We may live without books-what is knowledge but grieving?
We may live without hope-what is hope but deceiving?
We may live without love-what is passion but pining?
But where is the man that can live without dining?'

So you see, Ada, you are just striking out of your list the one indispensable accomplishment."

"He was a greedy creature who wrote that," she cried. "I hope if he is not already married he will unite himself at once to his cook, and that she will stuff him until he is glad to go without his dinner."

"Seriously, though," said Edward, endeavouring to imitate her tone of banter, whilst more than one of the party divined that he was striving to cover strong emotion, "if you marry a poor man, shall you not try to like domestic affairs?"

"Of course; but I hope, when I have a husband, he will wish me to be his companion, not his cook, and that he will not be so very poor as to require me to drudge."

The subject dropped. Edward felt that as she regarded household duties in the light of drudgery, argument was wasted. Still the struggle in his heart was not over. Ada was so sweet, so winsome, so fragile, was it reasonable to expect her to come into rough contact with the hard realities even of domestic life? Ought she ever to soil those dainty fingers, or be anything in the home but the beautiful fairy, commanding and obeyed by all? Ought she not to be surrounded by every comfort and luxury the world afforded; to be always waited on and petted? How much income would that take? Revolving these thoughts in his mind he lay half the night feverish and wretched, and the morning found him still undecided about his future course. With great self-command, however, he met Ada at breakfast, betraying in no way the state of his feelings--resolved to wait the four days at least, and even then to try and abide by his mother's counsel; but he felt he could not go on seeing Ada and be safe, and that he had better get his father to

assign him a business journey. It was a sore struggleprudence against love; the gratification of a present passion at the risk of life-long repentance. How few conquer under such temptations, how inadequate the weapons seem for the intensity of the fight! During the brief interval he had allotted to himself, Edward narrowly observed his cousin, and, though nothing of her beauty, nothing of her sweetness, was lost upon him, strove to make his notes in an unbiassed spirit.

"Oh!" he sighed, as he lay down to rest on the third night of his probation, "she is but a pretty toy; a man should not only have heart, hand, and competence to offer her, but £5,000 a year at least!"

"Mother," he said, when he again sought her in her own room, "it is all over. I see it would not do. I love her well, and should love her better, but that I fear the consequences. I am going away to-morrow for two or three months, and shall get over it by the time I return, and then, too, Ada will have gone home."

And so Mrs. Heath was justified in having accredited Edward with the spirit of wisdom; but that night she thanked God as for a great deliverance, and resolved never again to place a like temptation in the way of her

sons.

Three months went by and yet Edward Heath had not returned, and his father began to hint that the Leeds journey was somewhat prolonged this year. "Yes," he wrote to his mother, "I must plead guilty to my father's assertion that the business here has been long in doing. But, indeed, I have not lost time until the last month. Why have I done so at all, mother mine? I have told you often how much at home I have been with your old friends the Wilmots, and I am sure I have mentioned that their eldest daughter, Isabel, is a sweet girl. She is two years younger than myself; not exactly pretty, but with a calm, thoughtful

face and beautiful brown eyes; and she is just such a housewife as our Janet, and has, like her, cultivated tastes; sings well, too, and charms everybody when she reads aloud. I have no doubt now-I am so sure, that I feel I need scarcely ask your advice-sure too, that for my sake you will take her to your heart as a daughter. There is no glamour of beauty or fascination of manner over me now; I have perfect confidence in the object of my choice, as I never could have had in that other sweet girl, who, for a time, enchained my fancy. In this one, my Isabel, I know the heart of her husband may safely trust."

When Ada heard of Edward's engagement, she bit her lip until the blood came, and it was a long time ere she regained her composure. "They all hated me; they were all enemies, every one, and would not let him love me," she cried, in the bitterness of her spirit. It never occurred to her that it was within the limits of possibility he might have discovered for himself that between them there was none of the "suitability of mind and purpose" which alone can render marriage happy.

Is not the disregard of this consideration the primary cause of so many unhappy marriages nowadays? Men, as a rule, look with favour on pretty, soft, little women, thinking them gentle and amiable-to be mouided, like wax, to their will and way; and soon after marriage are surprised to find them capable of energetic resistance with opposing wills of their own. Then comes the unseemly strife for mastery— the display of temper on both sides, ending too often in permanent coldness, estrangement, or aversion. Sometimes, indeed, a man's affection will cling round the poor incapable creature he has brought to rule his house and be the mother of his children; but he leaves her to bear the household troubles she has not the strength to battle with, and finds his pleasures apart from her.

The expense of dressing daughters, of keeping up appear

ances, of taking them out and giving entertainments with reference to their matrimonial prospects, is so serious that parents often urge girls to accept offers backed by the necessary means without giving any consideration to this "suitability of mind and purpose." "Their "shaking down together" in life might be altogether an unimportant element in the bargain, so entirely is it left to chance. Very badly often does the daughter fare who does not go off"-who cannot succeed in attracting a husband of one sort or another. Educated with a view to thus attracting-she has been taught nothing really useful by which she could earn her own livelihood, and is compelled to remain a burthen at home; being constantly reminded of all that has been done for her, and of her wretched inability to avail herself of her opportunities. “Oh, that I could go out as a servant," many such a girl has sighed; "but I do not know how to work-nobody would take me, either, without a character. I cannot teach; I cannot make a dress-and so must remain in this miserable bondage always."

How far better would it be if parents brought up their daughters in a home-like manner, accustoming them to perform household duties, and to care with self-denying zeal for the comforts of others. Never presenting marriage to her girls as the end for which they have been born and educated, a mother would do well to prepare them for it by instruction in every branch of domestic economy. She should feel assured that although they may never possess homes of their own, these her cherished ones may, by the exercise of their knowledge in the behalf of others, win for themselves abundant gratitude and love.

CHAPTER XI.

HE baby is born, and all is well," was the glad news told one January night to Mr. Arkroyd, on his return from the City. Glad news, indeed; for had he not looked for this event to restore his wife's health, to give her fresh interests, and inaugurate a new reign of peace and order in his home? How tender he was to Lily, how delighted with the tiny little being he peeped at between its wraps.

"Not a very strong child, nurse, do you say?"

"I fear not, sir; she will require much care, and Mrs. Arkroyd, I hear, does not intend to nurse her."

"She fancies she will not be strong enough; but depend upon it, sir, nature is only thwarted when ladies decline this duty, and she will not be any the better for it."

"Do you expect the child will suffer if brought up by hand?"

"Of course I do. Supposing even you could procure good milk for her in London, it is but a poor substitute for the natural nourishment, and delicate children seldom thrive upon it."

"Then what do you recommend, nurse?"

"Well, sir, first I should use all my influence to induce Mrs. Arkroyd to attempt the nursing, and failing that, engage a wet nurse."

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"Monstrous suggestion," he thought. "I will give Lily anything she asks to save such an alternative." Doctor," he said to the medical attendant when they were alone together, "what about the nursing?"