A man may be disposed to save money, and lay it by for sickness or for other purposes; but he cannot do this unless his wife lets him, or helps him.  A prudent, frugal, thrifty woman is a crown of glory to her husband.  She helps him in all his good resolutions; she may, by quiet and gentle encouragement, bring out his better qualities; and by her example she may implant in him noble principles, which are the seeds of the highest practical virtues.

The Rev. Mr. Owen, formerly of Bilston,—­a good friend and adviser of working people,—­used to tell a story of a man who was not an economist, but was enabled to become so by the example of his wife.  The man was a calico-printer at Manchester, and he was persuaded by his wife, on their wedding-day, to allow her two half-pints of ale a day, as her share.  He rather winced at the bargain, for, though a drinker himself, he would have preferred a perfectly sober wife.  They both worked hard; and he, poor man, was seldom out of the public-house as soon as the factory was closed.

She had her daily pint, and he, perhaps, had his two or three quarts, and neither interfered with the other? except that, at odd times, she succeeded, by dint of one little gentle artifice or another, to win him home an hour or two earlier at night; and now and then to spend an entire evening in his own house.  They had been married a year, and on the morning of their wedding anniversary, the husband looked askance at her neat and comely person, with some shade of remorse, as he said, “Mary, we’ve had no holiday since we were wed; and, only that I have not a penny in the world, we’d take a jaunt down to the village, to see thee mother.”

“Would’st like to go, John? “said she, softly,between a smile and a tear, so glad to hear him speak so kindly,—­so like old times.  “If thee’d like to go, John, I’ll stand treat.”

“Thou stand treat!” said he, with half a sneer:  “Has’t got a fortun’, wench?”

“Nay,” said she, “but I’ve gotten the pint o’ ale.”

“Gotten what?” said he.

“The pint o’ ale!” said she.

John still didn’t understand her, till the faithful creature reached down an old stocking from under a loose brick up the chimney, and counted out her daily pint of ale in the shape of three hundred and sixty-five threepences, i.e., L4 11_s._ 3_d._, and put them into his hand, exclaiming, “Thou shalt have thee holiday, John!”

John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-stricken, charmed, and wouldn’t touch it.  “Hasn’t thee had thy share?  Then I’ll ha’ no more! “he said.  He kept his word.  They kept their wedding-day with mother,—­and the wife’s little capital was the nucleus of a series of frugal investments, that ultimately swelled out into a shop, a factory, warehouses, a country seat, carriage, and, perhaps, a Liverpool Mayor.