corner, with a clean, but oft-patched counterpane, a single chair and stool, and an old chest, formed the only furniture, except the much-worn rocking-chair, in which was the venerable woman of nearly fourscore, totally blind; she, with her widowed daughter and grandchild, forming the family. On a rough shelf, under the south window, stood a monthly rose and geranium, carefully nurtured, tokens of the tastes and habits of more prosperous days. The aged matron was alone when her visitors arrived. She knew her minister's step, and spoke his name before he crossed the threshold; she knew, also, that one was with him of lighter step than himself, and was prepared to welcome his young wife; so preternaturally quickened, upon the loss of one, are the remaining faculties. Mary sat by her side, and held the wrinkled, wasted hand in hers, and listened with a full heart as this handmaid of the Lord spoke of his great goodness, of his comforts which delighted her soul, and of that better land where is no darkness, no night. Neither did she omit to mention the kindness of her pastor in days gone by, and his consideration of her, in bringing his "dear young wife to this humble cottage." In all that she said, there was that peculiar refinement and delicacy of feeling which long years of intimate communion with heaven never fail to produce, be the outward allotment what it may. She asked Mary several questions; and, being once reminded by her daughter that she had made that inquiry before, replied, with great simplicity, "Perhaps I have; but she will excuse me. I do so love to hear her voice; it reminds me of sunshine and the flowers; and it helps me form an idea of her face, a sweet face, I am sure." It was good to talk with these afflicted disciples of Christ; precious to get a glimpse of the rich consolations which abounded in the midst of their deep poverty and many trials. Their faith in God and patience in tribulation refreshed the beholder. As Edward said, on his way home, "When I get very low and desponding, and feel that I need preaching to, I come over and sit an hour with old Mrs. Harrison." Mary went home soothed, though weary; and that night she dreamed of mighty forests and ancient ruins, and untamed heathen children; and, above the whole, let mid-way down from heaven, the New Jerusalem, where walked the just made perfect, in immortal youth. CHAPTER XII. "The letters were right long, and written fair. A FREQUENT correspondence with her father was to Mary a source of great pleasure and profit. From a tender age, he had supplied to her the place of both parents, and encouraged her to a free and most beautiful confidence in himself as her repository and counsellor. Now that she had entered on a new sphere, it was quite natural that she should make him the sharer of her passing joys, and trials, and perplexities. No circumstance of her life in Salem had as yet given her so much uneasiness, as the occurrence at the formation of the sewing society. She had made no progress, since, in Mrs. Pritchard's acquaintance; and occasional remarks, that came to her ears, made it evident that the thing had been used to her disadvantage. At a subsequent meeting, one good Christian woman had said to her, with much trembling, “I hope, Mrs. Vernon, if you are asked to pray this afternoon, you will not excuse yourself." The matter pressed upon her conscience, and she waited anxiously for her father's judgment. He expressed much sympathy for her in her peculiar position, and added: "It might have been best had you, at first, complied with the request. It is a service which, in these days, is expected of a minister's wife, and which she ought to be prepared to perform. Yet, there was great allowance to be made for your declinature; and, after the thing was pressed to the extent you speak of, I think your quiet adherence to your decision was justifiable and becoming. I fear you have laid the thing to heart more than was needful, though I would not impair that niceness of moral sense which I have helped you to cultivate. But do not distress yourself about it more. You will have constantly recurring opportunities to show that you do not shrink from duty, even at the expense of that unobtrusiveness which often renders a service, of the kind alluded to, more of a trial than most of our sex could imagine it to be. "I am glad to hear of your little stated prayer-meeting. It was right, my daughter, it was like yourself, not to defer what you felt might be properly required of you. The Lord will bless you in this good beginning; and I trust the time is not distant, when these religious interviews with Christian sisters, at the mercy-seat, will be to you a sacred privilege, a source of consolation and strength. "The report,' about which you ask, ought not to have been mentioned to you. It is surely not worth the ink or paper it would require in the detail, to say nothing of a more precious commodity-time. As your sister's allusion to it has excited your curiosity, I will just say, succinctly, that our minister returned from consociational meeting, having seen at his stopping-place a woman from your church, who regaled him with large doses of Salem gossip. Among other things, she asked if Mr. Vernon's wife did not belong to the aristocracy of Mayfield! and said she did n't visit enough to suit the people, though there were some families whom she called on pretty often; but there were many people, of poor advantages, and some invalids, among whom she might, if disposed, do a great deal of good. Mr. Baxter heard her,—you can imagine how, in his cool, quiet way,-till he thought it was enough; when, rising abruptly, he said, 'Why, my good woman, I married Miss Allison myself,—and I want to say to you that I married her to Mr. Edward Vernon, not to the parish of Salem!' The effect of this timely hint was such that Mr. Baxter, grave as he is, laughs outright when he recalls it. "But do not trouble your little head too much about what rumour says of you. The world is full, not only of wicked men, but of unreasonable men and women, too. "Ah! I am interrupted by a messenger from Mr. Smith's. His hired man has contrived to fall, and fracture his skull, -another achievement of King Alcohol. When you come, let Mr. Vernon bring his last temperance lecture, to preach in the evening. In haste, fondly, "YOUR FATHER." In Mary's next letter, she speaks of finding it needful to guard against a sense of loneliness, which would steal upon her at evening, as she sat alone in her quiet back parlour, while Edward was sermon-making in the study. She proceeds : “I have several times opened the piano for company; but the music is sure to bring him down. Then, there is so much lost time to be recovered somewhere, and it is generally taken from his sleeping hours. I am sorry the evening is his favourite season for study,—not so much on my own account; I fear it is not well for him. He frequently makes late hours, and the next day finds him pale and languid. Is it right? I am just getting my eyes open to the importance of regulating my household affairs and my own habits so as to guard against encroachments upon his time. For this reason, I do not get on, as fast as seems desirable, in my acquaintance with the people. Our population is scattered, and it is slow traversing the field. Whenever I go out, Edward must accompany me, and I think he is becoming somewhat disheartened about his pulpitpreparations. "I have one day's memorable experience, in pastoral visiting, which I must save to tell you at my next visit home. We called on ten families; which was doing a little too much. It took me several days to recover from the fatigue and excitement. As a set-off to the reports which have reached you, I must tell you of a compliment I received at one of the ten places above mentioned. The master of the house followed us to the carriage, and told Edward he was glad to find that his wife was 'a real commodium,'-I am not sure of the orthography, an epithet which I confess myself at a loss to define, though I am very certain it was designed to be highly complimentary. "Edward exchanged last Sabbath. Passing, on his way, the house of a distant parishioner, he was hailed by the inquiry, "Going to swap to-day, Mr. Vernon? Then I guess I'll try to go up to meetin". "The new preacher, Mr. C., is an odd genius,—a bachelor, in rather a low state of civilization. He managed his plate at table in a way that recalled that favourite observation of your colleague-doctor, I am fond of compounds.' At noon he lay down to rest, and left the marks of his boots on the white counterpane. He was not slow to declare his supreme indifference to females in general, though quite deferential to me in particular. If Mr. Baxter should entertain him over one Sabbath, I almost think he would reiterate, in earnest, what |