scious of shrinking coldly and haughtily back | from her affectionate salute, and her heart smote her for it a moment afterwards, while her manner grew even more restrained and embarrassed. That night, Winifred mentioned the illness of an old friend of her mother's, which would oblige her to leave them sooner than she had expected. Tracy seemed hurt and vexed, but Gertrude inwardly rejoiced; and a few days afterwards, the pale, silent Winifred quitted the home of her childhood for the first time. Gertrude was touched by her manner, by the prayerful kindness of her parting words, and felt what was indeed the truth, that she had driven her away by her coldness; and if so, how careful Winifred had been to keep all suspicion of the real cause of her departure from her brother, whose anger fell only upon her for leaving them so abruptly. Gertrude sat long and silent after she was gone, lost in thought: she would have given much to have recalled her last letter to Alicia, and all the foolish things she had said in it about old maids in general, and her sister-in-law in particular. She wondered how it was that Winifred had never married, and upon questioning her husband on the subject, discovered that she had been engaged for several years to a young officer, to whom she was to have been united on his return from India; and even the wedding-day was fixed; when the news came that he had died of a fever on his passage home. "Poor Winifred!" added her brother; "she is much changed since then, and will never, I fear, be quite happy again. But do not weep so, Gertrude, dear, or I shall be sorry that I told you anything about it." He little guessed the mingled feelings of shame and pity that drew forth those bitter tears.

continued the young wife, "or be buried alive.
It's just the same as living here."
"What is it you wish?" asked Mr. Cunning-
ham, gravely.

66

Not to spend all the summer days of my young life poring over musty old books, and going from cottage to cottage-the same thing over and over again, week after week, and month after month; while others of my own age are gay and happy. Why, I have not had a single dance since we were married!"

"And so you find it dull and weary living here?" Gertrude hesitated, for there was something in that stern, sad gaze that made her tremble. "Well, well, perhaps it is only natural. What madness, to dream that I could make the happiness of one so young and beautiful!" There were tears in his voice, but his eyes were dry and burning as he moved away.

How the heart of poor Gertrude smote her at that moment, for its wild, childish folly, and turned with a strange yearning towards the husband she had thus grieved, and alienated from her perhaps for ever!

"Forgive me!" murmured she; but her voice was low and feeble, and Tracy Cunningham heard her not, but was recalled a moment afterwards by her falling heavily to the ground.

A long and dangerous illness followed, during which Winifred, who had returned instantly at her brother's request, watched over her day and night; while Gertrude was too feeble to do more than kiss the hand that ministered so kindly to her sufferings, or the pale, sweet face, that bent over her with a sister's loveful blessing; and so the estrangement between them passed away from that time.

Mr. Cunningham made no allusion to the past, and willingly attributed those wild words to the burning fever, which had left her weak and helpless as a child. But nevertheless, they were not without their warning; and he resolved, if heaven spared her, that she should never again have to complain of the dulness of her home. His soothing kindness sank deeply into the heart of the invalid. From that time Gertrude seemed to awake to a new life: then it was she first learned to love and appreciate all the nobler qualities of her husband's mind. What happiness it was to lie still and listen to Wini

The quiet seclusion of her new home must have seemed strange enough, just at first, to one accustomed as Gertrude had been to the constant gaiety and excitement of a London life; but nevertheless she would doubtless have soon got used to it, and entered with all the enthusiasm of her kind young heart into her husband's schemes of benevolent usefulness, but for the letters which she was constantly receiving from Alicia Villiers, filled with the most vivid description of all that she had forsaken; and in which many a contrast was drawn between the past and present, far from favourable to the lat-fred's affectionate praise of this dear brother, ter; and much ill-judged, but kindly-meant sympathy bestowed where it was in reality little needed, creating the very evils which it sought to ameliorate. The perusal of one of these epistles-crossed and recrossed, until it would have been almost unintelligible to any one else never failed to make her discontented and unhappy, awakening a thousand vain repinings; and Mr. Cunningham noticed at length that she looked pale and changed. "You are ill, dearest!" said he, taking her burning hands in his.

and the little traits she had to tell of his boyhood, in which there was always something bright and good. When she was a little recovered, Winifred brought her a long letter from Alicia Villiers, which she had feared to give her before, and was almost sorry that she had not kept back still longer, on beholding the uncontrollable agitation with which her sister-inlaw perused it. Alicia had heard of her illness, and asked permission to come and nurse her. "It must be so bad," she wrote, "to be all alone, with no one to love or care for you. They tell me that Miss Cunningham has returned. Ah, my Gertrude, how I pity you! But remember, that you have still one faithful friend re"One had better go into a convent at once," maining, who would willingly lay down her very

"No, not ill; but weary, weary to death of this miserable place." And her passionate sobs almost choked her.

"Gertrude!"

life, if it could but bring back the lost happiness | not a wish ungratified. She went occasionally of your girlhood!"

was sure he would believe her without that. She would point out the date of that silly letter-oh, why was it not burned with the rest ?-and make him laugh at her description of the aforesaid Charles Staniforth, her boy-lover! And he would forgive, as his sister had done, and call her a silly child; and they would love one another better than ever!

How eloquent was Gertrude in imagination! how hopeful, as she laid her hand eagerly upon the handle of the study-door! But it was fastened inside. And then she called to him: "Tracy! dear Tracy, let me in!" But he stirred not. Again and again did the young wife implore admittance, with no better result; and her heart sunk within her as she withdrew, at length, in tears, to her own apartment; and still she smiled amid her weeping-"Ah, this will not last long; he loves me too well!"

That evening she was lonely indeed: each time the door of their little sitting-room opened, she looked wistfully up, listening for every sound but still he came not.

"How terrible is this estrangement!" thought Gertrude: "but it will never happen again: it is our first and last quarrel; and poor Tracy is doubtless regretting it, and feeling as wretched and miserable as myself. I will go to him once more; perhaps he will let me in now. I deserved that he should be angry with me." It was nearly dark: a tall figure moved hastily away as she opened the door. Tracy, is it you?" asked Gertrude, timidly. "But you are not going out?"

Winifred wept as she read. "How they lore one another!" thought she; "and they will yet be reconciled!"

She showed the letter to Gertrude, together with her own reply, containing a clear explana tion of the real truth; and so gentle and earnest in its pleadings for pardon for her "dear sister," as she called her, that it could scarcely fail to touch and convince him-at least they both thought so.

"But may I not write, too," asked Gertrude, "and tell him that I am not so very ill, lest he should grieve for me?"

"Say what you will, dearest; but I must not have you fatigue and agitate yourself." "Oh, I am well, now!" And truly from that hour Gertrude became an altered creature.

She arose up from her sick couch, and went to the school for the first time since her husband's departure: for she thought it would please him to find that she had not neglected what he took so much interest in; and the joy of the little children to see her again soothed and did her good. Every day she was out in the village, superintending the improvements he had suggested. Then there were his favourite plants to look after, and the little bower where she used to make tea for him of a summer evening, which had been sadly neglected, and required a world of care. Long before the letter could have even reached him, Gertrude had arranged every; thing in his study with her own hands, and called Winifred to come and see how snug and cheerful it looked.

Mr. Cunningham paused; he held out his "And now you must rest a little," said her arms, and kissed her forehead and lips with pas-sister-in-law; "for be sure that Tracy, for the sionate fondness, as she nestled closely to his bosom. "God forgive you!" exclaimed he, in a hoarse and choking voice, and make you happy at last!"

"Tracy! Tracy! do not leave me!"

first few days, will look at nothing but yourself.” "But I am not so thin as I was," replied Gertrude, putting back the hair from her pale face. "Not quite, am I, Winifred?"

"Not quite," repeated her companion, kindly. "And when I tell Tracy it was losing him

beauty he so often praised, he will not love me less on that account.”

But he was gone-gone for years, perhaps for ever! It was not, however, until the follow-that made me so ill, and dimmed the bright ing morning, that Gertrude was fully aware of the misery in store for her, and from that hour she never smiled again! Winifred came to her immediately on the receipt of her brother's wild and passionate letter; but it was too late. He had given no address; merely stating that he was going abroad, and promising that she should hear from him from time to time. Nearly the whole of his splendid property was settled upon his wife, who was either to continue to maintain their present establishment, or return to her father's house, as she thought proper; but he doubted not she would prefer the latter. Poor Gertrude! she felt like one stricken down by some heavy blow, and could only pray to die. Her heart was broken, and she withered day by day. Winifred never left her from that time.

Months passed away, and then came a brief note from Mr. Cunningham to his sister, asking tidings of the home and the beloved one he had deserted. "Was she well? Was she happy, once more, among her own family, and the friends of her youth? Oh, why had he ever taken her thence!"

Neither of them seemed ever to have entertained a doubt that all would end well, and their most sanguine expectations were more than realized by the arrival of a brief note from Mr. Cunningham, full of affectionate remorse, and announcing his speedy return. Poor Gertrude! she was like one wild with joy. She told even the little school children that her husband was coming back, asking them if they were not very glad, to which they readily replied in the affirmative; for they had just been told of the treat they were to have on the occasion. Her cheeks were crimson with excitement, and her eyes brilliant as stars. She laughed, and clapped her hands at sight of herself in the mirror, looking more beautiful than ever, declaring that Tracy would never believe she had been ill.

The last few weeks seemed longer than all the rest; and now it was the very day, almost the very hour that he had named. The sisters stood in the twilight, upon the hall-steps, with their

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arms around each other's waists, in breathless | ANSWER TO MRS. ABDY'S CHARADE. silence. Gertrude was the first to hear the sound of carriage-wheels in the distance: nearer and nearer did it approach. Oh, it could not have come more rapidly! The horses were covered with foam: and now it has stopped suddenly. Gertrude uttered a wild cry-it might have been joy, or pain-and a moment afterwards lay pale and motionless in her husband's

arms.

"She has but fainted," said Winifred, soothingly, as she bent fondly over them both. "Speak to her, brother; she will know your voice !"

But it was in vain that Tracy called upon her in his agony, by every endearing name, covering her pale brow with his tears and kisses. They bore her in, and laid her upon the bed; but poor Gertrude never spoke or stirred again; her heart had broken in that wild cry!

And now, like the old Greek sculptor, we would fain throw a veil over that which mocks description, and so terminate a melancholy history for the most part, but containing nevertheless an earnest and truthful lesson, which it were well that we should learn by heart. In the records of every-day life there are a thousand such scenes of domestic bitterness and estrangement, of secret tears and vain repining, and even of guilt, all to be traced back to the same source. Winifred was right-" When a girl marries, she needs no friend but her husband -no confidant, whatever his faults may be, but her God!" a golden rule, that can never be broken through with impunity. We are willing to grant that poor Gertrude's was an extreme case, and might have related others where the blight gathered more slowly, but not less surely, over hearth and homestead, and never passed thence again, eating out the heart of domestic happiness like the canker in a rose, where the cause and the punishment were neither so obvious nor so terrible. But it was the first that occurred to us; and we can only hope that the sad warning contained in this little history may not have been written in vain.

SONNET.

BY J. J. REYNOLDS.

Good night! Good night! two words, how soft, how sweet!

When issuing from the lips of those we love.
By this short, simple phrase may be express'd
A thousand wishes kindly and sincere ;

And yet, when parting thus, too oft we greet
With soul unmov'd, as tho' 'twere nought above

A formal compliment, and not a test

Or fond renewal of affection dear.

Did we reflect, the hand then clasping ours
Ere from the glorious east the daybeams dart
Pulseless in death may lie. The eyes so bright,
Glancing adieu, may in a few brief hours

For aye be shut. How truthfully the heart Would echo to the wish-Good night! good night!

The lamps are bright in the spendthrift's hall;
'Tis mirth, and feasting, and riotry all-
The goblets pass, and the dice are thrown;
Now a desperate stake is left alone-
And the heir hath lost. Lo, gliding in,
The usurer cometh, that man of sin,
And works his will: deeds that shame the light
Are fittest wrought in the ghostly Night.

That night was wild as a night may be,
For the storm-blast blew right fitfully;
And the lightning's glare and the thunder's roll
Struck fear and awe into many a soul:
It was an hour e'en the good would shun;
But the wicked are bold till their task is done;
And speedy and strong her lord to bear
To his fraudful act was the usurer's Mare.

"There is a comfort in the strength of love:

It makes a thing endurable, which else

Would overset the brain, or break the heart."-WORDSWORth.

"We bestow our love with lavish thoughtlessness; but the difficulty lies in recalling it, when the convietion at length comes home to us that it has been indeed misplaced."-ELIZABETH YOUATT.