Feb. 18, 1822. - Early this morning Arthur mounted his hunter andset off in high glee to meet the - hounds. He will be away allday, and so I will amuse myself with my neglected diary, if I cangive that name to such an irregular composition. It is exactlyfour months since I opened it last.

I am married now, and settled down as Mrs. Huntingdon of GrassdaleManor. I have had eight weeks' experience of matrimony. And do Iregret the step I have taken? No, though I must confess, in mysecret heart, that Arthur is not what I thought him at first, andif I had known him in the beginning as thoroughly as I do now, Iprobably never should have loved him, and if I loved him first, andthen made the discovery, I fear I should have thought it my dutynot to have married him. To be sure I might have known him, forevery one was willing enough to tell me about him, and he himselfwas no accomplished hypocrite, but I was wilfully blind; and now,instead of regretting that I did not discern his full characterbefore I was indissolubly bound to him, I am glad, for it has savedme a great deal of battling with my conscience, and a great deal ofconsequent trouble and pain; and, whatever I ought to have done, myduty now is plainly to love him and to cleave to him, and this justtallies with my inclination.

He is very fond of me, almost too fond. I could do with lesscaressing and more rationality. I should like to be less of a petand more of a friend, if I might choose; but I won't complain ofthat: I am only afraid his affection loses in depth where it gainsin ardour. I sometimes liken it to a fire of dry twigs andbranches compared with one of solid coal, very bright and hot; butif it should burn itself out and leave nothing but ashes behind,what shall I do? But it won't, it sha'n't, I am determined; andsurely I have power to keep it alive. So let me dismiss thatthought at once. But Arthur is selfish; I am constrained toacknowledge that; and, indeed, the admission gives me less painthan might be expected, for, since I love him so much, I can easilyforgive him for loving himself: he likes to be pleased, and it ismy delight to please him; and when I regret this tendency of his,it is for his own sake, not for mine.

The first instance he gave was on the occasion of our bridal tour.He wanted to hurry it over, for all the continental scenes werealready familiar to him: many had lost their interest in his eyes,and others had never had anything to lose. The consequence was,that after a flying transit through part of France and part ofItaly, I came back nearly as ignorant as I went, having made noacquaintance with persons and manners, and very little with things,my head swarming with a motley confusion of objects and scenes;some, it is true, leaving a deeper and more pleasing impressionthan others, but these embittered by the recollection that myemotions had not been shared by my companion, but that, on thecontrary, when I had expressed a particular interest in anythingthat I saw or desired to see, it had been displeasing to him,inasmuch as it proved that I could take delight in anythingdisconnected with himself.

As for Paris, we only just touched at that, and he would not giveme time to see one-tenth of the beauties and interesting objects ofRome. He wanted to get me home, he said, to have me all tohimself, and to see me safely installed as the mistress ofGrassdale Manor, just as single-minded, as naive, and piquante as Iwas; and as if I had been some frail butterfly, he expressedhimself fearful of rubbing the silver off my wings by bringing meinto contact with society, especially that of Paris and Rome; and,more-over, he did not scruple to tell me that there were ladies inboth places that would tear his eyes out if they happened to meethim with me.

Of course I was vexed at all this; but still it was less thedisappointment to myself that annoyed me, than the disappointmentin him, and the trouble I was at to frame excuses to my friends forhaving seen and observed so little, without imputing one particleof blame to my companion. But when we got home - to my new,delightful home - I was so happy and he was so kind that I freelyforgave him all; and I was beginning to think my lot too happy, andmy husband actually too good for me, if not too good for thisworld, when, on the second Sunday after our arrival, he shocked andhorrified me by another instance of his unreasonable exaction. Wewere walking home from the morning service, for it was a finefrosty day, and as we are so near the church, I had requested thecarriage should not be used.

'Helen,' said he, with unusual gravity, 'I am not quite satisfiedwith you.'

I desired to know what was wrong.

'But will you promise to reform if I tell you?'

'Yes, if I can, and without offending a higher authority.'

'Ah! there it is, you see: you don't love me with all your heart.'

'I don't understand you, Arthur (at least I hope I don't): praytell me what I have done or said amiss.'

'It is nothing you have done or said; it is something that you are- you are too religious. Now I like a woman to be religious, and Ithink your piety one of your greatest charms; but then, like allother good things, it may be carried too far. To my thinking, awoman's religion ought not to lessen her devotion to her earthlylord. She should have enough to purify and etherealise her soul,but not enough to refine away her heart, and raise her above allhuman sympathies.'

'And am I above all human sympathies?' said I.

'No, darling; but you are making more progress towards that saintlycondition than I like; for all these two hours I have been thinkingof you and wanting to catch your eye, and you were so absorbed inyour devotions that you had not even a glance to spare for me - Ideclare it is enough to make one jealous of one's Maker - which isvery wrong, you know; so don't excite such wicked passions again,for my soul's sake.'

'I will give my whole heart and soul to my Maker if I can,' Ianswered, 'and not one atom more of it to you than He allows. Whatare you, sir, that you should set yourself up as a god, and presumeto dispute possession of my heart with Him to whom I owe all I haveand all I am, every blessing I ever did or ever can enjoy - andyourself among the rest - if you are a blessing, which I am halfinclined to doubt.'

'Don't be so hard upon me, Helen; and don't pinch my arm so: youare squeezing your fingers into the bone.'

'Arthur,' continued I, relaxing my hold of his arm, 'you don't loveme half as much as I do you; and yet, if you loved me far less thanyou do, I would not complain, provided you loved your Maker more.I should rejoice to see you at any time so deeply absorbed in yourdevotions that you had not a single thought to spare for me. But,indeed, I should lose nothing by the change, for the more you lovedyour God the more deep and pure and true would be your love to me.'

At this he only laughed and kissed my hand, calling me a sweetenthusiast. Then taking off his hat, he added: 'But look here,Helen - what can a man do with such a head as this?'

The head looked right enough, but when he placed my hand on the topof it, it sunk in a bed of curls, rather alarmingly low, especiallyin the middle.

'You see I was not made to be a saint,' said he, laughing, 'If Godmeant me to be religious, why didn't He give me a proper organ ofveneration?'

'You are like the servant,' I replied, 'who, instead of employinghis one talent in his master's service, restored it to himunimproved, alleging, as an excuse, that he knew him "to be a hardman, reaping where he had not sown, and gathering where he had notstrawed." Of him to whom less is given, less will be required, butour utmost exertions are required of us all. You are not withoutthe capacity of veneration, and faith and hope, and conscience andreason, and every other requisite to a Christian's character, ifyou choose to employ them; but all our talents increase in theusing, and every faculty, both good and bad, strengthens byexercise: therefore, if you choose to use the bad, or those whichtend to evil, till they become your masters, and neglect the goodtill they dwindle away, you have only yourself to blame. But youhave talents, Arthur - natural endowments both of heart and mindand temper, such as many a better Christian would be glad topossess, if you would only employ them in God's service. I shouldnever expect to see you a devotee, but it is quite possible to be agood Christian without ceasing to be a happy, merry-hearted man.'

'You speak like an oracle, Helen, and all you say is indisputablytrue; but listen here: I am hungry, and I see before me a goodsubstantial dinner; I am told that if I abstain from this to-day Ishall have a sumptuous feast to-morrow, consisting of all manner ofdainties and delicacies. Now, in the first place, I should be lothto wait till to-morrow when I have the means of appeasing my hungeralready before me: in the second place, the solid viands of to-dayare more to my taste than the dainties that are promised me; in thethird place, I don't see to-morrow's banquet, and how can I tellthat it is not all a fable, got up by the greasy-faced fellow thatis advising me to abstain in order that he may have all the goodvictuals to himself? in the fourth place, this table must be spreadfor somebody, and, as Solomon says, "Who can eat, or who else canhasten hereunto more than I?" and finally, with your leave, I'llsit down and satisfy my cravings of to-day, and leave to-morrow toshift for itself - who knows but what I may secure both this andthat?'

'But you are not required to abstain from the substantial dinner ofto-day: you are only advised to partake of these coarser viands insuch moderation as not to incapacitate you from enjoying thechoicer banquet of to-morrow. If, regardless of that counsel, youchoose to make a beast of yourself now, and over-eat and over-drinkyourself till you turn the good victuals into poison, who is toblame if, hereafter, while you are suffering the torments ofyesterday's gluttony and drunkenness, you see more temperate mensitting down to enjoy themselves at that splendid entertainmentwhich you are unable to taste?'

'Most true, my patron saint; but again, our friend Solomon says,"There is nothing better for a man than to eat and to drink, and tobe merry."'

'And again,' returned I, 'he says, "Rejoice, O young man, in thyyouth; and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight ofthine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God willbring thee into judgment."'

'Well, but, Helen, I'm sure I've been very good these last fewweeks. What have you seen amiss in me, and what would you have meto do?'

'Nothing more than you do, Arthur: your actions are all right sofar; but I would have your thoughts changed; I would have you tofortify yourself against temptation, and not to call evil good, andgood evil; I should wish you to think more deeply, to look further,and aim higher than you do.'