Brainard fairly started to his feet as he turned to the mantel, and, strange to say, missed, for the first time, the handsome timepiece referred to by his wife.

“Why, Anna, is it possible?  Surely that hasn’t been gone for two months!”

“Oh, yes, it has.”

“Well, that beats all.”

And Brainard resumed his chair.

“You’ve been just as comfortable,” said the excellent young woman.

“But you didn’t get a hundred and seventy dollars for the timepiece?”

“No.  Have you lost no other comfort?  Think.”

Brainard thought, but in vain.  Anna glided from the room, and returned in a few moments with her jewel-box.

“Do you miss any thing?” said she, as she raised the lid and placed the box in his hands.

“Your watch and chain!”

Anna smiled.

“You did not sell them?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Anna!  Did you set no value on your husband’s gifts?”

There was a slight rebuke in the tone of Brainard.  Tears sprang to Anna’s eyes, as she answered—­“I valued them less than his happiness.”

Brainard looked at her for a few moments with an expression of deep tenderness.  Then turning to me, he said, in a voice that was unsteady from emotion—­“You shall be my judge.  Has she done wrong or right?”

“Right!” I responded, warmly.  “Right! thank Heaven, my friend, for giving you a true woman for a wife.  There is some hope now of your finding the comfort you sought so vainly in the beginning.”

And he has found it—­found it in a wise appropriation, of the good gifts of Providence according to his means.

CHILDREN—­A FAMILY SCENE.

“Mother!”

“As I was saying”—­

“Mother!”

“Miss Jones wore a white figured satin”—­

“Oh! mother!”

“With short sleeves”—­

“Mother! mother!”

“Looped up with a small rosebud”—­

“I say! mother! mother!”

The child now caught hold of her mother’s arm, and shook it violently, in her effort to gain the attention she desired, while her voice, which at first was low, had become loud and impatient.  Mrs. Elder, no longer able to continue her account of the manner in which Miss Jones appeared at a recent ball, turned angrily toward little Mary, whose importunities had sadly annoyed her, and, seizing her by the arm, took her to the door and thrust her roughly from the room, without any inquiry as to what she wanted.  The child screamed for a while at the door, and then went crying up-stairs.

“Do what you will,” said Mrs. Elder, fretfully, “you cannot teach children manners.  I’ve talked to Mary a hundred times about interrupting me when I’m engaged in conversation with any one.”

“It’s line upon line and precept upon precept,” remarked the (sic) visiter.  “Children are children, and we mustn’t expect too much from them.”