in his place.  But this, reason told her, was folly.  They had not presented themselves, and he had.  They could be nothing to her—­he must be every thing.  To secure a husband early was the great point, and that had been gained.  This thought, whenever it crossed her mind, would cause her to look around upon her maiden companions with proud self-complacency, They were still upon the shores of expectancy.  She had launched her boat upon the sunny sea of matrimony, and was already moving steadily away under a pleasant breeze.

Alas! young bride, thy hymeneal altar is an altar of sacrifice.  Love is not the deity who is presiding there.  Little do they dream who have led thee, poor lamb! garlanded with flowers, to that altar, how innocent, how true, how good a heart they were offering up upon its strange fires.  But they will know in time, and thou wilt know when it is too late.

Two years from the period of their marriage, Elliott and his wife were seated in a small room moderately well furnished.  He was leaning back in a chair, with arms folded, and his chin resting on his bosom.  His face was contracted into a gloomy scowl.  Anna, who looked pale and troubled, was sewing and touching with her foot a cradle, in which was a babe.  The little one seemed restless.  Every now and then it would start and moan, or cry out.  After a time it awoke and commenced screaming.  The mother lifted it from the cradle and tried to hush it upon her bosom, but the babe still cried on.  It was evidently in pain.

“Confound you! why don’t you keep that child quiet?” exclaimed the husband, impatiently casting at the same time an angry look upon his wife.

Anna made no reply, but turned half away from him, evidently to conceal the tears that suddenly started from her eyes, and strove more earnestly to quiet the child.  In this she soon succeeded.

“I believe you let her cry on purpose, whenever I am in the house, just to annoy me,” her husband resumed in an ill-natured tone.

“No, Thomas, you know that I do not,” Anna said.

“Say I lie, why don’t you?”

“Oh, Thomas, how can you speak so to me?” And his young wife turned toward him an earnest, tearful look.

“Pah! don’t try to melt me with your crying.  I never believed in it.  Women can cry at any moment.”

There was a convulsive motion of Mrs. Elliott’s head as she turned quickly away, and a choking sound in her throat.  She remained silent, ten minutes passed, when her husband said in a firm voice,

“Anna, I’m going to break up.”

Mrs. Elliott glanced around with a startled air.

“It’s true, just what I say—­your father may think that I’m going to make a slave of myself to support you, but he’s mistaken.  He’s refused to help me in my business one single copper, though he’s able enough.  And now I’ve taken my resolution.  You can go back to him as quick as you like.”