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CONJUGAL SUSPICION AND CONJUGAL
CONFIDENCE.

TAKING up a book after writing the above title, we happened to light upon a "Recipe for making a Mad Dog." And thereupon our fingers itched to draw our pen across the line we had written, and to substitute in its room,-"How to make a mad husband."

And we can assure you, reader, that great has been the effort of mind to keep back our thoughts from running into the new channel which this breach in the embankment opened. For, however complicated the process of making a mad dog may be, we believe it would be tolerably easy, if it were worth one's while to try the experiment, to make a mad husband :-or say, by way of variation, a mad wife.

We shall not write the recipe, however; and to recal our wandering ideas, we shall copy the extract for which we were looking when the 'mad dog' crossed our path.

'Perhaps,' says our author, the whole art of happiness in the married state might be compressed into two maxims,-'Bear and forbear;' and 'Let the husband treat his wife, and the wife her husband, with as much respect and attention as he would a strange lady, and she, a strange gentleman.'

I trust much caution is scarcely necessary against flirtations, well calculated to excite uneasiness, doubts, and suspicions, in the heart of the husband or wife of the party who indulges in them, and to give occasion to the censorious to make sinister observations; but it is unfortunately too true that the suspicion of mis

conduct often produces fully as much scandal and evil as the reality.

'It is a good rule of reason and common sense, that we should not only be, but appear to be, scrupulously correct in our conduct. And, be it observed, that, however pure and innocent the purposes of the parties may be at the commencement, flirtation too often leads to disastrous results. It breaks down some of the guards that hedge round innocence. The parties in these cases are not inaptly compared to the moth flittering around a lighted candle, unaware of the impending danger. It finally burns its wings, and is thus mutilated for life. He that loveth danger, shall perish therein.' 'Lead us not into temptation,' is a wise prayer; and while we pray not to be 'led into temptation,' we most assuredly ought not to lead ourselves into it. I know these remarks will be charged to the account of prudery; but at the risk of this charge, I cannot withhold them.'

No, not prudery this; but wisdom and morality; -good sound MORALITY FOR HOME, every syllable of which we cordially endorse.

But this is only one side of a subject which has many sides; and while Home Morality demands and enforces that conjugal fidelity which forbids suspicion, it requires, on the other hand, that conjugal confidence which defies the power of jealousy, that charity that 'thinketh no evil,—that rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth, that beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things, and never faileth; that cordial, reposing, and trusting love which binds heart to heart, and recals with a look and a smile the fancy which may, for a moment, have gone astray.

Much more does Home Morality rebuke, with its sternest condemnation, the groundless jealousy, alike despicable and mischievous, which watches with its Argus' eyes, for the very appearance of evil-the faintest shadow of a shade of a rival; and which envenoms and poisons with its baleful breath the existence of domestic happiness at its very core.

'She really seems a very interesting young woman.' The words were as commonplace as need be; and they were but the natural response to a very commonplace question; but wonderful was their effect.

'Oh, that is it, is it, Mr. D.? Interesting, is she? very interesting, too? I dare say she is: I have no doubt you will find her so;' and forthwith Mrs. D. showed symptoms of very great mental agitation.

'Bless my heart alive! why, what is the matter, Susan? What have I said or done ?'

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'O, nothing; of course not. Oh no! I ought to be very glad, I am sure, that But why do you call Miss Taylor a young woman, Mr. D.? Why not say, young lady?'

By all means, my love, if you please: I have no doubt that Miss Taylor is quite deserving of being called a young lady. She is, at any rate, very lady

like.'

'Yes, Oh yes, Mr. D.; and so interesting, you know, so very interesting!' and before her husband could reply, Mrs. D. had disappeared. At dinnertime her place was vacant. She had a bad headache, she sent word by the housemaid, and begged that Mr. D. would excuse her, and allow Miss Taylor to take her place.

Mr. D. was, unfortunately, too much used to these flights of temper to think that some strange thing had happened to him, and without placing Miss Taylor at the head of the table, he managed, with tolerable composure, to carve the shoulder of mutton without aid from his wife.

Mr. D. was a professional gentleman, with a good practice, and a growing family. Emily Taylor was the daughter of an old friend, lately deceased, and her only portion was character, education, and a considerable share of beauty. She had been trained for tuition, and at her father's death, was eighteen years of age. At that very time, Mr. D. was looking out

for a governess for his children; and it was the most natural thing in the world for his thoughts to turn to the orphan child of his poor friend.

And Mrs. D. had agreed to this, although, as she said, she should like to have seen the young woman first. But as 'the young woman' was at that time in Devonshire, and Mrs. D. in Norfolk, this was impracticable, and the engagement was accordingly made by letter. But bitterly did Mrs. D. regret having given her consent, the very first evening after the arrival of the young governess. She was too handsome by half.' And then, the next morning, to be told to her face that the girl was very interesting,' and that by her own husband, who had no business to have eyes and ears for any other woman besides herself:it was plain where it all would end.

Whatever the end might be in Mrs. D.'s imagination, it was, in reality, a very mournful one. We do not wish to make a long story of it, though the materials for a long story are tempting ;-an outline will suit our purpose, and here it is:

Poor Emily soon gained the affections of her young pupils, by her kind and loving temper, and the cordial respect of her friend, Mr. D. But, in proportion to these was she subjected to the jealous dislike of Mrs. D. At first this dislike was shown in perpetual illtemper, and in ceaseless vigilance. Not a kind word, nor approving smile, nor pitying glance of her husband towards his young ward, but was noted down in her memory. Then came an angry demand for Emily's instant dismissal, which was met by Mr. D. with an indignant refusal and a pointed remonstrance. Then followed a series of insults and persecutions, some covert and some open, heaped unmercifully upon the poor orphan.

At length, lashed to madness by her own unworthy suspicions, Mrs. D., in a coterie of female friends, let drop hints which, eagerly received, highly magnified, and industriously reported, touched the reputa tion of her husband, and sullied the fair fame of the

poor fatherless girl with a foul blot. Years of suffering innocence followed, closed at length by an early death from blighted hopes and a broken heart.

This is your work,' said Mr. D., as he handed across the breakfast-table to his wife a black-bordered letter, from Emily's almost distracted mother, announcing the sad intelligence :-'This is your work. Rejoice in it!'

We turn, with lightened feelings, from this tale of Conjugal Suspicion, to one of Conjugal Confidence. Some years ago, we visited a worthy friend in

-shire, and during our stay, he related the following passage in his life, which pleased us mightily, as exemplifying the truth that, though Detraction, with its thousand tongues, is powerful and withering in its baneful operations, yet that truth and honesty are still potent in their restorative virtue; that a simple and straightforward, though silent rebuke, will often put to shame the ignorance of the foolish; that woman's wit, rightly applied, will often find resources when nothing else can avail; and that, above all, conjugal confidence is invaluable to Domestic Happi

ness.

Our friend

but he shall tell his own story.

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'I was once,' said he, on the point of losing my business and my character together, by a malicious report that was spread abroad in the neighbourhood; and should have done so entirely, but for the good fidelity and moral courage of my excellent wife.

'I was returning, one summer's evening from a village some miles off. It had been a very hot day, and the night was still sultry, so I walked slowly to avoid over-heating myself, until it grew late and somewhat dark. I had got about half way homeward, and was on the most lonely part of the road, when I heard a slight moaning, as though proceeding from the bank on my right hand. I stopped and listened, and the

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