"

Verily, thou art a God that hidest thyself. O, God of

Israel, the Saviour."

Isaiah, ch. xlv. v. 15.

"Let patience have her perfect work."

James, I.

A MERCHANT'S WIFE.

Lucy was the youngest of three sisters: she had passed all her life at her father's parsonage, in Cornwall, till her marriage with a young merchant, who was visiting a distant relation, near Mount's Bay; at her father's house he first saw her, and in her father's church she became his wife he was an orphan, and his only sister had been long married to a clergyman in North Wales. A few weeks after her marriage, Lucy set off with her husband to London; on the morning of her departure, she visited every room in the small parsonage, and sighed over objects, which association had long endeared to her; she had never sighed over them till then. She ran weeping round the garden, and patted the head of her

father's old gray horse, as it trotted up, thrusting its neck over the orchard gate at her approach; she wished to have gathered some of the primroses, which spotted with their pale yellow blossoms the bank of her favorite hazel copse; but she heard her father's voice, and ran quickly back: he told her that her husband was waiting for her. "Oh my dear father," said Lucy, as he pressed her arm to his side, " now I am going to leave you, I am so afraid that I shall not attend as I ought to all your advice, and prove unworthy of the care you have taken to make me good." "My very dear girl," replied the old clergy"you have been a dutiful child; I, who never flattered you, declare so; I think God will enable you to be a good wife; you may expect trials, we all must; but while you trust in God, he will never leave you, nor forsake you; remember that, *God is a God that hideth himself;' but '+God is love.'" The two old servants were standing near the door, to see Miss Lucy as long as they could; and she shook hands affectionately with them both: again and again did she kiss her parents and sisters. At last she took her husband's hand, and said; "dear William, you

man,

Isaiah, xlv. 15.

+ I. John, iv. 8.

will love me the better, for being so very sorry; I am quite ready now." She could not speak when she looked from the windows as they drove away; and she tried to smile, but it was one of those smiles which brought tears. They arrived late in the evening at Birchin Lane, where Mr. M. resided. The door was opened by a respectable, middle-aged woman, who had lived with him since his arrival in town. Every thing was neat; the house had been freshly painted for her reception, and a fire was blazing in the comfortable parlour. Lucy felt very tired, but she saw that every thing had been prepared for her, with more than common attention: she shook off her fatigue and languor, and sat down, cheerfully, to make tea for her husband. In the presence of Mary, the servant, she admired the neatness and cleanliness of the house. Mary was one of those persons, who possess an excellent heart and a bad temper: she had been out of humour, because her new mistress had delayed her journey for a few days; and because she had waited for her, and the house had been prepared for her reception in vain; but she could not resist the smile with which Lucy, after her long fatiguing journey, greeted her, and surveyed the apartment which she had arranged. She went down stairs, saying

to herself; "Well! I think there will be some pleasure in waiting on my young mistress, I feel as if I could not be cross with her." Mary, however, was often cross; but Lucy was always gentle; and to gentleness, she united firmness; so that Mary soon learnt not only to love, but to respect and look up to, her young mistress.-Many months glided away; Lucy was still very happy in her small house, with the few hours she enjoyed of her husband's society. M—had much good sense; but no one had ever tried to root from his heart that weed, false shame, which impedes the growth of so many virtues; his business was prosperous, and he allowed himself to be a little too much elated by it: he began, too, to feel ashamed of residing in the city. "Lucy," said he, one evening, "I have been thinking, that now I am become richer, there is no occasion for us to remain in this dull house: suppose we were to remove to the other end of the town? I can't bear your being shut up here all day." "But, my dear William, I don't mind being shut up; and I am not dull; the city agrees perfectly well with us: if we were ill, perhaps, it might be better to remove; you have no fatiguing walk now, after a wearisome day; and while the counting house is so near me, I have more of your society: if on my