"There is a power in kindness," said the father, as he sat musing, after the lad's departure. And even while he sat musing over the incident, the boy came back with a cheerful, happy face, and said-- "Can I do any thing else for you, father?" Yes, there is the power of kindness. The tempest of passion can only subdue, constrain, and break; but in love and gentleness there is the power of the summer rain, the dew, and the sunshine. BEAR AND FORBEAR. "DON'T talk to me in such a serious strain, Aunt Hannah. One would really think, from what you say, that James and I would quarrel before we were married a month." "Not so soon as that, Maggy dear. Heaven grant that it may not come so soon as that! But, depend upon it, child, if you do not make 'bear and forbear' your motto, many months will not have passed, after your wedding-day, without the occurrence of some serious misunderstanding between you and your husband." "If anybody else were to say that to me, Aunt Hannah, I would be very angry." "For which you would be a very foolish girl. But it is generally the way that good advice is taken, it being an article of which none think they stand in need." "But what in the world can there be for James and I to have differences about? I am sure that I love him most truly; and I am sure he loves me as fondly as I love him. In mutual love there can be no strife--no emulation, except in the performance of good offices. Indeed, aunt, I think you are far too serious." "Over the bright sky bending above you, my dear niece, I would not, for the world, bring a cloud even as light as the filmy, almost viewless gossamer. But I know that clouds must hide its clear, calm, passionless blue, either earlier or later in life. And what I say now, is with the hope of giving you the prescience required to avoid some of the storms that may threaten to break upon your head." "Neither cloud nor storm will ever come from that quarter of the sky from which you seem to apprehend danger." "Not if both you and James learn to bear and forbear in your conduct toward each other." "We cannot act otherwise." "Then there will be no danger." Margaret Percival expressed herself sincerely. She could not believe that there was the slightest danger of a misunderstanding ever occurring between her and James Canning, to whom she was shortly to be married. The well-meant warning of her aunt, who had seen and felt more in life than she yet had, went therefore for nothing. A month elapsed, and the young and lovely Maggy pledged her faith at the altar. As the bride of Canning, she felt that she was the happiest creature in the world. Before her was a path winding amid green and flowery places, and lingering by the side of still waters; while a sunny sky bent over all.