Many were the sensible lessons that the good man gave her, as leaning on her strong arm he used to pace up and down the grassy slopes which bordered the sea shore.  “Look, Emilie,” he would say, “look at that governess marshalling her scholars out.  Do they look happy? think you that they obey that stern mistress out of love?  Listen, she calls to them to keep their ranks and not to talk so loud.  What unhappy faces among them!  Emilie, my child, you may keep school some day; oh, take care and gain the love of the young ones, I don’t believe there is any other successful government, so I have found it.”  “With me, ah yes, papa!” “With you, my child, and with all my scholars; I had little experience as a teacher, when first it pleased God to make me dependent on my own exertions as such, but I found out the secret.  Gain your pupils’ love, Emilie, and a silken thread will draw them; without that love, cords will not drag, scourges will scarcely drive them.”

Emilie found this advice of her father’s rather hard to follow now and then.  Her first essay in teaching was in Mrs. Parker’s family.  Edith was to “be finished.”  And now poor Emilie found that there was more to teach Edith than German and French, and that there was more difficulty in teaching her to keep her temper than her voice in tune.  Edith was affectionate, but self-willed and irritable.  Her mamma’s treatment had not tended to improve her in this respect.  Mrs. Parker had bad health, and said she had bad spirits.  She was a kind, generous, and affectionate woman, but was always in trouble.  In trouble with her chimneys because they smoked; in trouble with her maids who did not obey her; and worst of all in trouble with herself; for she had good sense and good principle, but she had let her temper go too long undisciplined, and it was apt to break forth sometimes against those she loved, and would cause her many bitter tears and self-upbraidings.

She took an interest in the poor German master, for she was a benevolent woman, and cheered his dying bed by promising to assist his daughter.  She even offered to take her into her family; but this could not be thought of.  Good aunt Agnes had left her country for the sake of Emilie—­Emilie would not desert her aunt now.

The scene at the supper table was not an uncommon one, but Emilie was frequently more successful in winning aunt Agnes to a smile than on this occasion.  “Perhaps I tried too much; perhaps I did not try enough, perhaps I tried in the wrong way,” thought Emilie, as she received her aunt’s cold kiss, and took up her bed room candle to retire for the night.  When aunt Agnes said good night, it was so very distantly, so very unkindly, that an angry demand for explanation almost rose to Emilie’s lips, and though she did not utter it, she said her good night coldly and stiffly too, and thus they parted.  But when Emilie opened the Bible that night, her eye rested on the words, “Be ye kind one to another,