mother's garden, when she and I were children, and used to dress ourselves up, and play ancient statues. She was fond of playing Flora, and I Minerva; and it was then that I first saw you, William, a great, raw school-boy; and how you laughed at the owl on my head! O, if Amy had always been with me, I should have been a better wife to you."

"Let us remember the sorrows and mistakes of the past, only that we may take care to avoid them; and let us cherish the recollection of all its pure pleasures, as a pledge and promise of what is in store for us. We will call up again those sweet dreams of our early days, dear Fanny, by returning to that child-like trust and unquestioning love which then made us so happy. But you must not talk any more; your pulse is much too quick; while we have been talking, it has beaten faster and faster, till now I can scarcely count it. You will not be able to see Amy in a fortnight, if you do not keep quieter than you have been for these last few minutes."

"O, but I will be very still, so quiet and so good that you shall not believe it is I; only write to Amy to come, and tell her that I shall be quite well, and so tranquil and good that even she will scarcely know her old friend.”

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Fanny suddenly said, "I think, William, I should like to write to Amy myself."

"But you are hardly able to write, Fanny." Fanny insisted very earnestly that she was able, and that it was only a few lines that were necessary. Her husband proposed that she should dictate and he write.

"No, no, I must write myself; give me some paper, and pen, and ink.”

Presently," replied her husband, “ when you are rested, I will;" but he looked as if he would rather not. When Fanny wrote her letter, which was very short, she folded and sealed it as soon as it was finished. Her husband was sitting by her, and it was with rather an effort at gayety that he said, "You asked for no message from me, Fanny, but have hastily sealed up your letter as if it contained treason." Fanny blushed and

looked disturbed.

"One always looks like a fool when showing a letter of one's own writing, and I can never forget a lady's telling me when I showed her a letter which she asked to see, 'It's a very good letter; but if I had been you, I would not have shown it.' "

Mr. Roberts was evidently disappointed; his

reserve, which had been dissipated by Fanny's frankness and tenderness, began to creep over him again. Both were silent. It seemed as if some mysterious, invisible evil presence had suddenly disturbed their peace.

CHAPTER XIX.

"There is a rose-lipped seraph sits on high,
Who ever bends his holy ear to earth,
To mark the voice of penitence, to catch
Her solemn sighs, to tune them to his harp,
And echo them, in harmonies divine,
Up to the throne of grace."

MASON.

WE return to Edward and Amy.

When the

bustle and trouble of moving were over, and they were all established in their very comfortable but less elegant house, Edward and Amy came to the conclusion, that, as far as their individual happiness was in question, they were better off than before; as their present style of living left them more time for reading and for the enjoyment of each other's society. Mr. Weston prophesied that the men of property and standing in society would now forsake them entirely; that the world would never forgive such a departure from its own principles; and he thought that, in some respects, they deserved the censure and neglect that they would surely encounter. Mr. Weston, to imitate his own style of speaking, was right in some

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respects. Some of the rich forsook them; others treated them with increased respect and attention. Ruth, whose opinion ought not to be neglected, said, after all was arranged, that she did not see what they wanted of more money; that enough was as good as a feast; and that, as far as she knew of such things, she had observed that great gains and great pains went together.

Calmly and cheerfully, and with a holy trust, that, whether she lived or died, it would be well with her, Amy met her trying hour; and, as has been before mentioned, she became the joyful mother of a living child. With a yet more solemn earnestness than they had ever before felt, did these happy parents consecrate themselves anew to God, as, with tears of joyful love, they thanked him for this unspeakable blessing.

"What system do you mean to follow, in educating your daughter?" said Edward, one day, "authority or reason persuasion or force? What punishments have you already planned? What great book shall you keep on your worktable, all ready to refer to ?"

"The punishments," replied Amy, laughing, "I shall leave to you. Suppose we make a plan, as the children make stories, as we go along? One thing we will surely do, Edward; study this exquisite instrument before we play