I laughed at this exaggeration, and looked round to see what Ernest thought of such talk. But he had disappeared. "As you have spoken plainly to me, knowing, me, to be a wife and a mother, you must allow me to 'speak plainly in return," I began. "Oh, speak plainly, by all means! I am quite sick and tired of having truth served up in pink cotton, and scented with lavender." "Then you will permit me to say that when you speak contemptuously of the vocation of maternity, you dishonor, not only the mother who bore you, but the Lord Jesus Himself, who chose to be born of woman, and to be ministered unto by her through a helpless infancy." Miss Clifford was a little startled. "How terribly in earnest you are!" she said. "It is plain that to you, at any rate, life is indeed no humbug." I thought of my dear ones, of Ernest, of my children, of mother, and of James, and I thought of my love to them and of theirs to me. And I thought of Him who alone gives reality to even such joys as these. My face must have been illuminated by the thought, for she dropped the bantering tone she had used hitherto, and asked, with real earnestness: "What is it you know, and that I do not know, that makes you so satisfied, while I am so dissatisfied?" I hesitated before I answered, feeling as I never felt before how ignorant, how unfit to lead others, I really am. Then I said: "Perhaps you need to know God, to know Christ?" She looked disappointed and tired. So I came away, first promising, at her request, to go to see her again. I found Ernest just driving up, and told him what had passed. He listened in his usual silence, and I longed to have him say whether I had spoken wisely and well. JUNE 1.-I have been to see Miss Clifford again and made mother go with me. Miss Clifford took a fancy to her at once. "Ah!" she said, after one glance at the dear, loving face, "nobody need tell me that you are good and kind. But I am a little afraid of good people. I fancy they are always criticising me and expecting me to imitate their perfection." "Perfection does not exact perfection," was mother's answer. "I would rather be judged by an angel than by a man." And then mother led her on, little by little, and most adroitly, to talk of herself and of her state of health. She is an orphan and lives in this great, stately house alone with her servants. Until she was laid aside by the state pf her health, she lived in the world and of it. Now she is a prisoner, and prisoners have time to think. "Here I sit," she said, "all day long. I never was fond of staying at home, or of reading, and needlework I absolutely hate. In fact, I do not know how to sew." "Some such pretty, feminine work might beguile you of a few of the long hours of these long days," said mother. "One can't be always reading."