When the morning of Saturday arrived, no change for the better had taken place, and it was with evident satisfaction that my husband informed me of an engagement he had made for that day, to dine with a neighbouring gentleman, who was more celebrated for his wine than his wisdom. Now was the time for me to exert my influence, if I had any, to lay aside all putulant airs, and to show by the sacrifice of my own wounded pride, how sincere was my desire to promote the interest of that cause, for which I had once been so solicitous, that the day before the Sabbath should be devoted to the services of religion. But no. I could not, at least, I would not, bring down my spirit to remind my husband of his duty; for it was impossible to do this without at the same time recalling the past days when I had been humble enough to make a favour of his concessions; and in the present state of my temper nothing could have been more galling than to make the acknowledgment, that such a being, so lost to common sense, and common decency, so prone to grovel in his own egregious folly, could possibly confer a favour upon me. oured to console myself by saying it would have been of no use even if I had endeavoured to detain him. Beneath the all-seeing eye of Omnipotence, how futile is this plea, when no attempt has been made, not a finger stirred, not a word spoken, at the very moment when a still small voice, was whispering "Now is the appointed time." Oh! that we would be satisfied to fulfil our simple part, and to leave the event in His hands "with whom are the issues of life!" Had I, in the hour of trial, submitted to the dictates of duty, I might even on this most miserable evening of my life, have found some drops of sweetness in my cup: for then I could have lifted up my heart in prayer with the consciousness of having done my best; and I too might have uttered the touching and impressive language "though he slay me yet will I trust in him." But now, with a smitten and writhing spirit, I applied myself to the painful task of preparing a sermon for the next day's service. Hour after hour passed on, and the Sabbath came apace; but he who was to spread forth the tidings of the gospel to a listening people was still at his unhallowed revels. At deep midnight I opened my window and listened, and again, and again, until the grey dawn appeared in the east, and the birds stretched forth their buoyant wings, and all nature awoke in freshness, and beauty, and peace. At last I heard the sound of a horse, right welcome as it came before the domestics were abroad. I opened the door as gently as I could, and the brisk morning air brought a touch of gladness on its wings. I saw him linger even beyond his usual time of trifling, I saw him come back into the house before he mounted his horse, and even turn again as he passed the window; but I made no answer either by look or sign to his evident desire to be recalled, and casting off the last weak longing after better things, he gave himself up to one desperate resolution, and set spurs into his high-mettled steed, the sound of whose galloping hoofs died away upon my ear, as I sat in silent self-condemnation, musing upon the opportunity I had thus perversely thrown away. In spite of the many times I told my-husband staggering home with all that disself during the day that I had only done what every other woman of spirit would do, my heart was ill at ease; and when I sat down to my solitary tea, I thought of the riotous board, where, at that very hour, my husband was drowning all recollection of the past, and what was still worse, all anti-ings were mine, that I had done nothing, atcipation of the future. In vain I endeav- tempted nothing, to rescue him from such an The worst confirmation of our fears is a relief to the agony of suspense, the torture of apprehension; and yet, when I saw my order of look and manner which remains after such a day, or rather such a night as he had spent, and when I thought that in a few hours he must appear in public as a minister of a pure and holy religion, my heart sunk within me, and oh! what bitter self-upbraid exposure, to spare that church which I professed to venerate, the stain of such a disgrace. home, leaning on the arm of Mr. Ormorand. I could not meet them at the door, but stood up to receive them in the room, where I had spent the last tedious and comfortless hour, like a culprit who awaits his final sentence. "Tell me the worst," said I, seizing the hand of Mr. Ormorand, who told me nothing, but shook his head and answered gravely and evidently with great distress, "This will not do." If it be true that a man when intoxicated always exhibits his natural disposition, my husband must have been gifted with an uncommon share of obstinacy: for when in this state it was impossible to divert him, still less to force him, from any absurd determination he might take up. It was consequently vain for me to attempt to convince him that he would be unable to go through with the usual service of the day, and when I proposed to send over to a neighbouring clergyman and ask him to take his duty for the morning, he replied with indignation that hesions. wanted no interference with his duties. What could be done in such a case! Once I thought of sending for Mr. Ormorand, but knowing my husband's antipathy to him and his family I dared not even pronounce his name, lest it should occasion some terrible explosion of rage. With that sickness of soul which makes the hand tremble, and the knees grow weak, and the brain reel with giddiness, I prepared to accompany my husband to church. But it was in vain. My resolution failed me, and while he was adjusting the reins, I stepped back into the house saying that I did not feel well enough to go. Had the prayers of my heart that morning been offered up in the spirit of true humility, I have little doubt but they would have been heard and accepted. Most assuredly they were wrung out from a broken, if not from a contrite spirit: but even in the agony of my feelings I can well remember that I drew many conclusions about what certain individuals would think, and had much to combat with in my own mind, besides the overwhelming idea of the mockery which might, at that very time, be offered to the throne of mercy. Absorbed in these gloomy reflections, I was seated with my eyes wandering over the garden, the fields, and the fair prospect before me; when, long before the usual time for leaving church, I saw my husband led "Do not leave me," said I, for I felt utterly helpless, and destitute of all comfort; and, bursting into an agony of tears, I entreated him to tell me all the fearful truth, for nothing could be worse than my apprehen The case was indeed bad enough, yet not so glaring, but that many of the congregation were left to believe that my husband had been taken ill. What added peculiar poignancy to my distress, was to discover that, from a kind and delicate regard to my feelings, and the shock they must have received on the evening of the terrible rupture with Lady St. Lewis, Mr. and Mrs. Ormorand, had left their usual place of worship, and attended our church that morning, with the generous intention of convincing me that they, at least, could look charitably upon my husband's conduct. But this was a breach of propriety, a violation of all moral and religious feeling, for which they could find no palliation; and it was evident, that the calm and well-regulated mind of Mr. Ormorand had been deeply shocked and wounded. "This must never be repeated," said he, as we walked together in the garden. "It is worth any sacrifice of private peace to prevent"-he did not say what, but went on. "You must labour diligently and faithfully, and if your best endeavours cannot overcome this dreadful propensity, I entreat you then to apply all your energies, all your zeal, to induce your husband voluntarily to resign a situation, from which he must in time be expelled." And thus, with many strict charges respecting my own vigilance and care, he left me; and I turned into my own habitation on the noon of a smiling sabbath, when the cottager goes home from the house of prayer; and all who value the privileges of a Christian community, acknowledge with thankfulness and joy the welcome influence of a day of bodily rest, and spiritual refreshment. I turned in to my own habitation, to sit down with a husband, whose senses, half drowned by recent intoxication, were still dense and brutalized, and whose very countenance, retaining the mark of the beast, was flushed, and distorted with fever, and burning thirst. Now, my friend, I believe you have had experience enough in the deceitfulness of the world, more especially have seen enough of that worst kind of deception by which we endeavour to impose upon ourselves, to lead you to join with me in deprecating the false delicacy by which women are accustomed to blind themselves to the true nature of vice. Thus we speak of a gentleman, being gay, being under the excitement of wine, being good-hearted, but a little dissipated, an enemy to no one but himself; and thus we marry the creatures whom we pity for such gentle errors, when we think we would not for the world unite ourselves to a vicious, a drunken, or a bad man. Not that I would in any way imply that, because of our own exemption from glaring vices, we should look with uncharitable eye upon those whose temptations may have been incalculably more powerful than ours; but oh! what weight, what dignity would be added to the character of woman, if, when speaking of mankind, she would raise her mind above that network of nonsense which is used in polished society, to throw a veil over those vices which cry aloud for our deepest, our most fervent, most persevering reprobation. I could draw a picture of what a gay man is in private life, but which of my fair sisters would not turn away her eyes, and say it was impossible that her Lothario should ever resemble that. But enough of this. I wish not to expose my poor husband's transgressions more than is necessary for warning others from risking the same rash experiment, which plunged me into the deepest despair; and while I speak fairly of his character, I desire to treat my own with the same candour, and to prove that whatever his undisguised errors, or even sins might be, they were more than balanced by those which I endeavoured to conceal within my own heart; by the unpardonable presumption which led me on to undertake his conversion, having never made my own "calling and election sure;" by the rebellious and unsubdued pride in which I refused to fulfil the only conditions which could produce a favourable change; and by the contempt with which I looked down from my own fancied elevation upon his lost and fallen state. Severely, deeply, as my feelings were har rowed by this last exposure, I still adopted no conciliatory measures, nor condescended to enter upon an impartial examination of the root of the evil. The next morning, I will venture to say, did not rise upon any creature more wretched than myself. I awoke with an indistinct sense of something impending over me, something dreadful, that would happen, or had already happened, and scarcely could the severest calamity that words might describe have been so intolerable in its oppressiveness as that universal yet indefinite kind of desolation which was made sufficiently evident to my fully awakened thoughts. "What am I, where am I, and what do I possess?" are three appalling questions which we not unfrequently ask ourselves on first awaking from a long and heavy sleep. I had no answer by which to allay the anguish of my heart, and when I arose, it was but to take up again the weary burden of the past day. Under the pressure of affliction in which no one can partake, and which we imagine nothing can alleviate, we do not beguile the time by tracing our accustomed walks in grounds or gardens, but seek either the city or the solitude, the crowd or the wilderness; because in both situations we feel ourselves equally unobserved. In this state of mind I chose out for myself a melancholy retreat, where neither my husband nor my domestics change; and I insisted upon carrying the pitcher, if her home was not far distant. "Oh! no," said she, with many apologies, "it is close by. Just at the skirt of the wood. You may see the smoke beside that old tree. But still it is too far for you to carry such a were likely to find me. It was in a wild and untrimmed plantation, where the grounds of the parsonage were bounded by a brook that murmured perpetually over a gravelly bed. There was no beauty in this scene except what the little brook and the wild weeds gave it; yet here I used to sit on the moss-weight, and the way is not the cleanest." covered stem of a fallen tree, envying the very birds, and the insects that winged their flight around and above me. Even winter could not keep me from this spot, for I loved its withered grass, and bright green moss, and silvery lichen; but most of all, I loved to listen to the blast that roared amongst its leafless boughs. Here I was one day indulging the full bent of my distempered fancy, until at last my thoughts broke forth in words. "Everything in nature," said I, "has some purpose to fulfil, some power to exercise, some impulse to obey, but me. I alone, of all creation, live on from day to day, in a perpetual imprisonment of soul.-Why, why was I ever animated with human life, when the very worm has an existence more enviable than mine? The simplest denizen of air may 'flee away and be at rest;' the birds have their unwearied wings to bear them to a distant land: and the stream that murmurs idly at my feet, after meandering through a thousand meadows, finds a welcome in the bosom of the ocean at last." I had scarcely uttered these words when my ear caught a rustling sound amongst the dead grass and fallen branches on the opposite side of the brook, and I saw the figure of an aged woman stooping down to fill a pitcher with water. The bank was so damp and slippery that it would have been difficult to find safe footing even for one more light and agile. After many fruitless at tempts, she looked up, as if to see whether any one was near of whom she might ask assistance, and half ashamed of my tardy of fer, I crossed the stream and stooped down myself for the water. There was to me a strange novelty in doing even this act of common kindness, which pleased me for the moment, as it brought a Here she hesitated; for there was evidently some other reason why she did not wish me to go with her, and this exciting my curiosity, I persevered with my burden, which, had it been imposed upon me, and not of my own choosing I should have thought intolerably heavy. The cottage to which our path led, was beautifully situated, and at first I thought it presented a perfect picture; so apt are we to imagine that the cares and troubles, and perplexities of life must necessarily be shut out from such picturesque and secluded retreats. On a nearer inspection, however, I found an air of great poverty spread over the whole, and a slovenly appearance about the door, that might soon have been done away by a strong and willing hand. At the entrance of a little plot of garden, the old woman stopped and took the pitcher from my hands, with many hearty thanks for the service I had done her. "I "May I not go in with you?" said I. "Oh! yes, ma'am if you please," but she stopped again, and looked distressed. have a poor lassie," said she (for they were north country people) "who is just now in some trouble, and will not be much pleased to see the face of a stranger, but I am sure you are a kind-hearted lady, and you may be able to say something that will comfort her." We were standing but a few paces from the door, though screened from the small window, and while we hesitated about entering, I heard the following words sung in a sweet and plaintive voice by some one within, who appeared to be unconscious of a listener. SONG. "Listen! oh! listen! is Ronald returning? Come again, lost one, the bright fire is burning, Pining to welcome thee through the long day. "Where is my joy if thy smile is not near me? "Where are the sunbeams that danced on the mountain? Where is the moonlight that slept in the vale? Where is the sparkling foam of the fountain? The music that sigh'd in the whispering gale? "Where are the songs I have heard the birds singing? When all was melody tun'd to mine ear? Now every note a sad burden is bringing, Warbling of spring-time, while winter is near. "Where, bonny babe, is thy wandering father? Close thy sweet eye-lids, and hush thee to rest, Ask me no more, hapless thing; I would rather Lull thee to sleep on this comfortless breast. "Come again Ronald, the bright fire is burning, man. "Oh! that's her way," said the old wo"When she's left alone it lightens her poor heart to sing these dismal ditties, if she thinks no one can hear her. But come in, my good lady, you must not stand here in the cold." The sound of our steps at the door brought the young woman in an instant from the fireside, where she had been sitting with her baby in her arms. There was at first a bright flash of expectation in her looks, which faded away on seeing who we were, and though she welcomed us in with civility and kindness, I saw her often turn away to wipe off the tears that were continually gathering in her eyes. At last she retired into an inner room, and I was left at liberty to ask her mother what was the cause of her dis tress. "It's a long story," said the old woman, "and one that is too common for you to listen to; but the shortest and the worst part of it is, that my poor Jenny has a drunken husband. He was a bonny Scotch lad when we first knew him, and even now he has the kindest heart; but oh! these sad ways of his will bring us all to ruin!" and she, too, wept, without any attempt at concealment. "And yet," continued she, "it is not so much the loss of worldly comfort, though that is going fast; but there's his own soul to think about, poor fellow, and the bairns that should be looking up to him, and Jenny's healthshe's pining away daily, and the more I talk to her of heaven, the more she frets about her husband and her children. You should have seen her when she married. The sweetest face-the lightest foot-you never heard the lark carol on a May morning with a gayer heart than hers." "Oh! my dear Lady, it needs faith," and she fixed her eyes intently on my face,—“ it needs faith to bear these things day after day, and yet to say in our nightly prayers, 'thy will be done."" "I have lived to the age of threescore years, and my life has been none of the smoothest. Sometimes I have known poverty, and sometimes comfort, but I have always had need enough to lean upon the only arm that was able to support me; yet, I can truly say, without any wish to complain more than is necessary, that to console my poor daughter, and to keep her thoughts steady to the true point, is the hardest task I have ever had yet. Perhaps you have never known trouble, ma'am. Perhaps you have never been disappointed, nor found yourself bound up as it were with the tares, when you thought you should have stood among the wheat. If so, you will be tired of hearing me talk about what you do not (and I pray you never may) understand. But sometimes it is a relief to tell our troubles to a stranger, for it seems almost as if a new face would bring some new consolation. "I am not tired of hearing you, indeed," said I, "go on, and tell me all about your daughter." There's little to be said of her, poor thing, more than may be said of many who have no one to speak for them. She was brought up in a careful way, and yet married just for love, without, as she often says now, so much |