'tastes had not been crossed! He was thun-
derstruck! He did not know she possessed
the least bit of spirit. She now had openly
rebelled. On his part he had never spoken
so to her before. She was astonished, and
began to tremble for the first time at a hus-
band's authority. But Ellen Carlton was na-
turally spirited, and opportunity was only
wanting to draw her out. She was a spoiled
beauty, capricious, and very fond of having
her own way.
Her parents had never
thwarted her inclinations, nor before had
Louis done so. She now internally resolved,
much as she loved Louis, not to yield to him.
She had imbibed certain notions she had
learned in girlhood of woman's rights, and
that if a bride yielded the first time to a hus-
band's temper, she was henceforth his slave.
Now, thought she to herself, the crisis and
the hour has come, and I will not submit.
Louis shall yield. Such a weak resolution
as this has been the means of producing much
of the connubial unhappiness that exists in
this world.

When Louis saw that Ellen was determined on wearing the purple ribbon, he quietly gave up to her; for he was naturally of a yielding nature. But this discovery of temper and wilfulness in the bride of his bosom, grieved him to the heart. He went with her to the party, but during the whole evening he was sad and absent in mind, while Ellen was gayer than usual.

The ensuing morning Ellen, who really loved Louis, and felt proud of his love, came to him, and putting her arms about his neck, affectionately kissed him. He returned the caress, and smiles once more took the place of sadness. But the bright crystal vase of their wedded love had received a flaw, and from that day their happiness was chequered and unsteady. The current of affection was interrupted by many of Ellen's caprices, and each day she seemed to be more and more reckless of her husband's domestic peace. The least incident would cause a quick frown to form between her eyebrows, and a sharp reply. Her temper grew sour as she gave indulgence to it, and poor Louis felt that all the happiness he had believed in store for him as a husband was destined to perish.

ing Ellen appeared in the parlor dressed for the street, the nurse following her with the infant.

"Where are you going, my dear?" asked Louis, lifting his eyes from a book on seeing her come in, and then rising and going towards the babe to give it a proud paternal kiss.

"To give little Mary an airing in the square. Don't she look sweet?" and Mrs. Carlton turned and gazed upon her infant with a look of maternal delight.

“A little cherub, Ellen! It's eyes, Captain Mortimer tells me, are just like mine."

"Confound Captain Mortimer, Louis," said Ellen, laughing; "I tell you every body says her eyes are exactly like mine!"

66

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Why your's are jet black, Ellen, and the babe's are hazle, and so are mine!" "How you do love to contradict, Louis," said Mrs. Carlton, pettishly. Come, Jane, let us go out before he quarrels with us." "Are you not ashamed, Ellen, to speak of me in this way before and to a servant? I had no intention of quarrelling. I merely said the babe's eyes were hazel."

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They are black."

"Well, black, then."

666

Well, black, then,'-I say they are

black."

"What is the matter, Ellen ?"

"You are as cross as you can be! I declare I never could have believed this. I did hope, after my confinement, you would have treated me a little differently;" and Mrs. Carlton suffered tears to come into her eyes, and threw herself into a rocking chair.

"My dear-I really did not mean to-" began Louis, approaching her.

“Go away—I don't want any my dearing," and her cambric handkerchief sought her eyes-sob.

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But, Ellen"

A year elapsed, and Ellen became a proud Mrs. Carlton did not expect so candid a and happy mother. In the full tide of her confession, and was at a loss to go on. At maternal love and happiness, all lesser streams length she rose up, and without looking at of discontent were swallowed up. Her tem- Louis, left the house, followed by the black per became cheerful, her disposition gentle, eyed, hazel eyed little infant in the nurse's her voice affectionate. He hailed this change arms. Louis soon after followed, and went with joy, for he had began to believe that the to the United States Hotel, to forget his docapriciousness of Ellen's temper had ruined mestic discomforts in the society of his bacheher own and his happiness forever. Three lor friends, and in the excitement of a glass months passed after the birth of their little or two of brandy and water. If pettish wives girl, and not one unkind word or look had knew how often they drove their husbands been interchanged between them. One morn-ll to the brandy bottle, they would pause ere

1

they gave way to a capriciousness which would bring forth to them such bitter fruits. "You don't seem in good spirits, Louis," said his bachelor friend the lawyer, whom he met there; "I suspect you are on the stool of repentance."

"I-I have a-that is-I have a toothache." "Oh, ah," said Charles Amesly, with a look of well feigned sympathy; "that is bad, Louis! Toothaches are very bad things, especially double teeth!"

"You look as if you were jealous of your baby, Carlton," said Col. Thornton; "married men tell me they sink into insignificance as soon as a baby is born."

"No, no, Messieurs," said the attaché to the French Legation, taking a huge pinch of snuff, and shrugging his shoulders till they met his ears; "Monsieur Carltong, my frient, is disciplined! He carry de eye down-de head droop, de hand cross behint de back, and looking so triste as if he lose all de frients he ever sall 'ave! He feel de chain-de bondage, eh, mine goot frient, Monsieur Carltong?"

Louis endeavored to laugh off the raillery of his friends; but the ill success of the effort only served to assure them of the truth. So when Carlton left them they followed him with several ejaculations:

"Poor Carlton, he sighs for freedom!" Unhappy Louis, he envies us and feels

66

sad!"

"Then what is the reason of this long face?" Louis faintly smiled, and then rose and walked across the room. His friend followed him and took his arm. "Louis, something is wrong! You and Ellen have quarrelled again!"

"You have hit it," answered Louis, smiling, yet looking unhappy.

"It is your fault. You let her govern you by her caprices and tears! If she frown, you are ready to speak and notice it! If she speak quick, you resent or reprove it! If she is in ill-humor, you make it worse by trying to put her into a better."

66

But what shall I do? I can't live and have her constantly frowning. If I look up from my book it is a chance if I do not see her looking cross; it has got to be habitual to her. She can't speak without a petite scolding key. Absolutely she keeps me in hot water all the time. I can't endure a frown on her face. It should be all smiles, gentleness and love!" "All fudge! Women are like men; they have their feelings, and must express them. they smile, thank Heaven! if they frown, endure it in silence. Don't mind them. It only spoils them, and makes them worse. Their faces are April skies, and he who looks to them for constant fair weather, has his trouble and disappointment for his pains." "But what shall I do when Ellen answers me in a cross tone?"

That evening Louis sat in his library alone and gloomy. He was reflecting upon the probable wreck of his matrimonial hopes. He thought of the sweet hours of courtship, when Ellen seemed all that a lover could desire, a husband hope for. He recalled the first six months of his married life, and dwelt with pleasure upon its uninterrupted bliss. He thought of their first difference about the color of a ribbon, and groaned at remember-If ing how many had followed it. He could not question the deep and devoted love of his wife; but not much skilled in the female heart, he marvelled how pure love could exist where there was so much capriciousness. He felt that if Ellen loved him, she would hesitate to make him unhappy, as she did do, twenty times in a day, by her little petty bursts of temper. To be sure they were transient, and always followed by a smile, but nevertheless the wound of his heart rankled long after she seemed to have forgotten that she had given cause for offence.

While he was thus engaged in thinking, an old married friend called in. He was twenty years older than Louis, and had a grown up!

"Offer her your pocket handkerchief. Louis could not help smiling at his experienced friend's matrimonial philosophy; and he promised to follow his advice.

"Do so, Louis," he said to him as he left

him; "and I assure you you will be a great deal happier. So soon as she sees that you are indifferent to her caprices and pretty sulkinesses, or finds that you can endure them with philosophy, she will put an end to them. Don't let her think you care so much about her as to be made miserable if she contract her eyebrow, or speak in an octave. Good bye."

him. Mrs. Carlton looked at him with angry surprise.

66

Why don't you speak, Mr. Carlton?" Louis salted the amalgam, and then peppered it. Mrs. Carlton's beautiful complexion was heightened. Her fine eyes grew dark, and her lip compressed. She could not get her husband to quarrel with her! the worst situation for a wife to be placed in in the world. After watching him for a few moments with a steady look, she rose quickly from the table, threw the chicken bone at the nurse's head, and "exit in a passion."

The judicious friend of Louis had not been long gone before the library door opened, and Mrs. Carlton stole in, in her night dress, with a neat ruffled cap tied beneath her oval chin. Louis saw without seeming to see her. He An hour elapsed, and finding Louis did not knew she was coming to make up with him; come to her chamber to see if she had taken for such was her disposition, that though she||laudanum, or cut her throat, she went down was careless about hurting Louis's feelings, she was as ready to atone for them. So it was falling out and falling in again with them twenty times in a day. Louis therefore expected her.

She advanced softly to him and stole her hand into the grasp of his, and bending down kissed his forehead.

"You will forgive me, Louis?"

He replied by pressing her to his heart. "Oh, Ellen, if you were always so kind and gentle-so full of all that commands a husband's love. I wish you would try and please me."

“I will, Louis. Come now to bed! I could not sleep, knowing you were displeased with me."

"Why, then, do you so often anger me?" "I cannot help it. I don't mean it." "We will speak no more of this to-night. May this peace be permanent, is my fervent prayer."

"It shall be, Louis ?"

Several days passed, and Ellen seemed really trying not only to avoid giving Louis offence, but to make him happy. But this calm was of short duration. At dinner she insisted on giving the babe a chicken bone to suck, and Louis contended for the impropriety of it, as the child was scarcely four months

old.

"It will not hurt him," said Mrs. Carlton, sharply.

"It will, indeed, it will, Ellen. I—I—" Louis remembered his experienced friend's advice, and was silent.

"What was you going to say?" asked Ellen, seeing he paused.

Louis commenced deliberately to mix dressing for salad.

"The child shall have the bone," and Mrs. Carlton looked to her husband for contradiction.

"I say he shall have it."

Louis scientifically mixed the oil and mus

for she could not bear this suspense. She entered the dining room! The cloth was removed and there sat Louis, with one leg over a chair, his wine* beside him, a cigar between his lips, and the evening paper before him, which he was reading. This indifference to her displeasure cut her to the heart! She was angry, yet trembling for his affection. She feared he had ceased to love her! She entered the room and walked to the window. He paid no attention to her, nor seemed to notice her presence. She rustled the curtain ; she tapped nervously on the glass; she even hummed a few notes of an air-yet he kept on reading his paper, and alternately sipping his wine and puffing his cigar. She could endure it no longer.

Louis!" she said in a low tone, without looking round.

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My dear!"-puff-sip—the news. She approached the table and stood near his right shoulder. "Louis!" in a still lower

tard, and seemed so absorbed in the process, wine-drinking by Louis. It's a bad habit to fall into. *We feel called upon to enter our disapproval of the that he appeared to notice nothing around "-ED. GAR.

Written for the Ladies' Garland.

THE COUSINS.
BY MRS. MARY L. GARDINER.

tears from her eyes, as they embraced their children.

"Come here, my dear," said Mrs. Cleavland, "these are your cousins."

Emma wound her arms affectionately around Adelaide's neck, and kissed her.

"You must love each other,"-continued Mrs. Cleavland; "Adelaide has no parents, no brother or sister; you must be very kind to her-and remember, as an orphan, she has a double claim upon your affections."

Adelaide retired to rest, but "tired nature's

Adelaide Mowbray was the only child of wealthy parents; who hailed her birth as the brightest era of their existence. Loving each other with that pure and holy affection which connects kindred souls, their every wish centered in this sweet pledge of their affections; who, ere she attained her tenth year, was left an orphan; a prevailing disease having swept her parents to the grave. Mrs. Mow-sweet restorer" fled from her eyes, steeped bray's spirit was the first to soar away to a brighter sphere. She committed her child to God, as an unfailing friend. As she drew near the final scene, Adelaide, who but seldom left her, clung still more closely to her bosom, kissed her pale lips again and again, as the last mortal agony fixed its seal upon her icy features. Mr. Mowbray, with a heart overflowing with anguish, hung over his beloved wife, and supported her head upon his bosom; while his daughter, clasping her mother's hand, pressed it to her heart. Mrs. Mowbray gazed upon them with intense affection, returned their love by an agonizing kiss; and then, with a hope full of immortality, welcomed the messenger of death.

with sorrow's tears; while her cousins rested and slept in sweet tranquillity. Parents whom she loved rushed upon her mind-kind words, pleasant voices, endearing actions, soft and cherished smiles stole over her, and she wept under their soul-subduing influence. If she for a moment became lost in sleep, she heard the soft murmuring of their voices, and her arms were extended to embrace them; which effort broke the ideal charm, and she awoke to the perfect consciousness of her situation.

Mr. and Mrs. C. were untiring in their efforts to render her happy; nor was Adelaide insensible to their kindness.

Edwin Cleavland, although a youth, had the maturity of manhood. He was sixteen Mr. Cleavland, who was a brother of Mrs. years of age when his cousin first met his Mowbray, on receiving news of her death, eyes. He saw her in the very bud of her hastened, with Mrs. C., to their brother, whom being. As the opening rose becomes more they found very ill; and remained with him lovely by morning dews, so were the charms until he died, which was only two weeks af-of Adelaide heightened by her falling tears. ter the death of his wife. Sensible he could Her mourning dress, her white neck, her rich not recover, Mr. Mowbray, tenderly embrac-and flowing hair, her expressive eyes, ever ing Adelaide, committed her to the care of moistened by sorrow, even in her gayest mood, her uncle and aunt; requesting them to bring rendered her an object of peculiar interest, her up, and educate her with their own chil-as if the spirits of the departed were present dren. Taking the weeping child in their to her view. arms, they promised faithfully to attend to his request, and be a father and mother unto her. Their hearts were touched by her grief, as in anguish of soul she clung to her beloved father; nor could they separate her from him. Knowing she must be composed, or relinquish his hand, which she grasped firmly in her own, with her face resting upon it, she would sit by his bed-side and gaze upon him until her young heart was nigh bursting, while her only movement was to frequently brush away her gushing tears.

Emma soon became attached to her cousin. So much did they resemble each other, they were like "a double cherry seeming parted, but a union in partition." Mr. Cleavland procured teachers of the first respectability for the girls, who closely and faithfully applied themselves to their studies. Their's was no superficial education; every branch which they pursued was thoroughly understood. They were proficient in the English and French languages, skilled in music, fond of reading, fond of retirement, happy in themShe received a lesson in the death of her selves. Their own family circle formed their parents she never forgot. She recollected, world of enjoyment. No seeds of bitterness through her whole after life, the chapters sprung up among them; all was peace and that were read, and the hymns that were re-love. They mingled but little with the gay peated around their dying beds: and ere Ade-world; independent and free from the shackles laide Mowbray was twelve years of age, she was a lamb of Christ's fold.

She returned with her uncle and aunt to their abode, where they were welcomed by Edwin and Emma. Mr. and Mrs. Cleavland sighed as they saw the little orphan wipe the

of the fashionable routine of a city life, they studied their own happiness, and the happiness of those around them; and their own fireside and shaded arbor were to them the brightest spots below the sky.

Mr. Cleavland's dwelling was situated on