with disunion between husband and wife, who would pull in opposite directions. And as for getting up soires as they call it, she could seldom scrape together musical talent enough to make it anything but a failure. And to tell the truth, very few members of our hard-working community had any taste for things of that sort. And you know what people don't understand they generally ridicule; hence my girl's attempts at grandeur most always ended in being laughed at."

Aunt Ruth manifested symptoms of being tired, wherefore Lea declared that they would let her off for the night if she would continue the night after tomorrow when they would bring in two more girls "to listen to this most interesting story of yours, aunty, only I shall have to tell them what has gone before."

"Isabel won't be here," put in Flora, "she is going to a dance with Mr.”

"Yes, Isabel will be here," interposed that young lady, firmly, and Lea was wondering whether Aunt Ruth's story was already taking effect; but she said nothing.

"I think," began Aunt Ruth, a few evenings later, when the young people, the two expected young girls, included, were gathered around the bright fire as had been their custom since Aunt Ruth came to visit them, "I think that there is a good deal of truth in what I've heard or read some

where, that the man who does not love little children is not a good man. I don't know as it is true in all cases, but as a rule I think you will find it to be so. It is my opinion--my own individual opinion that the man or woman who is so engrossed in himself that he remains unmoved by the sight of the innocent little one, who, conscious of the irresistible power of its weakness, as it were, raises his little face expectantly, sure that some kind look or word will be his, must be a thoroughly selfish creature. And I have seen Mr. Brown do that a number of times; in fact I never saw him speak to or notice a child. But I am rather getting ahead of my story.

"When Clara had thoroughly aired her bit of grandeur, when the novelty of being married to a handsome young man with plenty of money had worn off somewhat, when her pretty home had lost the charm of being entirely new, and she had swallowed a sufficient quantity of trashy novels to make. her out and out disgusted with that sort of literature, she began to realize that there was some

thing lacking. And a desire to go back to the old homely, God-fearing way of living she had been raised in, was born in her. She began to think how lovely it would be if she and her husband could have prayers together before they retired for the night. And with sadness she remembered the spirit. of comfort and safety that ever prevailed her father's house, where its inmates strove to wander in the

way of rectitude. And in an uncertain, distrustful way she asked the Lord that He would help her to do better in the future. But even as she rose to her feet a sigh escaped her as she remembered with what perfect trust and confidence she had come before her Heavenly Father in former days. And her husband's disregard of religion, which she, after the first shock had tried to view through a microscope, began to stare her glaringly in the eye on every occasion.

"The knowledge that he was so handsome and could be so loving and tender was no longer sufficient to satisfy the cravings of her heart. She also noticed that he did not like her to visit with her friends at home and it stung her to the quick, that her good parents who had ever possessed the respect of all that knew them, should not be good enough for her husband; and gradually a coolness sprang up between them, under which Clara suffered severely.

"They had been married very nearly two years and still had no children. And when the joyful hope was born within her that ere many months she would be a mother, Clara welcomed it with the greatest flash of happiness she had ever experienced. This would be the end of all her unhappiness; this would bring back the love and union between herself and husband; this would be a stimulus to godliness. She would teach her child and his tiny hands should lead the father to the throne of

a

grace. All would yet be well. Peace and happiness would be theirs; they would live in love. and harmony with her dear parents. And while the unknown future assumed these bright colors and her cheeks dimpled with happy smile, her husband came in and seeing her looking so cheerful and happy went over to her at once and wanted to know the cause of her bright and beautiful looks. The joy of the secret she possessed yet unshared by him, overcame her so that tears filled her eyes, and she dared not trust her voice but whispered, sweetly blushing, that he would soon be a father. What was her amazement, her terror when, instead of being folded lovingly to his heart, and hear it throb with exciting joy at the glorious prospect, he flung the arm that had stolen around his neck away with the greatest impatience and said as he turned and took off his coat:

"'Nonsense! Don't be like the rest of them, Clara, for pity sake, and go crazy over the prospects of a child! What do we want with a child, anyway? Am I not enough for you? You are enough for me, surely!'

"Clara had stood motionless with her arms hanging almost lifeless at her sides. She now crossed them on her bosom and bowing her head she whispered with white and quivering lips: 'Lord, my punishment is great; help me, oh help me to bear it.'

"Seeing her thus, the very picture of the greatest grief, her for

lorn attitude smote his heart and he went back to her and tried by soothing words to undo the effect of what he had said. But while she suffered him to caress her her hands lay cold and irresponsive in his and her heart lay like lead in her bosom. Her love had received its death-wound. She felt it, his word had told her: he was not a good man.

"Some days later Clara. confided her sweet secret to her mother and myself. And I wondered at the sorrowful look in her eyes though her words sounded so happy, and taking one of her hands between hers her mother said: 'Surely, my dear girl, you have great reason to be grateful to your Heavenly Father; for in motherhood lies the greatest blessings, the purest joy, the sweetest greatness and the grandest prospects hereafter for woman. And you know that children are the strongest ties between husband and wife, and may often lead a straying father back to duty's path.' And while her mother spoke my girl stood clutching her handkerchief first with one hand then with the other, while her lips worked nervously, and I believe she would have disclosed something had not her pride and love for her husband forbidden her.

"Well, we saw less and less of her after that, and it grieved us all more than I can tell you, especially her poor mother, who felt that her girl needed her now more than ever. But, of course, could not intrude, we felt we were

we

not wanted, and bore it as well as we could.

"For many months Clara suffered greatly mentally, the more severely because she could not confide her sorrow to anyone. She tried to be the same to her husband outwardly; but strive as she may she could not forget his word or his conduct on that memorable day when she had become confident of the happiness in store for her. It was ever present. When she sat on the sunny porch in the early spring-time, busy with her dainty little things, softly singing and wondering how she could have been so selfishly happy these two years of her married life that she had scarcely bestowed a thought on anything that did not concern herself and her husband, the shadow hovered in the background and came forward as soon as it had the least little chance of crowding itself in. Then the singing would cease, the work would drop and while looking at the birds that flitted so frolicsome about and trying to think of them and their domestic life, the shadow would whisper his words over and over again. Then she would resolutely pick up her sewing again and drive it from her mind, when presently it would come back again in another shape.

"Isn't it strange,' she would muse, 'that he, who is otherwise so -so noble,' she would hurry over the word--and handsome'-she would linger on that, 'should feel that way about children!' Then she would vehemently assert that

he was a good man, as if some doubtful voice had whispered ever so faintly. But as her time drew nearer she found more and more consolation in her mother's words, that a child often brings back a straying father to duty's path.

"Well, early in the summer the little one came and was welcomed to his mother's loving heart. And it cannot be denied that Mr. Brown seemed very proud of his mite of a son as well as of its pretty mother. Clara seemed to me lovelier than ever and for several months she was so completely absorbed in her treasure that all else was thrust into the background. She could not for the life of her see what she had ever lived for before. She could not now imagine why she had been such a silly goose to worry over anything in this world. She was all right now, just so no harm befell her baby. Even her husband's interests fared ill. She was not as attentive to his wants and wishes as she used to be; neither did she spend the time and attention on her looks that she did in former days, when she was ever loath to have him come home and find even a curl out of place. And of course, this negligence on her part displeased the master of the house. It annoyed him that his wishes. were slighted, it piqued him that she should have found anything more interesting than him; and he grew impatient with the baby; for of course, if ever or whenever they were seated for a comfortable chat, if baby made the least little noise

Clara must dart away to him, although she had a servant to take care of him. Then her liege lord would mutter something between his teeth and often when she came back she would find him gone. Well, in the beginning she did not mind this; she did not even wonder where he had gone, but went contentedly back to her baby; but as the months rolled by and the baby little by little ceased to be the greatest wonder in the world; when he assumed the aspect of a very natural little willful fellow, who could not bear to be crossed in his desires, Clara began to curl her bangs again, hunt up her smartest dresses and look about for her husband to admire her as formerly. But lo and behold, he was gone: that is, he came home to his meals, read the papers while he swallowed his food and then went out in town again.

"Then Clara realized that she had let go her hold on him; that she had perhaps bestowed too much attention on the little one and too little on him; that she herself had let the baby come in between them instead, as she had hoped, it would have brought them nearer each other. And with the dawning of this truth also came the fervent desire of having him back again.

"Well, Susan and Julia, that is your mother at the gate!" exclaimed Aunt Ruth, as the gate clicked and the well known "Julia!" was heard outside. With a sigh of regret the girls left after first having exacted the promise.

I SIT and dream in the twilight hour

Of days gone by forever;

When my mother sat in the shady bow'r,
And would talk with me in the twilight hour-
Ah! why should fond hearts sever.

And would talk of joy and then of sorrow,
And oft with fond emotion;
While indulging thus in social chat,
On fancy's wing we would wander back,
Across the grand old ocean.

Together we'd cross the mighty deep,

And roam through fields and clover,

Till at last we would reach the dear old street,
And would open the door and take a peep,
And scan the old home over.

And all unconscious that we were there;
In loving tones and tender,

We could hear them talk of Mary and Clare,
While granny so wistful sat in her chair.

That home-ah we remember!

Never more on earth will fancy lure,

Our hearts away together;

For mother has gone where the good and pure, The tried and the true alone can endure, Forever and forever.

So now I sit in my lonely bow'r.

And dream all my dreams alone;

And I watch and wait for the twilight hour
When I shall away to my Father's bow'r
Whither my loved one has flown.

R. M F.

WORSE THAN DEATH.
THREE STORIES TOLD IN ONE.
PART FIRST.

A GROUP of four ladies sat together conversing in a certain town in this Territory. They were all members of the Church,

in excellent standing, and were all of them married women, although one of them had never been blessed with children. The room in which they sat was well furnished, and bore every evidence of being the home of taste combined with ample means and a love of the beautiful. The pictures on the walls were neither too gaudy nor were they incongruous. The curtains and carpets were all chosen with a view to heightening the effect made by the heavy and

exquisitely tinted wall paper. The parlor, for such it really was, had nothing cheap nor flimsy to mar the effect of its simple but elegant interior.

The group of ladies were of various ages, the lady who sat in the low rocking chair, the lady of the house, was well advanced in years, and her face bore traces of much suffering. She sat silently listening to the eager talk of the others, not taking any part herself in the discussion; on her face rested a sad and pained look, as if the conversation was utterly distasteful to her.

"Surprised? Well I should say I was surprised. I never could have believed it," said one of the visitors, "if I had not seen it with my own eyes! I was sitting under the trees watching my little girl lest she should fall in the stream of water that flows through the grove, when whom should I see walking towards us, with her two little boys by her side, but Mrs. Armitage."

"It don't seem possible!" ex