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"Dato ad una donna il sacro titolo di sposa, tu devi consecrarti al suo bene, com'ella dee consecrarsi al tuo; ma l'obbligo che a te incumbe è maggiore, perch'ella è creatura più debole, e tu, siccome forte, le sei maggiormente debitore d'ogni buon esempio e d'ogni ajuto.

"Qual sarà l'educazione morale da darsi a figli tuoi? Nol capiresti, se non l'acquisti egregia tu medesimo. Acquistala, e la darai eguale."-SILVIO PELLICO: "Dei doveri degli uomini."

NORRIS.

"I thought, Annie, you were never coming," said Dr. Campbell, we must confess in a tone of annoyance. "I have only half-an-hour; I shall be obliged to go again without seeing the children, I suppose."

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"I suppose you will," was the answer, uttered in that tone of perfect indifference which is, to a disturbed temper, like oil to flames.

"And that is all you care about it!" exclaimed the young man, looking proudly at his wife; but I will have regular hours kept-remember, I will. By the bye, I forgot to tell you I promised Miss Poinsett we would dine with her to-day; it is fortunate we have made no engagement." "I have made another," said the lady, pouring

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How dare you tell me that ?" said the gentleman, looking earnestly and half sorrowfully at his wife, while his voice indicated only stern displeasure. "You told Harriet in my presence that you would go Monday or Tuesday; to-day is Monday; you can go to-morrow. However, that is quite immaterial to me; I insist on your dining with me at Miss Poinsett's to-night."

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Our scene lies in the breakfast-room of Fre-out her husband's tea, “which I intend to keep. deric Campbell, Esq., M.D., a rising young I promised to go to my mother's, and I shall physician, with a wife and four children; as the to-night. I told Harriet last night I would go." lady is not yet down, we will for a moment look at her husband. A fine figure he is, for a young man, as any one can imagine; tall, broad chested, with his head slightly thrown back, and an expression of firmness and independence on his countenance, the physical development of Dr. Campbell is perfect; his face would be rather too severe were it not that his eyes are blue-dark, tender blue-shaded by long black lashes; his hair is of a bright dark brown. Is any one ready to quarrel with us for detaining them on the threshold by so minute a description of the young physician? We trust not. It is given because it will be useful to physiologists. Ye who neither are nor pretend to be such, skip the next paragraph, for we are impertinent enough to volunteer a description of his wife. "What?" grumble the readers, "and then we shall have the four children, probably the servants all at length, and possibly a slight sketch of the two families next door." But stay, we really do not mean to tease you thus.

Mrs. Campbell has a slight curl in her upper lip, and a bright glance in her dark eyes, which we have generally observed to accompany a strong will and a quick temper. We must not, however, be too severe at first; she is only twenty-four, and was certainly a spoiled child. As she comes down stairs she jingles the keys in her little basket (that degenerate successor to the substantial pockets of our grandmothers, which were hung, like John Gilpin's bottles, one on each side, to make the balance right). Dr. Campbell has walked three times from the book-case to the window, and uttered one exclamation of impatience, for it is half-past eight; at nine, breakfast or no breakfast, he will have fifty gratis patients waiting to see him, and by eleven he must be ready to go out to see those who are rich enough to be ill at their own homes.

"I declare," said Mrs. Campbell, not daring to make any further resistance just then, woman might as well be a slave as a physician's wife. Why must I visit a set of old women I detest? Oh, they are your patients. I hate Miss Poinsett, and her horrid parrot, and her wool work, and everything belonging to her."

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Excepting her physician," said Dr. Campbell, smiling, for he had gained his point. "I don't know about that exception," said she, pouting.

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My dearest Annie!"

Whatever Dr. Campbell were about to say to his "dearest Annie" must be left to the imagination of the reader, for just then the nurse came and opened the breakfast-room door, saying, "If you please, Ma'am, I can do nothing with Master Willy, he won't get into the bath; he says he hates the bath and the water and everything belonging to it.”

Very well," said the doctor, answering for his wife, who looked down and blushed when she heard how nearly her child, in his ill temper, had repeated the words she used not two minutes before, in her own. "Very well; I'll come to him."

The nurse left the room, and the eyes of the husband and wife met: an irrepressible slyness crept into his, and a great desire to look unconquered added brightness to hers. He put her arm within his own, and led her up-stairs, quite unheeding her drawing back and saying, "I don't want to come." There stood the object of

the nurse's complaint, with his little foot planted firmly on the ground, as if he were an emperor at least he looked at his father as defiantly as he dared. Dr. Campbell did not speak, but he took the child by his little white shoulders, and plunged him into the water. Willy did not cry, but he looked humbled, and was docile enough now. Not a word passed during this scene. The other children were already at breakfast in another room; and as Dr. Campbell, on looking at his watch, ascertained that it only wanted two minutes to nine, he did not go in to see them. Annie fancied she saw in the determined force he had used towards the child, a not feeble resemblance of his dominion over her: her pride rose in an instant, and they went down stairs in silence. Mrs. Campbell turned into the breakfast-room again, and her husband went to his morning work.

Annie had a very good disposition, notwithstanding her wilfulness; and after her husband had left home about an hour (he did not come in, as usual, for ten minutes before starting, but just opened the door and bade her good morning) she shed a few tears over her ill temper, wiped them away, and having spent a little time with her children, sat to her desk to transcribe for her husband a paper for one of the medical periodicals; not very amusing work, but her restless spirit found satisfaction in even the discomfort of it, as constituting her present performance a sort of atonement for the annoyance she had caused him in the morning.

It was one feature of this lady's waywardness that the calm succeeding it was perfectly sweet and beautiful. After an attack of this kind she always required great consolations from her lord and master, and many assurances that her temper had not lessened his love. The young man did not expect the spirit of love to resume its place in his wife's heart quite so soon as it did, for he thought as he rode home, "If it were not absolutely necessary to preserve my authority, I would write and put off Miss Poinsett to copy that paper, for Annie writes so slowly and so well that even if she should be good-tempered enough to begin to-morrow morning, it would scarcely be in time." It was dark when he came home, and as darkness suited best Annie's present mood, she was sitting, dressed to go to Miss Poinsett's, without a lamp. She came and threw her arms round his neck. He felt as he kissed her that her cheek was wet, and as he gently wiped away her tears, said tenderly, "The good angel is come back then, Annie? I am so glad."

"And I am so ashamed," murmured Annie. "Well, love, I dare say you don't feel particularly inclined to go out to-night; neither do I, and I must get that paper transcribed."

"But," whispered Annie slyly, "it is so important we should go to Miss Poinsett's; beside, I have copied the paper and sent it, as you told me, to the office."

"You are a good little wife, Annie; now I will run up-stairs, and play with the bairns for

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five minutes, then I shall be about three more dressing; and then I shall be ready to go."

"Very well, dear," said Annie, so meekly that her husband smiled, and said to himself, as he ran up four stairs at a time, "I do believe nothing but decision like mine would manage my Annie."

Next minute he was engaged in a game of romps with his children, in which Willy, who had quite forgotten and forgiven the morning's trouble, was foremost. A shout of disapprobation followed his words when he said he must go, and six little chubby hands held his coat to keep him there; while the baby, holding out her dimpled arms, crowed lustily, only understanding that it was incumbent on all of them to make as much noise as they could. The father's heart leaped joyfully at these demonstrations of his children's love, and after kissing them all round will any one wonder that, as he went down stairs to his own room, his eyes were suffused with tears?

In a very little time he was with his wife; she had a light now, and looked rather pale, “Cæsar" thought. "Cæsar" was the name Annie gave her husband in playfulness, when she was in good spirits and not wilful. They were soon at Miss Poinsett's: she was a good-tempered, rather weak old lady, who "never lost a friend or made an enemy," as the epitaph says. This happy circumstance was owing to several causes. Firstly, she was so very deaf she heard very little of what was said to her; secondly, she thought it her duty to make all her friends as comfortable as possible; and thirdly, as she never had an opinion of her own, she made it a rule to agree with everybody on all subjects. It is true that sometimes rival parties quoted to each other Miss Poinsett: "That sensible creature," said number one, "assured me that she thought Fanny acted very improperly in encouraging young Forester's attentions, after having accepted her cousin." "But, answered number two, "you must mistake; Miss Poinsett told me she considered as long as a young woman remained single, she was at liberty to alter her mind in such an important affair, if prudence, or even inclination, prompted her to do so. Indeed we agreed that no vow prior to the one at the altar should be considered irrevocable." Then, did the blame fall on poor Miss Poinsett? Oh no; numbers one and two quarrelled with and ceased to visit each other, but continued to give poor dear Miss Poinsett the benefit of their company, each hating the other the more for having misrepresented such a good, innocent woman.

It may be supposed that a woman who had her own, and who was moreover very deaf, was no quarrels, estrangements, or disagreements of not eagle-eyed in assorting her guests. There was always a good deal of discussion at Miss Poinsett's parties, and while the dear old lady congratulated herself that her guests looked so animated, they were not unfrequently as nearly quarrelling as well-bred people can be (in company); and in her pleasure she forgot to read

the names of the colours written on her wool-, papers; and so, worked perhaps a blue vineleaf into an interminable stair-carpet she was doing for a married niece: of course it had to come out the next morning. Miss Poinsett's wool-work was like Penelope's web, only the times of doing and undoing were reversed. She persuaded herself that she never had time to work but at night, although no one could imagine what she found to do all day after feeding an old grey parrot, whose neck under any one's care but Miss Poinsett's would have been in perilous circumstances long ago.

To-night the party was as small as it well could be. Miss Poinsett, with a strange appreciation of something the most foreign to her own nature, loved Annie because "she was such a queen-like creature; and in a party," she said, "I cannot really see enough of her, Dr. Campbell; and so you must promise to bring her to dine on Monday. My niece, Mason, from Derby, and her husband, will be here; and you knew my niece long ago. It seems so strange how fast young people grow up now; and, dear me! how very wise the children are! When I was young it was thought quite enough that I should work well and write tolerably; but the other day I had a child here, a little thing of eight or ten years old, with her hair in that strange Swiss fashion of two tails down her back; she played the piano and read French, and I gave her a recipe to copy for her mother (an old friend of mine). Bless me, ma'am !' cries Miss, looking at me, you've spelt Ipecacuanha without the h.' "Have I, child?' said I; I thought it began with an I.' The child only laughed, but upon my word, Dr. Campbell, that shows me a little of the improved system of education. I should have begun Ipecacuanha without the h to the end of my days; these mute aitches always puzzled me at school."

In this way the old lady ran on, quite easy to be unanswered, so long as she thought her companion listened.

So Dr. Campbell, after hearing all this one morning for the fifth or sixth time, ended his visit by promising that his wife should accompany him to dine at Miss Poinsett's on the Monday, with whose morning our story com

mences.

which could have taken place in her family since her hostess last saw her guest, down to the very verge of impossibility; for her last question was, "Can the baby talk yet-she is so very like her mother?"

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Notwithstanding the likeness, Ma'am," said Annie, laughing, "she has not yet begun; she is only six months old."

Good-natured Miss Poinsett took care that a large jar of orange marmalade was hidden in the carriage for the children when Dr. and Mrs. Campbell left.

It has frequently struck us that gentlemen of the medical profession are dependent, to a very large extent, for the comfort of their few leisure hours on their wives. Our young physician thought of this as he soothed his wife, who was drooping in penitence before they reached home. She poured into his listening ear a full confession of her fault, and of the sorrow it had since given her. He won a smile from her at last by saying, "Annie, I shall look in vain to-morrow night for the place where a button or a string is wanting, if I search my wardrobe through. For I notice that always at such times as this you atone for your fault by a scrupulous attention to my wants, actual and possible."

The smile, however, soon passed away, and poor Annie lay awake a great part of the night. The blind, according to custom, was drawn up, that Dr. Campbell might wake betimes; and his young, weeping wife sat up and looked at his face calm in sleep, but pale from fatigue. "Oh, for goodness and strength of purpose never to vex him again!" said Annie. Oh, that I could be sure I should never distress him again! I would make any sacrifice for him."

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"I know it, my Annie," said he, awakened by her passionate exclamations, for she had unconsciously made them aloud. You think you could make any sacrifice for me, and I know it. I feel that you have strength of love to cling to me, if all the world were against me; I could leave my reputation, my honour, and the education of our children in your hands without a shadow of doubt as to the execution of the trust, if I were to die to-night. You do not distress or vex me now; I have forgotten and forgiven all."

domestic barometer pointed to "set fair." All went on well. After breakfast they visited together the nursery, and noted to each other every improvement or alteration in their children which the watchful eyes of parents could trace.

Thus assured, Annie slept tranquilly a few The evening passed off very well. "Niece hours, and rose in good spirits. Breakfast was Mason" was nearly as old as her aunt, and de-ready by eight o'clock, and the index of the tailed to Annie all the occurrences of the first hair-cutting of Dr. Campbell, during which interesting process she had held "little Frederic" in her arms. 66 And," said Mrs. Mason, "the scissors struck cold to the poor child's head, no doubt, for he screamed and kicked so that we were obliged to send away the hair-dresser, telling him to call the next day."

"Everything bowed to Cæsar even then," said Annie in a whisper to her husband, smiling. He pressed her hand under the table, and cordially returned the smile.

Annie soon felt at ease, and delighted Miss Poinsett, who, before they went away, had inquired particularly about every conceivable event

The gratis patients dismissed, the doctor came into the breakfast-room to his wife, and sat down (as he did on calm days) for some minutes. Just as he was about to go, Annie held his hand, and looking away half ashamed, said, "Is there nothing I can do for you? Do give me something to do."

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"If it be quite agreeable!" said Annie, her dark eyes overflowing.

"Well, since I know it will be quite agreeable, will you write to my mother, and say that we wish her to come and stay with us? Mr. Rivers would take care of Uncle Henry for a week or two, I am sure. Of course, my love, you will fix the time according to your own convenience."

"Anything will be convenient and agreeable to me that pleases you," said she, kissing his hand meekly.

"Well, I believe it, Annie, and now I must say 'Good-bye,' or the commissioners of paving will be bringing an action against me; those horses have been pawing at the road in front of the house these fifteen minutes."

"Good-bye, good-bye," said Annie; and when he was gone, she sat down and wrote a very affectionate letter to her mother-in-law.

Mrs. Campbell the elder was a lady, who having been widowed in her earliest married life, had devoted herself wholly to her one child, | and who had never married again, although her beauty had commanded some, and her fortune more, offers. On the next Monday, when old Mrs. Campbell alighted from the fly that brought her from the railway station (for Cæsar's horses were busy), the house was as orderly as it could be, and the visitor's room a model of neatness. Annie would arrange it herself, and everything | but the lighting of the fire she really had done. Mrs. Campbell was never happier than when with her son, and she would no doubt have resided with him altogether had not a sacred charge elsewhere prevented. A brother of hers, who, after a youth of vice and dissipation had become a sailor, had, after an absence of twenty years, returned, shattered in mind, to his native land. He had become attached abroad to a very lovely girl, who, on learning what his character had been, refused to unite herself with him. Not long after she died; and all poor Henry Campbell retained of mental coherency after this, was employed in thinking and talking of her. Fifteen years now had the grave closed over his beloved, but "Uncle Henry," as everybody in the village called him, was still constant to her memory; he had actually set aside a sum of money to portion yearly six poor girls of the village, those named Mary to have the preference. His innocent monomania claimed for him pity and kindness; these he found in abundance from his sister, who left him now (as her son had contempleted) in the charge of Mr. Rivers, the rector of the village.

Annie was very happy when she saw her mother-in-law seated in the drawing-room, with Willy on her knees; her infirmity of temper was known only to her husband and herself; for in her unmarried life her every wish had been gratified, and her every whim indulged. She expected her husband home to dinner at six o'clock to meet his mother, and during the ten minutes preceding the hour she ran to the window at every sound of wheels: she was disappointed very many times, for they had a party

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next door, occasioning a perpetual rumble in the usually quiet square. By-the-bye, what a nuisance is a party next door when you are expecting any one, and want to listen for then! Mrs. Campbell smiled at Annie's impatience, while she loved her all the better for it.

"Here he is!" cried Annie, hastily running from the window to the door at the sight of his carriage, without waiting to see him get out of it. She was going to run down stairs to meet him, when a servant handed her a note. She opened it and read aloud

DEAREST ANNIE,-I snatch a moment to say you

must not expect me home to dinner; indeed I shall I am disappointed, for I wanted to see my mother, think myself fortunate if I get home to-night at all.

and you too.

Annie turned away to wipe her eyes, and then said, as cheerfully as she could, "You see what it is, mother, to belong to a physician; he has sent the carriage home, so I daresay he is not far off."

"Well, my dear, I shall not see him till the morning then, I fear; but really, Annie, you look as if he had said he should not be home for a month.”

"Well, I am really disappointed, he seemed to rely so on seeing you to-night."

"And you relied on seeing him, dear; so did I; but we must bear it as well as we can. And may I ask permission for Willy to dine with us?"

Willy looked at his mother as if his life depended on her decision. His mother said “Yes.” And the three went down to dinner.

Mrs. Campbell, being fatigued with her journey, retired early, and Annie was alone. Her husband, when he had occasion to write such notes as the one she had received this evening, generally desired that she would be sure not to sit up for him. As he said nothing of the sort to-night, she thought she might venture. About two o'clock he came home, and was of course very much surprised to see her still up. ought not to have sat up, Annie," said he. "You know I always tell you not to do that." Oh, but I was so wakeful!” "And oh! but I can't have it done again," was the reply.

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Annie laughed, and said something about imperial Cæsar, with his foot on the neck of the world. She added, "But you look strangely tired; here is some coffee I have kept hot; I prescribe that, and then sleep."

"I will follow your directions; but you have not yet told me how my mother is.” "Very well; indeed she looks better than ever I saw her look, I think."

"That is the peculiar merit of the Campbells," said her husband, affecting a look of intense self-conceit as he looked at his wife; "we improve in looks every day."

"Oh, certainly," said Annie, "you are an Apollo Belvidere, with the mind of a Socrates, and the heart of a Fabricius."

As the three sat at breakfast the next morn

ing, they were interrupted by a repetition of the p nurse's complaint, that she "could do nothing with Master Willy."

"What has he done now, nurse?" inquired Annie.

"Oh, ma'am, he has thrown his boots out of window, and emptied the clothes out of the baby's basket into the bath, which was full of water."

"Send him down here," said his father. Annie looked at her husband to implore mercy for the young hero of this disturbance. He came into the room, and going to his mother's chair, clung to her dress, as if for protection. "Come here, Willy," said his father. He went. "Why did you throw the baby's clothes into the water? Don't you know that your little sister will have to be kept in bed now till more

can be aired?"

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boots out of window?"

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Oh, I told nurse, if they vexed her, I could soon get rid of them; and you know, papa, I thought as I had made the pillow-cases dirty, I might as well do all I could towards washing the baby's clothes."

"That was very naughty, Willy." "I know it, papa; but indeed I don't think nurse would have been so angry with me, only when she first of all began about the pillows, I said I'd be a doctor when I grew up, and if she had anything the matter with one of her legs, I'd cut off the wrong."

"Willy," said his father, very gravely, "you have behaved very badly this morning.'

"I really can't help it, papa," answered the child, with tearful eyes, seeing his father was really annoyed; "indeed I shall be glad when I am as old as mamma and you, and never get cross."

A smile from her husband made Annie look down and blush just here. After a few more words of advice and reproof the child was sent up stairs,

"I should find it impossible to scold a child like him," said grandmamma.

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"We do find it almost impossible, my dear mother," answered the doctor; " but it must be done. He is a generous little fellow; I'll be bound he was not alone in this pillow affair; but you see he did not implicate any one else. However, he has provoked nurse's especial displeasure by joking her."

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Certainly his passionate temper must be corrected," said the elder lady; "a bad temper is a real curse, and he does not inherit it I am sure."

Annie got up and went to the window, under pretence of looking out, but in reality to wipe away a tear or two, called forth by this conversation, which seemed to contain quite as much censure for her as for her child. "He derives it from me, doubtless," said she, sighing.

Greatly to her son's satisfaction (for he saw how matters stood with Annie), Mrs. Campbell soon left the room.

"Come, Annie," said he, "you are persuading yourself that this little boy has all your passion; but you know I am passionate too. Do not grieve about him, love: the energy he properly, be useful to him in overcoming the now employs in mischief will, if we train him difficulties of life; and the very passion whose improper displays we try to correct, may become the root of that noble enthusiasm without which a man can be neither great nor good."

"You will not blame me then? You do not think Willy so very naughty, do you?”

"As to blaming you, love, I am as far as possible from that just at present, seeing you want all the comfort and strength I can afford you, and I think this a child's trick. I was grave with him, because if you once let a child see that you think his faults light matters, adieu to parental influence, and to his comfort in confession and forgiveness. But depend upon it, Annie, a boy who is never troublesome to his nurse will be a poor creature as a man."

"I am so glad to hear you say that! I was afraid I saw my own ill-temper springing up in him to torment you as I do!"

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"You torment me!-why, Annie, I can tell you that, if I had been without your affection to assist me, I should never have overcome half the me, and your sympathy in all my plans to difficulties I have overcome since you became my wife-you torment me, indeed! I would rather be tormented by you than-than be inLondon!" stantly appointed physician to every old maid in

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