"I do. My mother acts from the same high obligations."

“And you do the same?”

Hartley looked earnestly into his companion's face as he said this, that not a single varying shade of its expression might be lost.

"I try to do so," was the modestly spoken answer; "but I am conscious, every day, that my efforts are altogether imperfect. That my character is not yet based upon an ever-abiding love of the truth for its own sake." "I am glad to hear you say so," Hartley returned, with a smile.

"Glad!" And Anna looked at the young man with surprise.

"Yes, glad. Like you, I am struggling to make the laws of moral and civil life one with the laws of divine order; but my efforts are imperfect, and my progress very slow. Sometimes I seem not to advance at all. Is not that your own experience?"

"It is; and I sometimes fear will ever be. Yet we must remember Him who promises that his strength shall be made perfect in our weakness. But why should you

be glad at my imperfections ?"

Hartley ventured to take her hand. She yielded it passively. Looking steadily into her mild, blue eyes, he said,

"Because I feared that you were perfect; and if so, I should have been without hope."

The eyes of the maiden fell suddenly. A burning blush covered her whole face, yet she did not withdraw the hand that was held by her companion.

"But, like myself, you are conscious of imperfections -conscious of weakness and evil, and, like myself, are struggling to rise above them," continued Hartley, tightening his hold upon the small, soft hand that lay so passively in his. "Shall we not help each other to rise into a higher and better life? Shall we not, together, struggle with temptation, and together find a Sabbath rest when we have conquered? Shall we not strive to find that strength from on high which we have not in ourselves, and seek from our blessed Saviour, and by the right he hath purchased for us by his own blood, that most precious of all gifts, the holy Spirit?" His voice deepened under the excitement of the moment, and the earnestness of his own feelings; and Anna thought he had never before seemed so worthy of her love. He once more appealed to her to respond to his feelings, but her look shewed that no words were needed to assure him of her sympathy and unity with him.

Anna could not reply; but her heart was fluttering with joy. She could only let her hand remain in that of her lover; and she did let it remain, and even returned his tight clasp with a gentle pressure.

When Hartley passed from the door of Mr Lee's dwelling, he was bewilderingly happy. Anna had consented, with her parents' approbation, to accept his hand in marriage.

CHAPTER XIII.-CONCLUSION.

ANNA's wedding-day quickly came. To her it brought mingled feelings of pleasure and sadness. The maiden was about to take upon herself a wife's duties, to enter upon an untried sphere of action. To step from the peaceful happy home of her father, into the dwelling of a husband. To begin a new life of deeper and more varied emotions.

Towards her mother, whom she was about to leave, she felt an unusual tenderness; for she realized, in her own nind, how lonely that mother would be when she was away; and there were moments when, from this reason, she half regretted having named so early a wedding-day. Then her thoughts would turn to the children over whom her care had been exercised, ever since they were babes in their mother's arms. She loved them truly -how could she leave them? Who could fill to them her place? Such thoughts would at times throw a deeply pensive shade over her feelings. But the intense love she bore the chosen of her heart, would carry away her mind to him, and she would muse with delight over the thought of becoming one with him in marriage.

Thus passed the day, amid preparations for the ceremonies that were to take place in the evening. Anna was musing alone in her room just before nightfall, when her mother came in, and sitting down beside her, took her hand and warmly pressed it within her own. As she did so, the maiden leaned over against her, and let her head rest upon the bosom that had so often before pil

lowed it, looking up as she did so into her mother's face with eyes swimming in tears of pure filial love.

"You are about to leave us, my dear child," Mrs Lee said, in a voice half inaudible from emotion; and then paused to get a better command of her feelings. Anna closed her eyes to keep the tears from stealing over her face.

"You are about to leave us, Anna," resumed Mrs Lee, "and I pray that you may be as good a wife as you have been a daughter. I am sure you will. It is hard to part with you, my child; very hard; but it is right that you should go. You are a woman, and must act a woman's part. Act it well, and you will be a blessing to all. I believe the man who has chosen you to be his companion through the journey of life is worthy to claim your hand. I believe he will do all in his power to make you happy. I give you away to your husband, with a confidence that few mothers can feel. You must, you will be happy in his love, for he is worthy of you. Oh ! believe that you can never be more than worthy of the love of such a man as James Hartley. Cherish the deep affection he has for you with the tenderest care; for a heart like his is a rare jewel-it is priceless in value."

Anna lay close to her mother's breast and quiet as an infant.

More, much more of earnest precept was poured into her ear, to all of which the maiden listened with the most profound attention. Mrs Lee lifted the veil for her child, and gave her new views of the marriage relation, and of her duties in it: when that child descended to the crowded rooms below, some hours afterwards, and plight

ed her faith before God and man, it was with sober feelings, and a strong internal resolution to act the wife's part truly, difficult as the task might be to perform.

Shall we say more? What more remains to be said? Anna Lee, the pure-hearted Anna Lee, is married to the man of her choice. She has passed safely through the perils of maidenhood, and is now a wife—and a wife wisely wedded.

But we must not lose sight of her. As a "Wife" we will still follow her, and see how, in her new relations, she sustains the harmonious consistency of character that made her so lovely as a maiden, and blessed all who came within the sphere of her influence.

The reader will readily perceive in what follows, that the story is one of American life; and occasionally narrates conversations and occurrences somewhat at variance with the ideas entertained of married life in England.