he so often says playfully, that there is need of a new professorship for theologues. But his preaching was the most eccentric, though not without talent. His morning discourse was on the subject of ghosts and witches; the other, on the natural attributes of the angels. One of these, he said, was exceeding swiftness; and his proof,-the angel who visited Daniel, who left heaven in the morning, and reached this planet at the time of the evening sacrifice. 'From heaven to earth in twelve hours!—and, recollect, it is two millions of miles from the sun hither. Amazing swiftness! '

"I thought, dear father, you would hardly call this a mathematical demonstration.

"I was giving Edward an account of the sermon, after his return, and he said I was rather a severe critic; it might do his sermons good to be picked to pieces in that way. After a while, he asked me seriously to criticize his preaching, and insisted that it was proper I should do it, and would be for his profit! What do you think, dear father?

"The twilight is fast deepening, and my fourth page is nearly filled. Do not my long letters weary you? My heart tells me, Nay. How sweet this privilege of writing to the absent! Sweeter still between us is the tie of prayer! Will you not, father, write me often; and pray still oftener for your child, who needs--O, how much!-larger supplies of heavenly wisdom and grace?

"The shadows are gathering fast. How typical of life! Shadows everywhere,--under the brightest sky. But no matter, if sunshine only prevail in the heart.

"Dutifully,
"MARY."

From Dr. Allison's reply to this letter we extract the following sentiments on a subject of some importance :-

"What do I think of your criticizing your

husband's pulpit performances? It is a point upon which much might be said. I should prefer to talk with you about it, and at some length. I may write unguardedly, or be interrupted before I finish. I should want to make some confessions, too, in view of my own practice, in years gone by. My children were trained to hear more strictures upon the pulpit than it was best to utter. It was a habit with me, acquired I hardly know how; but, I am sensible, not profiting much, spiritually. The style and logic of the preacher, his docrrine and its seasonableness, were, you well remember, topics of frequent discussion in the family, so that I ought not to be surprised that you hear preaching critically. After a certain standard, your judgment of pulpit ministrations is pretty well formed. As you are a minister's wife, this may be of service to you. You may call Edward's attention to some things which he might overlook. You can judge, better than he, how a thing will strike the hearer. A minister's wife should keep her eyes and ears open, and hear her husband as critically, at least, as she would another. Yet, there is need of caution, lest you carry the habit so far as to impair your comfort, if not your spiritual improvement, in hearing the word. My poor sister-your aunt Deborah-wore herself out early; and of her it was often said, she was more fatigued than her husband, after the labours of the Sabbath. He was not an easy preacher, and she heard him with a degree of sympathy and nervous solicitude that almost precluded enjoyment. On the other hand, here is our devout Mrs. Baxter, who sits at church, you know, so complacently, with her eyes half closed, as if resigning herself to a safe current that was to float her to the haven. Good woman! she probably never entertained the idea that her husband could say or do anything that was not quite to the purpose; while, in regard to some unpleasant

peculiarities, his people have said, a hundred times, 'It's a wonder his wife does n't tell him.'

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Shunning either extreme, my daughter, as I believe your own good judgment will incline you, make yourself as useful to Edward as you may, freely discussing—if it suits him→ whatever relates to his success as an ambassador of Christ.”

CHAPTER XIII.

"Every pastor stands in need of encouragement, of cheerfulness, of peace, in his own home, to enable him to bear what life brings with it, and still to preserve the power of working for the benefit of mankind."

IT is the evening of the New Year's Sabbath, and the clock in the little back-parlour of the Salem parsonage strikes the hour of ten. Till that sound, no word has been spoken there for the last half-hour. Mary has been writing a letter home; and she supposed that Edward, in his easy-chair, with his hand over his eyes, was resting after the extra labours of the day.

The lateness of the hour reminded her of his last night's vigils, and she quickly laid aside her pen, with the exclamation "I am keeping you up, Edward!"

To her surprise, he answered, in a voice that told of deep emotion, "I may as well be here, as on the pillow; I couldn't sleep." Her tender and earnest inquiries into the cause of his distress, at length elicited the fact that he was deeply mortified by what he called "the utter failure of his NewYear's sermon."

It was in vain that Mary assured him "the discourse was edifying." He had meant it should be more than that; and it would have been, had his good beginning been carried through.

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'But," said Mary, "you have had too much to do this week; that wedding Thursday evening, and so many calls; then your lecture, and to-day two sermons, besides the 'communion' service, and your Bible-class this evening,-you ought to have omitted that; it has been too much."

"Too much! Yes, unless it were better," he replied, bitterly; "it's all been a failure, from the lecture through, and I feel ashamed to look my people in the face again."

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'O, Edward! you must not feel so; they know how you were hindered. Besides, they were really interested,-Deacon Ely I noticed particularly."

"Ah! so did I; and I thought, too, of what he said when he first spoke of my marriage." (Here his voice began to soften.) "Why did I want to allude to that? It is too bad."

"But you must tell me now," "said the young wife. "It vexed me at the time," he continued, "and perhaps it will you, although the deacon is such a favourite.

His congratulations were cordial enough; but he followed them with the hope that this connexion would not be the means of drawing off my heart from my great work, or diminishing the labour I was wont to bestow on my sermons.' hardest thing he ever said to me. I suppose he will think, now there was some occasion for it ;" and again his head sank upon his hand.

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It was the

“O!” said Mary, playfully, “he didn't know me, then; he was quite excusable." After a few moments' silence, in which she inly resolved that the deacon's caution should not prove a prophecy, so far as she could help it, she asked Edward, tenderly, yet a little archly, what remedy he would administer to one of his people in such a state of mind as his own. "Would he not think the probe needful, to develop some such feeling as wounded pride? If you have done the

best you could, in the circumstances, have you reason to distress yourself?"

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But," said he," I have not done as well as I could.

Did

I not have an exchange, last Sabbath, on purpose to leave me time for extra effort? But it's of no use. I'll never exchange again, in such circumstances. It does n't help me. I only presume on the time, and let it slip between my fingers. The fault is in myself, Mary, and not in circumstances."

This idea was not to be allowed, for a moment, by his fair apologist. "Was it not to be expected that the cares of a first season at house-keeping would somewhat derange his plans for study, and crowd upon his time?”

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Yes; but I have excused myself on that account long enough. I have hardly written a decent sermon in three months. I have been looking forward to more leisure. I should have buckled on the harness, and made up my mind that I was to work, for the future, amid a constant pressure of engagements. There is no easier time coming."

"Yet," said Mary, "your self-reproaches are not just. You ought to allow something for the transfer of yourself to a new routine of living. I am sure the path will be smoother by-and-by, when all things get settled and accommodated to each other." She did not ask if he looked back regretfully to his old-bachelor state. Her faith had no such mistrust; yet there was something in her tone that touched a chord of tender feelings in the heart so full of bitter self-accusings.

"Ah!" said he, gently, "things have gone too smoothly. Blest with such a home, I have given myself up to the enjoyment of the passing hours till severe study has seemed irksome. But I ought never to have distressed you with these wretched feelings. They are nothing new. I have been in such a mood before, and doubtless shall be again."