baker, and even the grocer, but always allowing his wife, when she did go, to carry the basket. His habit was to keep his weekly wages in a canvas bag, always paying the bills himself, never permitting Eleanor to spend a single penny, though it was obvious to every one who knew her that she could do it far more economically. Surely the English wife should be the provider of her own household; and for her husband to deprive her of this prerogative is a sinful infringement of her rights. He who denies his wife this privilege strips her of his confidence, and makes her a sheer stranger in her own house. But Flavel Roberts did not care; he knew best, and Eleanor must go to the wall. There may be exceptions, through inexperience or incapacity; but we contend that the English peasant wife should generally be trusted to provide for her own household. And trust increases truth, the upholder of the homestead.

Does the reader say, "O, the brute! If I were Eleanor Roberts, I would not live with him for a month"? We scarcely know how we should act, unless we were similarly circumstanced. But this we can aver, that Eleanor was a Christian woman, who loved her Bible, her God, and her minister. When the cold words of her husband chilled her soul, though unwittingly uttered, perhaps, by him, she often had recourse to her only book, and drew from thence a delicious consolation which the world could not give, or its fiercest frowns take away. It was here that she found her Saviour, and the words He whispered in the ears of the woman of Samaria, as He sat on the margin of Jacob's well, with the steeps and streams and flowery vales of Galilee around Him, were precious to her heart: "Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." She had tasted of this water, and it was a perpetual source of refreshment to her, which it is to be feared Flavel Roberts knew nothing of. Better to have persecution and poverty with this water than a life of ease with the goblet of iniquity.

On one occasion Flavel Roberts and his wife were both at the market together, standing before a shoemaker's stall; for Eleanor wanted a new pair of boots. And she was sadly in

need of them, poor wife! The pair she then had on, which was all she possessed, had holes through the bottoms, into which she had put socks that day, cut from an old cast-off billycock of her husband's, to keep her feet as dry as she well could. But the roads were very dirty, they had no horse or trap of their own, and consequently had to walk, so that the water of many a plashy pool oozed in through the worn-out soles, and both her stockings were wet and dirty. Flavel, however, insisted that she should try on a pair, which the shoemaker offered at a low price; and poor Eleanor got behind a cart, where scarcely any one could see her, and pulled and tugged with a vain endeavour to get the boot on her foot over the wet stocking. She protested that it was not large enough, whilst her husband vowed that it was, saying that she had no judgment whatever; whilst the greasy, soft-eyed shoemaker coaxed her into a partial conviction of their utility through the dampness of her feet. So the boots were bought and carried home in the basket, with the ham and eggs and coffee; and patient Eleanor Roberts was made to wear them. But they were much too small, and galled her feet considerably, though Flavel Roberts declared he knew better, and that it could not be so. So she continued to wear them for quiet's sake, and to keep the angel of peace in the house. Corns, however, came on very quickly, some of which she never got rid of again, making her lame until she could walk steadily no longer. A hundred times she told him they were too small and crippling her feet, but he declared he knew better; nor was he convinced when Eleanor was obliged to desist from wearing them, and they were laid on a high shelf, just half worn out.

He left his home in great fling one morning to go to his work, for he had over-slept himself and was late. Eleanor had called him as usual, telling him breakfast was ready, and the lambs frisking in the meadows. He rolled over in the sheets, rubbed his eyes, yawned, and replied that he knew better. Suddenly the old eight-day clock on the stairs struck seven, and up Flavel Roberts jumped, and rushed off without his coffee and bacon. It is true he took a large slice of bread in his hand, which he began to eat as he stepped over the threshold,and turned into a narrow lane leading across a valley near the cliff. Now, though this was a nearer cut to Farmer Patchmoor's, it was considered to be very dangerous, owing, espe

cially, to a curve near the edge of a precipice, and consequently was but seldom traversed. Eleanor noticed the way he had taken, when she called after him, and entreated him not to attempt it, saying it was much worse for the recent rains; but he howled back at the top of his voice, which rang in the trees, and echoed over the housetop, "I KNOW BETTER!" So she watched him out of sight, and then went back to her household duties with her stiffnecked husband's last words ringing in her ears.

During the day she had many strange misgivings; whilst solemn sounds seemed to fill the house. Eleanor scarcely knew what her hands were doing, or where her thoughts were wandering. She put the trencher in the coal-house, and gave the cat the salt-cellar instead of the milk-plate. Unconsciously she several times stood in the door-way and turned her face towards the dangerous pass which her husband had to cross; and sighs followed one another which she could not repress. The wind came whistling over the thatch, and a hoarse moan she had never noticed before seemed to be haunting the glen. She tried to eat at dinner-time, but her appetite had failed her; and she sat down in her accustomed place, rested her head upon her hands, and wept. But it was no unusual thing for Eleanor Roberts to shed tears and tell her Heavenly Father all. And thus it was at this time, though the birds sang in the sycamore, and the great sun flung his beams upon smiling earth, as if the sound of sorrow never travelled upon the laden air.

the

The clock struck six, and she had his supper prepared for him, and the white cloth upon the table. In half-an-hour he would come, as he always did. But the clock struck seven, and there was no Flavel Roberts. Hark! she hears a step outside approaching the door-but it was not Flavel's. Her heart misgave her, for it was her husband's workmate in the fields. "Where is Flavel?" he asked, "he has not been to the meadow to-day." The discharge of a rifle in the room could not have frightened her more; she sank into a chair and fainted. After a while she so far recovered as to tell him how her husband had left home in the morning, and the way he had taken to go to his work. In company with a neighbour his fellow-labourer went off in search of him. They soon found that there had been a land-slip along the cliff,

which was so recent that it had probably gone away when Flavel Roberts was on it. They descended the precipice; and among the loose stones and earth they found him, bruised and broken, but still breathing.

This was told to Eleanor, who had left her home and was on her way to the cliff. Carefully they carried him to his dwelling, and laid him upon the bed. Here he remained for many months, tenderly cared for by his patient wife, who nursed him with all the love of her sex. She read hymns, and poems, and Bible promises to him with such a tender pathos, and such true melody in her voice, that his heart was softened, and the tears would frequently steal into his eyes. His stubborn nature was subdued by the Good Spirit, his self-conceit gave way, his iron will was broken, and he became childlike and affectionate. Eleanor's God had spoken to him, and he had yielded to His voice. Truly, it was good for Flavel Roberts that he had been afflicted, for he had thereby learned the grandest lesson it is possible to be taught.

Health returned to Flavel Roberts, and their home was like a different place. Eleanor's winter was changed to summer, and buds of hope brightened on every bough. Not a cross word was ever uttered in her ear, no cold rebuke smote her soul. He went with her to her usual place of prayer; and they bowed their knees together before Jehovah, when the evening star looked in upon them through the diamond panes of their little window. And whether Flavel Roberts was ploughing or sowing; whether he was driving the cart or watering the team; whether he was with his workmate in the meadow, or sitting with Eleanor in their own changed home, he was never heard to utter again, "I know better; but was quite willing to listen, and even to be guided by a little child.

SOLOMON SMITH'S SURPRISE.

ND still the bells pealed forth their merry music, sounding over the green fields, up the hill-sides through the forest, and far away over the waters of the lake, where the white tufts of the rushes waved in the breeze. School

boys heard and clapped their hands, waving their satchels in the air; fair young damsels, standing in the doors of their dwellings, drank in the music, and wondered when their marriage day would come; and old men and women spoke more pleasantly and smiled more deliciously because of this merry peal. And still the echoes were repeated, ding, dong, bell over the roofs of the hamlet, down by the great millwheel, through the orchard, and on by the cottage on the cliff -ding, dong, bell! Ding, dong, bell!

Down the lane by the pleasant village of Mossmay, where the old church belfry flung forth such music on this quiet summer day, came a middle-aged man, bearing a small bundle upon his shoulder. He was decently clad, viz., he wore a cloth coat, a good hat, nice boots and trousers; and a watchseal and key were visible a little below the bottom of his waistcoat. Hearing the sound of the bells, he paused, rested his hands upon a gate, and looked towards the church stile, from whence a path diverged into the green fields. Presently the wedding train became apparent, passing from meadow to meadow, until it was lost among the foliage of the thick trees.

This was Solomon Smith. He had been abroad and prospered, and had now returned to his native home. For the first thirty years of his working life he had laboured in this neighbourhood under one master, serving him faithfully and fully, adding, thereby, much gold to his coffers. His master, however, suddenly dismissed him. A few weeks later found Solomon on board an emigrant ship, with several others, bound for the gold fields. After a somewhat stormy passage, they landed without a single casualty. He set to work in earnest; refrained from the beer cup and the gambling-room, betook himself to reading his Bible and attending camp meetings, and, by-and-bye, was one of the most respected men in the diggings. Gold dust increased, nuggets were multiplied, sundry commissions proved successful, and with a yearning desire to see once more the haunts of his boyhood, he turned his face towards England, and reached Mossmay in due course, to hear the ringing of the marriage bells.

His wife had died in the first year of their marriage, leaving him a little daughter of the name of Hoytt. He placed her with her aunt, an old stocking-knitting dame in the ham