face looked so sad  the change in it took me by
surprise and my resolution failed; I clung to him.
If gentlemen could interpret, as we can, he would
never have left me. It is better as it is. He
kissed my tears away as fast as they came: it
was the first time he had ever kissed more than
my hand: so I shall have that to think of, and
his dear promised letters; but it made me cry
more at the time, of course. Some day, when we
have been married years and years, I shall tell
him not to go and pay a lady for every tear; if
he wants her to leave off.

The whole place so gloomy and vacant now."

"Jan. 20th. Poverty stares us in the face.
Edward says we could make a modest living in
London; and nobody be the wiser: but here we
are known, and 'must be ladies and gentlemen,
and fools,' he says. He has now made me
seriously promise not to give money and things
out of the house to the poor: it is robbing my
mother and him. Ah, now I see it is nonsense
to despise money: here I come home sad from
my poor people; and I used to return warm all
over. And the poor old souls do not enjoy my
sermons half so much as when I gave them
things to eat along with them.

The dear boy, that I always loved dearly, but
admire and love now that he has turned an
intolerable tyrant, and he used to be Wax, has put
down two maids out of our three, and brings our
dinner up himself in a jacket, then puts on his
coat and sits down with us, and we sigh at him
and he grins and derides us; he does not care
one straw for Pomp. And mamma and I have
to dress one another now. And I like it."

"Jan. 30th. He says we may now, by great
economy, subsist honestly till my wedding-day;
but then mamma and he must 'absquatulate'.
Oh, what stout hearts men have. They can jest
at sorrow even when, in spite of their great thick
skins, they feel it. Ah, the real poor are happy;
they marry, and need not leave the parish where
their mother lives."

"Feb. 4th. A kind and most delicate letter
from Jane. She says, 'Papa and I are much
grieved at Captain Dodd's affliction, and deeply
concerned at your loss by the Bank. Papa has
asked Uncle Thomas for two hundred pounds,
and I entreat you to oblige me by receiving it at
my hands and applying it according to the
dictates of your own affectionate heart.'

Actually our Viceroy will not let me take it:
he says he will not accept a crumb from the man
who owes us a loaf."

"Feb. 8th. Jane mortified, and no wonder. If
she knew how very poor we are, she would be
surprised as well. I have implored her not to take it
to heart, for that all will be explained one day, and
she will see we could not.

His dear letters! I feed on them. We have
no secrets, no two minds. He is to be a first class
and then a private tutor. Our money is to go to
mamma: it is he and I that are to work our
fingers to the bone (I am so happy!), and never
let them be driven by injustice from their home.
But all this is a great secret. The Viceroy will be
defeated, only I let him talk till Alfred is here to
back me. No; it is not just the rightful owner
of fourteen thousand pounds should be poor.

How shallow female education is: I was
always led to suppose modesty is the highest
virtue. No such thing! Justice is the queen
of the virtues; he is justice incarnate."

"March 10th. On reperusing this diary, it is
demoralising; very: it feeds self. Of all the
detestable compositions! Me, Me, Me, from
one end to another: for when it is not about
myself, it is about Alfred, and that it is my he-
Me though not my she-one. So now to turn
over a new leaf: from this day I shall record
only the things that happen in this house and
what my betters say to me, not what I say; and
the texts; and outline of the sermons; and
Jane's Christian admonitions."

Before a resolve so virtuous all impure spirits
retire, taking off their hats, bowing down to the
very ground, and apprehending Small Beer.

                 CHAPTER XXXI.

        Extracts from Jane Hardie's Diary:

"MARCH 3RD. In my district again, the first
time since my illness, from which I am indeed
but half recovered. Spoke faithfully to Mrs. B.
about her infidel husband: told her not to try
and talk to him, but to talk to God about him.
Gave her my tract, 'A quiet heart.' Came home
tired. Prayed to be used to sharpen the sickles
of other reapers."

"March 4th. At St. Philip's to hear the
Bishop. In the midst of an excellent sermon on
Gen. i. 2, he came out with the waters of
baptism, to my horror: he disclaimed the
extravagant view some of them take; then hankered
after what he denied, and then partly unsaid
that too. While the poor man was trimming his
sails, I slunk behind a pillar in the corner of my
pew, and fell on my knees, and prayedA  against
the stream of poison flowing on the congregation.
Oh, I felt like Jeremiah in his dungeon.

In the evening papa forbade me to go to church
again: said the wind was too cold: I kissed him,
and went up to my room and put my head between
the pillows not to hear the bells. Prayed for
poor B Alfred."

"March 5th. Sadly disappointed in J. D. I
did hope He was embittering the world to her
by degrees. But for some time past she writes
in ill-concealed spirits.

Another friend, after seeking rest in the world,
is now seeking it in Ritualism. May both be
drawn from their rotten reeds to the cross.

       And oh this moral may my heart retain,
       All hopes of happiness on earth are vain."

"March 6th. The cat is out of the bag. She
is corresponding with Alfred; indeed she makes
no secret of it. Wrote her aC faithful letter.
Received a short reply, saying I had made her
unhappy, and begging me to suspend my judgment