"Ah well! I see you have not thought of that," said the old aunt; "but never mind, we will find some place to put it in after breakfast; you know we are to breakfast together."

This was a point Marcelle had not forgotten, and she forthwith led the way to her breakfast-table.

At the sight of it my father gave a start of pleased surprise. In the centre stood a basket of fruit, flowers, and moss, round which were arranged all our favourite dainties; each could recognize the dish prepared to suit his taste. After having given a rapid glance round, Madame Roubert cried out,

"And the bread, my child?"

Marcelle uttered a cry of consternation.

"You have none," said her aunt, quietly; "send your servant for some." Then lowering her voice, she added, "As she will pa.s.s by my door, she can at the same time tell Baptiste to bring the large easy-chair for your father, and I hope you will keep it. Your gothic chairs are very pretty to look at but when one is old or invalided, what one likes best in a chair, is a comfortable seat."

While awaiting the servant's return, Madame Roubert accompanied Marcelle in a tour round our abode. She pointed out what had been forgotten, remedied the inconvenience of several arrangements, or superseded them with better, doing it all with the utmost cheerful simplicity. Her hints never bordered on criticisms; she showed the error without astonishment at its having been committed, and without priding herself on its discovery.

When she had completed her examination, she took her niece aside with her accounts. Marcelle fetched the little rosewood case which served her as a cash box, and sat down to calculate the expenses of the past week. But her efforts to produce a satisfactory balance, seemed useless. It was in vain that she added and subtracted, and counted piece by piece her remaining money, the deficit never varied. Astounded at such a result, and at the amount spent, she began to examine the lock of her box, and to ask herself how its contents could have so rapidly disappeared, when Aunt Roubert interrupted her.

"Take care," she said in one of her most serious tones. "See, how from want of careful account-keeping you already suspect others; before this evening is here you will be ready to accuse them. It always is so. The want of order engenders suspicion, and it is easier to doubt the probity of others than one's own memory. No lock can prevent that, my child, because none can shelter you from the results of your own miscalculations. There is no safeguard for the woman at the head of a household, like a housekeeping-book which serves to warn her day by day, and bears faithful witness at the end of the month. I have brought you such a one as your uncle used to give me."

She drew it from her bag, and presented it to Marcelle.

It was an account-book bound in parchment, the cover of which was separated like a portfolio into three pockets, destined for receipts, bills, and memoranda. The book itself was divided into several parts, distinguished one from the other by markers corresponding to the different species of expenditure, so that a glance was sufficient to form an estimate, not only of the sum total, but also of the amount of expenditure, in each separate branch.

The whole formed a domestic budget as clear as it was complete, in which each portion of the government service had its open account regulated by the supreme comptroller.

M. Roubert, who had been during his life a species of unknown Franklin, solely occupied in the endeavour to make business and, opinions agree with good sense, had written above, each chapter a borrowed or unpublished maxim to serve as warning to its possessor.

At the beginning of the book the following words were traced in red ink:--

_"Economy is the true source of independence and liberality."_

Farther on, at the head of the division destined to expenses of the table:--

_"A Wise man has always three cooks, who season the simplest food: Sobriety, Exercise, and Content."_

Above the chapter devoted to benevolence:--

_"Give as thou hast received"_

And lastly, on the page destined to receive the amount of each month's savings, he had copied this saying of a Chinese philosopher:--

_"Time and patience convert the mulberry leaf into satin."_

After having given us time to look over the book, and read its wise counsels, Aunt Roubert explained to Marcelle the particulars of its use, and endeavoured to initiate her in domestic book-keeping.

TRIFLES.

TRULY hath the poet said that, "Trifles swell the sum of human happiness and woe." Our highest and holiest aspirations, our purest and warmest affections, are frequently called forth by what in itself may be deemed of trivial importance. The fragrant breath of a flower, the pa.s.sing song of the merry milk-maid, a soothing word from one we love, will often change the whole current of our thoughts and feelings, and, by carrying us back to the days of childhood, or bringing to our remembrance some innocent and happy state which steals over us like a long-forgotten dream, will dissipate the clouds of sorrow, and even the still deeper shades of falsity and evil.

How many of the great events of life have their origin in trifles; how many deep, heart-felt sorrows spring from neglect of what seemed to us a duty of little or no account--something that could be done or left undone as we pleased!

Alas! this is a dangerous doctrine. Let us endeavour to impress upon the minds of our children that no duty is trifling; that nothing which can in any way affect the comfort and happiness of others is unimportant.

The happiness of domestic life, particularly of married life, depends almost wholly upon strict attention to trifles. Between those who are united by the sacred tie of marriage, nothing should be deemed trivial. A word, a glance, a smile, a gentle touch, all speak volumes; and the human heart is so const.i.tuted that there is no joy so great, no sorrow so intense, that it may not be increased or mitigated by these trifling acts of sympathy from one we love.

Nearly three months had elapsed since the papers had duly announced to the public that Mary, daughter of Theodore Melville, had become the bride of Arthur Hartwell; and the young couple had returned from a short bridal tour, and were now quietly settled in a pleasant little spot which was endeared to Arthur by having been the home of his youthful days. He had been left an orphan at an early age, and the property had pa.s.sed into the hands of strangers, but he continued to cherish a strong attachment for the "old place," as he termed it, and he heard with joy, some few months before his marriage, that it was for sale; and without even waiting to consult his intended bride, he purchased it for their future home. This was a sad disappointment to Mary, for she had fixed her affections upon a pretty romantic little cottage, half hid by trees and shrubbery, which was situated within two minutes' walk of her father's house; and which, owing to the death of the owner, was offered for sale upon very favourable terms. In her eyes it possessed every advantage, and as she mentally compared it with the old-fashioned dwelling of which Arthur had become the possessor, she secretly conceived a strong prejudice against the spot where the duties and pleasures of the new sphere which she was about to enter were to commence; particularly as it was five miles distant from her parents, and not very near to any of her early friends.

Some faint attempts were made to induce Arthur to endeavour to get released from his bargain, and to become the purchaser of the pretty cottage, but in vain. He was delighted to have become the owner of what appeared to him one of the loveliest spots on the earth, and a.s.sured Mary that the house was vastly superior to any cottage, advancing so many good reasons for this a.s.sertion, and describing in such glowing terms the beauty of the surrounding scenery, and the happiness they should enjoy, that she could not help sympathizing with him, although her dislike to her future home remained unabated.

The first few weeks of her residences there pa.s.sed pleasantly enough, however. All was new and delightful. The grounds about the house, although little cultivated, were beautiful in the wild luxuriance of nature; the trees were loaded with rich autumnal fruits; and even the old-fashioned mansion, now that it was new painted, and the interior fitted up in modern style, a.s.sumed a more favourable aspect. It was a leisure time with Arthur, and he was ever ready to accompany Mary to her father's; so that she became quite reconciled to the distance, and even thought it rather an advantage, as it was such a pleasant little ride.

But as the season advanced, Arthur became more engrossed with business. The rides became less frequent, and Mary, accustomed to the society of her mother and sister, often pa.s.sed lonely days in her new home, and her dislike to it in some degree returned. Her affection for her husband, however, prevented the expression of these feelings, and she endeavouved to forget her loneliness in attention to household duties; reading, and music; but these resources would sometimes fail.

It was one of those bright afternoons in the latter part of autumn, when the sun shines forth with almost summer-like warmth, and the heart is gladdened with the departing beauty of nature. Mary was seated alone in her pleasant parlour, with her books and her work by her side.

"How I wish Arthur would return early!" she said, aloud, as she gazed from their open window. "It will be such a lovely evening. We could have an early tea, and ride over to father's and return by moonlight; it would be delightful;" and filled with this idea, she really expected her husband, although it still wanted two hours of the usual time of his return; and laying aside her work, began to make some preparations for the evening meal. She was interrupted by a call from an old friend who lived nearly two miles distant, and, intending to pa.s.s the afternoon at Mr. Melville's, had called to request Mary to accompany her.

The young wife was in considerable perplexity. She had a great desire to go to her father's, but she was unwilling to have Arthur return home and find her absent; and moreover, she felt a strong impression that he would himself enjoy the ride in the evening, and would, perhaps, be disappointed if she were not at home to go with him. So, with many thanks the invitation was declined, the visiter departed, and Mary returned with a light heart to the employment which the visit had interrupted.

Janet, the a.s.sistant in the kitchen, entered into the feelings of her mistress, and hastened to a.s.sist her with cheerful alacrity, declaring that she knew "Mr. Hartwell would be home directly,--it was just the evening for a ride," &c.&c.--this ebullition of her feelings being partly caused by sympathy with the wishes of her young mistress, and partly by her own desire to have the house to herself for the reception of some particular friends, who had promised to favour her with their company that evening.

But alas! the hopes of both mistress and maid were destined to be disappointed. The usual time for Arthur's return pa.s.sed by, and still he did not appear, and it was not until the deepening twilight had almost given place to the deeper shades of evening, that Mary heard his well known step, and springing from the sofa where she had thrown herself after a weary hour of watching, she flew to the door to greet him.

"Oh, Arthur!" she exclaimed, forgetful that he was quite ignorant of all that had been pa.s.sing in her mind for the last few hours, "how could you stay so late? I have waited for you so long, and watched so anxiously. It is quite too late for us to go now."

"Go where, Mary?" was the surprised reply. "I did not recollect that we were to go anywhere this evening. I know I am rather late home, but business must be attended to. I meant to have told you not to expect me at the usual hour."

This was too bad. To think that she had refused Mrs. Elmore's kind invitation, and had pa.s.sed the time in gazing anxiously from the window, when she might have enjoyed the society of father, mother, and all the dear ones at home; and now to find that Arthur actually knew that he should not return till late, and might have saved her this disappointment, it was really very hard; and Mary turned away to hide the starting tears, as she replied,

"You might have remembered to have told me that you should not be home till dark, Arthur, and then I could have gone with Mrs. Elmore.

She called to ask me to ride over to father's with her, but I would not go, because I felt so sure that you would come home early and take me to ride yourself this pleasant evening."

"You had no reason to expect it," said Arthur, rather shortly, for he felt irritated at the implied reproach of Mary's words and manner, and for the first time since their marriage, the husband and wife seated themselves at the table with unkind feelings busy in their hearts. Mary remained quite silent, while Arthur vented his irritation by giving the table an impatient jerk, exclaiming,

"I really wish Janet could learn to set a table straight! I believe her eyes are crooked."

This was an unfortunate speech, for Mary, in her desire to expedite Janet's preparations for tea, had herself arranged the table; at another time she would have made a laughing reply, but just now she did not feel like joking, and the remark only increased the weight at her heart.

These grievances may seem very trifling, and indeed they are so; but our subject is trifles, and if the reader will examine his own heart, he will find that even little troubles sometimes produce a state which even the addition of a feather's weight renders insupportable.

Thus it was with Mary. She made an ineffectual attempt to eat, but the food seemed to choke her; and rising abruptly, she seated herself at the piano and commenced a lively tune in order to hide her real feelings.

There was nothing strange in this. Arthur frequently asked her to play to him when he felt disposed to remain at the table longer than she did, and he had often said that he liked the ancient custom of having music at meals; but this evening music had lost its charm; the lively tune was not in unison with his state of feeling, and he hastily finished his supper and left the room. This was another trial, and the ready tears gushed from Mary's eyes as she left the piano, and summoning Janet to remove the tea things, she bade her tell Mr. Hartwell when he came in, that she had a bad headache and had gone to her own room.

Arthur returned from his short walk in less than half an hour, quite restored to good humour by the soothing effects of the lovely evening, and somewhat ashamed that he had been disturbed by so trifling a cause.

"Perhaps Mary would like to take a walk," he said, to himself, as he entered the house. "It is not too late for that, and to-morrow I will endeavour to take the wished-for ride."