John bought a pretty cottage in our neighborhood, and brought his wife and boys; and the effect of change of moral atmosphere verified all my predictions. In a year we had our own blooming, joyous, impulsive little Emily once more,--full of life, full of cheer, full of energy,--looking to the ways of her household,--the merry companion of her growing boys,--the blithe empress over her husband, who took to her genial sway as in the old happy days of courtship. The nightmare was past, and John was as joyous as any of us in his freedom. As Emmy said, he was turned right side out for life; and we all admired the pattern. And that is the end of my story. And now for the moral,--and that is, that life consists of two parts,--_Expression_ and _Repression_,--each of which has its solemn duties. To love, joy, hope, faith, pity, belongs the duty of _expression_: to anger, envy, malice, revenge, and all uncharitableness, belongs the duty of _repression_. Some very religious and moral people err by applying _repression_ to both classes alike. They repress equally the expression of love and of hatred, of pity and of anger. Such forget one great law, as true in the moral world as in the physical,--that repression lessens and deadens. Twice or thrice mowing will kill off the sturdiest crop of weeds; the roots die for want of expression. A compress on a limb will stop its growing; the surgeon knows this, and puts a tight bandage around a tumor; but what if we put a tight bandage about the heart and lungs, as some young ladies of my acquaintance do,--or bandage the feet, as they do in China? And what if we bandage a nobler inner faculty, and wrap _love_ in grave-clothes? But again there are others, and their number is legion,--perhaps you and I, reader, may know something of it in ourselves,--who have an instinctive habit of repression in regard to all that is noblest and highest within them, which they do not feel in their lower and more unworthy nature. It comes far easier to scold our friend in an angry moment than to say how much we love, honor, and esteem him in a kindly mood. Wrath and bitterness speak themselves and go with their own force; love is shame-faced, looks shyly out of the window, lingers long at the door-latch. How much freer utterance among many good Christians have anger, contempt, and censoriousness, than tenderness and love! _I hate_ is said loud and with all our force. _I love_ is said with a hesitating voice and blushing cheek. In an angry mood we do an injury to a loving heart with good, strong, free emphasis; but we stammer and hang back when our diviner nature tells us to confess and ask pardon. Even when our heart is broken with repentance, we haggle and linger long before we can “Throw away the worser part of it.”