for some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those
when he had leaned over that instrument, and listened to the
melting tones of her voice.--I could not but smile at this
instance of romantic gallantry in a doating husband.

He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all
day superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become
strongly interested in the progress of his family story, and, as
it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany him.

He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and, as we walked
out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing.

"Poor Mary!" at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his lips.

"And what of her," asked I, "has anything happened to her?"

"What," said he, darting an impatient glance, is it nothing to be
reduced to this paltry situation--to be caged in a miserable
cottage--to be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of
her wretched habitation?"

Has she then repined at the change?

"Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and good-humor.
Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever known her;
she has been to me all love, and tenderness, and comfort!"

"Admirable girl!" exclaimed I. "You call yourself poor, my
friend; you never were so rich,--you never knew the boundless