time for me to pray, as at any time, especially on your ac

count.

Wife. Why, then, I beseech you, more than at any other time?

Husb. For the same reasons that Job was offering sacrifice for his sons and daughters, when they were making merry, viz. that they might not be led into temptation. Wife. I desire none of your prayers.

Husb. For that reason you have the more occasion fo them, my dear, and I the more reason to pray for you. Wife. I had rather you would go to the play with me. Husb. I am sorry for the wretched choice you make, and very sorry you make it impossible for me to oblige you. I had much rather you would put yourself in a condition that I might, according to my own inclination, deny you nothing.

Wife. You will have your own way; you will be a worse husband, before you are a better.

Hush. I believe you will be a better wife, before you are

a worse.

Wife. You have too much religion to be a kind husband.

Husb. Lord give you more religion, my dear, then you shall be a kinder wife.

Wife. Do not trouble your head to pray for me, I tell you, till I put up a bill to you as they do at church.

Husb. I shall always pray for you, my dear. Wife. You'll have no thanks for it, your labour is all lost.

Husb. I hope not, my dear; but I intreat you let us have no more of this kind of discourse, you mix it with so much profaneness, as well as unkindness, that it is very grievous and very afflicting to me. I was in hopes never to have seen you come this length.

Wife. What length am I come?

Husb. I desire not to enter into particulars. I fear you

are laying in a great stock for repentance, and our discourse does but increase it; therefore I forbear saying any more, for in multiplying words there wanteth not ŝin.

Wife. I desire to be used better, or I shall be a worse wife.

Husb. You are disposed to be out of temper at this time, my dear. I hope you will be of another mind when you have considered of it. I'll leave you awhile.

Wife. For as long as you please.

[He withdraws, and goes up stairs.]

When her husband was gone, and she had sit awhile, and mused upon what she had done, her passion began to abate, and reason to take place again in her soul: and first her unkindness to her husband began to show itself to her." I believe," says she to herself, "I have angered him heartily; well, it cannot be helped now, let him take it as he will."

But a little further thinking brought her more to herself, and then her affection to him stirred in her, and she breaks out again, "But why should I treat him thus? He never was unkind to me in his life; he has been the most tender husband that ever woman had, and has taken me with circumstances ill enough: I'll go and heal it all again, take bim in my arms, and speak kindly to him."

Away she goes to speak to him, but cannot find him. She inquires for him; the servants say he is in his closet; up she flies thither, but he was come down again, and was gone out; then, looking out at the window, she saw him at a distance walking very melancholy in some fields near the house, all alone by himself. By this time she was entirely come to herself; and seeing him walk so solitary, it made her very uneasy. She sends a servant to him, to tell him she desired to speak with him; and, in hopes of his coming, she run out into the garden to meet him; but the boy brought her word again he was gone, and he could not find him.

Now she began violently to reproach herself with her ill

usage of her husband, and shutting herself into her chamber, she reflected bitterly on herself.

"What a brute have I been," said she, "to the best husband that ever woman had! that took me without a farthing portion, when I was turned out of doors by my father and mother; that never said an unkind thing to me in his life; and, when I have lost 501. at a time at play, never said so much as, why did you do so? or grudged parting with his money! What barbarous language have I given him! and how calmly and tenderly he has returned it all along, without one unkind word! Sure I am the veriest brute of a wife ever man had, and do not deserve that ever he should have the least value for me again!" She stopt awhile, and wept vehemently, and then went on with her exclamations upon herself, thus:

"Then what have I quarrelled with him for, but for what all the women in the nation but I would value a man for, viz. for his being sober, and virtuous, and religious; and did ever a fool talk to a husband as I did, about his family orders, his praying to God, and the like. Why, my own conscience tells me that he is in the right, and I am in the wrong; and, though I mind nothing myself, I cannot but own he does well. Sure I am the worst creature alive! There are many women, and men too, that have religion little enough; but sure never any woman abused her husband for being better than themselves before."

Here she bursts out into tears again and still impatient, upon every little noise she heard in the house, to know if her husband was come home.

Her husband had borne all her taunts with the utmost patience as above, and had not withdrawn at last, but that he found himself moved by her talking irreligiously and profanely, when, fearing he should fly out in a passion too, and so give her any indecent language as she did him, and which he thought himself obliged to avoid, he withdrew.

He was, however, not on.y surprised, but extremely af

flicted, at this treatment; and not only at this as an acci dent, but at the sad prospect of what he was to expect from the continuance of it; and that both as it respected the conduct of herself abroad, which began to be public, and also the treatment he was to have from her at home.

However, as the best remedy for the disorder of his passions, he went immediately into his closet, and prayed earnestly to God for a patient submissive frame in himself to all his providences; that he might not lay any stress upon the instrument, but view the meaning and design of sovereign goodness in all those things, not forgetting, at the same time, to pray very sincerely for his wife, that God would open her eyes, convince her of her sin, and bring her home to himself, by a true repentance and refor

mation.

This brought him to a perfect composure of mind; and, after some time spent thus, he went out, and took a walk in some fields behind his house, where his wife afterwards, as is noted above, discovered him from her chamber win. dow, but, before the messenger she sent came thither, he was gone, having walked into the city; and as he went, he accidentally met with his wife's father, and, going to take a glass of wine together, the following discourse happened between them.

Fath. Well, son, I hear you are gone to house-keeping. I give you joy of your settlement: how does all your family?

Son. We would do all much better, if we had your blessing, Sir, and might have some of your company.

Fath. Indeed, son, you have my blessing and good wishes very heartily. I have no other reason.

Son. I thank you for it so far, Sir; but we are without it in a family way; which is what I long to have over. Is there no way, Sir, to obtain your pardon?

Fath. God has not obliged us to pardon offences that are never acknowledged son.

Son. Sir, your daughter and I are one now; be pleased

to accept my acknowledgment for her. 1 do most freely own she has been in the wrong in every part, and I'll beg your pardon for her on my knees.

Fath. If you will say she desires you to do so, I'll grant it at the first word, and abate you the ceremony of kneeling.

Son. I wish I could say so, Sir, honestly: but I dare not say so, unless it were true.

Fath. I know that very well, and therefore 1 put it upon your bare saying it.

Son. It is my great grief that it is not so much so as I would have it; but can you abate nothing, Sir.

Fath. Nay, son, I'll leave it to you; is it meet I should come and say, daughter, I am in the wrong; 'I ought not to have reformed my family, or, if I had, I ought not to have expected you or your brother should have complied with it, and therefore you have been in the right, and I am very sorry it has gone so far, pray come and see me?

Son. No, Sir, I never so much as thought you were in the wrong; nor do I say but my wife ought to come and acknowledge her fault, and ask your pardon, but she has had ill advisers. If I had influence enough on her to prevail, she should neither eat nor sleep till she asked your pardon in the humblest manner possible.

Fath. For your sake, son, and to let you see how willing I am to heal a family breach, if she will send one word by you, that she acknowledges she has failed in her duty and desires me to be reconciled to her, I'll come to her house and see you tomorrow.

Son. It is my grief, Sir, that I cannot promise for her, that she should comply with what is so reasonable, and so kind. I acknowledge, Sir, you cannot ask less.

Fath. Nay, I do not expect it. I know she won't do it. Did she not refuse so much as to see me when she had no reason but to think she was upon her death-bed?

Son. I am sorry to own to you, Sir, that I have not in