early years laid many a baby in the grave, and but this one- -the last-was spared to be a comfort and a joy to her. And such Kate would have been, but for her headstrong self-will. They had rarely denied her anything as a child, and the indulgent system they pursued increased her natural wilfulness. Mrs. Wilson was well aware that if Kate had set her mind on this imprudent, hasty marriage, neither her father's or mother's remonstrances would influence her. She knew very little of the would-be bridegroom. He had come to Newnham only a few weeks previously, and had met Kate at the house of a friend. The pretty village girl had pleased his fancy, and his attentions had soon won her heart, although it was generally understood in the neighbourhood that steady industrious John Hall, the blacksmith's son, possessed the best right to the smiles bestowed upon his handsome rival. Report said that Tom Shaw spent more time and money at the Red Lion than was good for him; but Kate indignantly refused to believe such reports, always saying, as many a silly girl has done before her, that "he'd be steady enough when he had a home of his own."

It is not necessary to narrate all the efforts made by Mr. and Mrs. Wilson to dissuade their thoughtless daughter from the rash step she contemplated. Tom Shaw himself came in to plead his own cause; his promises were fair enough; and to do him justice, he did pay off a standing score at the Red Lion the same evening, with a determination that it should be the last he would run up at that or any other public-house. At length a reluctant consent was wrung from the unwilling parents that they would not oppose, though they could not approve of the marriage.

Their own loss in the matter Mr. and Mrs. Wilson did not allow to influence them, though their hearts sank within them when they felt how lonely their home would be without their beloved but wilful Kate. By the father, the loss would be especially felt. An accident some years previously had deprived him of the use of his right arm, and, unable to continue his trade as carpenter, he had accepted the post of Scripture reader in the village. The fond father had hoped that the good seed had taken root in Kate's heart; but if so, it had only fallen on shallow ground, springing up for awhile and then withering away. Kate loved her parents, but she loved herself and her

own way better; and in preparations for her approaching marriage, she troubled little about the difference her absence would make at home. At times, indeed, a slight shade of sorrow would come over her as she remembered how much she owed to the dear ones she was so readily leaving. But she had no thought of drawing back; and so the weeks passed on till the bright June morning dawned that was to see her made the wife of Thomas Shaw.

In

The sun was shining brightly, as Kate Wilson, accompanied by her father and mother and a few friends, set out to cross the fields to the village church where Tom Shaw and his brother were waiting their arrival. The village smithy lay in their way, and John Hall was to be seen hard at work within. He turned and looked at Kate with a steady, reproachful gaze as the little party passed. Kate dropped her eyes and her colour rose; she could not meet his look, for her conscience smote her for the wrong she had done to this true friend, who from her childhood had shown her constant and unvarying kindness. vain she tried to excuse her conduct, and for the time her happiness was marred by the recollection; but the village church appeared in view, and she must banish all unpleasant thoughts on this-her wedding-day. Tom met her at the door, and with a light jest about her heightened colour led her in, and they knelt together and took upon themselves those solemn vows which joined them for ever "for better for worse," till "death them should part." Solemn vows indeed are those, and not to be taken up lightly.

The parting was soon over, and ere the close of the day Tom Shaw and his wife found themselves in their new home near the town of Bristow, where the young man had met with a good situation as porter at a woollen manufactory. He had taken a little cottage in Mills' Gardens, a short distance from the town, and Kate was much pleased with what he had done to render the place attractive and comfortable. For some months all went on well; it was summer-time, and Tom would hasten home from work in the evening, that he and Kate might enjoy a stroll together through the adjoining fields; but as the winter drew on and the evenings became dark and long, Tom began to tire of the monotony of passing night after night by his own fireside, and he joined a club got up by

his fellow-workmen, which would require his attendance at least two evenings in the week. Kate grumbled at this, as it was but natural for a young wife who had but few acquaintances in a strange town; but she hoped that in a short time home ties would become stronger and Tom be induced once more to spend all his evenings with her. For a little while her hopes were realized when in the early spring their first-born child, a little daughter, lay in the old wicker cradle, in which Kate herself when an infant had often slumbered. For a little while Tom did again regularly return home after work to assist her in her new cares; but the novelty soon wore off, the club again absorbed his attention, often he was absent three or four evenings in the week, and the meetings being held at a public-house, it was rarely he returned home quite sober. Kate, disheartened by his neglect, began to care less for his comfort than she had previously done, and it not unfrequently happened that when he did return earlier than usual, she was absent gossiping in some neighbour's house, and the uncomfortable state of the cottage would drive him out again to the pleasant warmth and sociable company of the bar-room to stumble home in a sadly intoxicated state. Poor foolish Kate, not recognising her share in the matter, would meet him with reproaches and upbraidings, till from mutual recriminations, blows would be exchanged between the once-united pair.

As time rolled on, matters did not improve; their family quickly increased, while the means for their support visibly diminished; and the disheartened, neglected wife began with bitter tears to realize the truth of the inspired prediction, "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

One morning, some years after the date of the last paragraph, a district visitor was passing through the many lanes and turnings of Mills' Gardens. Miss James was a stranger in the neighbourhood. She knew little of the inhabitants of that crowded locality. As she passed on, one cottage standing a little apart from the rest attracted her attention by its miserable and neglected appearance; the broken windows were stuffed with rags and straw, the garden in which it stood was uncultivated; three or four dirty, ragged children, bare-headed and shoeless, were playing with some pieces of crockery outside the door at which Miss James gently knocked. It was opened by

a woman still young, and bearing still in her dirty, careworn face some traces of former good looks. Kate Shaw was reaping the bitter fruit of the seed which as Kate Wilson she had wilfully sown.

She held in her arms a baby, while another child just able to walk was clinging to her gown and peeping shyly at the unwonted visitor. Miss James kindly explained her errand; Kate listened with no expression of interest or pleasure; she coldly thanked the lady for the offered tract, and invited her to come in and sit down. Rarely indeed had Miss James entered an abode so wretched and miserable as this; scarcely an article of furniture was in the room; some dirty sacking spread on the still dirtier boards evidently formed the only bed of the destitute family. In kind terms she expressed her sorrow at finding them in such a condition, entirely without the common comforts of life; but Kate listened to her remarks with utter unconcern; she dusted the only chair in the room for the visitor, and then stood leaning against the door, coolly remarking "that their things were all taken for rent the week before, so they couldn't look to be very comfortable."

"What was the cause of such a misfortune?" inquired Miss James.

"It was all the drink," replied the woman. My husband had a good situation for years till he turned so unsteady his master wouldn't keep him any longer, and then he got took on as porter at Purcell's gin stores, and since then he's been getting worse and worse; they allow the men so much to drink a week, but that didn't satisfy him; the more he had, the more he wanted, and the rentmoney all went for drink, so the things were taken last week. And now Tom has lost that place too; they could never count on his being sober two days together, so they turned him off; we're as badly off as we can be, but, she added apathetically, "it's my fate, and it's no use to grumble; I must put up with it."

"Cannot you send some of these little ones to a ragged school?" said Miss James, regarding with compassionate looks the group of half-starved ragged children, who had come round the door to stare at the lady; "they would be out of your way, and it would be a better training for them than playing in the lane all day."

"I've no clothes fit to send 'em in," said Kate. "I've

had them so fast, I've had no time to bring them up: there are eight of 'em, and neither of 'em big enough to earn anything; I've trouble enough with 'em,-but there, it's my fate."

"You should not talk about fate in that way," said her visitor; "all events are ordered and arranged for us, it is true, but still our lives are pretty much what we ourselves make them."

"You're right there, ma'am; I've made my life what it is, and therefore I must abide by it. I didn't always live in this way. I had pious parents, and I was well brought up. Why, I was a tract-distributor myself once, and a Sunday-school teacher too; there's nothing you can tell me about religion and my duty that I don't know. I learned it all at home; but I would have my own way; I gave up a real good, steady young man, to marry Tom-one as would have made me the best of husbands-and I treated him shamefully. Father and mother told me how it would be. They said, 'Kate, if you marry in haste, it will be to repent at leisure;' but I wouldn't listen to them, and sure enough their words soon came true; I began to repent before I'd been married a year, and I've been repenting ever since. But it's no use to complain now, it's been my own doing, and I must abide by it. It's no use to talk about it;" and, as if tired of the conversation, the woman began to walk about the room to still the restless cries of the fretful baby in her arms.

For some time longer Miss James talked with her, endeavouring to find some trace of softer feeling, some desire for a better life, but to no purpose. The repentance of which Kate spoke was not real sorrow for the sin she had committed in despising the warnings and advice of her loving parents, but rather sorrow for the misery and wretchedness she had entailed upon herself, nor could she be roused to the attempt of bettering her condition.

The sequel to this sad but true story, as far as it can be known, may be told in a few words. Her worthless husband deserted her a year or two since, and soon after she heard of his death in a distant town. Four of her sons have at different times been convicted of theft; one is now in prison awaiting his trial, the other three are in reformatories, where it is hoped they will learn the lessons of honesty and godliness which their mother in early years failed to teach them.