should call her a charming young 
 creature." 
 
 " Is she handsome f
 
 THE WIFE, 117 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " And a lady 1 " 
 
 " If she is not one, ladies are hard to find. Her face 
 is very sweet; and, although she looks young, there is 
 nothing childish about her." 
 
 " Who is she 1 " 
 
 " The daughter of old Mr. Lee, in the Insurance 
 
 Company." 
 
 " Ah ! Wasn't there a good deal of talk about her 
 refusing a very advantageous offer some tune ago 1 " 
 
 " Yes. She refused the hand of Gardiner." 
 
 " So she did. I remember now; and that I, in op 
 position to a good many lady friends, applauded her 
 course. She is a sensible girl, I take it." 
 
 " So do I. Sensible for refusing Gardiner and 
 accepting Hartley." 
 
 " Marriage usually makes or mars a young man's for 
 tune," said the other. " I am happy to find that in our 
 young friend's case, the former result is likely to occur. 
 If he has a prudent, sensible wife, there need be no 
 fear of him." 
 
 " That he has, I am ready to vouch," was confidently 
 replied. 
 
 It was true, as Hartley's senior associates in business 
 had supposed. Three hundred pounds paid all the bills 
 that were made by Hartley in furnishing his house. 
 Had he not been governed by his wife's better judg 
 ment in matters of domestic economy, the cost would
 
 118 .(.v.v.i / 
 
 have been nearly doubled The way in which this 
 would have affected his standing in the eyes of the 
 principal members of his firm, the reader can easily 
 
 Of all this careful observation of his conduct, Hartley 
 had not the most remote suspicion. Had he married a 
 woman whose love of display had seconded his desire 
 to make an imposing appearance in the world, the first 
 intimation of his error would have been, in all proba 
 bility, a notice that he must curtail his expenses at 
 least one-half, or leave the firm of which he was a 
 partner. The mortification that this would have 
 occasioned need not be described. So far from a fine 
 house and costly furniture producing happiness, they 
 would have made both himself and wife miserable. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A FOOLISH WIFE. 
 
 I TELL you, Mr. Riston, it's no use to talk to me. 
 As I have told you a hundred times before, I am not 
 going to let you nor anybody else make a slave of me." 
 
 " But, Ellen, this is all folly. As a wife, you should 
 be willing to discharge a wife's duties. You cannot 
 expect your husband to be contented without having 
 some place in the world that to him is really home." 
 
 44 No doubt it would content his heart vastly to see
 
 THE WIFE. 119 
 
 me drudging away from morning till night in. the 
 kitchen." 
 
 " Don't talk so like a silly woman, Ellen ! You know 
 better." 
 
 " I am silly enough in your eyes, no doubt A 
 woman is usually estimated by everybody else higher 
 than she is by her husband." 
 
 " If so, it is easily explained," Mr. Riston said, in a 
 slightly sarcastic tone. 
 
 " How is it explained ?" asked the wife, with a look 
 of defiance. 
 
 " Because he knows her best," was coolly replied. 
 
 " Mr. Riston, I won't allow anybody to insult me ! " 
 
 " Nor will I, Ellen. If any one should insult you, 
 let me know, and I will resent it on the instant." 
 
 " Your language and manner are insufferable, sir ! " 
 
 " As is your unwife-like conduct, madam ! I have 
 borne with you until all patience is exhausted. I am 
 sick to death of this way of living, and want to get into 
 a house of my own. But you, from a selfish love of 
 your own ease, refuse to perform the solemn pledges 
 into which you entered at marriage. Your regard is 
 all for yourself, and in no degree for your husband." 
 
 "And pray, sir," retorted Mrs. Riston with spirit, 
 "in what direction turns your regard 1 Is it towards 
 me, or towards yourself ? Just to gratify your peculiar 
 notions, you would make your wife a domestic slave. 
 Is that so very unselfish 1 Humph ! You had better
 
 180 ANNE LEE, 
 
 take the beam out of your own eye, before you endea 
 vour to get the mote out of mine." 
 
 a Ellen ! " and Mr. Riston's voice was sterner, and 
 bis countenance darker than usual " All this is the 
 worst and vainest of trifling. For four years I have 
 yielded to your pleasure in this matter. It has been a 
 source of constant disturbance between us. I am re 
 solved that it shall not remain so any longer. You 
 may do as you like, but my course is determined. I 
 shall go to house-keeping. If it does not suit you to 
 become the mistress of my house, I shall hire a com 
 petent person, and confide to her the care of it." 
 
 "Oh dear !" Mrs. Riston laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Do not think, for a moment, that, in this matter, I 
 am merely blustering," the husband said, with unusual 
 seriousness. " It has taken me a long time to resolve 
 upon this step. I have looked at the subject in every 
 light I have regarded your feelings and wishes up to 
 the point where such a regard ceases to be a virtue. 
 Now I feel that a woman who acts as you do, deserves 
 not to be considered a moment by the man whom, in 
 her marriage vows, she has cruelly deceived. I have 
 already chosen a house." 
 
 "What!" Mrs. Riston started to her feet with a 
 countenance deeply flushed. 
 
 " It is true, as I have told you," calmly replied her 
 husband. " I have selected a house. If it does not 
 your approval, I will defer to your wishes in the
 
 THE WIFE. 121 
 
 choice of one that does, if you think proper to join me 
 in doing what I have told you it is my intention to do." 
 
 "/join you!" half shrieked the wife, with bitter 
 contempt and defiance in her tones. "7 join you, 
 indeed ! No ! I will die before any man shall force me 
 into this arbitrary measure. You have mistaken your 
 woman, let me tell you." 
 
 " And you your man," was coldly returned. 
 
 A dead silence succeeded. The opposition and 
 bickering of years had broken out at last into an open 
 rupture. Mr. Riston's patience could hold out no 
 longer against the selfishness of his wife, that did not 
 permit her to regard his wishes or comforts in the least 
 degree. Often before had he assumed an air of de 
 termination, in the hope that she would yield to his 
 wishes, but with no good effect. Now, the determina 
 tion was not assumed, but real. Mr. Riston had looked 
 around him for a house, and had selected one with the 
 fixed intention of renting and furnishing it, unless his 
 wife should consent to go to housekeeping, and desire 
 a different situation or style of house for a residence. 
 The wife did not believe that he was in earnest; but 
 in this she was mistaken. No good had resulted from 
 yielding, on his part. He was at last resolved to use a 
 different kind of influence. 
 
 Mrs. Riston, after the last remark of her husband, 
 turned her back to him, and moved her chair so that 
 her person would not fall within the range of his eye.
 
 1M ANITA LEE, 
 
 It was in the evening, and both sat moody and silent 
 until bedtime. Mrs, Riston was indignant; and Mr. 
 Riston firmly resolved to do what he had threatened. 
 
 On the next morning, before descending to breakfast, 
 he said in a very calm voice, they were the first words 
 spoken to his wife since the previous evening : 
 
 "Ellen, I wish you to consider all that I have said, 
 
 as in earnest I have the key of a house in N 
 
 Street, through which I went yesterday. That house 
 I shall rent, unless you choose another, and consent to 
 go with me into it I will not compel you to go into 
 any house that you do not like; but, if you do not 
 yourself select a house, I will take the one of which I 
 have the key, and furnish it." 
 
 Mrs. Riston made no reply. She did not even look 
 towards her husband. 
 
 u I will give you three days to make up your mind. 
 After that, if you still decide to persevere in your 
 present course, I shall certainly take mine; and the 
 evil resulting from it must rest upon your own head." 
 
 The breakfast bell rang at the moment, and Mr. 
 Riston left the chamber and descended to the dining- 
 room. His wife remained behind, and did not make 
 her appearance at table during the meal. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Riston, how do you do 1 I am de 
 lighted to see you so early this morning. But how 
 grave you look ! What has happened, my dear 1 " 
 
 This was said by Mrs. Leslie, one of the lady's par-
 
 THE WIFE. 123 
 
 ticular friends, upon whom Mrs. Riston called to com 
 municate her troubles, as soon after breakfast as she 
 thought it right to make a calL 
 
 " Oh dear, Mrs. Leslie ! I am in a world of trouble 
 this morning." 
 
 "What is the matter, dear ?" 
 
 " Oh, that husband of mine, the perverse creature ! 
 has got into one of his tantrums again." 
 
 Has he r 
 
 " Indeed he has, and he seems worse than ever. He 
 does lead me such a life !" 
 
 " What new crotchet is in his head ? " 
 
 " New ] I wish to goodness it was something new ! 
 But it's that old notion about housekeeping; and he is 
 stark, staring mad about it." 
 
 "Oh dear!" 
 
 " I declare he worries the very life out of me, not 
 withstanding I have told him over and over again, that 
 if he talked until doomsday about it I would not consent 
 to become his slave. Go to housekeeping, indeed ! I 
 have seen too many women in that beautiful situation 
 to wish to get into it myself." 
 
 " If your mind is made up about it, why give your 
 self so much trouble 1 It is only necessary to stand by 
 your resolution, and he cannot help himself." 
 
 " So I have believed. But would you have thought 
 it ! he is actually going to rent a house and furnish it 
 all himself."
 
 124 ANNA LEE, 
 
 " But he can't put you into it by bodily force." 
 
 " No ; but he says he will hire a housekeeper to take 
 charge of it if I don't go with him." 
 
 "Humph! That would be a pretty piece of busi 
 ness." 
 
 "Wouldn't it!" 
 
 " But you don't believe he is in earnest ? " 
 
 "I am afraid he is. I never saw him in such a 
 temper. I declare, his manner frightened me." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie did not know what to reply. While she 
 sat with her eyes still upon the floor in a musing 
 attitude, her friend resumed : 
 
 " If he does really mean to push things to extremi 
 ties, I shall have to give in, because I wouldn't have 
 people think, for the world, that we did not live upon 
 the most affectionate terms. I am too proud to have 
 myself the town talk. But if he once gets the upper 
 hand of me, there is no telling how far he may play the 
 tyrant That is the difficulty in the way, even after I 
 have conquered my own will, which is no light task." 
 
 "Yes, that is to be well considered. If you give 
 way an inch to some men, they will certainly exact the 
 ell." 
 
 "And my husband is just one of those kind of men." 
 
 ' You must yourself manage, if you do give an inch, 
 to take three ells from somewhere else." 
 
 "That's it exactly, Mrs. Leslie ! That is just what 
 I have thought of doing. And it is to consult you
 
 THE WIFE. 125 
 
 about this that I have called in ; but the first question 
 to settle is, shall I yield 1 " 
 
 " I think you have taken already a very sensible 
 view of that subject. You do not wish to be the town 
 talk." 
 
 " No, I do not. I dread that only a little more than 
 giving up to my husband, a thing that a woman of 
 spirit never should do if it is possible to avoid it. If 
 the matter could be kept between him and me alone, I 
 would die before I would yield an inch ; but in this 
 movement he has completely out-generalled me." 
 
 " So it would seem, if he means really to do what he 
 says. Suppose you let him go on a little further. If 
 he does take a house and furnish it, you can become 
 its mistress at the last pinch, and so avoid the exposure 
 you dread." 
 
 " Yes, but look here, Mrs. Leslie. If I consent to go 
 to housekeeping if I give that one inch, I must have 
 my three ells, you know. Now where are they to come 
 from?" 
 
 " That is for you to determine." 
 
 " With the assistance of your advice ? " 
 
 " It shall be freely given ; but I want a small portion 
 of ground to stand upon. Some clue to your wishes." 
 
 " Let me see," mused Mrs. Riston. " How shall I 
 thwart him] How shall I get the complete upper 
 hand ? Where are the three ells to come from ? Yes, 
 I think I have it. He loves money, and hates to spend
 
 12'' ANNA LEE, 
 
 it; and I love it too, but only to spend it freely. If I go 
 to housekeeping, I must have a splendid establishment" 
 
 " That's it, dear ! put your hand deep into his pocket. 
 If he will push matters so far if the thing must be 
 done, take care to have it done as you like." 
 
 "Trust me for that. He said if I didn't like the 
 house he had taken, I was at liberty to choose one for 
 mysel" 
 
 " Did he ? Then you have him." 
 
 " Haven't I ? If I am to be a slave, I will choose a 
 splendid captivity. He shall pay for it. Before a 
 twelvemonth rolls around, if he isn't sick to death of 
 housekeeping, I am no prophet." 
 
 Instead of wisely seeking to turn the current of Mrs. 
 Riston's thoughts into a better channel, Mrs. Leslie 
 encouraged her folly, and confirmed her in the mad 
 resolution she had taken. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 A SAD PICTURE OP DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 MR. RISTON did not make his appearance at dinner 
 time, preferring to get something to eat at one of the 
 public dining-rooms, to meeting his perverse-minded 
 wife. He did not know that she was prepared to give 
 him a much pleasanter reception than he had every 
 reason to believe that she would.
 
 THE WIFE. 127 
 
 Evening came, and the unhappy husband for un 
 happy, though resolute, he really was took his way 
 homeward. When he entered his boarding-house, he 
 went to the public parlour, and sat down there to await 
 the ringing of the tea-bell, instead of going up to his 
 own room. At the supper table he met his wife for 
 the first time since morning. They sat side by side. 
 But he did not speak to her, nor even look into her 
 face. He was not a little surprised when she asked, 
 in the ordinary indifferent tone with which she usually 
 spoke to him, why he had not come home to dinner. 
 He replied that he was very busy, and preferred dining 
 in town. Mrs. Riston did not believe this of course. 
 It was acting on his part as well as hers, and 
 both understood that it was. But Mr. Riston felt 
 puzzled. 
 
 After tea the husband and wife retired to their 
 apartment. Mr. Riston made no attempt to introduce 
 the subject about which they had jarred so heavily on 
 the night before ; but his wife dexterously brought it 
 in, and then declared that, rather than there should be 
 the exposure he threatened, she would submit, though 
 with great reluctance. A few convenient tears watered 
 this concession. Mr. Riston was softened. 
 
 " I cannot yield the point of going to housekeeping," 
 he said. " But I am very willing to defer to your 
 judgment in the selection of a house, and to let your 
 taste govern in furnishing it."
 
 128 .\\.VA LEE, 
 
 u Where is the house you have fixed upon ? '' asked 
 Mrs. Ris ton. 
 
 i n N Street" 
 
 " What kind of a house is it 1" 
 
 " A very good house. I have no doubt but that you 
 will like it To-morrow we will walk round there. I 
 have the key." 
 
 Mrs. Riston thought it just as well to reserve her 
 objections until she saw the house, for then she could 
 have something real upon which to ground them. 
 
 On the next day, after breakfast, in apparently a very 
 good humour, the lady started out with her husband to 
 visit the house he had pitched upon. 
 
 M How much is the rent ?" she thought proper to ask 
 on the way. 
 
 * Forty guineas," replied Mr. Riston. 
 
 " It can't be much of a house at that price," quietly 
 remarked the lady. 
 
 " I think it a very excellent house. In some situ 
 ations it would rent for sixty guineas." 
 
 Mrs. Riston said no more, but walked on. Her mind 
 waa made up as to the game she would play. In 
 thinking how she would thwart her husband, she felt .1 
 secret delight. At length they were at the door. The 
 key was applied, and they entered the house. First 
 they looked through the parlours. 
 
 " These are very fine rooms," said the husband. 
 
 " Miserable paper !" said the wife.
 
 THE WIFE. 129 
 
 " I don't know. I think it very good." 
 
 " Hardly fit for a garret. Isn't it astonishing that 
 anybody could have the execrable taste to select such a 
 pattern 1 " 
 
 " No doubt the landlord will give us new paper." 
 
 " And such mantel-pieces ! I wouldn't be forced to 
 look at them every day for a month if anybody would 
 give me their weight in gold." 
 
 " I am sure, Ellen, that I don't see anything so 
 offensive in them." 
 
 " Well, I do then ; but come, let us go up into the 
 chambers." 
 
 Up they went. 
 
 " Just as I supposed it would be. No paper on the 
 walls." 
 
 "The landlord will paper the chambers, if we ask 
 him, I am sure." 
 
 " He may paper them with gold leaf, if he chooses ; 
 but I would not live in his house." 
 
 " Why, Ellen ! what do you mean 1 " 
 
 " Just what I have said. The fact is, I don't like 
 the house at all, and can't imagine how you could have 
 conceived, for a single moment, the idea of renting it." 
 
 " I think it a very excellent house." 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 " Certainly. A very genteel, comfortable house." 
 
 " Genteel ! Oh, la ! Your ideas of gentility and 
 mine differ vastly. I can't live here, Mr. Riston. If 
 
 (48) ()
 
 130 ANNA LEE, 
 
 I must go to housekeeping, I will be the mistress of 
 something that suits my taste much better than this 
 doe*." 
 
 " Suppose you look for a house yourself. I am will 
 ing. If you are not pleased with this one> see if you 
 cannot find another that you like better." 
 
 This was gaining one point Mrs. Riston agreed to 
 look out herself. Two days afterwards she said to her 
 husband 
 
 " I think I have met with a house that is just the 
 thing." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. Where is it situated ? " 
 
 " In Arch Street." 
 
 " What is the rent ? " 
 
 " Only a hundred and fifty pounds. It is a very 
 cheap house for so fine a one." 
 
 "A hundred and fifty pounds!" exclaimed Mr. 
 Riston in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, that is the rent" 
 
 " But you certainly do not think about our renting 
 a house at that ?" 
 
 "Why nott It is just the thing; I know you will 
 be delighted with it" 
 
 " Not at a hundred and fifty pounds." 
 
 " The rent is very reasonable, Mr. Riston. You don't 
 know what an elegant house it is." 
 
 a No doubt it is elegant enough, my dear ; but wo 
 can't afford to pay such a rent"
 
 THE WIFE. 131 
 
 " How much do you pay for your warehouse ] " 
 
 " I pay a hundred and eighty pounds. But 
 
 " Very well ; if you can pay a hundred and eighty 
 pounds for a warehouse, I see no reason why you 
 can't pay a hundred and fifty pounds for a dwelling.'' 
 
 " But a warehouse, Ellen, is a place of business ; the 
 rent of which is " 
 
 "And a dwelling-house is a place of residence. 
 Where is the difference, pray 1 ?" 
 
 " A very great difference. The rent of a warehouse' 
 always depends upon the amount of business that can 
 be done " 
 
 " Don't talk all that nonsense to me, Mr. Eiston. I 
 don't pretend to understand a word of it. To my 
 mind there is no reason whatever why a man should 
 pay more rent for a warehouse than for a dwelling." 
 
 " But look at it for a moment in a common sense " 
 
 " I don't pretend to know anything about common 
 sense, Mr. Eiston." 
 
 " Eeally, Ellen, you are the most unreasonable 
 woman I ever met in my life." 
 
 "Quite complimentary! No doubt you think so. 
 But, thank goodness, your opinion of me will never 
 break my heartj" 
 
 A pause in the coming tempest succeeded this fitful 
 gust. 
 
 " You cannot be in earnest about the house you speak 
 of in Arch Street 1 " at length resumed the husband.
 
 r,2 ANNA LEX, 
 
 "Why not, pray?" 
 
 " I cannot afford such a rent, Ellen." 
 
 " You don't suppose for a moment that I believe 
 that kind of nonsense," retorted the wife. 
 
 " I tell you it is true ! " Mr. Riston spoke with some 
 warmth. 
 
 The lady tossed her head incredulously. 
 
 M As to paying a hundred and fifty pounds rent for 
 a house, I can assure you at the threshold that the thing 
 is not to be thought of for a moment" 
 
 " Well, just as you like. You can go and rent that 
 
 pigeon-box in N Street if you please, and keep 
 
 bachelor's hall I shall not go into it, nor into any 
 such mean concern. When I go to housekeeping, if go 
 I must, it will be in a decent way." 
 
 " Decent ! Pray what do you call decent ] " 
 
 " I call the house in Arch Street a decent house." 
 
 Mr. Riston was angry and bewildered. 
 
 " It is no use for you to think of a house at a hun 
 dred and fifty pounds, Ellen," he said. " The thing is 
 out of the question. My circumstances are not such as 
 to" 
 
 " There, there ! now, Mr. Riston, I don't want an 
 other word about your circumstances ! I have heard 
 nothing else, I believe, since we were married." 
 
 " But won't you listen to common sense, woman ? " 
 
 "Woman! Indeed!" 
 
 " \Vifi-. then, if that will sound any better to your
 
 THE WIFE. 133 
 
 ear, though a very strange kind of a wife you are. let 
 me tell you ! " 
 
 This remark would have made Mrs. Riston very 
 angry if it had been uttered under different circum 
 stances. But her mind was intent upon thwarting her 
 husband, and she knew that she was chafing him 
 severely. Considering his temperament, she was 
 neither surprised nor pained at his words. 
 
 For two or three days the contention about the house 
 in Arch Street went on. The husband remained so 
 firm, that Mrs. Riston, after several conferences with 
 her friend Mrs. Leslie, deemed it best to yield a little 
 on the rent of the house, with the determination of 
 making it up in the furniture. The handsome dwell 
 ing in Walnut Street, which Mr. Hartley had wished 
 to take, still remained vacant. The rent of this was 
 eighty guineas per annum. With much tact, Mrs. 
 Riston directed the thoughts of her husband to this 
 house, and actually induced him, by seeming herself 
 to be resolved on the house in Arch Street, to propose 
 to rent this one. With apparent great reluctance the 
 lady yielded finally her preference for the house in Arch 
 Street 
 
 The contention with his wife about the choice of a 
 dwelling had been such a severe one, that when a new 
 difference of opinion in regard to the style of furnish 
 ing it showed itself, Mr. Riston retired at once from a 
 combat in which he felt that inglorious defeat awaited
 
 ANNA LEE, 
 
 him. With a sigh, and a foreboding of evil, he re 
 signed to her the task of selecting the furniture, not, 
 however, until he had expressed a willingness to 
 remain where they were, rather than be subjected to 
 the heavy expense which he saw too plainly house 
 keeping wonld involve. 
 
 " Oh, no, no," was his lady's reply. " This is all of 
 your own seeking. Things have gone too far now. 
 We have already taken the house, and my heart is set 
 upon having it fitted up in a delightful way. I am 
 not one of your changeables. When I once set my 
 mind upon doing a thing, I must go to the end." 
 
 Nothing was left but quiet submission, or a pro 
 longed contention, the result of which, in the husband's 
 mind, was very doubtful He weakly chose the for 
 mer, against all the higher dictates of his reason ; thus 
 giving to a self-willed, vain, and unfeeling woman a 
 new and more dangerous power over him. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FALSE FRIENDS. 
 
 WHILE the result of her contention with her husband 
 was still doubtful, Mrs. Riston called upon none of her 
 friends except Mrs. Leslie, who always encouraged her 
 to do just what she wished to do, and whose advice 
 was always such as to aid her in more effectually attain-
 
 THE WIFE. 135 
 
 ing her own ends. But no sooner was it settled that 
 she was to become the mistress of an elegant house, 
 than she was on the wing. Among the first persons 
 on whom she called was Mrs. Hartley. She could 
 not restrain the desire she felt to let Anna know that 
 she was herself to occupy the beautiful house she had 
 been so foolish as to pass by. 
 
 " I have news to tell you, my dear," she said, with 
 a brightening face, after she had been seated a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " Ah ! What is it ] " 
 
 " You wouldn't guess in a month." 
 
 " Perhaps not. I never was very good at guess 
 ing." 
 
 " I am going to house-keeping." 
 
 "WhaH" 
 
 " To house-keeping ! Ain't you surprised ? " 
 
 " I am truly. What in the world has caused you 
 to change your views ? " 
 
 " Circumstances. My husband set his mind so de 
 terminedly upon it, that nothing was left me but to 
 consent. Would you believe it the man actually set 
 about renting a house and furnishing it himself, de 
 claring that he would hire some one to keep it for him, 
 and live there alone, if I did not choose to go with him 1 
 It's a fact ! Did you ever hear of such a thing ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hartley looked at her visitor in mute amaze 
 ment
 
 13C A .V.V.I LEX, 
 
 " Well may yo look surprised !" resumed Mrs. Ris- 
 ton. " But if I did consent in the end, after a hard 
 struggle, to give up my freedom, it was only after 
 stipulations honourable enough to my pride and ambi 
 tion. He fought hard, but I conquered by persever 
 ance." 
 
 It was impossible for Anna to say a single word in 
 the pause that followed this sentence. Her heart was 
 shocked. But of the real impression her conmuuik i- 
 tion had made, Mrs. Kiston had no idea. 
 
 'My husband fixed upon a house very much like the 
 
 one you have," the lady continued, " only something 
 
 more genteel ; but I told him no at once that if I was 
 
 forced to go to housekeeping, I must at least have a 
 
 word to say in regard to the style in which I was to 
 
 Hi yielded a little, and then I pushed him up 
 
 hard, for I knew that nothing else would do. At first 
 
 I insisted upon having a house in Arch Street at a 
 
 hundred and fifty pounds rent" 
 
 !re. Riston!" 
 
 " Indeed I did. He looked dumfounded. I urged, 
 but he said no, with such a resolute air, and pled 
 inability so very hard, that I abated a little, 
 remember the house in Walnut Street that you were 
 so silly as to refuse when your husband wanted to 
 rent it 1 Well that house still remained vacant, and I 
 settled down upon it, determined not to descend a single 
 step lower. My good man fought hard, but it was no
 
 ANNA AND MRS. RISTON. 
 
 Sue 139.
 
 THE WIFE. 137 
 
 ase. I was immoveable. At last he consented, and 
 we have the keys. Ain't you sorry now that you did 
 not secure it 1 " 
 
 " No," was the simple reply of Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 " You will be, then. Wait until I get it furnished. 
 I'll dazzle your eyes for you. Mr. Riston has left all 
 to my taste." 
 
 " Without regard to expense 1 " 
 
 " He tried to limit me to a certain sum, but I told 
 him it was no use. We had no children, and therefore 
 no particular reason for being over economical. Other 
 people could live in handsome style who were no bet 
 ter off, and we had just as good a right to all the 
 elegancies of life as anybody else. He preached about 
 his not being able to bear the heavy expense ; but I 
 wouldn't listen to him a moment. I have heard about 
 that ever since we were married. He would go to 
 house-keeping, and now he shall have enough of it. 
 Oh, but I'll show you style ! " 
 
 Anna looked grave. 
 
 " What is the matter, my dear? Not envious, I 
 hope, in anticipation 1 " 
 
 "No; Heaven knows that I am not!" Anna said, 
 with a serious face and as serious a tone. 
 
 " What is the matter, then, child 'I " 
 
 " I am grieved at heart to hear any one speak of 
 her husband as you are speaking, Mrs. Riston. Depend 
 upon it you are wrong."
 
 138 ANNA LEB, 
 
 " Wrong for a woman to assert her rights and main. 
 tain them t" 
 
 " A woman has no rights independent of her hus 
 band." 
 
 " You are crazy, child ! Must she be his passive 
 slaver 
 
 "No; nor should she attempt to play the tyrant 
 over him." 
 
 You do not mean to say that I attempt to play the 
 tyrant over my husband ? " 
 
 " Look closely into your own conduct, and answer 
 that question for yourself, Mrs. Riston." 
 
 " I am not used to be spoken to in this way, 
 madam 1" An angry flush mounted to the brow of 
 the visitor as she spoke, and a slight movement of the 
 body showed that she was about to rise from her chair. 
 
 "Think, Mrs. Riston," replied Anna, "whether it 
 would not be of use to you to know exactly what im 
 pression your words and conduct sometimes make 
 upon the minds of disinterested friends." 
 
 "Ah ! Well perhaps it would. Please let me 
 have the benefits of your impressions." This was said 
 in a quick, sneering voice. 
 
 ot while you feel as you do just now," Anna 
 calmly said. " I have no unkindness in my heart to 
 wards you. I hope you will cherish none towards me. 
 But I cannot help being affected as I am by your lan 
 guage. It gives me the most exquisite pain."
 
 THE WIFE. 139 
 
 The manner in which this was said caused the angry 
 feelings of Mrs. Eiston to subside. 
 
 " You are a strange woman," Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 " I strive always to do right." 
 
 " So do I ; that is, to have everything my own way, 
 which I think the right way." 
 
 "Acting in that spirit, you will rarely be in the 
 right," Anna firmly replied. 
 
 " Don't you think I am right in opposing my hus 
 band's penuriousness ] " 
 
 " You should first be very sure that what you call 
 peuuriousness is not a just degree of prudence. What 
 do you know of his affairs 1 " 
 
 " Nothing at all, except that he is very well off. As 
 to the exact amount of his property, or how much he 
 makes in a year, I don't concern myself. Of one thing 
 I am very certain, my extravagance will never ruin him." 
 
 "I hope not. But you should not disregard his 
 complaints, that you spend money too freely." 
 
 "I shouldn't regard it, you mean. But you can't 
 judge of this, Anna. You don't know how constantly 
 it has been rung in my ears ever since we were 
 married." 
 
 " Perhaps this is your fault. Perhaps you have, from 
 the first, been disposed to spend money more freely than 
 you should." 
 
 " I differ with you ; and I ought to know best" 
 This was coldly spoken.
 
 140 .1 .v.\M | 
 
 Anna felt that it would do no good to proceed, and 
 the subject was dropped there. The visitor did not 
 stay long. Mrs. Hartley had made her feel very un 
 comfortable. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MARRIAGE CHANGES SOCIAL RELATIONS. 
 
 "HAVE you looked over the morning paper?" said 
 Hartley to his wife, when he came home at dinner 
 time on the day the marriage of Archer and Florence 
 had been publicly announced. 
 
 Not particularly. Why 1 " 
 
 " A friend of yours is married," This waa said with 
 out a smile. 
 
 Ah! Who?" 
 
 " Florence Armitage." 
 
 No !" Anna started, and looked serious. 
 
 " It is, I am sorry to say, too true ; and she has 
 married that young Archer." 
 
 "It cannot be so, James. Surely there must be 
 some mistake." 
 
 No. They went off together last night, and were 
 married secretly. It is announced this morning in the 
 papers. I am told that no one even suspected that 
 they had met since the time their former engagement 
 was broken." 
 
 " The girl must be insane !"
 
 THE WIFE. 141 
 
 " How long is it since you saw her, Anna 1 " 
 
 " It is several weeks since she was here. Then she 
 told me, as I mentioned to you at the time, that Archer 
 had written to her, and that she felt inclined to believe 
 public opinion judged him too severely." 
 
 " Which it has not done. He is just as bad as the 
 general voice pronounces him ; I believe worse. And 
 this the poor girl will soon find to her sorrow." 
 
 " Did you hear at whose house the marriage took 
 place 1 Or did they go to a minister's 1 " 
 
 " It is said that the ceremony was. performed by an 
 alderman at the residence of Mrs. Leslie." 
 
 " Now I understand. This is the work of that in 
 judicious woman. Oh, what could she have been think 
 ing about 1 She knew the character of Archer well." 
 
 " Few knew it better. But Mrs. Leslie is a thought 
 less woman. Criminally thoughtless." 
 
 " I never felt any rational confidence in her, after I 
 had known her for a short time. How much of evil 
 such a woman can do, and yet move in the best society, 
 and be well received there ! Poor Florence ! most 
 sincerely do I commiserate her." 
 
 " How will her parents act 1 Do you think they 
 will be so much incensed at her conduct as to refuse to 
 receive her with her husband 1 " 
 
 " I think not. They will be grieved sorely. It will 
 be a painful affliction. But they will not cast off their 
 child."
 
 142 ANNA LEE, 
 
 " I am glad of that, for her sake." 
 
 " Yes ; a consciousness of having acted wrong is griel 
 enough, without anger and banishment added thereto." 
 
 " I suppose you will call and see her, and " 
 
 " No, James; I do not intend calling upon her." 
 
 " Ah ! why not 1 You were friends. She may have 
 acted wrong, but she is still the same." 
 
 " Not to me. She is no longer Florence Armitage, 
 but the wife of William Archer, whose character I de 
 test" 
 
 " But shall you, because his character is vile, cease 
 to regard the good that is in his wife ? " 
 
 "No; I may regard all that is good in her still, but 
 I cannot visit her. Would it be right for me to do it 
 when I could not speak to her husband if he were stand 
 ing by her side? I think not Reverse the case. 
 Would it be right for me to receive the visits of a lady 
 who would not speak to you 1 " 
 
 " That question is not very hard to answer. I do 
 not think it would. But no lady could have the good 
 reason for avoiding me that you have for avoiding 
 Archer." 
 
 " It matters not Florence believes, no doubt, that 
 her husband is innocent of the heinous sins laid to his 
 charge, and therefore ought not to receive my vi.-its 
 while I treat him as if he were guilty. But more than 
 this. I believe that no woman can love a bad man as 
 her husband, and not suffer a moral perversion. This
 
 THE WIFE. 143 
 
 is another reason why I do not wish to be on terms of 
 intimacy with the wife of Mr. Archer. And a still 
 further reason is, that I ought not to visit freely in the 
 family of a man so justly condemned by public opinion, 
 lest he be thought one of my husband's friends." 
 
 " You would not feel bound to treat Florence coldly 
 if she were to call upon you 1 " 
 
 " No ; but I could not return her call. She has 
 shown herself in this act so destitute of true womanly 
 feeling, that I do not wish to number her among those I 
 call my friends." 
 
 " All will not appreciate your motives. You will be 
 thought harsh and censorious." 
 
 " I cannot help it. I desire the good opinion of every 
 one, but not at the expense of my own self-respect. 
 Florence has chosen her way in life ; and it will, I fear, 
 be a thorny one : but I cannot go along by her side, for 
 I chose a different way." 
 
 " I hardly suppose that your visiting Florence occa 
 sionally would cause any one to think improperly of 
 me," said Hartley. 
 
 " It might have that effect ; and, while I live, no act 
 of mine shall cast even a flitting shadow over my hus 
 band's good name or fortune." 
 
 Anna spoke with a generous warmth that caused 
 Hartley's bosom to glow. 
 
 "I freely approve of what you say," he returned. 
 " Florence has chosen her path in life, and that path
 
 144 -l I.EB, 
 
 cannot run side by side with yours. If you detest the 
 husband's principles so fully that you cannot speak to 
 him, you ought not to be on terms of friendly inter 
 course with his wife." 
 
 " No; I feel that I ought not; and feeling, you 
 is sometimes a woman's strongest reason" 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MRS. RISTON'S HOUSE-WARMING. 
 
 MRS. RISTON liked so little the plain way in which Anna 
 spoke, that she did not again call to see her during the 
 time she was engaged in purchasing furniture and fit 
 ting up her house. When all was ready, and she had 
 taken possession, with more pride and triumph in her 
 heart than a queen would feel in coming into her regal 
 rights and honours, she did not forget Mrs. Hartley in 
 her list of invitations to the splendid party she almost 
 compelled her husband to consent that they should 
 give. 
 
 This party did not cost less than three hundred 
 pounds, and was, certainly, one of the most brilliant 
 
 affairs of the kind that had been seen in P for a 
 
 long time. Every room in the house, from the first to 
 the third story, was decorated with hired or purchased 
 ornaments, suited to the purpose, and all were thrown 
 open to the company. At twelve o'clock a splendid
 
 THE WIFE. 145 
 
 supper was served to nearly three hundred persons, the 
 table literally crowded with everything delicate and 
 recherche that could be procured. The variety of con 
 fectionary displayed was wonderful ; the wines were 
 abundant, and the best and most costly that could be 
 procured. 
 
 During the whole evening, Mrs. Riston moved among 
 the company with the air and grace of a duchess. Her 
 vanity led her to call the attention of almost every one 
 with whom she conversed to this or that piece of fur 
 niture or ornament. She walked with her guests over 
 the house, and listened with delight to their expressions 
 of admiration. There were few present who did not 
 flatter her vain heart, by approving all, and pronouncing 
 her house the most perfect specimen they ever saw. 
 One exception to this was Mrs. Hartley ; but it must 
 not be supposed that she was so unladylike in her de 
 portment as not to call, even while talking with Mrs. 
 Riston, everything around her beautiful, or as to appear 
 cold and unapproving. She had too much delicacy of 
 feeling for that. She had expected, when she left home, 
 to find a house attired with unusual splendour. She 
 did not think Mrs. Riston was right in indulging such 
 an extravagant spirit, but, in her own house, and on a 
 festive occasion, she had no right to show her disap 
 proval. 
 
 But if she had no right to do this, she was not called 
 upon to flatter a weak vain woman. As far as she be- 
 () 10
 
 1 46 -VM LEE, 
 
 lieved it delicate for one lady to approve the tastes of 
 another lady in the selection of her furniture, and in its 
 arrangement, she did so, but without appearing to think 
 that her guest wished her to be very profuse in her ex 
 pressions of admiration. 
 
 Her manner, as may be supposed, did not please Mrs. 
 Riston. To Mrs. Leslie, who was present, she said, 
 with an ill-concealed sneer, 
 
 " Mrs. Hartley is dying of envy. Have you met her ? " 
 
 a No not yet I cannot come across her in this 
 crowd." 
 
 " I have been by her side three or four times, and 
 she praises everything, bat in such a cold way ! Any 
 one can see that she is grieved to death for being such 
 a fool as not to take this house when she could get it 
 What do you think she says about my gas chandeliers 
 in the parlour ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure." 
 
 " She says they are very neat !" 
 
 " Oh, dear ! They are magnificent I " 
 
 " So everybody says but her ; and so does she say 
 in her heart I took her up into my chamber ; but 
 she only smiled a poor approval." 
 
 " She is a narrow-souled creature, Mrs. Riston. I 
 always knew that I almost wonder at your sending 
 her an invitation." 
 
 " I don't think I should have done so, if I hadn't 
 wished to mortify her."
 
 THE WIFE. 147 
 
 "That you have done, it seems, effectually. She 
 couldn't have dreamed of finding such a palace of a 
 house as this. I must confess that, large as were my 
 expectations, they fell far below the truth. But what 
 does your dear, good, patient husband say to all 
 this?" 
 
 " It will kill him, I am afraid. I have tumbled over 
 him half a dozen times to-night, and it almost makes 
 me laugh to see how sober he looks. I don't believe 
 he has smiled since the company began to assemble ! " 
 
 " Are you not afraid that this will attract attention?" 
 
 " Yes. It worries me terribly when I think of it ; 
 but then I remember that he has quite a long phiz at 
 the best of times, and people know this. I wish, how 
 ever, from my heart, that he wouldn't make such a 
 fool of himself, and expose us to ridicule, as he certainly 
 
 " What did he say when he saw the style in which 
 the house was furnished 1 " 
 
 " He actually stood aghast ! Everything, you know, 
 was left to my taste. I had most of the furniture in, 
 and the house nearly ready before he could spare time 
 from his business that eternal business, business ! 
 to look in upon my operations. When he saw the 
 parlour, he turned pale. 'Ellen, are you mad 1 ?' he 
 said. ' You know I can't afford this.' " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " ' You would go to house-keeping,' I merely replied,
 
 148 A.V.VA LEE, 
 
 as coolly as you please. ' It is all your own doings, 
 I told you over and over again that you would be 
 killed at the outlay of money. But nothing would do. 
 To house-keeping I must go must become a domestic 
 slave. I consented at last, and here, on the very 
 threshold before we even get into the house, you are 
 fidgeting yourself to death about the expense. I am 
 really ashamed of you.' " 
 
 " It will certainly be the death of him," laughed Mrs. 
 Leslie. " But here he comes." 
 
 The object of their conversation came up at the 
 moment, and Mrs. Riston glided away, leaving him 
 with Mrs. Leslie. The lady noticed that, while he 
 endeavoured to be cheerful, his mind was really 
 depressed. 
 
 " You have a brilliant company here to-night," said 
 Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " Yes," and Mr. Riston forced a smile. ' " The gayest 
 company I have seen for a long time. I hope you are 
 enjoying yourself." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I always enjoy myself. I am one of 
 your contented people." 
 
 " You are certainly fortunate in your temperament." 
 
 " So I have often thought Let the world wag as 
 it will, I always try to look at the bright side of 
 things." 
 
 " I wish I could do the same." 
 
 M It is the easiest thing in the world. Good and
 
 THE WIFE. 149 
 
 evil come in spite of us. If we will only enjoy the 
 good, and not fret ourselves at, but patiently bear the 
 evil, we shall get on smoothly enough." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the presence 
 of others. But Mrs. Leslie saw, or imagined that she 
 saw, in the manner of Mr. Riston, a deeper feeling of 
 uneasiness than what would arise from the contempla 
 tion of an extravagant waste of money, because he 
 loved money. 
 
 It was nearly two o'clock when Mr. and Mrs. Hart 
 ley retired. As they rode away, both remained silent. 
 Anna sighed once or twice. 
 
 " Foolish foolish woman i " she ejaculated, after 
 they had reached home. 
 
 " You may well say that ! And foolish, foolish 
 man, to permit such extravagance ! " replied Hartley. 
 
 " He could not help it, I suppose." 
 
 " You mean that he weakly yielded everything to his 
 wife's extravagance." 
 
 " Yes. And that was wrong." 
 
 " Wrong ! It was criminal under all the circum 
 stances. He is not able to waste money after this 
 fashion. Few men in business are pressed harder than 
 he is to make his payments. Scarcely a week passes 
 that we do not have to lend him money. Still, I 
 believe he would have been able to get over his present 
 embarrassments, which are the result of two or three 
 severe losses, had he not launched out into this extra-
 
 160 ANNA LEE, 
 
 vagauce. Now I have great fears for him. His situa 
 tion is so well known among business men, that lii.i 
 credit will be shaken. He seemed conscious of this, I 
 . should think, for he looked wretched the whole evmin- 
 at least so it appeared to me. How he could feel 
 otherwise, I cannot tell, when there were a dozen mer 
 chants present from whom he has to borrow money 
 almost every day, and who, if they were to refuse to 
 sell him goods, could make him a bankrupt in a month. 
 If a single one of these withdraws his confidence, the 
 alarm will be general, and poor Riston will fall to the 
 ground like lead " 
 
 "Ruined by his wife's extravagance," added Mrs. 
 Hartley, finishing, significantly, the sentence uttered by 
 her husband. 
 
 Yes. That will be the truth. He now owes a 
 large sum, and buys more or less every week, besides 
 borrowing freely. I do not think it will be wise for us 
 to let our account against him get much larger." 
 
 " O James ! do not be the first to remove a stone 
 from his tottering house, and thus throw it in ruins to 
 the ground. Perhaps he may yet stand." 
 
 " That I do not wish to do. But if Mr. R had 
 
 not been one of the company to-night, I should have- 
 felt bound to open my mind freely on the subject to 
 
 him and Mr. S . But R is a shrewd man uf 
 
 the world, and will not hesitate to speak and act for 
 what he thinks the true interest of our business. I
 
 THE WIFE. 151 
 
 should not at all wonder if it were decided to-morrow 
 to ask of Riston such prices for goods as would drive 
 him away from our warehouse." 
 
 " James ! " said Mrs. Hartley, " is it not sad to 
 think how easily a thoughtless wife may ruin a hus 
 band's credit, and thus destroy him ] I never saw the 
 danger before." 
 
 " I never thought of it much, until recently. Since 
 you so wisely saved me from dashing out as I foolishly 
 wished to do, I have opened my ears to remarks that 
 hitherto made little or no impression upon me. I find 
 that, where a man in business, whose capital is no 
 larger than is needed safely and successfully to prose 
 cute it begins to make a show in his style of living, he 
 is looked at with some suspicion, and that remarks 
 detrimental to his credit float about, and often affect 
 him seriously. From some things casually said by 
 Mr. R in my presence since we went to house 
 keeping, I feel well satisfied that if we had taken the 
 house, since rented by Mr. Riston, and furnished it 
 elegantly, it would have done me no good, and might, 
 in the end, have led to a separation from the firm." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Don't think so, James. I am sure that 
 would not have taken place," said Anna, laying her 
 hand upon her husband's forehead, and smoothing back 
 his hair. This little act was only an effort to keep 
 down the feelings that were struggling for expression 
 and ready to gush forth.
 
 152 .1 .v.v.i I 
 
 "It is the truth, dear. You arc my angel-guide, 
 Bent from heaven." 
 
 Anna's tears flowed freely. She could keep them 
 back no longer. 
 
 " I will always seek to deserve your love and your 
 confidence," she murmured, sinking into hi- arms. 
 You shall never find a single thorn in your path 
 planted by my hand, if God will only endow nie with 
 wisdom to act well my part. But I tremble when I 
 reflect, that I am liable, at almost every moment, 
 through error of judgment, to go wrong." 
 
 1 You will never go far wrong, Anna," was her hus 
 band's encouraging reply, " if you continue as you have 
 begun, to seek for direction from above if a religious 
 principle be the life-germ of all your actions. For my 
 own part I have no fears. Come what may, no disaster 
 that visits me will ever be traced to your selfishnesss 
 and folly." 
 
 " I pray Heaven that it may not ! " was the wife's 
 fervent answer. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOW IT AFFECTED HER HUSBAND'S CREDIT. 
 
 MB. RISTON tried his best to entertain, as far as bis 
 personal attentions were concerned, the mass of people 
 he had, jointly with his wife, invited to be witnesses 
 of his folly. But he felt like a criminal all ti
 
 THE WIFE. 153 
 
 There were more than a dozen persons present to whom 
 he was largely indebted, and upon whose confidence 
 and forbearance towards him depended everything. 
 " How will all this affect them ? " was a question con 
 stantly in his mind. When, at a late hour in the 
 morning, he shook hands with the last departing guest, 
 and returned to his still brilliantly lighted but deserted 
 rooms, he threw himself upon a sofa with a heavily- 
 drawn sigh. 
 
 " What ails you, man 1 " said his wife. " It won't 
 kill you outright, I think. It is our first attempt at 
 housekeeping, and we have opened handsomely." 
 
 " Have gone up like a rocket," returned the husband, 
 in a tone of bitterness. 
 
 Mrs. Blston look at him with a slight curl of the 
 lip. 
 
 " Soon to come down like the stick," he added, still 
 more bitterly. 
 
 " You talk very strangely. What am I to under 
 stand by such language 1 " 
 
 " Why, that ten chances to one this brilliant party 
 of yours not mine will ruin me." 
 
 " You are mad." 
 
 " I was mad, I confess, to let you make such a fool 
 of yourself and me too. But I am sane enough now. 
 I tried to tell you that I could not afford all this extra 
 vagant waste of money. But you shut your ears and 
 would not hear me. You will both hear and feel
 
 .1 LEE, 
 
 before long. Your glory will be as short-lived as tho 
 early flower and the morning ck-\v." 
 
 4 You are raving, Mr. Riston ! " said his wife, grow- 
 ii:_- pila 
 
 I am not a man used to much extravagant speech. 
 It would have been well for both of us, if you had 
 made this discovery earlier; if you had believed me 
 when I said I could not afford to spend money in 
 certain ways proposed by you. I might as well h.ivo 
 talked against the wind ! But it is no use to upbraid 
 you now to throw your folly into your teeth. Neces 
 sity will do that soon enough ; and Heaven grant that 
 you may profit by the lesson you will receive." 
 
 "Mr. Riston, will you be kind enough to tell me 
 what you mean to speak out in plain and intelligible 
 language ? " This was said with an alarmed counte 
 nance, but in a steady voice; the wife looking fixedly 
 at her husband. Her lips were firmly drawn together. 
 
 "The simplest language I can use is this," repli---! 
 Mr. lli.-ton, "and it is such as I have used over and 
 over again without being heeded, / am not able to 
 u/ord thit ttyle of living, nor to give an extravagant 
 party such as you have given to-night. What is the 
 natural consequence which follows, when a man expends 
 more than he can afford to spend ? Of course he goes 
 to the dogs, where I have now a very fair prospect of 
 going, and that quite speedily. There were more th.m 
 a dozen men here to-night, either of whom could make
 
 THE WIFE. 15fi 
 
 me a bankrupt in a week. It is only necessary to raise 
 the cry that I am living beyond my means, which is a 
 fact, and my credit is gone. Take that from me, and 
 I am lost 1 " 
 
 " Credit ! Have you nothing but credit 1 " 
 
 " Not much more, at present. I have lost a large 
 amount by failures this year; and now my business is 
 so clogged up that I am obliged to borrow large sums 
 of money every day, in order to meet my payments. 
 Destroy my credit, and you ruin me. That even you 
 must see." 
 
 " But it is more than I can see, how this party or 
 this house is going to destroy your credit." 
 
 " A few weeks will probably open your eyes," Mr. 
 Riston said, in an angry voice; and, rising, he left the 
 room, and went up to his chamber. 
 
 " All very fine," he muttered, glancing around. 
 " But these are frost-work luxuries. They will soon 
 melt away." 
 
 The presence during the evening of so many of the 
 very men on whose estimation of his standing in busi 
 ness depended his safety, had set Mr. Riston to think 
 ing seriously about the ultimate effects of the extra 
 vagant expenditures apparent to every eye. It was 
 this that had sobered him so much during the evening. 
 The more closely he thought about it, the more he felt 
 alarmed. 
 
 The next day was one of Mr. Ristou's hard days.
 
 }:.> .i.v.VX LEE, 
 
 He had three heavy bills to meet, and four hundred 
 pounds, borrowed money, to return. The thought of 
 what was before him kept him awake duiing thu 
 greater part of the night He would not have been so 
 uneasy, had he not felt that, after the display lie had 
 made, the effort to borrow money would come with a 
 bad grace. 
 
 Everything wore a very different aspect at the break 
 fast table on the morning that succeeded to the splen 
 did entertainment Mr. Riston sat in thoughtful 
 silence, and tried to eat, but every mouthful was taken 
 with an effort Mrs. Riston was the picture of distress. 
 The solemn earnestness of her husband, more than his 
 words, had alarmed her. If his affairs should be at 
 the crisis he said they were, it would be, she felt, a 
 terrible stroke. What! To give up her splendid 
 mansion ! To shrink back into still deeper obscurity 
 than that from which she had emerged ! The thought 
 alone almost drove her mad. 
 
 You cannot be in earnest in what you told me last 
 night, Mr. Riston," she said, unable to keep silence. 
 
 " If I was ever in earnest in my life, I am in 
 now," was replied. " I could have weathered through 
 my difficulties, had I not insanely yielded to your 
 miserable infatuation, and incurred all this exj 
 and what is worse, laid myself open to remarks an-1 
 uspicions that will almost inevitably ruin me," 
 
 Mr. Riston spoke angrily. His wife made no answer;
 
 THE WIFE. 157 
 
 but burst into tears, and rising from the table left the 
 room. 
 
 The unhappy man sat musing for some time, and 
 then withdrew from the breakfast room and passed the 
 parlours, where he looked around in order to satisfy 
 himself by a new observation, in regard to the impres 
 sion that must have been made upon the minds of 
 certain individuals who were in his thoughts. A sigh 
 escaped him as he turned away and hurriedly left the 
 house. It was nine o'clock when he reached the store. 
 Two or three notes had arrived before him. One re 
 quested the return, on that day, of a hundred pounds, 
 borrowed money, that he had not expected to be called 
 on for in a week. The man who made this request 
 had not been invited, with his wife, to the house-warming. 
 " But he has, no doubt, heard of it already," Mr. 
 Biston said, mentally. 
 
 He opened another note. It contained the confec 
 tioner's bill. The amount was sixty pounds ! Crushing 
 this bill in his hand, he thrust it into his pocket, with 
 a muttered execration against his wife, and turned to 
 his desk to examine into his affairs for the day. A few 
 hurried calculations made all plain. To his mind the 
 aspect of things was appalling. 
 
 " If a breath of suspicion is whispered against me, I 
 am gone ! " he mentally said. " Nothing can save me. 
 In a few weeks, if I can retain the confidence of every 
 one, I shall be safely past the crisis of my affairs, and
 
 158 . 1. v.V.l LEE. 
 
 on smooth water again. But can I retain itl Ala 
 I fear not Confound this housekeeping folly, and this 
 party ! They will prove my ruin ! ! " 
 
 But idle fears and vain regrets would accomplish 
 nothing. There must be action, and prompt action. 
 As early as half-past ten o'clock the merchant was on 
 foot 
 
 "Good morning, Riston!" said the first man on 
 whom he called, extending his hand as the money-seeker 
 entered his store. " Really ! that was a magnificent 
 affair of yours last night I have never in my life been 
 present at a more splendid entertainment And what 
 a lovely house you have got What rent do you pay ? " 
 
 " Eighty guineas." 
 
 The other shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Rather high, I must confess," Riston said. " But 
 we have no children, and my wife must have something 
 to see after. We can live in handsome style, and not 
 be at a very heavy expense." 
 
 "True, that does make a difference. Children, 
 especially half-grown daughters, are a great expense. 
 Mine, I know, are terribly hard on money. But that 
 party must have cost you three hundred pounds, 
 Biston." 
 
 u Nonsense! It didn't cost one-fourth <>f it. ' 
 
 Riston was far from suspecting how near Die bill 
 would amount to the sum mentioned. 
 
 " If you get off with less than three hundred pounds,
 
 THE WIFE. 159 
 
 you may think yourself a fortunate man. Why, your 
 confectioner's bill will be sixty pounds, at least." 
 
 " How do you know 1 " asked Biston, with surprise. 
 
 " I heard it, somewhere, yesterday. I believe it came 
 from your wife." 
 
 " My wife, to speak the truth, is a little too fond of 
 making a display. To please her, I consented to give 
 a party, and as I had enough of business matters to 
 occupy my time, I left all the arrangements with her. 
 I must own that she astonished me with the result of 
 her preparations. Sixty pounds for confectionery ! 
 That will never, never do." 
 
 " I heard, also, and I believe it came from as authen 
 tic a source, that your wines cost nearly as much." 
 
 " Impossible ! They did not cost one -half of that 
 sum." 
 
 " My wife saw Mrs. Riston only the day before 
 yesterday, and had it from her own lips." 
 
 Riston was confounded. It seemed that his wife 
 had not only indulged the most lavish expenditure, but 
 had actually blazoned it about. It was impossible for 
 him to ask this man to lend him money, lie could 
 not have looked him steadily in the face while he made 
 such a request. As quickly as he could, he withdrew, 
 and called upon another business friend. Here he was 
 met by remarks of a similar kind, though made with 
 rather more delicacy. Before leaving, he ventured to 
 put the question
 
 160 ANNA LEE, 
 
 " Can you spare me anything to-day f " 
 
 " Nothing at all," w as replied. " We have a large 
 amount ourselves to pay." 
 
 The same allusions to the splendid party he had 
 given met poor Riston, go where he would. He found 
 it almost impossible to borrow money: everybody 
 would have been happy to accommodate him, but no 
 body had anything to spare. At one o'clock he returned 
 to his warehouse, without having accomplished, com 
 paratively, anything at all. He had gone the entire 
 round and could get no adequate assistance. Every one 
 congratulated him on his brilliant entertainment and 
 splendid house, but few had any money to lend him. 
 Even those who had been most willing before to assist 
 him, were now reserved, and, professedly, unable to do 
 anything. 
 
 "I am a ruined man!" he said to himself, bitterly, 
 as he sat down to collect his thoughts. " As I feared, 
 this last act of folly has decided my fate." 
 
 In the hope of sustaining himself by a heavy sacrifice, 
 until he could get over his accumulated difficulties, 
 Riston went, as a last resort, to a money broker, and 
 offered him three per cent a month, besides a liberal 
 commission, if he would get him the amount he wanted 
 on his own note of hand, at four months. The broker 
 promised to do his best, but was not sanguine. Three 
 o'clock came ; nothing had yet been done. Half- past 
 three the broker was not in his office Riston was
 
 THE WIFE. 161 
 
 unable to compose himself sufficiently to sit down and 
 wait for him,: he walked the floor with agitated steps 
 for ten minutes. 
 
 "All is lost!" he ejaculated, stopping suddenly and 
 looking up at the clock the time had passed on until 
 it lacked but a quarter to four. 
 
 " Even if I had the money now, there would scarcely 
 be time to lift the notes. Fool ! fool that I was, not 
 to have gone to the holders of them, and endeavoured 
 to make some arrangement. It would have been less 
 disastrous than to have my paper dishonoured." 
 
 While thinking thus the broker entered' quickly. 
 Riston looked eagerly in his face. Hope died in 
 stantly. 
 
 " I can do nothing for you," said the agent in a voice 
 of regret ; " money is very tight." 
 
 Without a reply, Riston took the note he had placed 
 in the broker's hands, put it into his pocket, and thank 
 ing him for the trouble he had taken, retired. He felt, 
 to his own surprise, perfectly calm. The great struggle 
 had ceased the end had come. He yielded passively 
 to the current, and let it bear him down. Returning 
 to his warehouse, he informed his principal clerk, in a 
 few words, of the state of his affairs ; and then gave 
 directions to have all the books settled up with the 
 utmost despatch, previous to a meeting of creditors, 
 which he should call at the earliest possible clay, that 
 a full exhibit of his business could be made. He then
 
 n;-2 Airy A LEE, 
 
 took hia way homeward. As he walked along, with 
 his eyes upon the ground, he thought of his wife not 
 with anger, but with pity. It* was his intention to in 
 form her fully of what had occurred, and to make her 
 gee clearly that her extravagance had been the cause 
 of his ruin. He knew that this must produce acute 
 pain ; but it would, he trusted, be salutary. 
 
 CHAPTKR XIII. 
 
 TAKING A LOWER PLACE IN SOCIETY. 
 
 FOR some time after her husband went out, Mrs. Riston 
 Buffered great distress of mind. The thought of having 
 to give up her splendid house was almost as terrible as 
 the thought of death. If her husband should really 
 fail in business, she felt that she could not survive the 
 mortification. 
 
 " Bat I don't believe a word of it," she roused her 
 self by saying. " This is only a bug-bear that he has 
 conjured up to frighten me." 
 
 In spite of her effort to believe this she could not 
 help feeling uneasy. About twelve o'clock visitors 
 began to drop in. Mrs. Riston was occupied with 
 these for two or three hours. All with flattering words 
 ministered to her vanity, and caused her to feel how 
 intimately blended with her happiness were the 
 leganciea with which she was surrounded. Ever and
 
 THE WIFE. 163 
 
 anon the thought of what her husband had said would 
 pass through her mind, and produce the most acute 
 pain. 
 
 At length she was alone again. It was past four 
 o'clock, the hour for dining, but Mr. Kiston had not 
 yet returned. She dreaded to see him come in, and 
 yet felt anxious about his prolonged absence, for it 
 did not seem a precursor of good. The clock was 
 striking five when she heard his footsteps in the hall. 
 He went into the parlour, but remained there only a 
 moment. She next heard him ascending the stairs 
 with a more deliberate step than usuaL She looked 
 up into his face with an anxious and inquiring eye as 
 he entered the chamber where she was sitting. Its 
 expression startled her. There was something about 
 it that she could not understand. She was not long 
 in suspense. 
 
 " The worst has come to the worst, Ellen," he said, 
 in a calm, cold voice, taking a chair by her side, and 
 looking fixedly at her. " As I feared it would be, so 
 it has turned out. I could hear of nothing, go where 
 I would, but the splendid party, and the amount it 
 must have, or really did cost; but nobody had any 
 money to lend. Men who trusted me freely last week, 
 and even yesterday, and who could have done it as 
 easily to-day, had nothing to spare. From ten o'clock 
 until four I strove, with all the power I possessed, to 
 get the amount of money needed to keep me from
 
 KM A'-ii LEE, 
 
 bankruptcy, but in vain. I am now a dishonoured 
 and broken merchant." 
 
 A cry of anguish burst from the lips of his unhappy 
 wife as he said this. 
 
 " I do not upbraid you as the cause of my mis 
 fortune," he resumed, as soon as the excitement of 
 Mrs. Riaton's feelings had in some measure subsided. 
 " That would avail nothing. But it is only right for 
 you to know that but for this house, and the style in 
 which it is furnished, and the extravagant display made 
 last night, my credit would have remained untarnished. 
 The money needed to meet my payments to-day would 
 have been easily procured, and in a few weeks my feet 
 would have been on firm ground again. As it is, I 
 shall have to give up all to my creditors, who will 
 place my effects in the hands of trustees. Forced 
 settlements will involve sacrifices, and the end will be 
 that I shall turn out an insolvent debtor, and be thrown 
 penniless upon the world to begin life again." 
 
 Mrs. Kiston was stunned so much by this announce 
 ment that she could not speak. Her face was pale as 
 ashes, her hands clenched, and her eyes fixed like one 
 in a spasm. So paralyzed was she that she had to bo 
 carried to bed, scarcely sensible of anything that was 
 passing around her. 
 
 A downward tendency is always rapid. Mr. Riston 
 called a meeting of his creditors, and submitted, in a 
 manly spirit, a statement of his affairs. Trustees were
 
 THE WIFE. 165 
 
 appointed, and all his effects placed in their hands. 
 His elegant furniture was sold at public sale, within 
 three weeks of the date of its purchase, and the cabinet 
 maker, upholsterer, and others, as well as the wine- 
 merchant and confectioner, were compelled to await 
 some ten or twelve months before receiving their final 
 dividend on the bankrupt's assets. 
 
 Mrs. Riston retired to an obscure boarding house, in 
 the upper part of the city, in ten days after she had 
 taken possession of her palace, as she had called it, 
 with such lofty feelings. She retired a broken-spirited 
 woman. Her husband's conduct in the trying ordeal 
 through which he was compelled to pass, gained him 
 the respect and regard of many who were ready to 
 assist him. He resumed business, after the lapse 
 of two months, in a small way, and commenced again 
 his upward struggle, fully resolved that his wife should 
 never again have any control over him that was not 
 the control of reason. 
 
 " If I feel able at any future time to go to house 
 keeping in a quiet, economical way, I shall not regard 
 her objections," he said to himself, while thinking over 
 his plans for the future. " She will have to be governed 
 by my wishes now. I have yielded to hers long 
 enough.- I am willing to devote myself to business 
 early and late, and to take upon myself all its attendant 
 cares and anxieties for our mutual good. It is but right 
 that she should fill the domestic sphere as fully as I do
 
 !;; v.i /./:/:, 
 
 that of business. Had I insisted upon her doing ac 
 at first, her mind would never have become warped, 
 nor her desires so extravagant I might still have 
 retained my good name, have still been engaged in 
 a prosperous business. But the time past shall suffice. 
 My clear convictions of right shall never yield one iota 
 to her whims, passions, or caprices." 
 
 Riston was as good as his word. He held, so to 
 speak, a tight reign on his wife ever after. She, it 
 most be said, was a more passive subject than before, 
 and yielded to his wishes much easier. But she was 
 not happy. She hardly ever went out, and scarcely 
 any of her old friends cared about retaining her ac 
 quaintance. At home, she drooped about, and went 
 through whatever domestic duties she had to perform, 
 as if she were an automaton. She had no genuine 
 love for her husband, and he felt it Their meetings 
 were cold, and their intercourse limited to a few com 
 monplace remarks, or questions and answers necessary 
 to be made. Thus passed their days, neither of (hem 
 caring how soon the time came for separation. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TRUE LOVE TRIED AND PROVED. 
 
 Iw presenting a contrast to the wise and prudent con- 
 
 f Mrs. Hartley, we have kept our leading character 
 
 in the background for some time. We have done so
 
 THE WIFE. 167 
 
 for two reasons, in order to present the contrast; and, 
 because we did not think it possible to give picture 
 after picture of the quiet life of Mr. and Mrs. Hartley 
 and preserve sufficient interest to compensate the 
 reader. Anna, it has been seen, acted in the very 
 commencement of her married life with an unselfish 
 regard to the good of her husband. She could have 
 yielded passively to his wishes and become the mistress 
 of an elegant house ; and she had temptations to do so 
 that few women so situated would have thought of 
 resisting. But she did not love her husband blindly 
 nor selfishly, but wisely. She thought of her duty as 
 a wife, and manifested the quality of her love by the 
 right performance of her duties from the first day of 
 her marriage. 
 
 But it was not alone in a due regard to external 
 things that Anna manifested the quality of her love. 
 She sought to regulate the affections of her mind, and 
 bring them into due subordination to the highest and 
 purest principles. Her husband had his weaknesses, 
 as have all men ; his prejudices and his passions. And 
 she was not free from imperfections. Reason told her, 
 that if evil overcame evil in a contention between 
 husband and wife, victory would be as destructive to 
 happiness as defeat. But that if evil were overcome 
 of good, both the victor and the vanquished would be 
 wiser and better, and therefore happier for the contest. 
 
 In acting from this clear sense of right, Anna had
 
 Ks A \.\-A LEE, 
 
 many hard contentions with herself. When anything 
 like an arbitrary, self-willed, or unaraiable trait in h r 
 husband's character presented itself, her heart felt 
 wounded, or inclined to meet self-will with self-will, or 
 arbitrary words and conduct with stem opposition. 
 But reflection, and a struggle with herself for the 
 mastery over the tendencies of a naturally evil heart, 
 would soon make her vision clear, and her mind calm. 
 And then she could act the wife's true part well and 
 \\ix-ly. 
 
 Hartley was not so blind but that he could see all 
 this in Anna. It made him feel humble in spirit, when, 
 after some slight difference, in which he had spoken 
 with a warmth bordering on unkindness, she would 
 answer in gentle terms, that were redolent of a sweet 
 forbearing spirit; or, when he had opposed his wishes 
 to hers, she would yield to his desires with a cheerful 
 grace, that rebuked his own eager selfishness. He saw 
 that, in every contention, she gained the real victory, 
 even though he, in appearance, carried the point at issue. 
 
 " God bless her ! " he ejaculated fervently, as he left 
 his house one morning, the tears coming to his eyes. 
 " She is an angel ! She saves me from myself. I 
 never dreamed that I was so self-willed, so unamiable, 
 BO much in the love of dominion as I am, until she 
 caused me to see my own heart clearly reflected from 
 the bright, pure surface of her own. I can understand 
 now how a wife's character elevates or depresses that
 
 THE WIFE. 169 
 
 of her husband. Had she been different; had she 
 been self-willed, even as self-willed as I am; had she 
 been fond of dress, or display, or admiration ; had she 
 been, in fact, anything but what she is, a loving, almost 
 faultless, wife, I tremble to think of the unhappy 
 influence she would have had upon me. I did not 
 know that I had so many faults of character as I have ; 
 faults that a selfish wife would have confirmed, but 
 which my own dear Anna helps me to remove at the 
 same time that she does not appear to see them. God 
 bless her ! I say again." 
 
 This warmly-uttered tribute to the virtues of his 
 wife was occasioned by some one of the many instances 
 of forbearance which Mrs. Hartley was compelled to 
 exercise towards her husband, who, excellent as he 
 was, had his weak points, his faults and his foibles. 
 But her manner towards him was always so gentle and 
 kind, that it reproved him the instant he was betrayed 
 into any act or word that was calculated to wound or 
 disturb her. 
 
 They had been married for six months. During 
 that time all external circumstances had conspired to 
 make their life happy. The business prospects of 
 Hartley were more flattering than at first. Trade was 
 brisk, and sales heavier than usual. No wonder that 
 they could live in sunshine, with but few light clouds 
 to flit over their sky. But a change came. Let us 
 see how it affects them.
 
 170 .\.\\VA LER, 
 
 When Hartley reached the warehouse on the morn 
 ing just referred to, he found both of his partners 
 greatly disturbed in mind. On inquiring the cause, he 
 learned that letters had just come to hand with the 
 
 intelligence of three heavy failures in C of houses 
 
 indebted to the firm to a very large amount. 
 
 The effect of this disaster upon their business, Hart 
 ley at once saw. The same firm was also largely in 
 debted to several houses in P , whose condition 
 
 was not thought to be sound, and those houses in turn 
 
 were debtors to R , S , & Co. in heavy amounts. 
 
 Should the failures prove as bad as the first intelligence 
 represented them to be, it was a matter of great doubt 
 as to the ultimate consequences. R was particu 
 larly dispirited, and S , a man of much stronger 
 
 nerves, was a good deal agitated. 
 
 " Bad, very bad, James," the latter said to Hartley. 
 ' I am afraid it will break us up." 
 
 The young man turned pale. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Hardly so bad as that, Mr. S ? " he 
 
 replied in a husky voice. 
 
 " There is no telling. We shall be crippled without 
 doubt There is a fair prospect of our losing ten or 
 twelve thousand pounds by these failures. I need not 
 tell you that such a loss will shake us to the fomuLi- 
 tion. I must own, that I am deeply anxious about 
 the consequences." 
 
 The heart of the young man sunk. To him, even if
 
 THE WIFE. 171 
 
 the house stood firm, the effect would be severe. If 
 ten thousand pounds were lost, or even one-half that 
 sum, it would reduce to a very small amount his 
 dividend of the profits, if it left him anything at all 
 His first thought was of his wife, and, as her image 
 arose in his mind, a pang went through his breast. 
 
 During the morning, a hundred floating rumours 
 assailed the ears of Hartley and his associates in 
 business, none of them at all encouraging. The whole 
 prospect was dark Every one who had debtors in 
 
 C was alarmed. A dozen merchants there were 
 
 talked of as affected by the failures that had already 
 taken place, and in danger of suspending. Several of 
 
 these were also customers of E, , S , <fe Co. 
 
 who held their paper to considerable amounts. 
 
 In this state of anxious uncertainty the hours passed 
 on until it was time for Hartley to go home. He 
 shrunk from the thought of meeting his wife. It was 
 impossible for him to conceal what he felt ; her quick 
 eye would read the change in his feelings the moment 
 he came in. 
 
 With an effort to appear as cheerful and free from 
 concern as usual, Hartley came into the presence of 
 his wife at dinner-time. 
 
 " James ! What is the matter ? " she exclaimed, 
 the moment her eye rested upon his face. " Are you 
 not well 1 " 
 
 His effort to put on the appearance of a quiet mind
 
 172 AWA LEE, 
 
 had proved vain. He had never practised simulation, 
 and could not do it now. The eager questions of Anna, 
 and her alarmed face, caused his own countenance to 
 assume an expression of deep distress. 
 
 " James ! What has happened 1 " 
 
 " Sit down, love, and I will tell you all. But do 
 not be alarmed. It may not be as bad as we fear." 
 
 Hartley said this in a voice meant to quiet the 
 anxiety of his wife. But she grew deadly pale. 
 
 " My father " she could but faintly utter. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! Nothing of that," replied Hartley, 
 comprehending the nature of her thoughts. "Your 
 father and mother, and all belonging to them are well. 
 I allude to my business affairs, which have suddenly 
 assumed a threatening aspect" 
 
 M Is that all ? " murmured Anna in a faint voice, 
 sinking into her husband's arms. " I feared that some 
 thing dreadful had happened." 
 
 For an instant Hartley felt vexed at the indifference 
 shown by his wife in a matter that went to his very 
 heart. But the relief this seeming indifference afforded 
 his own mind was so great, that he began to feel half- 
 ashamed of himself for discovering so much agitation. 
 
 " That is all," he returned, after a short silence, in a 
 calm voice. " But to me it is a very serious matter." 
 
 " And if to you, is it not the same to me 1 " quickly 
 replied Anna, perceiving in a moment the impression 
 her remark had made. "Vague fears were instantly
 
 THE WIFE. 173 
 
 excited by your looks and words, and they always 
 create a paralyzed condition of mind. But tell me, 
 dear husband, what has happened ? No matter what 
 it is no matter how it affects us externally, it shall 
 find your wife unchanged. She will stand firmly by 
 your side, if all the world forsake you. Speak to me 
 freely. Do not fear for me. Am I not your wife ] " 
 
 " Yes you are truly my wife my angel-wife my 
 guide, my companion, my comforter. Feeling now 
 how rich I am in possessing the love of a true heart 
 like yours, it hardly seems possible that a little while 
 ago, with the danger of the ruin of our house by heavy 
 failures looking me in the face, my spirits could have 
 been so prostrated. But it was of you that I thought. 
 I trembled at the prospect of a change that would 
 affect you." 
 
 " Think not of me. Fear not for me. Come what 
 will, if I retain your love and your confidence, I shall 
 be happy. But what has happened, James 1 Don't 
 hesitate to tell me all." 
 
 Hartley briefly related what the reader already 
 knows in regard to the certain and probable losses that 
 would be sustained by the failures. 
 
 "What the effect will be," he said, in conclusion, 
 " cannot now be told. It may force us to close up our 
 business and dissolve the firm. Most certainly it will 
 reduce my income for the next year very low, if not 
 cut it off altogether."
 
 174 VA LEE, 
 
 In uttering the last sentence, Hartley's voice 
 trembled 
 
 My dear husband," quickly replied Anna, with a, 
 smile, and speaking in a calm tone of voice, "you 
 believe in an overruling Providence; and you know 
 that whatever befalls us here is of divine permission, 
 and intended for our good" 
 
 "I know it, Anna, but it is hard to feel that it 
 is so." 
 
 " And yet it is so. We know it is so. This is faith ; 
 but faith that is only in the understanding is nothing. 
 The heart must give its affirmation as well as the 
 thought Let our hearts do this. We believe the 
 threatened events, if they do take place, will be wisely 
 ordered or permitted for our spiritual good. On this 
 rock let us plant our feet, and the waters may rage 
 around us in vain. Think, for a moment ; if reverses 
 are necessary, in order that our minds may be opened 
 moie interiorly towards heaven, through trials and 
 changes in our external lives, would you, if you had 
 your choice, and your thoughts were clear and calm, 
 hesitate to choose the rougher way in life 1 James, I 
 am sure you would not ! What is our brief day here, 
 compared to an eternal state hereafter 1 This is the 
 way for us to think and feel" 
 
 "True, Anna; still it is hard, very hard, for me to 
 feel as well as think so wisely. If my thoughts were 
 clear and calm, and the choice were presented, I believe
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 175 
 
 I \vould choose the better part. But the great diffi 
 culty is to keep off doubt and fear, that cloud and 
 disturb the mind. If I could see it all as clear as I 
 now do, it would be easy enough. But the moment I 
 direct my mind to the circumstances that surround 
 me. and see the ruin of all my worldly prospects 
 staring me in the face, I cannot help trembling. I am 
 no longer looking up, but downward." 
 
 " Let it, then, be my task to point your eyes upward. 
 You, mingling in the busy strife of men, and surrounded 
 by the sphere of business, with its anxiety and care, 
 and fears of the loss of worldly goods and worldly 
 honours, must, necessarily, be influenced by the quality 
 of this sphere, and have your mind affected with like 
 anxieties, and cares, and fears. But I live in another 
 sphere. I cannot be affected, daily, as you are. I 
 can look up with a steadier eye. Mine, then, shall be 
 the duty of holding up your hands. When cares 
 oppress you, come to me, and I will show you how 
 vain they are; if anxious, lean upon me, and I will 
 give you to feel that no one need be anxious, while 
 the Lord rules in heaven and earth. If we must take 
 a lower position in life, I will take it with you, and 
 encourage you, if you fear, in descending." 
 
 As Mrs. Hartley spoke, with a warmly eloquent 
 voice, her face beamed in beauty that was not of the 
 ftarth, earthy. In the eyes of her husband, she had 
 always borne a lovely countenance, but she was lovelier
 
 ITS AW A LEE, 
 
 now than ever. Clasping her with tender earnestness 
 in his arms, he said, 
 
 " May Heaven shower upon you its choicest bleas- 
 ings ! You make me ashamed of my own weakness ; 
 of my own want of trust in the Providence that I 
 know governs all things well. With you by my side, 
 life's journey can never be a very painful one; for you 
 will make for me all the rough places of peevish nature 
 even. Come what will, whether prosperity or adver 
 sity, I shall ever find your heart as true to love as is 
 the needle to the pole." 
 
 " Yes, ever," was the low, murmured reply. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A CHANGE. 
 
 HARTLEY returned to the warehouse after dinner, 
 feeling much more as a man should feel, under circum 
 stances of trial, than he did in the morning. The 
 afternoon brought further intelligence from the west. 
 It was decisive. The houses that had suspended pay 
 ment would each make a most disastrous failure, and 
 it was almost certain would carry two others with 
 
 them, both of which were indebted to R , S , 
 
 &Co. 
 
 When Hartley came home at night, his mind was 
 again overshadowed. Anna had suffered a good deal
 
 THE WIFE. 177 
 
 during the afternoon, for her husband's sake. She 
 could enter into and understand his feelings, and she 
 therefore knew how hard a trial he had to bear in the 
 threatened ruin of his bright hopes of worldly success. 
 Nor was she indifferent, so far as herself was concerned. 
 To all, prosperity and the temporal blessings it brings, 
 is pleasant. And Mrs. Hartley could enjoy them as 
 well as others. It was not, therefore, without an 
 earnest struggle with herself, that she could rise, really, 
 into that state of composure and trust in Providence, 
 that she had so strongly urged upon her husband. 
 When he came in, at the close of the day, she saw 
 that he was again depressed in spirits; and again she 
 sought to raise his thoughts above the mere fact of 
 present temporal losses, to a realization of the truth 
 that all things are made, in the divine Providence, to 
 work together for good. In this as before, she was 
 successful, even though more recent intelligence than 
 that received in the morning tended to confirm Hartley's 
 worst fears. 
 
 On the day following things looked still more gloomy. 
 A week elapsed, and all yet remained dark and threaten 
 ing. A month passed, and the house of E, , S , 
 
 & Co., considered one of the most promising in the city, 
 suspended payment, and commenced winding up its 
 business. There was property enough to pay off all 
 the debts, and leave something over. But as Hartley 
 had put in no capital, and all the profits and more 
 
 (48) 12
 
 178 ANNA I. 
 
 than half of the capital had been lost, he went out of 
 the concern with less than fifty pounds in his pocket, 
 the two senior partners remaining to close up everything. 
 
 Requiring the services of some one, R <fe S 
 
 offered Hartley a salary of a hundred and fifty pounds, 
 which he gladly accepted, and from a merchant with 
 Urge expectations, fell back into his former capacity of 
 a clerk. It required all the young man's philosophy, 
 aided by the hopeful, trusting spirit of his wife, to bear 
 up with anything like fortitude. For the sake of her 
 who was loved beyond what words could express, he 
 grieved more deeply over this reverse than he would 
 have done had he stood alone in the world. She would 
 have to bear half of the burden, and the thought of 
 this touched him to the quick. 
 
 As soon as Anna knew that her husband had dis 
 solved all connection with the house in which he hail 
 been a partner, and that his income was fixed at a 
 hundred and fifty pounds per annum, she said to him 
 with a cheerful face and tone, 
 
 " We must look out for another house, James ; the 
 rent of this one is too high for us now." 
 
 " I don't know, Anna ; I think I can still manage to 
 pay the rent I have partly engaged to post a set of 
 books, which I can do by devoting a couple of hours to 
 it every evening. If I will undertake them, it will in 
 crease my income nearly thirty pounds. I would rather 
 do it th:ui move. I can't bear the thought of that
 
 THE' WIFE. 179 
 
 We live so comfortably and genteelly here. It will be 
 impossible to get a house that is respectable, for a rent 
 low enough to make it an object to give up this one." 
 
 " So far as mere appearance is concerned, James," 
 replied his wife, " I do not think we should consider 
 that. What is right fof us to do ? That should be the 
 question. Is it right to live up close to our income?" 
 
 " I think not," Hartley could not help replying. 
 
 " Can you, after being closely engaged all day, post 
 books for two or three hours every evening, without 
 affecting your health ? " pursued Anna. 
 
 " I can hardly telL" 
 
 '" Is it not reasonable to conclude that such incessant 
 application would be injurious 1 ? I think so. How much 
 better would it be to get a smaller house farther from 
 t"he centre of the city, and reduce all our expenses to 
 the lowest scale. If good fortune again smile upon us, 
 we can easily procure all we now relinquish. I am 
 sure that I can be just as happy in a house that costs 
 twenty pounds a-year as I can be in one at five times 
 the rent. Cannot you be ? " 
 
 " I ought to be happy anywhere with you. But the 
 truth is, it wounds my pride to think of removing you 
 to a lower condition. I would gladly place you on a 
 throne, so to speak, if in my power." 
 
 "You cannot depress me below my true condition, 
 nor elevate me above it," Mrs. Hartley said, half-smil 
 ing, half-serious. "There is One who sees the end
 
 180 A\\.i'LE, 
 
 from the beginning One who governs all things with 
 infinite wisdom He will take care that I am ever in 
 my right place. But I must be a co-worker with Pro 
 vidence, in freedom according to reason. The same is 
 true, in regard to yourself. Let us then use the reason 
 that has been given us, and act from its dictates, in 
 perfect freedom from all selfishness or pride, or false 
 views of our relations in life. If you seek my happi 
 ness, do it in this way, for in this way alone can you 
 secure it." 
 
 Hartley could not withstand the force of truth from 
 the lips of so eloquent a reasoner. Three weeks more 
 elapsed. At the end of that time a snug little house 
 in the district of Spring Garden held the young couple. 
 Were they less happy? No! Hartley's salary was 
 ample, and he felt that he was still independent, and 
 that his wife had every comfort she desired. Their 
 house was no less tastefully arranged than the one 
 they had left. It was only smaller. But what of that ] 
 They had room enough and to spare. 
 
 " Is it not much better to be here," Anna said, as 
 they sat together one evening in their little parlour, 
 before a cheerful grate, " than for me to be alone in :i 
 larger house, and you away toiling, wearily, beyond 
 your strength, to get the means of keeping up appear 
 ances? I am sure it 
 
 " Yes, Anna, it is better!" Hartley replied. " \Vr 
 no happier before than we are now."
 
 THE WIFE. 181 
 
 " Suppose we had rented the house in Walnut 
 Street," Anna said, with an arch look. 
 
 u Hush ! " and Hartley put his fingers on the lips of 
 his wife, playfully. " Don't remind me of my weak 
 ness. If you had been a woman at all like Mrs. Riston, 
 how quickly you might have ruined me !" 
 
 "And made you and myself both unhappy for life. 
 I am not like her, James." 
 
 " No ; thank Heaven ! You are like nobody but your 
 own dear self I You are a wise and prudent woman, 
 and a loving wife." , 
 
 " I can bear to hear my praises spoken by your lips," 
 Anna returned, leaning her head back upon the breast 
 of her husband, and looking up into his face with a 
 fond happy smile. 
 
 " It comes from the heart be sure of that." 
 
 " And reaches the heart ere the words are half- 
 uttered," was the blushing reply. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 THREE months more elapsed, when an event, looked 
 for with hope and trembling anxiety, transpired. A 
 new chord vibrated in Anna's heart, and the music was 
 sweeter far in her spirit's e,ar, than any before heard. 
 She was changed. Suddenly she felt that she was a
 
 182 A. v.v.i //'/:. 
 
 new creature. Her breast was filled with deeper, 
 . and tenderer emotions. She was a mother ! A 
 had been born to her! A sweet pledge of love 
 lay nestling by her side, and drawing its life from her 
 bosom. She was happy how happy cannot be told. 
 A mother only can fed how happy she was on first re 
 alizing the new emotions that thrill in a young mother's 
 heart 
 
 As health gradually returned to her exhausted frame, 
 and friends gathered around her with warm congratula 
 tions, Anna felt that she was indeed beginning a new 
 life. Every hour her soul seemed to enlarge, and her 
 mind to be filled with higher and purer thoughts. Be 
 fore the birth of her babe, she suffered much more than 
 even her husband had supposed, both in body and mind. 
 Her spirits were often so depressed, that it required 
 her utmost effort to receive him with her accustomed 
 cheerfulness at each period of his loved return. But 
 living as she did in the ever active endeavour to bless 
 nt hers, she strove daily and hourly to rise above every 
 infirmity. Now all was peace within holy peace. 
 There came a Sabbath rest of deep, interior joy, that 
 was sweet, unutterably sweet Body and spirit entered 
 into this rest No wind ruffled the still, bright waters 
 of her life. 
 
 Hartley had loved his wife truly, deeply, tenderly. 
 Every day he saw more and more in her to admire. 
 There was an order, consistency, and harmony in her
 
 THE WIFE. 183 
 
 character as a wife, that won his admiration. In the 
 few months they had passed since their marriage, she 
 had filled her place to him perfectly. Without seeming 
 to reflect how she should regulate her conduct towards 
 her husband, in every act of her wedded life she had 
 displayed true wisdom, united with unvarying love. 
 All this caused his heart to unite itself more and more 
 closely with hers. But now that she held to him the 
 twofold relation of a wife and mother, his love was in 
 creased fourfold. He thought of her, and looked upon 
 her, with increased tenderness. 
 
 " Mine by a double tie," he said, with a full realiza 
 tion of his words, when he first pressed his lips upon 
 the brow of his child, and then, with a fervour unfelt 
 before, upon the lips of his wife. " As you have been 
 a good wife, you will be a good mother," he .added, 
 with emotion. 
 
 Hereafter we must know Mrs. Hartley in the two 
 fold character of wife and mother, for they are inex 
 tricably blended. Thus far, scarcely a year has passed 
 since the maiden became the wife. But little presents 
 itself in the first year of a woman's married history of 
 deep interest. Her life is more strongly marked in 
 ternally than externally. She feels much, but the 
 world sees little, and little can be brought forth to 
 view. The little that we could present in the history 
 of our gentle, true-hearted friend, with some strong 
 contrasts, has been presented. Enough is apparent, we
 
 184 A MA LEE, TUE WIFE. 
 
 hope, to enable us to say to the young wife, " Go thou 
 and do likewise." Enough to make all feel the loveli 
 ness of her example. 
 
 The change in her husband's external condition was 
 good for them both. It tried their characters in the 
 beginning, and, more than anything else that had 
 occurred, made Hartley sensible of the real worth of a 
 prudent and self-denying wife Although months had 
 elapsed since he was suddenly thrown down from a 
 position so full of promise, into one comparatively dis 
 couraging to a man of an active, ambitious spirit, he 
 still remained a clerk, with no prospect of rising above 
 that condition. Had his wife seemed in the least 
 degree to feel this change, it would have chafed him 
 sorely. He would have been unhappy ; but she was 
 so cheerful and contented, and made everything so 
 comfortable, and regulated her household expenses 
 without appearing to think about doing so, according 
 to her husband's reduced income, that he was rarely 
 ever more than half -conscious while at home, that he was 
 not in the receipt of over one-third of his former income 
 
 If we were to lift for the reader, a moment or two, 
 the veil that hides Mr. Riston and his wife from the 
 pubUc eye, a very different picture from this would be 
 een. But we care not to do so. The sayings and 
 doings of Mrs. R have already filled more than a fair 
 proportion of our pages. Their moral needs no further 
 expositions to give them force
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 had passed away, and autumn had 
 verged on towards winter. Instead of a 
 brief, sultry twilight, there were long 
 evenings and plea'sant meetings of the 
 family circle. Care looked more cheerful ; there was a 
 light on the wan cheek of Sickness; and Labour sung 
 merrily as she turned her wheel. 
 
 His daily labours ended, James Hartley returned 
 home on such an evening, his step light, his mind 
 clear, and his spirits buoyant. Scarcely a year had 
 passed since the wreck of his worldly prospects ; but in 
 that time the reacting strength of a manly character 
 had lifted his bowed head, and fixed with confidence 
 his steady eye. But this result would have taken place 
 slowly and imperfectly under other circumstances and 
 different influences from those with which he was sur-
 
 1 -; *A LEE, 
 
 rounded. He owed much to the cheerful temper ;unl 
 hopeful spirit of his wife. So far from murmuring at 
 the change in their prospects, or permitting her hu-laml 
 t<> murmur, every allusion to this change was accom- 
 l ly Mrs. Hartley with expressions of thankful 
 ness that all the real blessings the world had to give 
 were left them. 
 
 " We have more than enough for all our wants," she 
 would say " And besides, we have each other, and our 
 dear little Marion. Do you think we have reason to 
 complain ? No you cannot Our cup is not empty 
 it is full to the brim." 
 
 As was ever the case, a smile of welcome greeted 
 Hartley on entering his pleasant home. But it seemed 
 to him, after the smile had died away, that there was a 
 thoughtful expression upon Anna's brow. This grew 
 distinct to his eye, as he observed her face more care 
 fully. 
 
 " Is Marion asleep? " he asked, soon after he came in. 
 
 ' Yes. She was tired, and went to sleep early. 1 
 tried to keep her awake until you came home, but she 
 was so drowsy and fretful, that I thought it best to put 
 her to bed." 
 
 " Dear little creature." 
 
 " She is a sweet child." 
 
 " A sweeter one cannot be found. As she grows 
 older, how much delight we shall take in seeing her 
 mind expand and become filled with images of all that
 
 THE MOTHER. 187 
 
 is lovely and innocent. As the twig is bent, so is the 
 tree inclined. Anna, all we have to do is to bend this 
 twig aright. Heaven's rain and sunshine will do the 
 rest." 
 
 " To bend it aright may not be so easy a task as you 
 suppose, James.' 1 
 
 " Perhaps not. And yet it seems to me that a wise 
 course of government, carefully pursued, must produce 
 the desired result." 
 
 " To determine wisely is not always in our power. 
 Ah, James ! It is that thing of determining wisely that 
 gives me the greatest concern. I believe that I could 
 faithfully carry out any system of government, were I 
 only well satisfied of its being the true one. But so 
 conscious am I, that, if in the system I adopt there be 
 a vital error, the effect will be lastingly injurious to our 
 child, that I hesitate and tremble at every step. The 
 twig that shoots forth, unwarped by nature, pliant and 
 graceful, may be trained to grow in almost any direc 
 tion. But our child is born with an evil and perverse 
 will a will thoroughly depraved." 
 
 " That the human heart is by nature, not only deceit 
 ful, but desperately wicked, we know from God's own 
 word." 
 
 " Alas ! it is but too true, James. It needs not 
 Revelation to tell us this. Already the moral deformity 
 we have entailed upon our child is showing itself every 
 day. How shall we correct it ] How shall we change
 
 188 A. V.V.I LEE, 
 
 it into beauty t I think of this almost every hour, and 
 sometimes it makes me feel sad. It is easy to say 
 1 Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined ' but it is 
 not so easy a thing to bend the human twig as you will. 
 There is great danger of creating one deformity in the 
 effort to correct another ; or of checking, in its flow, 
 the healthy sap by undue pressure. And still further; 
 our own states of mind, from various causes, are ever 
 changing, and from these changes result obscurity, or a 
 new direction of our thoughts. What seems of the 
 first moment to-day, is not so considered to-morrow, 
 because other ideas are more distinctly before our 
 minds, and throw things of equal importance into 
 obscurity. Our own uncorrected hereditary evils are 
 also in our way, and hinder us from either seeing aright 
 or doing aright." 
 
 " You are disposed to look at the gloomy side of the 
 picture, Anna," replied her husband, smiling. " Sup 
 pose you take a more encouraging view." 
 
 " Show me the bright side, James. I will look at 
 it with pleasure." 
 
 "There is a bright side, Anna everything has a 
 sunny side ; but I do not know that it is in my power 
 to show you the sunny side of this picture. I will, 
 however, present to your mind a truth that may sug 
 gest many others of an 'encouraging nature. Have we 
 not the divine promise to those who train up a child 
 in the way he should go, that when he is old he will
 
 THE MOTHER. 189 
 
 not depart from it 1 Foolishness is indeed bound up 
 in the heart of a child, but the Christian parent need 
 not despond in the struggle to eradicate it. Can there 
 be a higher or holier end than a mother's, when she 
 proposes to herself the good of her child 1 " 
 
 " I believe not." 
 
 "Into that end will there most assuredly be an 
 influx of wisdom to discover the true means. Do not 
 despond, then. As your day is, so will your strength 
 be." 
 
 Anna sighed heavily, but made no reply for some 
 moments. She vyas too deeply conscious of the diffi 
 culty of applying the true means, to feel confidence in 
 the practical bearing of the principles that her husband 
 had declared, and which she so well knew were true. 
 
 " It is easy to theorize," she at length said. " It is 
 pleasant to the mind to dwell upon true principles, and 
 see how they apply in real life. But it is a different 
 matter when we come to bring down these theories 
 ourselves. There is in us so much that hinders self- 
 love, indolence, pride, and a thousand other things, 
 come between our good purposes and their accomplish 
 ment." 
 
 " True. But on the side of good resolutions is One, 
 who is all " 
 
 " Right, my dear husband ! Right," exclaimed 
 Anna, interrupting him. " He that is for us is more 
 than all who are against us. If I can only fix my con-
 
 100 A*\\'A LEE, 
 
 fidence, like an anchor of the soul, upon Him, all the 
 rough places of peevish nature will be made even. 
 Light will break in from a dark sky. I shall see 
 clearly to walk in right paths." 
 
 " Ever let us both strive to fix our confidence upon 
 God," responded Hartley in a low but earnest voice. 
 
 " If we do so, we shall not find our duty so hard to 
 perform as at first sight it may appear to us. We must 
 keep our minds elevated above all mere worldly and 
 selfish ends, and seek only the highest good for our off 
 spring." 
 
 "The highest good, Yes, that must be our aim. 
 But do we agree as to what is the highest good 1 " 
 
 " An important question, Anna. If we do not agree, 
 our task will be a difficult one. What do you call the 
 highest good 1 " 
 
 Anna mused for some time. 
 
 " The highest good the highest good " she mur 
 mured abstractedly. " Is it wealth 1 Honour ? The 
 love and praise of men 1 The attainment of all earthly 
 blessings 1 No no. These can only continue for a 
 time, -This life is a brief season at best a mere point 
 in our being a state of preparation for our real ami 
 true existence. In seeking the highest good of our 
 child we must seek first the kingdom of God, and his 
 righteousness." 
 
 " If we do not, Anna, our seeking for the good of 
 our child will be in vain. But, after determining wlial
 
 THE MOTHER. 191 
 
 are the best interests of our child, the next great ques 
 tion is, how shall we secure them ? Thousands have 
 decided as we have, but alas ! how few have been able 
 to secure the right means. A religious education, I 
 know to be the only true education. All others must 
 fail. But what is a religious education ? It is in the 
 wrong determination of this question that so many 
 fail" 
 
 " Can you determine it, James ] " 
 
 " Is it not already determined for us in God's Word! 
 Religion is heavenly order, and involves in it the true 
 relation of the creature and the Creator. It is not the 
 abstract, formal thing of mere outward show that so 
 many make it ; but a spirit of love ruling the heart, 
 and of obedience to the divine will influencing every 
 action of our lives. This we cannot give ; but while 
 we employ the means with her, we must ask of Him, 
 who can alone bestow it, the sanctifying seal of the 
 Holy Spirit." 
 
 " Most true ; yet have you determined how we are 
 to educate our child in such religious principles?" 
 
 " First of all we should, as I have already endeav 
 oured to do, impress upon her mind the idea of a God, 
 and that he loves her, watches over her, and protects 
 her from harm. This is easily done. No idea is so 
 readily conveyed to a child's mind as that of the exist 
 ence of God as a good being. When I talk to Marion, 
 young as she is, about God and the angels who live in
 
 / 
 
 heaven, she will look me steadily in the eyes, and listen 
 with the most fixed attention. She cannot yet speak 
 her thoughts, but I know that she more than half com 
 prehends me, and that in her tender and still must 
 impressible young mind, I am fixing ideas that can 
 never be eradicated. As she grows older, and her 
 mind expands, I shall not only teach her to regard the 
 good of others, but instruct her in the right means of 
 promoting it. The whole Law and the Prophets hang 
 upon the precept, ' Thou shalt love the Lord thy God 
 with all thy heart, and thy neighbour as thyself.' 
 Here is the starting point in all religion. With this 
 fundamental doctrine must all other doctrines square. 
 To love God is to live according to his commandments ; 
 and to love our neighbour is to seek his good his 
 highest good. But it is God, as he was manifested in 
 the flesh, the divine Redeemer, to whom I desire to 
 lead our child. He who said, ' Suffer little children to 
 come unto me, and forbid them not.' Oh ! that I 
 could do this as I desire." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BEGINNING RIGHT. 
 
 THIS was the first serious conversation that had taken 
 place between Mr. and Mrs. Hartley on the subject of 
 the education of their child. As their thoughts
 
 THE MOTHER. 1 93 
 
 became more and more steadily directed to the subject, 
 they saw their duty clearer and clearer. At least such 
 was the case with Mrs. Hartley, for hers was the task 
 of making the first impression upon her child's mind 
 the first and most lasting impression. Upon the train 
 ing of the mother depends, almost entirely, the future 
 character and position of the child. No matter how 
 wise and good the father may be, his influence will do 
 but little if opposed to that of an injudicious mother. 
 Take ten instances where men have risen from humble 
 stations into eminence, and nine of these at least will 
 be found the result of a mother's influence. Her love 
 is a different one ; it is more concentrated and the 
 more we love an object, the more accurate becomes 
 our perception of the means of benefiting that object. 
 The father is usually all absorbed in the pursuit of a 
 business or profession by which to secure the temporal 
 good of his family, and has little time, and too often 
 less inclination, to devote himself to his children. 
 When he retires into his family, his mind seeks rest 
 from the over excitements of the day, and he is unpre 
 pared to give to his children judicious instruction, or 
 to administer wise correction. He cannot adopt a 
 system, and regularly carry it out, because he is with 
 them only for a short time each day, and cannot know 
 their characters thoroughly, nor the means that best 
 re-act upon and keep their evils quiescent. Upon the 
 mother devolves therefore, of necessity, the high and 
 
 (48) 13
 
 194 .i.V.V.4 LEE, 
 
 important duty of moulding the characters of her chil 
 dren of impressing them for good or evil of giving 
 them true strength for their trials in after life. 
 
 Sensibly did Mrs. Hartley feel this. The path of 
 duty lay clearly defined before her, and she shrunk not 
 from walking therein. Love for her child, and an 
 elevated sense of the duties of a Christian parent, were 
 her prompters. 
 
 Her first efforts with her child, as reason began to 
 dawn, were the best a mother can use. She sought to 
 impress upon the mind of her little Marion one idea. 
 Among the first words she taught her to say was the 
 name of " Jesus;" and the child always uttered it with 
 a quiet, earnest, thoughtful face, and pointed upwards. 
 Soon the answer to " Who loves little Marion ] " would 
 be Papa." " Who else ? " " Mamma." " Who elsel" 
 " Jesus in heaven." 
 
 At every step she endeavoured to fix more deeply 
 this impression. The lisped prayer on retiring to bed 
 was never omitted. 
 
 The next effort she made was to counteract the selfish 
 tendency of the child. She began with teaching her 
 young mind to love Qod ; the second step was to cause 
 her to regard the good of others. 
 
 If her husband, from the very nature of his occupa 
 tion, could not aid her much in the practical applica 
 tion of right means, he was ever ready to confer with 
 her, and to aid IUT in discovering these means. They
 
 THE MOTHER. 195 
 
 thought much, and conversed much together upon the 
 subject. 
 
 The three great things to attain, as seeming of most 
 importance to Mrs. Hartley in the education of her 
 child, were to impress fervently and truly upon her 
 mind a just idea of God ; to give her an unselfish 
 regard for her neighbour, and to insure perfect obedi 
 ence. To do all this was a great work, and hard, 
 almost impossible she often felt, to accomplish. But 
 she strove unweariedly, yet not always wisely, after 
 ihe attainment of her end; for she interfered with the 
 freedom of her child checked too often its innocent 
 outbursts of exuberant feeling saw too much, and kt 
 be seen too fully by her child the bonds with which 
 she sought to hold her. The effect was consequently 
 bad, for the rebound of her young spirits when away 
 from her mother, was too strong. Instead of being 
 happiest with her mother, she began to feel it a relief 
 to escape from her presence. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley saw all this, and it grieved her deeply; 
 but the cause she did not clearly perceive. Before, 
 however, the evils of an over-rigid system had pro 
 gressed too far, the birth of a second child divided her 
 care and affection, and gave to Marion a real something 
 that she could love understandingly.
 
 190 AlfSA LR&, 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 MEANS AND ENDS. 
 
 As month after month passed on, and Clarence, the 
 latest born of Mrs. Hartley, began to exhibit some signs 
 of bis real disposition, the parents perceived that it 
 was very different from Marion's. The first born was 
 quiet and easily controlled ; but the boy was full of 
 life, and showed very early a resolute will and passionate 
 temper. Before he had completed a year, he had caused 
 his mother many an anxious hour, and drawn from her 
 eyes many a tear. From his sister he was disposed to 
 take everything ; and if his exacting spirit were not 
 immediately gratified in its desires, he would scream 
 violently, and sometimes throw himself passionately 
 upon the floor. In the first year of her brother's life 
 Marion had changed a good deal Young as she was, 
 her mother endeavoured to interest her in his favour 
 to lend him her play things when awake and to 
 rock his cradle when he was asleep, and do many little 
 things for him within her ability to accomplish. To 
 the exacting imperious temper of the child, Marion was 
 much inclined to yield. To have permitted her to do 
 so would have been the easiest course for Mrs. Hartley 
 to pursue ; but this she saw would be to injure both 
 the children. It took some weeks after Mrs. Hartley 
 began this important lesson before she seemed to make
 
 THE MOTHER. 197 
 
 any impression. After that, the simple declaration, 
 " This belongs to Marion," caused Clarence to yield at 
 once. The achievement of so much gave the mother 
 great encouragement. It was fruit to her labour, and 
 the in-gathering even of so small a harvest was delightful. 
 
 As the boy added month after month and year after 
 year to his age, his strengthening peculiarities of disposi 
 tion became sources of constant anxiety to his mother. 
 
 " I am not fit to be a mother," she would sometimes 
 say to her husband during these seasons of depression. 
 " I lack patience and forbearance, and yet, I can see 
 that Clarence has many very good qualities, and that 
 these really overbalance the eviL His intellect is 
 remarkably quick, and there is a manliness about him 
 but rarely seen in children of his age." 
 
 " Persevere, Anna, persevere," were usually her hus 
 band's encouraging words. " You are doing well" 
 
 Time passed steadily on. Another and another babe 
 saw the light, until five bright-eyed children filled their 
 home with music and sunshine. When her care was 
 lavished upon a single child, the mother had both mind 
 and heart full. Now her duties were increased five 
 fold, but she did not feel them to be greater than at 
 first. It seemed to her, when she had but one babe, 
 that there was not room in her heart for another but 
 now she found that there was room for all Each had 
 its appropriate place. 
 
 Alike in some general features, these five children
 
 i 
 
 were, in particulars, as unlike as possible. Marion, the 
 eldest, was a sweet-tempered girl, ten years of age. 
 Clarence had improved much under the careful training 
 of his mother, though he was still rude, self-willed, and 
 too little inclined to regard properly the rights and 
 comforts of his brother and sisters. Henry, next 
 younger than Clarence, was altogether opposite in 
 character. Timid, bashful, and retiring, he had little 
 confidence in himself, and was too much inclined to 
 lean upon others. Fanny, a laughing little fairy thing, 
 making the house musical with her happy voice, and 
 Lilian, the babe, filled up the number of Mrs. Hartley's 
 household treasures. 
 
 Nearly twelve years had passed since their marriage, 
 and yet neither James Hartley nor his wife were very 
 strongly marked by time. He had a more thoughtful, 
 and she a more earnest expression of countenance. 
 Their external condition had improved. He had again 
 entered into business, though not with the flattering 
 promises that before encouraged him to hope for a 
 speedily attained fortune, but he was in a surer way to 
 competency at least 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SECRET OP GOVERNING CHILDREN. 
 
 VERY aoou after Mrs. Hartley assumed the responsible 
 position of a mother, she became sensible that she had
 
 THE MOTHER. 199 
 
 really more to do in the correction of what was wrong 
 in herself, than in her children. To remain undisturbed 
 at their disobedience, and unimpassioned when duty 
 called her to administer correction, was next, it seemed 
 to her, to impossible. A calm admonition she always 
 saw did more good than an energetic one and grief at 
 her child's disobedience was ever more effective than 
 anger. But anger was too ready to lift its distorted 
 visage, and she mourned over this tendency with a real 
 sorrow, because she saw that it exerted an unhappy 
 influence, especially upon the self-willed, exciteable 
 Clarence. 
 
 " I believe I have discovered a secret," she remarked 
 to her husband, while they sat conversing one evening, 
 about the time that Clarence attained his third year. 
 
 " What is that, dear ? " he asked. 
 
 " The secret of governing my children easily." 
 
 " A great secret that. But are you sure you are 
 right]" 
 
 " I think I am. It is to govern myself." 
 
 Mr. Hartley smiled. 
 
 " I believe it is the only true way," returned his wife. 
 
 " And so do I, Anna. But the government of our 
 selves is not so easy a matter." 
 
 " I am well aware of that. No one, it seems to me, 
 can try harder than I do to control my feelings when 
 Clarence does wrong. But I cannot do it once in ten 
 times that I make the effort. When I do succeed, the
 
 Jo AXXA LEE, 
 
 task of correction is eay and effectual A word, mildly 
 but firmly uttered, or a look, is all that is required. 
 The child seems at once subdued. I am sometimes 
 astonished at so marked a result from what seems so 
 small a cause." 
 
 " That you succeed once even in ten efforts, is cer 
 tainly encouraging." 
 
 " It inspires me with the hope that I shall yet con 
 quer myself, through the power sent me from above. 
 The earnest love I feel for my children shall give me 
 resolution to persevere. 
 
 "For their sakes persevere, dear Anna!" said her 
 husband with emotion. 
 
 " I will," was her tearful answer the drops of pure 
 feeling were dimming her eyes. 
 
 How very few there are who think on this subject 
 as did Mr. and Mrs. Hartley. Parents will indulge in 
 all the evil tempers and dispositions of an unregenerate 
 nature will cherish envy and pride, hatred, malice, 
 and all manner of selfishness, and yet wonder at their 
 existence in their children. It is not to be wondered 
 at that so few are successful in governing their children, 
 when it is seen that they have not learned to govern 
 themselves. 
 
 From this time both Mr. and Mrs. Hartley felt a new 
 motive for striving after the correction in themselves of 
 all perverted moral forms. The result was good, Mrs. 
 Hartley found herself growing more patient and for
 
 THE MOTHER, 201 
 
 bearing. She was able to stand, as it were, above her 
 children, so as not to be affected by their bad tempers 
 and dispositions with anything but an earnest and 
 unimpassioned desire to correct them. 
 
 Having fairly set forth the principles of action which 
 governed Mrs. Hartley in the management and education 
 of her children, let us introduce her more fully to the 
 reader, that she may be seen in the active effort to per 
 form well a mother's part. The period already named, 
 twelve years from the time of her marriage, will be the 
 best for our purpose. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 
 
 " THERE come the children from school," said Aunt 
 Mary, a maiden sister of Anna's mother, as she was 
 looking from the window. " Just see that Clarence ! 
 He'll have Henry in the gutter. I never saw such 
 another boy. Why can't he come quietly along like 
 other children 1 There ! now he must stop to throw 
 stones at the pigs. That boy will give you the heart 
 ache yet, Anna." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley made no reply, but laid aside her work 
 quietly, and left the room, to see that their dinner was 
 ready. In a few minutes the street-door was thrown 
 open, and the children came bounding in, full of life, 
 and noisy as they could be.
 
 2" 2 ANXA LEE, 
 
 "Where is your coat, Clarence?" she asked, in a 
 pleasant tone, looking her oldest boy in the face. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot!" he replied cheerfully, and turning 
 quickly, he ran down stairs, and lifting his coat from 
 where, in his thoughtlessness, he had thrown it upon 
 the floor, hung it up in its proper place, and then 
 sprung up the stairs. 
 
 "Isn't dinner ready yet?" he said, with fretful im 
 patience, his whole manner changing suddenly. " I'm 
 hungry." 
 
 " It will be ready in a few minutes, Clarence." 
 
 " I want it now. I'm hungry." 
 
 " Did you ever hear of the man," said Mrs. Hartley, 
 in a voice that showed no disturbance of mind, " who 
 wanted the sun to rise an hour before its time ?" 
 
 " No, mother. Tell me about it, will you 1" 
 
 All impatience had vanished from the boy's face. 
 
 " There was a man who had to go a journey. The 
 stage-coach was to call for him at sunrise. More than 
 an hour before it was time for the sun to be up, the 
 man was all ready to go, and for the whole of that 
 hour he walked the floor impatiently, grumbling at 
 the sun because he did not rise. ' I'm all ready, and I 
 want to be going,' he said. ' It's time the sun was 
 up, long ago.' Don't you think he was a very foolish 
 aunt" 
 
 Clarence laughed, and said he thought the man wag 
 very foolish indeed.
 
 THE MOTHER. 203 
 
 " Do you think he was more foolish than you were 
 just now for grumbling because dinner wasn't ready ? " 
 
 Clarence laughed again, and said he did not know. 
 Just then, Hannah, the cook, brought in the waiter 
 with the children's dinner upon it. Clarence sprang for 
 a chair, and drew it hastily and noisily to the table. 
 
 " Try and see if you can't do that more orderly, my 
 dear," his mother said, in a quiet voice, looking at him, 
 as she spoke, with a steady eye. 
 
 The boy removed his chair, and then replaced it 
 gently. 
 
 " That is much better, my son." 
 
 And thus she corrected his disorderly habits, quieted 
 his impatient temper, and checked his rudeness, without 
 showing any disturbance. This she had to do daily. 
 At almost every meal she found it necessary to repress 
 his rude impatience. It was line upon line, and precept 
 upon precept ; but she never tired, and rarely permitted 
 herself to show that she was disturbed, no matter how 
 deeply grieved she was at times over the wild and 
 reckless spirit of her boy. 
 
 On the next day she was not very well. Her head 
 ached badly all the morning. Hearing the children in 
 the passage, when they came in from school at noon, 
 she was rising from the bed where she had lain down, 
 to attend to them, and give them their dinners, when 
 Aunt Mary said : 
 
 " Don't get up, Anna. I will see to the children."
 
 2- 1 AW. * / 
 
 It was rarely that Mrs. Hartley let any one do foi 
 them what she could do herself, for no one else could 
 manage the impatient temper of Clarence. But so 
 violent was the pain in her head, that she let Aunt 
 Mary go, and sunk back upon the pillow from which 
 she had arisen. A good deal of noise and confusion 
 continued to reach her ears, from the moment the 
 children came in. At length a loud cry and passional* 
 words from Clarence caused her to rise up quickly and 
 go to the dining-room. All was confusion there, and 
 Aunt Mary out of humour, and scolding prodigiously. 
 Clarence was standing up at the table, looking defiance 
 at her, on account of some interference with his strong 
 self-will. The moment the boy saw his mother, his 
 countenance changed, and a look of confusion took the 
 place of anger. 
 
 u Come to my room, Clarence," she said, in a low 
 voice ; there was sadness in its tones, that made him 
 feel sorry that he had given vent so freely to his ill 
 temper. 
 
 " What was the matter, my son 1" Mrs. Hartley 
 asked, as soon as they were alone, taking Clarence by 
 the hand, and looking steadily at him. 
 
 " Aunt Mary wouldn't help me when I asked her." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "She would help Henry first" 
 
 " No doubt she had a reason for it. Do you know 
 her reason 1"
 
 THE MOTHER. 205 
 
 " She said he was youngest." Clarence pouted out 
 his lips, and spoke in a very disagreeable tone. 
 
 " Don't you think that was a very good reason ? " 
 
 " I've as good a right to be helped first as he has." 
 
 " Let us see if that is so. You, and Marion, and 
 Henry came in from school, all hungry and anxious for 
 your dinners. Marion is oldest she, one would sup 
 pose, from the fact that she is oldest, would be better 
 able to feel for her brothers, and be willing to see their 
 wants supplied before her own. You are older than 
 Henry, and should feel for him in the same way. No 
 doubt this was Aunt Mary's reason for helping Henry 
 first. Had she helped Marion ] " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Did Marion complain ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Xo one complained but my unhappy Clarence. 
 Do you know why you complained 1 I can tell you, 
 as I have often told you before. It is because you 
 indulge in very selfish feelings. All who do so make 
 themselves miserable. If, instead of wanting Aunt 
 Mary to help you first, you had, from a love of your 
 little brother, been willing to see him first attended to, 
 you would have enjoyed a real pleasure. If you had 
 said, ' Aunt Mary, help Harry first,' I am sure Henry 
 would have said instantly, ' No, Aunt Mary, help 
 brother Clarence first.' How pleasant this would have 
 been ; how happy would all of us have felt at thus
 
 I'on . I. v.v.i / 
 
 seeing two little brothers generously preferring one 
 another!" 
 
 There was an unusual degree of tenderness, even 
 sadness, in the voice of his mother, that affected 
 Clarence. But he struggled with his feelings. When, 
 however, she resumed, and said 
 
 " I have felt quite sick all the morning. My head 
 has ached badly so badly that I have had to lie down. 
 I always give you your dinners when you come home, 
 and try to make you comfortable. To-day I let Aunt 
 Marj' do it, because I felt so sick. But I am sorry that 
 I did not get up, sick as I was, and do it myself then 
 I might have prevented this unhappy outbreak of my 
 boy's unruly temper, that has made not only my head 
 ache ten times as badly as it did, but my heart ache 
 also" 
 
 Clarence burst into tears, and throwing his arms 
 around his mother's neck, wept bitterly. 
 
 " I will try and be good, dear mother !" he said. "I 
 do try sometimes, but it seems that I can't." 
 
 u You must always try, my dear son. Now dry up 
 your tears, and go out and get your dinner. Or, if 
 you would rather I should go with you, I will do 
 so." 
 
 M No, dear mother ! " replied the boy, affectionately 
 i are sick. You must not go. I will be good." 
 
 Clarence kissed his mother again, and then returned 
 quietly to the dining-room.
 
 THE MOTHER. 207 
 
 " Naughty boy ! " said Aunt Mary, as he entered, 
 looking sternly at him. 
 
 A bitter retort came instantly to the tongue of Clar 
 ence, but he checked himself with a strong effort, and 
 took his place at the table. Instead of soothing the 
 quick-tempered boy, Aunt Mary chafed him by her 
 words and manner during the whole meal, and it was 
 only the image of his mother's tearful face, and the re 
 membrance that she was sick, that restrained an out 
 break of his passionate temper. 
 
 When Clarence left the table, he returned to his 
 mother's room, and laid his head upon the pillow where 
 hers was resting. 
 
 "I love you, mother," he said, affectionately "You 
 are good. But I hate Aunt Mary." 
 
 " no, Clarence. You must not say that you hate 
 Aunt Mary, for Aunt Mary is very kind to you. You 
 mustn't hate anybody." 
 
 " She isn't kind to me, mother. She calls me a bad 
 boy, and says everything to make me angry when I 
 want to be good." 
 
 "Think, my son, if there is not some reason for 
 Aunt Mary calling you a bad boy. You know your 
 self that you act very naughtily sometimes, and pro 
 voke Aunt Mary a great deal." 
 
 " But she said I was a naughty boy, when I went 
 out just now; and I was sorry for what I had done, 
 and wanted to be good."
 
 ftK .\.\\VA LER, 
 
 M Aunt Mary didn't know that you were sorry, I am 
 sure. When she 'called you ' naughty boy,' what did 
 you say ? " 
 
 "I was going to say, 'you're a fool!' but I didn't. 
 I tried hard not to let my tongue say the bad words, 
 though it wanted." 
 
 Why did you try not to say them 1" 
 
 " Because it would have been wrong, and would have 
 made you feel sorry ; and I love you." Again the re 
 pentant boy kissed her. His eyes were full of tears, 
 and so were the eyes of his mother. 
 
 While talking over this incident with her husband. 
 Mrs. Hartley said 
 
 " Were not all these impressions so light, I should 
 feel encouraged. The boy has warm and tender feelings, 
 but I fear that his passionate temper and selfishness 
 will, like evil weeds, completely check their growth." 
 
 " The case is bad enough, Anna, but not so bad, I 
 hope, as you fear. These good affections are never 
 active in vain. They leave upon the mind an indelible 
 impression. In after years the remembrance of them 
 will revive the states they produced, and give strength 
 to good desires and intentions. Amid all his irregu 
 larities and wanderings from good, in after life, the 
 thoughts of his mother will restore the feelings he had 
 to-day, and draw him Lack from evil with cords of 
 love that cannot be broken. The good now implanted 
 will remain, and, like ten just men, save the city. In
 
 THE MOTHER. 209 
 
 most instances where men abandon themselves finally 
 to evil courses, it will be found that the impressions 
 made in childhood were not of the right kind that 
 the mother's influence was not what it should have 
 been. For myself, I am sure that a different mother 
 would have made me a different man. When a boy, I 
 was too much like Clarence ; but the tenderness with 
 which my mother always treated me, and the unimpas- 
 sioned but earnest manner in which she reproved and 
 corrected my faults, subdued my unruly temper. When 
 I became restless or impatient, she always had a book 
 to read to me, or a story to tell, or had some device to 
 save me from myself. My father was neither harsh 
 nor indulgent towards me ; I cherish his memory with 
 respect and love. But I have different feelings when I 
 think of my mother. I often feel even now as if she 
 were near me as if her cheek were laid to mine. My 
 father would place his Ixtnd upon my food, caressingly, 
 but my mother would lay lier cheek against mine. 1 
 did not expect my father to do more I do not know 
 that I should have loved him had he done more for 
 him it was a natural expression of affection. But no 
 act is too tender for a mother. Her kiss upon my 
 cheek, her warm embrace, are all felt now ; and the 
 older I grow the more holy seem the influences that 
 surrounded me in childhood. To-day I cut from a 
 newspaper some verses that pleased and affected me. I 
 have brought them home. Let me read them to you. 
 
 46) 14
 
 210 ^lA-A^ LEE, 
 
 "I DREAMED OF MT MOTHER'* 
 
 4 1 dreamed of my mother, and sweet to my soul 
 WM the brief-given spell of that vision's control ; 
 I thought she stood by me, all cheerful and mild, 
 As when to her bosom I clung as a child. 
 
 Her feature* were bright with the smiles that she wore, 
 When heeding my Idle-tongned prattle of yore; 
 And her voice had that kindly and silvery strain 
 That from childhood had dwelt In the depths of my brain. 
 
 She spoke of the days of her girlhood and youth 
 Of life and Its cares, and of hope and Its truth ; 
 And she seemed as an angel winged from above, 
 To bring me a message of duty and love. 
 
 She told of her thoughts at the old village school 
 
 Of her walks with her playmates when loosed from its rule- - 
 
 Of her rambles for berries; and when they were o'er 
 
 Of the mirth-making groups at the white cottage door. 
 
 She painted the garden, so sweet- to the view, 
 Where the wren made its nest, and the pet flowers grew 
 Of the trees that she loved for their scent and their shade. 
 Where the robin, and wild-bee, and humming-bird played. 
 
 And she spoke of the greenwood which bordered the farm 
 Where her glad moments glided unmixed with alarm ; 
 Of the well by the wicket whose waters were free, 
 And the lake with its white margin traversed In glee, 
 
 And she pondered, delighted, the Joy* to retrace 
 Of the family scenes of that ruralized place 
 Of Its parties and bridals, Its loves and Its spells 
 Its heart-clinging ties and Its saddened farewells, 
 
 Bk pictured the meeting-house, where, with the throng. 
 * heard the good pastor and sang the sweet song 
 
 * By Thomas G. Spear.
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 Of the call from the pulpit the feast at the shrine, 
 And the hallowed communings with feelings divine. 
 
 'And listen, my son,' she did smilingly say, 
 ' If 'tis pleasant to sing, it is sweeter to pray 
 If the future is bright in the day of thy prime, 
 That brightness may grow with the fading of time. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Look up to thy Maker, my son, and rejoice ! ' 
 Was the last gentle whisper that came from her voice, 
 While its soft, soothing tones on my dreaming ear fell, 
 As she glided away with a smiling farewell. 
 
 There are dreams of the heavens, and dreams of the earth, 
 And dreams of disease that to phantoms give birth, 
 But the hearer of angels, awake or asleep, 
 Has a vision of love to remember and keep. 
 
 I awoke from the spell of that vision of night, 
 And inly communed with a quiet delight, 
 And the past, and the present, and future surveyed, 
 In the darkness presented by fancy, arrayed. 
 
 I thought of the scenes when that mother was nigh, 
 In a soft sunny land, and beneath a mild sky, 
 When at matins we walked to the health-giving spring, 
 With the dew on the grass and the birds on the wing 
 
 Of the draughts at the fount as the white sun arose, 
 And the views from the bluffs where the broad river flows 
 Of the sound from the shore of the fisherman's train, 
 And the sight of the ship as it sailed to the main 
 
 Of the wild flowers plucked from the glen and the field, 
 And the beauties the meadows and gardens revealed 
 Of all that she paused to explain or explore, 
 Till I learned, in my wonder, to think and adore. 
 
 And of joys that attended the fireside scene, 
 When woodlands and meadows no longer were green 
 Of the sports and the tales and the holiday glee. 
 That ever were rife at the fond mother's knee 
 
 211
 
 5; -2 .i.v.v/t / 
 
 Of the duties of home, and the studio of school, 
 With the many delight* that divided their rule, 
 Till the sunshine of boyhood bad ended, and brought 
 The caret and the ihadow* of manhood and thought. 
 
 And I sighed for the scenes that had faded away 
 For the forms that bad fallen from age to decay 
 For the friends who bad vanished, while looking before, 
 To path* that their feet were forbid to explore. 
 
 And glancing beyond, through the rista of time. 
 With a soul full of hope, and with life in it* prime. 
 Though flower* by memory cherished had died. 
 Life's garden was still with some blossoms supplied. 
 
 And oft as that dream to my spirit comes back, 
 A newness of thought re illumine* my track." 
 
 "Pure and tender. The mother who called forth 
 that heart- warm tribute was, doubtless, a good mother," 
 said Anna. 
 
 ** You remember Cowper's lines, written on receiving 
 his mother's picture?" remarked her husband, after 
 musing for a short time. 
 
 " Oh, yes. Very welL They have often affected me 
 to tears, 
 
 that those lips had language! Life has passed 
 With me but roughly since I heard thee last 
 Those lip* are thine thy own sweet smile I see, 
 The tame that oft in childhood solaced me; 
 Voice only fails, else bow distinct they say 
 Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away.' " 
 
 "To him, how great was the loss he sustained in the 
 death of his mother. Had she lived, the deep nuLui
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 213 
 
 choly that seized him in after life might never have 
 occurred. With what simple eloquence he describes 
 his loss." And Mr. Hartley repeated a passage of the 
 poem. 
 
 "My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
 
 Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
 
 Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
 
 Wretched, e'en then, life's journey just begun? 
 
 Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss. 
 
 Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss, 
 
 Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers Yes. 
 
 I heard the bell toll on thy burial day, 
 
 I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away. 
 
 And turning from my nursery window, drew 
 
 A long, long sigh, and wept a last &dieu! 
 
 But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone 
 
 Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
 
 May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
 
 Thy parting word shall pass my lips no more .' 
 
 Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern, 
 
 Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
 
 What ardently I wished, I long believed, 
 
 And disappointed still, was still deceived. 
 
 By expectation every day beguiled, 
 
 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
 
 Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
 
 Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
 
 I learned at last submission to my lot, 
 
 But, though I leas deplored thee, ne'er forgot" 
 
 Mrs. Hartley leaned her head upon her husband's 
 shoulder, unable to restrain the tears that were spring 
 ing to her eyes. 
 
 "If Heaven only spares me to my children, it is all 
 I ask," she murmured. " I will be patient with and 
 forbearing towards them. I will discharge my duties 

 
 214 -1. v.V-i / 
 
 with unwearied diligence. Who can fill a mother's 
 placet Alas! no one. If any voice had been as full 
 of love for him when a child, if any hand had minis 
 tered to him as tenderly, this touching remembrance of 
 his mother would never have been recorded by 
 Cowper: 
 
 Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
 That thoa mlght'st find me aafe and warmly laid; 
 Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 
 The biscuit or confectionary plum ; 
 The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 
 By thy own hand, 'till fresh they shone and glowed. 
 All this, and more endearing still than all. 
 Thy constant flow of lore, that kneWno fall. 
 Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks 
 That humour Interposed too often makes. 
 
 
 Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours 
 When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 
 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
 I pricked them Into paper with a pin, 
 (And thou wast happier than myself the while, 
 Wnnldst softly speak, and stroke ray head and smile) 
 Could those few pleasant days again appear. 
 Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? 
 I would not trust my heart the dear delight 
 Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might 
 But no what here we call our life Is such, 
 So little to be loved, and thon so much. 
 That I should 111 requite thee to constrain 
 Thy unbound spirit Into bonds again.' " 
 
 " Ah, who could be unkind to a motherless one ? " 
 " The lot of an orphan child is not always as sad a 
 one as must have been that of young Cowper," said 
 Mr. Hartley, "for it is but rarely that a child possesses
 
 THE MOTHER. 215 
 
 the delicate or rather morbid sensibility that character 
 ised him." 
 
 " I could not bear to think that any child of mine 
 would remember me with less tenderness," replied Mrs. 
 Hartley. 
 
 " Even though it embitter his whole life." 
 
 " No no. It was the mother's selfishness, not the 
 mother's love that spoke," she instantly returned. 
 
 " To recur to what we were first talking about," said 
 Mr. Hartley, after a pause. " There cannot be a doubt 
 that the whole life of the child is affected by the 
 mother's character, and the influences she has brought 
 to bear upon him. I could point to many instances 
 that have come under my observation to illustrate this. 
 The father of one of my schoolmates was a man of 
 highly cultivated mind and polished manners ; his 
 mother was the reverse. The son is like the mother. 
 As a man he did not rise in society at all, and is now 
 the keeper of a billiard saloon. * In another instance, 
 the father was a low-minded man, and inclined to dis 
 sipation. Nearly the whole burden of the support of 
 the family fell upon the mother; but her children 
 always came to school neat and clean. Their behaviour 
 was good, and they studied with diligence. Only one 
 of four sons turned out badly. Three of them are now 
 merchants in good business ; and the mother's declining 
 years are blessed by their kindest attentions. You see 
 then, Anna, how much you have to encourage you."
 
 216 AJiJfA 1. 
 
 ' If there were nothing to encourage me, love and 
 duty would make me persevere." 
 
 "Bat there is much. 'Cast thy bread upon the 
 waters, and it shall be found after many days.'" 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 CORRECTING A FAULT. 
 
 " THERE are two faults in Clarence and Henry," said 
 Mrs. Hartley one day to her husband, "that I am at a 
 loss how to correct They are bad faults, and will 
 affect their characters through life, if not judiciously 
 corrected now. Clarence looks with an envious eye 
 upon everything that Henry has, and manages, sooner 
 or later, to get possession of it by his brother's consent. 
 Henry soon tires of what he has, and is easily induced 
 to part with it to Clarence for some trifling considera 
 tion. It is not long,, however, before he wants it back 
 again, and then trouble ensues. Sometimes I think 1 
 will make a law that neither Clarence nor his brother 
 shall part with anything that has been given to him. 
 But I am afraid of the effect of this. It will foster a 
 selfish spirit It will allow of no generous self-sacrifice 
 for the good of others." 
 
 " I think with you, that the effect would not be good. 
 Still, it is very important that a certain feeling of pro 
 perty in what each one has should be preserved. Aa
 
 THE MOTHER. 217 
 
 far as this can be accomplished, without strengthening 
 the selfish tendency of our nature, it should be done. 
 It causes each one not only to protect his own rights, 
 but to regard the rights of his neighbours." 
 
 " I see all that very clearly. The happy medium is 
 what I desire to attain. As things are now, the dis 
 position which Clarence has to appropriate everything 
 to himself is fostered, and Henry is losing that just 
 regard to his own rights that he might to have. Now, 
 what ought I to do \ Can you devise a plan ? " 
 
 " Not so well as you can. But let me see. Suppose 
 you try this mode for a while. Make a law, that if 
 Henry give Clarence any of his playthings, the right to 
 possess them shall be as perfect as if you or I had pre 
 sented them to Clarence as his own. The practical 
 working of this will, in a short time, make Henry 
 reflect a little before he relinquishes his property to his 
 brother." 
 
 " That will do, I think," said Mrs. Hartley. "There 
 will be no harm in trying it at any rate." 
 
 On the next day she gave Clarence a new book, and 
 Henry a humming-top. 
 
 " Now let me tell you something," she said. " This 
 book belongs to you, Clarence, and this top to you, 
 Henry. I hope they will please you very much, and 
 that you will take good care of them. You can lend 
 them to each other, if you choose; but I would rather 
 you would not give them to each other. Should either
 
 218 A try A LEE, 
 
 of you do so, the one who gives his book or his top 
 away cannot reclaim it Do you understand, Henry 1 " 
 
 " O yea, ma'am, I understand ; I'm not going to give 
 anybody my top, I know." 
 
 " Very well, my son. You can do so if you wish ; 
 but remember, after you have once given it away you 
 cannot get it back again." 
 
 " Why can't I, mother ? " asked the little boy. 
 
 " Because, after you have given anything away, it is 
 no longer yours." 
 
 "I'm not going to give it away," he said, in a 
 positive voice, as he ran off to spin his top in the play 
 room. 
 
 For about an hour Clarence was very much inter 
 ested in his book, while Henry continued to spin his 
 top with undiminished pleasure. After this time the 
 interest of Clarence began to flag, and the sound of 
 Henry's humming-top came more and more distinctly 
 to his ears from the adjoining room. At last he closed 
 the book and sought his brother. 
 
 " Let me spin it once, won't you, Henry 1 " he said. 
 
 "Yes, I will," returned the generous-minded boy, 
 and instantly handed the top and cord to Clarence, 
 who wound it up, and sent it humming and skipping 
 about the floor at a fine rate. 
 
 Henry reached out his hand for the cord, but his 
 brother held it back, saying, 
 
 " Just let me spin it once more"
 
 THE MOTHER. 219 
 
 " Well, you may once more," was replied. 
 
 But it was "once more," and "once more," until 
 Henry's tears restored to him his toy. 
 
 " You are a selfish fellow," said Clarence, as he flung 
 the top and cord at his brother's feet. 
 
 Clarence did not resume his book, but stood looking 
 at Henry's top, as he spun it, with a covetous expres 
 sion on his face. 
 
 " If you'll let me spin your top, you may read my 
 book," he at length said. 
 
 " I will," quickly returned Henry. 
 
 The top and book were exchanged, and, for a time, 
 both were well pleased. But the book was rather be 
 yond the grasp of Henry's mind. He soon tired of it. 
 
 "You may have your book now, Clarence. I've 
 done reading it. Give me my top." 
 
 " I've not done with it yet. I let you read my book 
 until you were tired, and now you must let me spin 
 your top until I am tired." 
 
 Henry rarely contended with his brother: he did not 
 like contention. Knowing how resolute Clarence was in 
 doing anything that suited his humour, he said no 
 more, but went and sat down quietly upon a little chair, 
 and looked on wishfully while Clarence spun his top. 
 
 It was half an hour before Henry again got posses 
 sion of his top, but the zest with which he had at first 
 played with it was gone. After spinning it for a fe\0 
 times he said
 
 220 A WAY A LEE, 
 
 " Here, Clarence, you may have it. I don't want 
 it" 
 
 " May I have it altogether ? " eagerly asked Clarence. 
 
 "Yes, you may!" 
 
 "You'll want it back?" 
 
 " No, I won't You may keep it for ever." 
 
 Clarence took possession of the top with right good 
 will, and went on spinning it to his heart's content. 
 After dinner Henry wanted it back again, and when 
 his brother refused to give it up, went crying to his 
 mother. Mrs. Hartley called up Clarence, and asked 
 him why he did not give Henry his top. 
 
 " It isn't his top, mother ; it is mine," said Clarence. 
 
 " Yours ! How came it yours 1 " 
 
 " Henry gave it to me." 
 
 " Did you give it to him, Henry 1 " 
 
 a Yes, ma'am, this morning ; but it's my top, and I 
 want it" 
 
 " No, it is not your top any longer, if you have given 
 it to Clarence. It is his, and he must keep it Have 
 you forgotten what I told you when I gave it to you 1 
 If you give away your things, they are no longer yours, 
 and you cannot expect to get them back again. I 
 hope, my son, that hereafter you will be more careful 
 what you do." 
 
 ;>ry cried bitterly, but his mother would not com 
 pel Clarence, upon whom Henry's tears had no effect, 
 to restore the toy. The poor little fellow's heart was
 
 THE MOTHER. 221 
 
 almost broken at this hard lesson in the school of 
 human life. 
 
 In about a week Mrs. Hartley tried it over again. 
 Gifts were made to the children, and soon Clarence 
 went to work to get possession of what his brother 
 had. But Henry had not forgotten the top, and was, 
 therefore, not so generous as before. He withstood 
 every effort for the first day. On the second, however, 
 he yielded. On the following day he reclaimed his 
 toys ; but his mother interposed again, and maintained 
 Clarence's right to what Henry had given him. 
 
 The poor child seemed unable to comprehend the 
 justice of this decision, and grieved so much about it 
 that Mrs. Hartley felt unhappy. But ultimate good, 
 she was sure, would be the result, painful as it might 
 be to correct her child's fault. 
 
 On the next occasion, Clarence found it much harder 
 to prevail upon Henry to give him his playthings than 
 before. The same result following, the little fellow's 
 eyes began to be opened. He would consider the con 
 sequences, and think when Clarence wanted him to give 
 him anything; and the recollection of the permanent 
 losses he had already sustained, at length gave him the 
 resolution to persevere in refusing to yield up his right 
 to anything that had been given to him. He would 
 lend whatever he had, cheerfully ; but when asked to 
 give, he generally said 
 
 " No. If I give it to you, I can't get it back again."
 
 222 AXNE LEE, 
 
 The parents did not like to check the generous spirit 
 of their child, but they felt that it was necessary both 
 for his good and the good of his brother, that lie 
 should be taught to set a higher value upon what was 
 his own. If he were not led to do this while young, 
 it might prevent his usefulness when a man, by leaving 
 him the prey of every one. Besides, the want of a due 
 regard to his own property in anything was not right 
 
 Another fault in Henry they felt bound to visit with 
 a rigid system of correction. He was naturally an 
 obedient child, while his brother was the reverse. He 
 was also very yielding, and could easily be persuaded 
 by Clarence to join in acts which were forbidden by 
 their parents. When called to account, his usual 
 excuse was, that he had been asked by Clarence, or 
 had gone with him. He did not appear to think that 
 he was to blame for anything if he acted upon his 
 elder brother's suggestions. The only way to correct 
 this, was to let each be punished for offences mutually 
 committed, even though Henry was far less to blame 
 than Clarence. It was only by doing so, the parents 
 felt, that Henry could be made to see that he must be 
 held responsible for his own acts. This course soon 
 effected all they desired. Clarence was usually alone 
 in all flagrant violations of parental authority.
 
 THE MOTHER. 223 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 STRONG CONTRAST. 
 
 NEARER than Mrs. Hartley had supposed, lived fot 
 many years an old but now almost forgotten friend 
 Florence Armitage ; or rather, Mrs. Archer. 
 
 The house in which she lives is a small comfortless 
 one, in an obscure street not far from the residence of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hartley. Her father has become poor, 
 and her husband, whose habits are more irregular than 
 when a single man, receives a small salary as clerk, 
 more than half of which he spends in self-indulgence ; 
 the other half is eked out to his wife, who, on this pit 
 tance, is compelled to provide for five children. She 
 has had six, but one is dead. 
 
 It was a clear bright evening without, but there was 
 nothing cheerful in the dwelling of William Archer. 
 The supper table was on the floor, and on it burned a 
 poor light. The mother sat near the table, with an 
 infant on her lap, mending a pair of dark stockings 
 "with coarse yarn of a lighter colour. A little girl three 
 years of age was swinging on her chair, and a boy 
 two years older was drumming on the floor with two 
 large sticks, making a deafening noise.. This noise 
 Mrs. Archer bore as long as she could, when her pa 
 tience becoming exhausted, she cried out in a loud 
 fretful voice
 
 2-21 ANXA LEE, 
 
 " You, Bill; stop that noise!" 
 
 The boy paused for a single moment, and then re 
 sumed his amusement 
 
 u Did you hear me, Bill ? you heedless wretch ! " ex 
 claimed the mother, after she had borne the sound for 
 some time longer. 
 
 There was silence for about a minute, and the noise 
 began again. 
 
 " If you don't stop that, Bill, I'll box your ears 
 soundly!" screamed the impatient mother. 
 
 The boy stopped for the space of nearly two minutes 
 this time ; then he went on again with his drumming. 
 
 " Do you want me to send you to bed without any 
 supper?" 
 
 No, I don't," replied the child. 
 
 " Then hush that noise, or I shall certainly send you 
 to bed. You set me almost crazy. " 
 
 Bill, as his mother called him, laid himself back upon 
 the floor, and commenced kicking up his heels. After 
 having amused himself in this way for some time, his 
 drum-sticks were again resorted to, and the room was 
 once more filled with the distracting din he made. Mrs. 
 Archer bore it as long as she could, and then she boxed 
 the child's ears soundly. 
 
 After the cries this operation extorted had died away, 
 all was quiet enough for a quarter of an hour, when Mr. 
 Archer came in to tea. 
 
 Twelve years had changed him sadly. His brow was
 
 THE MOTHER. 225 
 
 gloomy, bis eyes sunken, and his lips closely drawn 
 together, giving his countenance an expression of stern 
 ness. He looked at least twenty years older. He did 
 not even cast his eyes upon his wife as he entered, but 
 drew a chair to the table, and taking a newspaper from 
 his pocket, began reading it. 
 
 " Bill, go and tell Jane to bring up tea," said Mrs. 
 Archer. 
 
 The child went out into the passage, and cried down 
 to the cook in a tone of authority 
 
 " Bring up tea, will you ? " 
 
 'No notice of this was taken by the parents. Jane 
 came up with the tea, looking as sulky as possible. 
 
 " Here, take the baby," said Mrs. Archer, handing 
 Jane the child in a most ungracious manner. Jane took 
 the child quite as ungraciously as it was tendered, and 
 managed to keep it crying most of the t^ine they were 
 at supper. 
 
 "Where is John?" asked Mr. Archer, looking up at 
 his wife, when about half through with his silent 
 meal. 
 
 " Dear knows, for I don't. He came in from school, 
 but was off at once, as usual He is going to ruin as 
 fast as ever a boy was." 
 
 " Why do you let him run the streets in this way 1 ?" 
 
 " He's got beyond me. I don't pretend to try to 
 manage him. I might just as well tell him to go as 
 
 stay ; it would be all the same to him. It's high time 
 us* I :,
 
 1KB. 
 
 you had taken him in hand, I can tell you. Florence 
 U at her grandmother's, and I intended sending John 
 for her an hour ago ; but he hasn't shown himself." 
 
 Mr. Archer did not reply; he felt worried and angry. 
 While they were yet at the table, John, a lad of some 
 eleven years old, came in, and threw his hat down in the 
 corner. 
 
 " Go and hang your hat up, sir," said his father. " Is 
 that the place for it?" 
 
 John did as he was ordered. 
 
 " Now, where have you been, sir?" was the father's 
 angry interrogation. 
 
 " I've been playing." 
 
 ' What business have you to go off without asking 
 your mother? I've a great mind to take off your jacket 
 for you, sir. If ever I hear of this again, I'll give you 
 such a hieing as you've never had in your life. Don't 
 sit down to the table there ! Qo, put on your hat again, 
 and be off for your sister." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " Where is she?" mimicking the tones and manner 
 of the boy. " At your grandmother's," said Mr. Archer. 
 " Go along after her, and be quick ; she ought to have 
 been at home more than an hour ago." 
 
 John went out slowly and sulkily. 
 
 " If that boy goes to ruin, you will have no one to 
 blame but yourself," said Mr. Archer, ill naturedly. 
 
 I don't know how you are going to make that out,"
 
 THE MOTHER. 227 
 
 returned his wife in a voice quite as amiable as that in 
 which he had spoken. 
 
 " You have no government over him." 
 
 " I have quite as much as yourself," retorted Mrs. 
 Archer. 
 
 " Humph ! You don't think so, do you ] " he spoke 
 in a sneering tone. 
 
 " I think just what I say. If you paid the least 
 attention to your children, they would grow up very 
 differently. Instead of staying at home, and trying to 
 make something of them, you are off every night, no 
 body knows where; but after no good, of course." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, will you ! " Mr. Archer gave 
 his wife an angry scowl as he said this. 
 
 The wife felt little inclination to contend further. 
 There was a brutality in her husband's tone and manner 
 that stunned her. She said nothing more. 
 
 While the father and mother were engaged in a war 
 of words, the little boy before mentioned was amusing 
 himself by spinning his spoon round in his plate, which 
 made a most annoying clatter, and served to add to the 
 irritation felt by both Mr. and Mrs. Archer, although 
 the cause was not noticed until their contention was 
 over. 
 
 The mother laid her hand upon the boy's head, and 
 said, " Don't make that noise, Bill ; you distract me." 
 
 But the moment the pressure of the hand was re 
 moved, like a re-acting spring the movement went on
 
 '2-2* ANNA LES, 
 
 again; the noise, if anything, louder than ever. A 
 vigorous box on the ear signified that poor Mrs. Archer's 
 patience was exhausted. Almost simultaneously with 
 the loud scream of the child came the loud bang of the 
 door. Her husband had precipitately left the house. 
 
 Jane, the cook, who was nursing the babe, waited 
 patiently for some time after Archer had left, to be 
 called upon from the kitchen. But minute after minute 
 passed, and no summons came. It was nearly a quar- 
 ker of an hour before she ascended to the dining-room. 
 She found Mrs. Archer in a state of entire abstraction, 
 frith her head resting on her hand. The little boy was 
 fast asleep in his chair. 
 
 The mother roused up on the entrance of the cook, 
 and said 
 
 " Here, Jane, give me the baby, and take this child 
 up and put him to bed before you clear off the table." 
 The fair young face and glowing cheeks of the little 
 boy, as Jane lifted him up, met the mother's eye. She 
 sighed deeply, and again fell into her former dreamy 
 state. 
 
 In a little while John and Florence came in. Flo 
 rence was a sweet-faced child, just nine years old. 
 Her disposition was mild, and she was very thoughtful, 
 rendering her mother much service in her attentions to 
 the younger children. Her first act was to go up to 
 her mother and kiss her, and then kiss the babe that 
 lay upon her lap.
 
 THE MOTHER. 229 
 
 " Have you had a pleasant time, dear 1 " asked Mrs. 
 Archer. 
 
 " yes, mother. I have had a nice time. Grandma 
 baked us a whole basket full of cakes, which I have 
 brought home ; and she let me help her. I cut them 
 all out. Where is Willy and Mary 1 " she added, look 
 ing around. " They must have some cakes. Oh, dear ! 
 Here's sis' fast asleep on the floor. Shall I wake her 
 up, mother, and give her a cake?" 
 
 " No, dear, I wouldn't wake her now. The cakes 
 will taste just as good to her in the morning." 
 
 " Where is Willy?" 
 
 " He's in bed. Jane took him up stairs." 
 
 " Shall I hold the baby, while you undress Mary ? " 
 asked Florence, as she took off her bonnet and 
 shawl. 
 
 " Yes, you may." 
 
 " Dear little baby ! " murmured Florence, as she took 
 the child from her mother's arms, and sat down with 
 it upon a low stool. 
 
 " I want some supper," said John, pouting out his lips, 
 and looking as ugly and ill-natured as possible. 
 
 " There's some bread and butter for you. Sit down 
 and eat that, and then take yourself off to bed," replied 
 his mother. 
 
 " I want some tea." 
 
 " You'll not get any." 
 
 " I'll go and ask Jane to give me some."
 
 2^.o Airy A LEE, 
 
 " Take care, sir, or you'll be sent off without a mouth 
 ful" 
 
 With .as bad a grace as possible, John sat down upon 
 the corner of a chair, and commenced eating. The 
 moment his mother left the room with Mary in her 
 arms, his hand was in the sugar-bowl, a portion of the 
 contents of which were freely laid upon his bread and 
 butter. 
 
 " If I don't get tea, I'll have sugar," he said. 
 
 He was in the act of helping himself from the sugar- 
 bowl for the third time, when his mother came in. The 
 consequence was, that he got his ears soundly boxed, 
 and was sent off to bed. 
 
 Florence continued to nurse the babe, or rock it in 
 the cradle, for an hour, when she became too sleepy to 
 hold up her head. Kissing her mother affectionately, 
 the child said good night, and went off alone to her 
 room, where she undressed herself and retired for the 
 night But no prayer was said ; her mother had never 
 taught her this best of infantile lessons. 
 
 Mrs. Archer sat up sewing until nearly eleven o'clock, 
 and then sought her pillow. As usual, her husband 
 had not yet returned. It was past midnight when he 
 came home. 
 
 Too many of the evenings that were passed in tlie 
 f niiily {if Mr. and Mrs. Archer were similar to the one 
 we have described.
 
 THE MOTHER. 231 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MOEE CONTRASTS. 
 
 FIVE more years of patience, forbearance, and anxious 
 solicitude passed, and Mrs. Hartley began to see many 
 good results of her labour, especially when she con 
 trasted the habits and manners of her own children 
 with the habits and manners of the children of some of 
 her friends. 
 
 One of these friends, a Mrs. Fielding, had four chil 
 dren of naturally very good dispositions. They were 
 affectionate to one another, and seemed to have more 
 than usual love of home about them. The mother's 
 fireside circle might have been an earthly paradise, if she 
 had been at all disposed to consult her children's good, 
 instead of her own pleasure. But this she was not 
 disposed to do. She was vain, and fund of company. 
 When she had provided a good nurse for her children, 
 she thought that her duty was done. It never occurred 
 to her that her children needed a companion, such as 
 only she could be to them, as much as they needed a 
 nurse to provide for their bodily comfort. 
 
 This woman came in to see Mrs. Hartley one day, 
 and found her sitting at the piano. 
 
 " What does all this mean ? " asked Mrs. Fielding, in 
 a gay tone. " You playing the piano ! I thought you 
 had enough else to do."
 
 c:?2 
 
 I'm only practising for the children." 
 
 What good will your practising do the children, I 
 wonder 1 " 
 
 " A good deal, I hope. We have frequently a little 
 family party among ourselves, when the children dance, 
 and I play for them." 
 
 " And you practise for this purpose during the day ! 
 I wonder how you find time you who are such a slave 
 to your family !" 
 
 " If everything is done according to a regular system, 
 we can easily find time for almost anything." 
 
 " I don't know. You beat me out I do scarcely 
 anything in my family, it seems ; and yet I am always 
 hurried to death when I do that little, so that it isn't 
 more than half done. As to practising on the piano, 
 that is out of the question." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley faintly sighed. 
 
 " You have four sweet children," she said, after a 
 pause ; u I never saw better dispositions, naturally, in 
 my life. You might do anything with them you 
 pleased." 
 
 " What you say, a mother's partiality aside, is true," 
 replied Mrs. Fielding, with a brightening face. " They 
 are all good children. I only wish I was a better 
 mother that I was like you, Mrs. Hartley. I fear I 
 am too fond of society ; but I can't help it." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that, Mrs. Fielding. Love for our 
 chiMren should be strong enough to make us correct
 
 THE MOTHER. 233 
 
 anything in ourselves that stands in the way of their 
 good A mother's duties ought to take precedence of 
 everything else." 
 
 " I don't think a mother ought to be a slave to her 
 children." 
 
 "Willing servitude is not slavery. How can you 
 use such a word in connection with a mother ? Her 
 devotion should be from a love that never wearies 
 never grows cold." 
 
 " I don't know how that may be; mine wearies often 
 enough." 
 
 " I feel discouraged sometimes," replied Mrs. Hartley. 
 " But my love never abates. It grows stronger with 
 every new difficulty that is presented." 
 
 " You are one in a thousand, then ; that is all I can 
 say. I know a good many mothers, and I know that 
 they all complain bitterly about the trouble they have 
 with their children." 
 
 " They would have less trouble, if they loved them more." 
 
 " How can you make that appear ? " 
 
 " Love ever strives to benefit its object. A true love 
 for children prompts the mother to seek with the most 
 self-sacrificing assiduity for the means of doing her 
 offspring good." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I'm sadly afraid I am not a true 
 mother then. It's no use to disguise it I cannot give 
 up every comfort for my children ; and I don't think 
 we are required to do it."
 
 234 ANNA LEE, 
 
 " True love, Mrs. Fielding, sacrifices nothing when it 
 is in pursuit of its object; for it desires nothing so 
 ardently as the attainment of that object. I am not 
 aware that I give up every comfort I sometimes, it 
 is true, deny myself a gratification, because, in seeking 
 it, I must neglect my children, or interfere with their 
 pleasures ; but I have never done this that I have not 
 been more than repaid for all I thought I had lost." 
 
 " Well, that is a comfort. I only wish I could say 
 as much," 
 
 You would soon be able to say so, if you were to 
 make sacrifices for your children from love to them." 
 
 " I think I do love them." 
 
 " I am sure of that, Mrs. Fielding. But, to speak 
 plainly, as one friend may venture to speak to another, 
 perhaps you love yourself more." 
 
 u Perhaps I do. But how is that to be determined ? " 
 
 "Very easily. We love those most who occupy 
 most of our thoughts, and for whose comfort and 
 happiness we are most careful, whether it be ourselves 
 or our children." 
 
 Mrs. Fielding did not reply. Mentally she applied 
 the rule, and was forced to acknowledge that she loved 
 herself more than she did her children. 
 
 The oldest boy of Mrs. Fielding was about the same 
 age as Clarence. Having completed all their prepara 
 tory studies, the two boys were sent the same year to 
 college. At the age of sixteen, they left their homes
 
 THE MOTHER. 235 
 
 fur the first time, to be absent, except at short inter 
 vals, for three years. James Fielding left home with 
 reluctance. 
 
 " I don't want to go, mother," he said the day before 
 he was to start. 
 
 " Why not, James ? " she asked. 
 
 " I would rather go to school here. I can learn just 
 as much." 
 
 " Yes ; but think of the honour, my son, of passing 
 through college. It isn't every boy that has this 
 privilege. It will make a man of you. I hope you 
 will do credit to yourself and your parents. You must 
 strive for the first honours. Your father took them 
 before you." 
 
 Very different was the parting counsel of Mrs. 
 Hartley to her son. The question whether it would 
 be best in the end to send their son to college, was 
 long and anxiously debated between the father and 
 mother. Many reasons, for and against, were presented, 
 and these were scanned minutely. The strongest 
 objection felt by them was the fact that, from the 
 congregating together of a large number of young men 
 at college, among whom would be many with loose 
 principles and bad habits, there would be danger of 
 moral contamination. For a time they inclined to the 
 belief that it would be better not to send their son from 
 home ; but their anxiety to secure for him the very best 
 education the country afforded, at last determined them.
 
 2V . I. V.V.I LEE, 
 
 Long and earnestly did Mrs. Hartley commune with 
 her boy on the evening before his departure. 
 
 14 Never forget, my son," she said, " the end for which 
 you should strive after knowledge. It is, that you may 
 be better able, by your efforts as a man, to benefit 
 society. A learned man can always perform higher 
 uses than an ignorant man. And remember, that one 
 so young and so little acquainted with the world as 
 yourself, will be subjected to many severe temptations. 
 But resist evil with a determined spirit Beware of 
 the first deviation from right. Suffer not the smallest 
 stain to come upon your garments. Let your mother 
 receive you back as pure as when you went forth, my 
 son. 
 
 " You will discover, soon after you enter college, a 
 spirit of insubordination a disposition in many of the 
 students to violate the laws of the institution ; but do 
 not join with them. It is just as wrong for a student 
 to violate the laws of a college, as it is for a citizen to 
 violate the laws of his country. They are wholesome 
 regulations, made for the good of the whole ; and he 
 who weakens their force does a wrong to the whole. 
 Guard yourself here, my son, for here you will be 
 tempted. But stand firm. If you break, wilfully, a 
 college law, your honour is stained, and no subsequent 
 obedience can efface it Guard your honour, my dear 
 boy ! It is a precious and holy thing. 
 
 14 1 will write to you often, and you must write ofm
 
 MOTHER AND SON.
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 237 
 
 to me. Talk to me, in your letters, as freely as you 
 would talk if we were face to face. Consider me your 
 best friend; and he who would weaken my influence 
 over you, as your worst enemy. You cannot tell, my 
 son, how anxious I feel about you. I know, far better 
 than you can know, how intimately danger will surround 
 you. But, if you will make God's holy law, as written 
 in his Ten Commandments, the guide of your life, you 
 will be safe. Christian, in his journey to the land of 
 Canaan, had not a path to travel in more beset with 
 evil than will be yours, but you will be safe from all 
 harm, if, like him, you steadily resist and fight against 
 everything that would turn you from the straight and 
 narrow way of truth and integrity. You go with your 
 mother's blessing upon your head, and your mother's 
 prayers following you." 
 
 The earnestness with which his mother spoke, affected 
 the heart of Clarence. He did not reply, but he made 
 a firm resolution to do nothing that would give her a 
 moment's pain. He loved her tenderly; for she had 
 ever been to him the best of mothers, and this love was 
 his prompter. 
 
 " I will never pain the heart of so good a mother," 
 he said, as he laid his head upon his pillow that night. 
 How different might have been his feelings, if he had 
 been brought up under different maternal influences.
 
 23 n ANNA LEE, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FRUIT. 
 
 ABOUT the same time that Clarence Hartley was sent 
 to college, the eldest son of Mr. Archer was sent to sea 
 as the last hope of reclaiming him. He had been 
 suffered to run into all kinds of bad company until he 
 was so degraded that his mother lost all control 
 over him. And yet this boy had naturally a more 
 obedient temper than Clarence, and could have been 
 managed far more* easily. It is true that the two 
 mothers were placed under different circumstances 
 nevertheless, even the unhappy external condition of 
 Florence Archer was no excuse. If she had truly 
 loved her child, she could have brought an influence to 
 bear upon him that would have saved him. 
 
 At college, Clarence found himself in a new worM. 
 At first, the reckless bearing and free conversation <>f 
 some of the students surprised and shocked him. 
 Soon, familiarity with such things made them seem 
 less reprehensible. He could not only listen to them, 
 but often join heartily in the laugh awakened by some 
 sally of ribald wit When alone, however, and the 
 remembrance of home arose in his mind, he felt grieved 
 to think that he could have taken pleasure in anything 
 that would so have shocked his mother's ears. 
 
 wrote home every week, and wrote with all the
 
 
 THE MOTHER. 239 
 
 frankness of a mind that had nothing to conceal. Every 
 letter was promptly answered by his mother, and in 
 every letter from her were some tenderly urged precepts 
 that ever came with a timely force. These were not 
 hackneyed repetitions of the same forms that had been 
 enunciated time after time, until all their force was 
 gone ; nor did they come to her son in the shape of 
 mere didactics. They had an appropriateness, a beauty, 
 and a force about them, that ever inspired Clarence 
 with a new love of what was morally excellent. If, at 
 any time, he felt inclined to enter the forbidden 
 grounds of pleasure, where too ma'ny of the students 
 roved, the very next letter from home would win him 
 back. The love of his mother was about him like a 
 protecting sphere. 
 
 Very different was the case with James Fielding. 
 It was not long before his natural love of companion 
 ship caused him to form intimate associations with 
 several of the students whose principles and habits 
 were not good. With these he spent hours every 
 night in amusements and conversations by no means 
 calculated to elevate the tone of his feelings. He 
 made frequent efforts to induce Clarence to join them, 
 who did so for a few times, but for a few times only. 
 After having spent an evening in drinking, smoking, 
 and card-playing, interspersed with songs and conver 
 sation such as his ears had never before heard, he 
 found, on retiring to his room, a letter upon his table
 
 240 ANNA Ll.i:, 
 
 from his mother. The sight of this letter caused an 
 instant revulsion in his feelings. He did not open it 
 for some time. The very superscription, in the well- 
 known hand-writing of his mother, seemed to rebuke 
 him for having felt pleasure in what would have pained 
 her pure mind deeply. When at length he opened 
 and read the letter, it affected him to tears. 
 
 u MY DEAR CLARENCE," it said, " How much we 
 missed you last night at our family party. There were 
 Marion, Henry, Fanny, and Lillian ; but Clarence was 
 away. I believe I thought much oftener of ray absent 
 one, than I did of those who were present. Henry 
 accompanied Marion at the piano, on the flute, but not 
 so perfectly as you used to do ; and yet he plays very 
 well for one so young. Fanny is improving rapidly in 
 her music ; she performed for us a very difficult over 
 ture, and did it exceedingly well. She dances, too, 
 with admirable grace. How I wanted you to see her 
 last evening. Dear little Lillian is always talking 
 about you, and asking when you will come home. 
 She grows sweeter and dearer every day. We had a 
 very happy time, indeed, as we always have; but it 
 would have been much happier, had not one been 
 missing. 
 
 " I had a visit from Mrs. Fielding yesterday. She 
 says that James has only written to her twice since he 
 has been away. She asked me how often I heard from 
 you; when I told her, every few days, she said th;it if
 
 THE MOTHER. 241 
 
 she could hear from her boy every few weeks she would 
 be very glad. Your mother thanks you, Clarence, for 
 your promptness in writing. It is a great pleasure for 
 me to hear from you often. How is James Fielding ] 
 Is he doing well I I wish he would write home more 
 frequently. I thought his mother looked troubled 
 when she spoke of him." 
 
 Clarence sighed and lifted his eyes from the letter 
 on reading this passage. He thought of James Field 
 ing, and the dangerous ground upon which he was 
 standing, and sighed again as he resumed the perusal 
 of his letter. The whole epistle came pure and true 
 from a mother's heart, and it so filled the mind of 
 Clarence with images of home, and made that home 
 appear so like a little heaven, that he experienced a 
 shuddering sensation when he compared with it the 
 scene in which he had so lately been a participant. 
 . "Thank God for such a mother!" he could not help 
 ejaculating, as he read the last line of her letter. " Shall 
 I ever cause her to shed a tear ? No never ! " 
 
 When he met James Fielding next morning, he asked 
 him 
 
 " When did you hear from home, James ? " 
 
 " From home ? Oh, I'm sure I don't remember. I 
 was going to say I don't hear from there at all ; but I 
 have had two letters from mother filling half a page 
 each. 
 
 " When did you write 1 " 
 () 16
 
 242 Aff.VA I 
 
 u About a month ago, to say I wanted some pocket- 
 money." 
 
 " I heard from home last night." 
 
 a Ah ! Got a remittance, I suppose ? " 
 
 u Of love from my mother, more precious than gold 
 or silver," replied Clarence with some feeling. " She 
 says that your mother complains that you do not write 
 to her." 
 
 " Say to your mother, if you please, that I complain 
 that my mother doesn't write to me. So the account 
 will stand balanced. I never could write a letter, except 
 to say I wanted something. And I suppose mother is 
 like me. We will excuse one another." 
 
 James spoke with a levity that pained Clarence. He 
 wanted to admonish him, but felt that, in his present 
 mood, it would be useless. 
 
 During the first year that Clarence was at college, the 
 principles he had been taught by his mother became 
 rules of action with him. He set his face resolutely 
 against everything that he considered wrong. James 
 Fielding, on the contrary, was among the most thought 
 less young men in the institution. His wishes and 
 passions were his rulers. 
 
 One day he came to Clarence and said, 
 
 "There is to be some sport in about a week." 
 
 " Is there ? What will it be like ? " 
 
 1 \\'c don't intend going to morning prayers until 
 even o'clock."
 
 THE MOTHER. 243 
 
 * But the regulations say six." 
 
 " I know. Six is too early, and we are going to have 
 it at seven." 
 
 " You did not come here to make laws, but to observe 
 them," gravely replied Clarence. 
 
 " We came here to be instructed, not to be dragged 
 out of bed to morning prayers before day not to be 
 bamboozled about by arbitrary Professors. It is a 
 public institution, and the Faculty have no right to 
 make oppressive laws." 
 
 " If any one dislikes these laws let him go home. 
 It is the only honest course. But what else is in 
 tended ? " 
 
 " We intend " 
 
 " We ! Have you really joined in this conspiracy 
 against law and order ? " 
 
 "Certainly I have. With the exception of about 
 twenty, every student is pledged to go through with 
 the matter when it is once started. My duty is to bring 
 you over. We wish to rise as one man." 
 
 " After you have refused to attend morning prayers, 
 what do you propose doing ? " 
 
 " If the hour is changed to seven, all well and good. 
 Nothing more will be done ; but if not, our next course 
 will be to attend regularly at six for a week, and scrape 
 the chaplain down." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Completely drown his voice by scraping our feet."
 
 k41 AfXA LEE, 
 
 u You certainly are beside yourself, James. I cannot 
 believe that you would join in doing so wrong a deed. 
 In this you will not only insult the institution but 
 Heaven," 
 
 M 0h, no. Heaven doesn't have much to do with 
 the six o'clock prayers of college students." 
 
 u You speak with an unbecoming levity, James." 
 
 " Do I, indeed ? " The lip of the boy slightly curled. 
 
 " What else is to be done ? " asked Clarence, not 
 noticing the manner of his companion. 
 
 " All sorts of things. Every regulation of the college 
 is to be broken, unless our wishes are complied with. 
 Wait a little, and you will see fun. But let me tell 
 you it is determined that every student who does not 
 join us shall be dipped in the horse-pond. You had 
 better consent I should hate to see anything done 
 to you." 
 
 The eyes of Clarence instantly flashed, and his cheeks 
 grew as red as crimson. 
 
 " I would not consent if my life were taken," said 
 the high-spirited boy. " But never fear. There is no 
 one here that dare lay his hands upon me." 
 
 " Don't trust to that There are those here who dare 
 lay their hands upon anybody, and who will do it too. 
 Come, then, say you will join us." 
 never." 
 
 You will be sorry when it is too late. 1 ' 
 
 " I have :
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 245 
 
 On the next clay the matter was publicly broached 
 during the college recess, when the students were 
 alone. 
 
 " I move," said one, " that we begin on the morning 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 " Second the motion," came from three or four 
 voices. 
 
 " All who are in favour, hold up your hands." 
 
 More than a hundred hands were thrown into the 
 
 "All who are opposed will now hold up their 
 hands." 
 
 A deep silence followed. Then a single hand was 
 raised then another, and another, until ten hands 
 were seen above the heads of the crowd. It was the 
 hand of Clarence that first went up. 
 
 A murmur of discontent ran through the body of 
 students, which deepened into execrations and threats. 
 Half a dozen who were nearest Clarence gathered 
 round him, with earnest and half angry remonstrances. 
 His only reply was, 
 
 " It is wrong, and I cannot join you." 
 
 "The regulation is oppressive," it was argued. 
 
 " Then leave the institution ; but do not violate its 
 laws." 
 
 " That is easily said ; but others have a word in that 
 as well as ourselves. All here are not exactly free to 
 do as they please."
 
 246 .1. v.v.i i.r.r., 
 
 " It is better to endure what seems oppressive, than 
 to do wrong." 
 
 " We don't mean to do wrong ! " said several voices. 
 
 " You threaten to dip any one in the horse-pond who 
 does not join you." 
 
 Several of the students looked confused, but one or 
 two cried out, 
 
 " Certainly we do ; and what is more, our threats 
 shall be executed." 
 
 "Right or wrong?" retorted Clarence, with a mean 
 ing look and voice, and, turning on his heel, walked 
 away with a firm step. 
 
 His manner and words had their effect. He had 
 said but little, but that little caused several who i 
 him to think more soberly. In nearly every little knot 
 of students that was drawn together in the various 
 rooms that night was one or more who had become 
 lukewarm. A re- consideration of the matter was moved 
 >n the next day, and the question again taken. Inst e.ul 
 of a dozen hands raised in the negative, as on the clay 
 before, there were now more than fifty. From that 
 time little more was heard upon the subject The 
 revolt never took place. 
 
 So much for the influence of a single well-ordered, 
 honest mind. Had the natural disposition of Clarence 
 been unchecked, and had no counter-balancing principles 
 been stored up in bis mind, he would have beta as 
 eager for the proposed rebellion as the most thought-
 
 THE MOTHER. 247 
 
 less. What evil results might have followed cannot be 
 told. There were those in the institution who did not 
 love him much after this ; but none who did not feel 
 for him an involuntary respect. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 
 
 THE incident just related occurred about a year and 
 half after Clarence entered college. He had then nearly 
 completed his sixteenth year. 
 
 About a week afterwards, and before they had 
 received any communication from their son mentioning 
 the circumstance, Mr. Hartley handed his wife a letter, 
 Its contents were as follows : 
 
 " Mr. James Hartley 
 
 " DEAR SIR, As the President of University, 
 
 permit me to express to you my own and the thanks of 
 the whole Faculty. The good and true principles 
 which you have stored up in the mind of your son, 
 have saved us from the evils of a well-planned resist 
 ance of authority by the students. No persuasions, 
 we are told, could induce him to join with the rest. 
 Personal violence was threatened, but this only made 
 him adhere more firmly to his good resolution. The 
 consequence was, that his conduct opened the eyes of one 
 after another to see the folly of what they were about
 
 149 ANNA LEE, 
 
 to do. Two parties were formed, and, before any overt 
 act, the peace-party prevailed. We shall ever remember 
 your son with admiration and gratitude. From his 
 first entrance into our institution, he has been known 
 as the strict observer of all its rules, and a diligent 
 student. It is but just that his parents should know 
 all this from us. With sentiments of the highest 
 respect and regard, 
 
 I am yours, &c. 
 
 p 
 
 i 
 
 President of University." 
 
 Tears of joy gushed to the eyes of Mrs. Hartley as 
 she finished the last line of this letter. 
 
 " Noble boy ! " she said with enthusiasm. 
 
 "You are pleased with the letter then," said her 
 husband, with assumed gravity. 
 
 " yes ! Are you not ? " and she looked him in the 
 face with surprise." 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " It would have been all well enough, if the direction 
 had not been wrong. 
 
 "What do you mean? Was it not our son that 
 acted so nobly ? " 
 
 " O yes. But the letter should have been addressed 
 to you." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley smiled through her tears, and said, 
 
 ** It is all right. Are we not one ? But what would
 
 THE MOTHER. 249 
 
 my efforts have been without your wise counsel to 
 second them. I will never care for the praise, so my 
 boy does right. That is my sweetest reward. This is 
 indeed a happy day. You know how much anxiety I 
 have felt for Clarence. His peculiar temperament is, 
 perhaps, the hardest there is to manage." 
 
 "And had you not been the most assiduous and 
 wisest of mothers, you never could have moulded it 
 into any form of beauty." 
 
 " Many an anxious day and sleepless night has it 
 cost me. I sowed the seed in tears ; but the dews of 
 heaven watered the earth, and when the tender blade 
 shot forth, the Sun of Righteousness warmed and 
 strengthened it. Oh, how often have I felt discouraged ! 
 The selfishness of the boy was so strong, and he had 
 so little regard for order. To counteract these, I 
 laboured daily, and almost hourly. But I seemed to 
 make little progress sometimes all my efforts appeared 
 fruitless. Still, I persevered, and it has not been in vain." 
 
 "Oh no. You have saved him from his worst 
 enemy, himself." 
 
 " Henry is now old enough for college. What shall 
 we do with him ? " the mother said. 
 
 " Send him to University with his brother, I 
 
 suppose. There is not a better institution in the 
 country." 
 
 " Do you tli ink it will be safe to send him from 
 home ? " asked Mrs. Hartley.
 
 150 .1. V.V.I l.KK. 
 
 u Why not t " 
 
 " His disposition has changed little since he was a 
 child. He is still confiding, and easily led away by 
 others. Clarence had a strong will and prominent 
 faults, which could be attacked vigorously ; but the 
 defects of Henry's character were hard to reach. I 
 have thought much on the subject of sending him to 
 college, but feel more and more reluctant to do so the 
 nearer the time comes for making a decision on the 
 subject" 
 
 " We ought not to deprive him of the advantages of 
 a good education. He should stand side by side with 
 his brother in this respect." 
 
 "True. But cannot we give him all these advan 
 tages at a less risk ? " 
 
 " I know of no institution in tliis city where the 
 same advantages may be secured as at ." 
 
 M I believe there is none. But, should we look alone 
 at this ? Will our child be safe there t Is his character 
 yet decided enough for us to trust him from our side t 
 I think not. The frankness with which Clarence has 
 written to us of the various temptations that have 
 assailed him from time to time, has opened my eyes to 
 the dangers that must encompass a boy like Henry in 
 such a place. I should not feel happy a moment were 
 he to go there." 
 
 "Then he must not go," said Mr. Hartley, firmly, 
 i have ever been a true mother to our children.
 
 THE MOTHER. 251 
 
 and your love has thus far led you to determine wisely 
 in regard to them. Though I must own that I feel 
 very reluctant to deprive the boy of the advantages of 
 a thorough college course of instruction." 
 
 " Have not my reasons force in your mind 1 " asked 
 Mrs. Hartley. " Do you not believe that it would be 
 wrong for us to jeopardize the spiritual interests of our 
 child, in the eager pursuit of intellectual advantages?" 
 
 " I certainly do ; the latter should only be for the 
 sake of the former. The intellect should be cultivated 
 as the means of developing the moral powers, that both 
 in union may act in life with true efficiency. If all the 
 higher objects of education can be secured by keeping 
 our child at home, we ought not, under any circum 
 stances, to send him away." 
 
 " They may often be better secured away from home, 
 if the boy have firmness enough to resist the tempta 
 tions that will assail him; but the question, whether 
 the boy can so resist, must be decided by the parents 
 before he is sent out to make his first trial on the 
 world-arena." 
 
 " My own feeling is, that we had better keep Henry 
 under our guidance as long as it can be done. He is 
 not a boy with the quick intellect of Clarence, and will 
 probably never be ambitious to move in a sphere where 
 the highest attainments are required. It would be 
 much more agreeable to him now to go to work in your 
 warehouse than to go to school."
 
 S52 A\\/-: : 
 
 " And I shall not grieve over his choice of a pursuit 
 in life, if he should prefer the calling of a merchant." 
 
 M Nor I. Active employment is the best for all; 
 and in choosing a profession in life, that should always 
 be chosen which will give the mind great activity, 
 while, at the same time, it brings in the affections also. 
 The pursuit of any calling which a man does not like, 
 can never result to his own and the public advantage 
 in so high a degree as it would were his heart in what 
 he was doing. For this reason, we ought to be governed 
 very much, in deciding for our children, by their fitness 
 for and preference for a pursuit in business." 
 
 " Children's preferences, however, do not always arise 
 from any peculiar fitness in themselves, but often from 
 caprice." 
 
 " It is the business of a wise parent to discriminate 
 between a natural fitness for a thing, and a fleeting 
 preference for it The imagination of young persons is 
 very active, and apt to throw a fake light around that 
 upon which it dwells." 
 
 Many conversations of a like nature were held by 
 Mr. an.l Mrs. Hartley, who finally came to the deter- 
 imnation to keep Henry at home. The boy was dis 
 appointed at this. He wanted to go to college ; not, 
 the parents could easily enough see, for the sake of the 
 superior advantages there to be obtained, but because 
 his imagination had thrown a peculiar chrjTn about a 
 college life.
 
 THE MOTHER. 253 
 
 Before making a final decision on the subject, Mrs. 
 Hartley thought it . right to bring Clarence into their 
 confidence. She wrote him a long letter on the 
 subject, and asked him to give his opinion of the effect 
 that would be produced upon a boy like Henry, if in 
 troduced among the students. "You know his dis 
 position," she said, " and how he would be affected by 
 the kind of associations into which he would be 
 thrown." 
 
 Clarence wrote back immediately that he did not be 
 lieve it would be good for Henry to be exposed to the 
 temptations of a college life. "He is too easily led 
 away by others," he remarked. " I have noticed more 
 than a dozen instances, since I have been here, of boys 
 just like Henry, who were innocent and confiding in 
 their dispositions when they came, who soon became 
 so changed that it made me sad to think about it. 
 There was one boy in particular. His mother came 
 with him when he first entered college. She appeared 
 to be deeply attached to him, and he to her they 
 both wept bitterly at parting. She was a widow, and 
 he her only remaining child, upon whom all her care, 
 affection, and pride were lavished. He soon made 
 friends, for all seemed drawn towards him. Singular 
 as it may seem, the boy, between whom and himself 
 the warmest attachment arose, was as unlike him as it 
 is possible to imagine. He was a bold, bad boy full 
 of life, and ready to do almost anything that a reckless
 
 2.ii .i. v.v.i 
 
 spirit prompted In a little while they were insepar 
 able companions. At the end of six months, the spirit 
 of the one seemed to have been transfused into that of 
 the other. I almost wonder, sometimes, if the mother 
 would know her son were they to meet unexpectedly. 
 I hope you will not send Henry here. He might pass 
 through his course uncontaminated, but I think it would 
 be dangerous to expose one like him to so many 
 temptations." 
 
 This letter fully decided Mr. and Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 GOING INTO COMPANY. 
 
 MARION was in her eighteenth year, and yet she had 
 been taken into company by her parents but very little. 
 Her virtues were all of a domestic character, and t:; 
 the home circle. She knew of little beyond its pleasant 
 precincts. Few who saw her supposed that she 
 more than fifteen years of age. Not that her mind was 
 miniatured, but because her appearance was girlish, and 
 her manners simple and unaffected, yet retiring win n 
 strangers were present 
 
 " How old is Marion?" asked Mrs. Fielding, who had 
 called in one morning to chat away half an hour with 
 hartley. Marion had just left the room. 
 
 " In her eighteenth year," was replied.
 
 THE MOTHER. 255 
 
 " Nearly eighteen ! Surely it cannot be." 
 
 " Yes. That is her age." 
 
 " I never would have believed it. Why, she looks 
 more like a girl of thirteen or fourteen." 
 
 " I don't know. She doesn't seem so very young to 
 me." 
 
 " But why in the world do you keep the poor thing 
 back so 1 ? She should have been introduced into com 
 pany two years ago. I had no idea that she was so 
 old." 
 
 Mrs. Fielding had a daughter only in her seventeenth 
 year, who had been flourishing about at all the balls 
 and parties for the past two seasons, and had now all 
 the silly airs and affectations which a young miss, under 
 such circumstances, might be expected to acquire. 
 Jane Fielding had met Marion several times, on calling 
 at Mrs. Hartley's with her mother, but, imagining her 
 to be a mere child, in comparison with herself, she had 
 treated her as such. Marion was never pushed forward 
 by her mother, and, therefore; the mistake of Mrs. 
 Fielding and her daughter was not corrected by their 
 own observation. 
 
 " There is plenty of time yet," said Mrs. Hartley, in 
 reply to the remark of her visitor. " Ten young ladies 
 go into company too early, where one goes in too 
 late." 
 
 "I doubt that. If you don't take your daughter 
 into polished society early, she will never acquire that
 
 ii.-,r, AXXA LEE, 
 
 grace and ease of manner so beautiful and so essen 
 tial" 
 
 Involuntarily did Mrs. Hartley compare, in her own 
 mind, the forward, chattering, flirting Jane Fielding 
 with her own modest child, in whom all the graces of 
 a sweet spirit shone with a tempered yet beautiful 
 lustre. 
 
 " I am more anxious that my daughter shall be a 
 true woman, when she arrives at woman's age, than an 
 artificial woman, while a mere child," she could not 
 help replying. 
 
 " A very strange remark," said Mrs. Fielding. 
 
 " And yet it expresses my views on the siibject." 
 
 " I should hardly think you had reflected much about 
 it, and was merely acting from some antiquated notion 
 put into your head by Aunt Mary." 
 
 " You err there very much, Mrs. Fielding. J5ince 
 the birth of my daughter, the attainment of the best 
 means for securing her happiness has been with me a 
 source of deep reflection. I have brought to my aid 
 the observations of my youth and mature years. What 
 I have seen in real life confirms my rational deduc 
 tions. I am well satisfied that it injures a young girl 
 to throw her into company early. It is from this con 
 viction that I act." 
 
 " How can it injure herl I am at a loss to know." 
 
 11 It injures her in everything, I was going to say." 
 
 " Name a single particular."
 
 THE MOTHER. 257 
 
 " It puts a woman's head upon a girl's shoulders, to 
 use a common saying, while she lacks the strength to 
 carry it steadily, but tosses the feathers with which it 
 is dressed into every body's face that she meets." 
 
 " dear ! What a queer idea ! " 
 
 " And not only that, Mrs. Fielding ; it exposes her, 
 before she has the intelligence to discriminate accurately 
 between the true and the false, to the danger of form 
 ing a wrong estimate of life and its duties of being 
 carried away by a love of dress, and show, and mere 
 pleasure-taking, while things of infinitely more impor 
 tance are seen in an obscure light, and viewed as of 
 little consequence. The manners of a girl who has 
 gone into company too early are always offensive to me. 
 There is a pertness about her I cannot bear a toss of 
 the head, a motion of the body, an affected distortion 
 of the countenance (I can call it nothing else) that 
 is peculiarly disagreeable." 
 
 " You see a great deal more than I do, that is all I 
 can say, Mrs. Hartley;" replied Mrs. Fielding, a little 
 gravely. She had that very morning felt called upon 
 to rebuke Jane for the rude forwardness of her manners 
 in company the evening previous ! 
 
 " Perhaps I have thought more on the subject, and, 
 in consequence, observed more closely." 
 
 " I don't know how that is perhaps so," was the 
 visitor's rather cold reply. 
 
 A new subject of conversation was then started 
 
 (48) 17
 
 25* AW A LEE, 
 
 While they still sat conversing, Marion, who had gone 
 out to attend to something, came in with little Lillian 
 by the hand, now just five years old. Mrs. Fielding 
 looked into her face with a new interest, observed her 
 words closely, and watched every motion. Involuntary 
 respect, and even admiration, were elicited. There was 
 something innocent and like a child about her, and yet 
 this was so blended with a womanly grace when she 
 conversed, that, in spite of herself, she could not help 
 contrasting her manner with the forward, familiar airs 
 of her own daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley's visitor did not feel very well pleased 
 with herself or her daughter for some days after this 
 conversation. There was so much of truth about what 
 had been said, and truth bearing upon her own conduct 
 as a mother, that it made her uncomfortable. But it 
 was too late for her to mend the evil was already 
 done. The more she thought about the picture Mrs. 
 Hartley had drawn of a puppet-woman, as she had 
 chosen to call her, the more closely did she perceive 
 that her own daughter resembled the sketch, until she 
 felt half angry at what appeared almost too pointed an 
 allusion. 
 
 The next time that Mrs. Fielding and her daughter 
 called upon Mrs. Hartley, the latter paid a much more 
 respectful attention to Marion than she had ever before 
 done. She was surprised to find, in one she had looked 
 upon as a girl too young for her to associate with, a
 
 THE MOTHER. 259 
 
 quiet dignity of manner and womanly tone of character 
 beyond what she had supposed to exist. At first she 
 rattled on with her in quite a patronizing way, but be 
 fore she left she was rather inclined to listen than to 
 talk. 
 
 " While our mammas are talking, let us have some 
 music," Jane said, during a pause in the conversation. 
 "Are you fond of playing?" 
 
 " I am fond of music, and always like good playing. 
 Come to the piano you play well, I understand. I 
 shall enjoy your performance very much." 
 
 Jane sat down to the piano, and rattled off several 
 fashionable frivolities, in a kind of hap-hazard style. 
 Marion was disappointed, and did not, for she could 
 not, praise the young lady's playing. She had learned 
 only to speak what she thought, and when she could 
 not praise, and utter the truth, she said nothing. 
 
 " Play something else," she said. 
 
 Jane turned over the music books and selected an 
 overture that required a brilliant performer to execute 
 it with anything like its true effect. On this she went 
 to work with might and main, and got through it in 
 about ten minutes, much to the relief of Marion, whose 
 fine perception of musical harmonies was terribly out 
 raged. 
 
 " Now you must play," said Jane, as she struck the 
 last note, rising from the instrument. 
 
 Marion sat down and let her fingers fall upon the
 
 LEE, 
 
 keys, tbat answered to their touch as if half con 
 scious. 
 
 " You play indeed ! " exclaimed Jane, after Marion 
 bad played a short piece of music with fine t;i*t;. 
 " Do you sing 1 " 
 
 41 Sometimes." 
 
 " Can you sing ' The Banks of the Blue Moselle ? ' " 
 
 "I believe BO." Marion ran her fingers over the 
 keys, and then warbled that sprightly song in a low, 
 sweet voice, that really charmed her companion. The 
 ease with which this was done surprised Jane. It 
 seemed to cost Marion scarce an effort Half a dozen 
 other songs were named, and sung by Marion, who 
 then asked Jane if she would not sing. 
 
 " Not after you," replied the young lady, taking a 
 step back from the piano. 
 
 Marion did not know how to reply to such a remark, 
 and so she said nothing. She could not lavish false 
 compliments, nor did she wish to make any allusion to 
 her own performance. She had sung to please her 
 visitor, and had not a thought beyond that. 
 
 Mrs. Fielding was less self-satisfied than ever after 
 this visit She could not but acknowledge to herself, 
 that she would much rather her daughter were more 
 like Marion.
 
 THE MOTHER. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A PAINFUL BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 THUS far in her maternal life, Mrs. Hartley had endured 
 all the pains, cares, anxieties, hopes, and fears, of a 
 mother, but neither sorrow nor bereavement. Her as 
 siduous care had, thus far, been rewarded by the very 
 best results. But now there came a heart-searching 
 trial, which no act of hers could possibly prevent. 
 
 On the day that Mrs. Fielding and her daughter 
 called upon Mrs. Hartley, Lillian did not seem very 
 welL She drooped about, and was very fretful, a thing 
 with her very unusual. At night she dropped off to 
 sleep an hour earlier than usual When Mr. Hartley 
 came home, and inquired for his little pet, he was told 
 that she was in bed. He loved the child with great 
 tenderness, and missed her bright face and merry voice. 
 Taking up a light, he went to the chamber where she 
 slept, and stood over her little bed for some time, look 
 ing down upon her sweet face. While doing so, Mrs. 
 Hartley joined him. 
 
 " Dear little thing," she said, " she has not appeared 
 well all day." 
 
 The father placed his hand upon her forehead. 
 
 " Why, Anna," he said, " she has a high fever ! And 
 listen ! how hard she breathes." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley laid her hands upon the child's cheek
 
 '2'-.-2 ANNA LKK, 
 
 with a feeling of uneasiness. Her children had often 
 been sick with fevers ; but never, in the incipient stage 
 of the disease, had she felt the peculiar sensation of 
 uneasiness and oppression that followed the discovery 
 that Lillian was really sick. 
 
 In a little while the tea bell rang, and the family 
 gathered around the table to partake of their evening 
 meal The father and mother felt no appetite, and 
 merely sipped their tea. Marion was silent from some 
 cause. Henry and Fanny were the only ones who had 
 anything to say. On rising from the table, Mr. and 
 Mr-. Hartley repaired to the chamber to look at Lillian 
 again. The child's fever seemed higher, and she had 
 become restless. She coughed occasionally, and there 
 was much oppression on her chest. 
 
 " I think we had better call in the doctor," said Mr. 
 Hartley. 
 
 " It may only be a temporary indisposition, that will 
 subside before morning," remarked the mother. 
 
 "Still it is better to be frightened than hurt," re 
 turned Mr. Hartley. 
 
 u True. But suppose we wait for an hour." 
 At the expiration of an hour the child was no better. 
 A physician was called in, who gave some simple medi 
 cine, and said he would call in the morning. The 
 morning found the child very ill What form the 
 disease would ultimately assume, the doctor could not 
 tell ; it might only be a violent catarrh, it might be
 
 THE MOTHER. 263 
 
 some more malignant disease. A sudden gloom fell 
 over the whole household, such as had never been felt 
 before. The mother could not compose herself to do 
 anything Marion sat by the child's bedside nearly all 
 the time, and Mr. Hartley came home two or three 
 times during the day. What alarmed them most of 
 all was the constant complaints of Lillian that her 
 throat pained her, and the admission of the doctor 
 that it was highly inflamed. Even hours before the 
 physician declared the disease to be scarlet fever, they 
 were more than half assured that it was nothing else. 
 
 On the third day, all their fears were confirmed. 
 The disease began to assume its worst type. The skin 
 was red and tumefied, the throat badly ulcerated, and 
 the face much swollen. Breathing was exceedingly 
 difficult, and there was an eruption of dark scarlet spots 
 on the face, neck, and chest. On the fifth day, the 
 little sufferer became delirious on the seventh day she 
 was freed from her pain. Her spirit returned to the 
 God who gave it. 
 
 Suddenly as this terrible affliction had fallen upon 
 them, in the brief space that ensued between the illness 
 of the child and her removal, the minds of the parents 
 had become, in some degree, prepared for the result 
 that followed. Still the blow stunned them, and it 
 was not until called upon to take the last look at their 
 little one, and to touch with their lips for the last time 
 her snowy forehead, that they realized the full con
 
 y.4 ANNA LSB, 
 
 sciousness of what they had lost Ah ! who but they 
 who love tenderly a sweet, innocent, affectionate child, 
 can understand how deep was the anguish of their 
 spirits at the moment when they turned away after 
 taking their last, lingering look at the marble features 
 of their departed Lillian. 
 
 How desolate seemed every part of the house for 
 days afterwards. Hard as the mother tried to bear up 
 and to look up in this affliction, she had not the power 
 to dry her tears. For hours, sometimes, she would sit 
 in dreamy absence of mind, all interest in things sur 
 rounding her having totally subsided. 
 
 " Dear Anna," her husband ventured to say to her 
 one day, when he came home and found her in this 
 state, " Time, the Restorer, cannot do his work for us, 
 
 unless we do our part. You remember Dr. T , in 
 
 whose family we spent two pleasant weeks last summer. 
 He had a son just about the age of Clarence perhaps 
 two years older who had just passed through his 
 collegiate course with distinguished honours. The 
 doctor loved that boy with more than ordinary tender 
 ness, ' He was always a good boy,' he said to me, in 
 alluding to his son. ' His love of truth was st . 
 and his sense of honour most acute. I not only loved 
 him, but I was proud of him.' This son had not been 
 home long when he became ill and died. ' I never had 
 anything in my whole life that gave me such anguish of 
 spirit as the death of that boy,' he said, and his voice even
 
 THE MOTHER. 265 
 
 then trembled. ' But, through the whole painful scene 
 of sickness, death, and burial, I never missed a patient 
 I knew that there was only one thing that would 
 su.stain me in my affliction, and that was, the steady 
 and faithful performance of my regular duties in life. 
 But for this, I sometimes think I could not have borne 
 the weight that was then laid upon me.' Dear Anna ! 
 
 Doctor T was a true philosopher; for his was a 
 
 high Christian philosophy, that sought relief from 
 affliction in the performance of duty to others." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Hartley wept bitterly while her husband 
 was speaking; but his words sunk into her heart, and 
 she felt that she was suffering severer pain than would 
 
 have been her portion if she had acted like Dr. T . 
 
 From that time she strove with a great effort to arouse 
 herself from the dreamy state into which she had 
 fallen. It was difficult to perform all the duties nay. 
 she could not perform them all that heretofore claimed 
 her attention. For five years her daily thought and care 
 had been for her youngest born, the nursling of the flock, 
 and now she was taken away. For a time she struggled 
 to act upon her husband's suggestion, but again sunk 
 down; and efforts to elevate her from this state of 
 gloomy depression were again made. She lay weeping, 
 with her head upon her husband's bosom, one night, 
 when he said, 
 
 "Anna, dear, would you like to have Lillian back 
 again ? "
 
 S'-r, ANXA LEE, 
 
 She did not reply, but sobbed more violently for 
 nearly a minute, and then grew calm. Her husband 
 repeated his inquiry. 
 
 "I have never asked myself that question," she 
 answered. 
 
 "Think now, and determine in your own mind, 
 whether, if you had the power to recall her, you would 
 do so." 
 
 "I do not think I would," was murmured half 
 reluctantly. , 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It is better for her to remain where she is." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " 
 
 " How can you ask such a question ? Is she not 
 now safe in her heavenly home ? Is she not loved and 
 cared for by Jesus ? She can have no pain nor grief 
 where she is gone. She has escaped a life of trial and 
 sorrow. Ah, my dear husband, even in my affliction 
 I can say, I am thankful that, with her, life's toilsome 
 journey is over that her probation has been short." 
 
 " Spoken like my own dear wife," Mr. Hartley said 
 with emotion. "I, too, grieve over the loss, with a 
 grief that words cannot express, but I would not take 
 back the treasure now safely laid up in heaven. She 
 cannot return to us, but we shall go to her. Our real 
 home is not here. A short time before us has our 
 child gone; we shall soon follow after, but not until 
 all the duties we owe to others are paid. We have still
 
 THE MOTHER, 267 
 
 4 
 
 four left, and, do our best, we cannot do too much for 
 them." 
 
 " Too much ! Oh, no ! my constant regret is that 
 I do too little. And now that Lillian has been taken 
 away, I seem to have lost the power to do even that 
 little." 
 
 " Strive to think more of those that are left than of 
 the one that is gone. No effort of yours can do her 
 any good, but every effort you make for those that still 
 remain will add to their happiness. Yesterday, when 
 I came home, I found Fanny sitting alone in the par 
 lour. She looked very sad. 'What is the matter, 
 dear ] ' I asked. ' Mother cries so, and don't talk to 
 me as she did,' she said, the tears coming into her 
 dear little eyes." 
 
 " James ! did she say that ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear. And if you could have seen her face, 
 and heard the tone of her voice, you would have 
 grieved to think how sad the child's heart must be. 
 She, as well as the rest of us, has lost much in the 
 death of Lillian. You know how much she loved the 
 child." 
 
 " And I," sobbed the mother, " have left her to bear 
 her grief alone. Alas ! how selfish I have been in my 
 sorrow. But it shall no longer be. I will meet my 
 children as a mother should meet them. I will help 
 them to bear their loss." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley met her family on the next morning
 
 ANNA LEE, 
 
 with a calmer brow. She bad a word for each; and 
 that word was spoken with an unusual tenderness of 
 expression. Fanny looked earnestly into her mother's 
 face, when she observed the change, and drew close up 
 to her side, 
 
 " You love me, dear mother, don't you ? " whispered 
 the child, close to her ear. 
 
 u Love you, my child ! Oh, yes ! A thousand 
 times more than I can tell." And she kissed her 
 fervently. 
 
 u And the angels in heaven love Lillian, don't they 1 " 
 
 Yes, love," Mrs. Hartley replied, in a husky 
 whisper, struggling to keep the tears from gushing 
 from her eyes. 
 
 "I know the good angels will love her, and take 
 care of her just as well as you did, mother." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! and a great deal better." 
 
 "Then we won't cry any more because she is gone." 
 
 "Not if we can help it, love. But we miss her very 
 ranch," 
 
 Yt-s. I want to see her all the time. But I know 
 she is in heaven, and I won't cry for her to come back." 
 
 The words of Fanny were near effecting the entire 
 overthrow of Mrs. Hartley's feelings; but by a vigorous 
 struggle with herself, she remained calm, and continued 
 for some time to talk with the child about, Lillian iu 
 heaven. 
 
 From this period, the mother's love for her children
 
 THE MOTHER. 269 
 
 flowed on again in its wonted channels, and her care 
 for them was as assiduous as ever. In fact, the loss of 
 one caused her to draw her arms more closely about 
 the rest. But she was changed ; and no one who 
 looked upon her could help noting the change. The 
 quiet thoughtfulness of her countenance had given place 
 to a musing expression, as if she were, in spirit, far 
 away with some dearly loved object. Although her 
 love for her children, and her anxiety for their welfare, 
 was increased, if there was any change, yet that love 
 was more brooding than active in its nature. The 
 creative energy of her mind appeared to have suffered 
 a slight paralysis. The bow was unbent. Marion was 
 quick to perceive this, and by the intuition of love, to 
 glide almost insensibly into her mother's place, so far 
 as Henry and Fanny were concerned. The ground 
 work of home-education had been so well laid by the 
 mother, that the sister's task was not a difficult one. 
 She became Henry's confidante and counsellor, and led 
 Fanny gently on in the acquirement of good habits and 
 good principles. 
 
 If to no one else, this change was good for Marion, 
 It gave her objects to love intensely, because their well- 
 being depended on her conduct towards them, at an 
 age when the heart needs something upon which to 
 lavish the pure waters of affection that begin to flow 
 forth in gushing profusion. 
 
 Another effect was, to make more distant the period
 
 170 ANNA LEE, 
 
 when Marion should appear upon the stage of life as a 
 woman ; and thus was no wrong to the sweet maiden. 
 When she did enter society as a woman, she was a 
 woman fully qualified to act her part with wisdom and 
 prudence 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AN IMPORTANT ERA IN LIFE. 
 
 WHEN Clarence returned from college, unscathed in 
 the ordeal through which he had passed, he entered 
 upon a course of legal studies. Law was the pro 
 fession he chose. It most frequently happens that 
 brothers, as they approach manhood, do not become 
 intimate as companions. 'But it was not so in the case 
 of Clarence and Henry. They were drawn together as 
 soon as the former returned home. This again tended 
 to lessen the care of Mrs. Hartley, for Clarence had 
 become, in one sense, his brother's guardian. Instead, 
 now, of the constant and often intense exercise of mind 
 to which she had been subjected for years, in the 
 determination of what course was best to take with 
 her children, in order to secure their greatest good, 
 she was more their pleasant companion than their 
 mentor. Her aim now was to secure their unlimited 
 confidence, and this she was able to do. Their mis 
 takes were never treated with even playful ridicule ;
 
 THE MOTHER. 271 
 
 but she sympathized earnestly with them in everything 
 that interested their minds. This led them to talk to 
 her with the utmost freedom, and gave her a know 
 ledge of the exact state of their feelings in regard to 
 all the circumstances that transpired around them. 
 
 The completion of Clarence's twenty-first year was a 
 period to which both the son and mother had looked 
 with no ordinary interest but with very different 
 feelings. So important an era Mrs. Hartley could not 
 let pass without a long and serious conversation with 
 her son, or rather repeated conversations with him. 
 
 " From this time, my son," she said to him, " you 
 are no longer bound to your parents by the law of 
 obedience. You are a man, and must act in freedom, 
 according to reason. Our precepts are not to be 
 observed because we give them, but are to be observed 
 because you see them to be true. Heretofore, your 
 parents have been responsible for your conduct to 
 society. But now, you alone are responsible. Upon 
 the way in which you exercise the freedom you now 
 enjoy will depend your usefulness as a man, and your 
 eternal state hereafter. Choose, my son, with wisdom 
 let your paths be those of peace and pleasantness." 
 
 " Don't say your work is ended, my mother," Clarence 
 said with much feeling, and an expression of deep 
 concern upon his face. ""It cannot be. As before, 
 your advice and counsel must be good. I will not 
 believe that I am no longer to obey you no ! no!"
 
 178 AyyA LEE, 
 
 "In a supreme sense, Clarence, the Lord is your 
 father, and to him alone are you now required to give 
 supreme obedience, and to lore with your highest, 
 purest, and best affections. But that need not cause 
 you to love your natural father and mother the less. 
 Ton say truly, that our work is not yet done. Our 
 counsel will still be given, but you must not follow it 
 because we have given it, but because, in the light 
 of your own mind, you perceive that it accords with 
 the truth ; for you must never forget, that according 
 to your own deeds will yon be justified or condemned. 
 We shall not love you the less, nor be less anxious for 
 your welfare; but, being a man, you must act as a 
 man, in freedom according to reason." 
 
 The recollection of this conversation often made 
 Clarence sigh. "Ah:" he would sometimes say to 
 himself, " man's estate is not, after all, so desirable a 
 thing to attain. It was much easier to lie upon my 
 mother's bosom, than it is to fight my way through 
 life, amid its thousand temptations." 
 
 The formal and serious manner in which Mrs. 
 Hartley had conversed with Clarence, caused all that 
 she said to be deeply impressed upon his mind. He 
 pondered over it for weeks. The effect was good, for 
 it laved him from the thoughtless tendency of mere 
 plfMHTo M filing into which young men are too apt to 
 fall, on finding themselves entirely free from the 
 shackles of minority. He saw clearly and felt strongly
 
 THE MOTHER. 273 
 
 the responsibility of his position. But, accompanying 
 this perception, was an earnestly formed resolution to 
 overcome in every temptation that might assail him. 
 
 " I can conquer, and I will," he said, in the confi 
 dence that he felt in the more than human strength 
 that those receive who fight against evil. 
 
 It was not long before life's conflicts began in earnest 
 with him ; but it is not our business to speak of them, 
 further than to say, that he was subjected to strong 
 trials, to severe temptations, to cares and anxieties of 
 no ordinary kind, and that the remains of good and 
 truth stored up in his mind by his mother saved him. 
 As a child, his predominant evil qualities were a strong 
 self-will and extreme selfishness. In manhood, they 
 reappeared, and long and intense was the struggle 
 against them, before they yielded themselves subject 
 to more heavenly principles. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HAPPY CONSUMMATIONS. 
 
 MARION HARTLEY was twenty-two years of age when 
 she first began to attract attention in society. The 
 impression she made was a decided one. People talked 
 about her for a time as a new wonder. Her grace, her 
 intelligence, her accomplishments, and, not least, her 
 
 beauty, won universal admiration. She was quickly 
 (> 18
 
 ANNA LEE, 
 
 surrounded by the butterflies of fashion, but they 
 found themselves at a loss how to be truly agreeable. 
 If they flattered her, she did not seem to understand 
 them ; if they complimented her upon her singing or 
 dancing, she only smiled quietly. In fact, all their 
 usual arts failed. Some called her cold others said 
 she was as proud as a duchess ; while others reported 
 that her heart was engaged to an absent lover. 
 
 Unconscious of all this agitation created by her 
 appearance, Marion continued in the affectionate per 
 formance of her home duties, occasionally mingling in 
 society, less from feeling drawn thither than because 
 she believed she owed something to the social as well 
 as to the family circle. 
 
 Once more was the liveliest maternal interest awak 
 ened in the bosom of Mrs. Hartley. Now was the 
 most critical period in her daughter's life. Her heart 
 could not long remain uninterested ; but whose hand 
 should touch the precious fountain, and unseal its 
 pure waters ? That was the anxious question. 
 
 Evening visitors were becoming more and more 
 frequent On every new appearance of Marion in 
 company would some new acquaintance call. Mr. an<l 
 Mrs. Hartley, unlike most parents, who, very consider 
 ately remembering how it was with themselves, "leave 
 the young people alone," always made it a point to be 
 present, with other members of the family, when any 
 viaitor called to spend an evening. Clarence, who was
 
 THE MOTHER. 275 
 
 fully in his mother's confidence, remained at home a 
 great deal during these occasions, in order to swell the 
 parlour circle, and to add to the pleasures of conversa 
 tion, music, or other modes that might be resorted to 
 for passing an hour. 
 
 This way of doing things was not at all relished by 
 some who were all eagerness to secure the favour of 
 Marion. Among those who occasionally dropped in, 
 was a young man who generally spent more time in 
 conversing with the mother than with the daughter. 
 If his design had been first to conciliate Mrs. Hartley, 
 his plan was certainly a good one. But he was inno 
 cent of any further design than to gain opportunities 
 for observing closely the character and disposition of 
 Marion. He had ample means for supporting a wife, 
 and had been looking about him for one at least a 
 year. The first impression made upon him by Marion 
 was favourable. He was not struck by her beauty and 
 accomplishments half so much as by the sentiments 
 which he occasionally heard fall from her lips. The 
 way in which her parents guarded her, he saw and 
 understood at once, and this strengthened his belief 
 that she was a precious treasure for him who could \viu 
 her heart. 
 
 While he observed her at a distance, as it were, 
 others were clustering around her, and using every art 
 to gain her favour. But, even while they were press 
 ing for attention, her eye was wandering away to him,
 
 rf> ANNA LEE, 
 
 and often the words they uttered were unheard in her 
 recollection of sentiments which he had spoken. Why 
 this was so, Marion did not ask herself. She did not 
 even notice the fact When the young man at last 
 began to make advances, she received them with an 
 inward pleasure unfelt before. This did not escape 
 the mother's watchful eye; but she had no word to 
 say in objection. Long before any serious inroad upon 
 Marion's affections had been made, father, mother, and 
 brother were thoroughly acquainted with the young 
 man's family, standing, and character. They were 
 unexceptionable. 
 
 When he finally made application for her hand, he 
 received promptly this answer : 
 
 " Take her, and may she be to you as good a wife as 
 she has been to us a child." 
 
 Marion was twenty-three years of age when she 
 became a wedded wife. Many wed younger, but few 
 as wisely. 
 
 The next event of interest in the life of Mrs. Hartley 
 was the marriage of Clarence. In this matter she was 
 careful to leave her son in the most perfect freedom. 
 Although from principle she did this, she was not 
 without great concern on the subject ; for she well 
 knew that his whole character would be modified for 
 good and evil by his wife. It is enough to say that 
 Clarence chose wisely.
 
 THE MOTHJKR. 5*77 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 HAVING brought our readers to this point, not, we 
 hope, without profit to themselves, we find that we 
 have little more to add. The mother's untiring devo 
 tion to her children has not been in vain. The good 
 seed sown in their minds has produced a pleasant 
 harvest. 
 
 We could present a strong and painful contrast in 
 the results attendant upon the course pursued by Mrs. 
 Fielding ; but we will not do so. It would be of little 
 use to throw dark shades upon the picture we have 
 drawn. There are few who read this, who cannot look 
 around and see the baleful consequences that have 
 followed neglect and indifference such as were mani 
 fested by Mrs. Fielding towards her children. The 
 instances are, alas ! too numerous. 
 
 In closing this volume, the author would remark to 
 those who may feel disappointed in not finding it so 
 full of incident and description as they had expected, 
 that to have given it a lighter character would have 
 required the sacrifice of much that he wished to say. 
 The subject is one so full of interest to a certain class, 
 that no charms of fiction were required to hold their 
 attention. To have extended our book further, or to
 
 178 
 
 LEE, THE MOTHER. 
 
 have introduced a greater variety of scenes, would have 
 occupied the time and attention of the reader to very 
 little purpose. To those who have read aright, enough 
 has been said volumes would do no good to those 
 who have not
 
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