THE MARRIED MAN'S STORY,

I had the pleasure, a few days ago, to meet, unexpectedly, a friend, from whom I had been many years separated. We had been mostly educated together, having passed our boyhood at the same school, our youth at the same university; but our fortunes were different. He, born to wealth, left college to mix with the world at home and abroad; while I turned to the profession I had long since made choice of, and began to lag my weary way towards independence.

We were both a good deal changed. My friend had lost much of the gay buoyancy of mauner; much of the merry, happy, careless flow of spirits for which he had once been remarkable. I was less grave than I had been reckoned during our former acquaintance; yet I am a man of business, and married. We had much to say of the different chances that had occurred to us, and I found, that though altered in manner, in habits, and in character, we met the same to each other as we had parted. It was getting late in my day, and I asked my friend if he would go home to the small house I occupied, and dine quietly with my wife and me. He agreed instantly, shook hands with me in his own lively way, as he thanked me for asking him, and we turned into the street in which I lived. I must own I felt some little uneasiness at the thoughts of introducing my friend to my wife. I had often spoken of him to her, and I dreaded, lest she should not find the portrait faithful. In fact, I mistrusted my own judgment till it should be confirmed by hers, not that in words she would tell me that we differed, but I knew her too well in look and manner to be deceived. I did not feel quite easy at the idea of presenting my wife to my friend. His admiration would in no degree alter my sentiments towards her; but I felt I should be ill satisfied unless he thought her, in the course of one short evening, all I had found her during the three happy years of our union. My heart beat as I ran up the steps. I coloured as I pulled the bell. The door was opened by our only man-servant, and I myself ushered my friend up stairs.

My wife was dressed with extreme neatness, though she expected we were to dine alone; and she was sitting, as

She

usual, at her work-table, when the sound of my step upon the stairs made her raise her head. She came forward to meet me; and when I named my friend, she turned to welcome him, with a grace and gaiety that made him sure of his reception. She placed bim beside her on the sofa, and I was soon at ease as to first impressions. We had not far to go to dinner. The lower part of the house being occupied by my chambers of business, our public rooms are confined to a small drawing-room on the first floor, and a still smaller library opening out of it. In this small library we dined. The dinner was ordered with neatness and taste, and served without display in an apartment simply furnished. My wife is not one of those who, to make a parade upon occasion, lessen the comforts of every day life. has never, since we were married, set before me a dinner I might not have brought a friend to partake of; nor has she ever appeared before me in a dress she could not have worn on occasions of ceremony. Yet our expences do not, by any means, come up to our limitted income. It is true, our wants are few; but we increase our luxuries as we go We do not live in the world, but we live very much in society; society that we like, and that likes us, and assimilates with us. All this, and more, in the warmth of my heart, I told my friend over a bottle of my best wine, when my wife rose and left us; and we were still upon the same theme when we joined her again at the tea-table. He began to rally us upon our way of life, and he tried to persuade her that, in former days, I had played the inconstant among our circle of beauties, being fond to admire, and fickle to change. I saw that in his then mood it were vain for me to dispute his assertions; so to divert the time, and may be, to prevent my wife from thinking of any other, I pleaded guilty to one serious attachment, and offered to tell my story.

on.

"Some years ago," said I, "when it first became the fashion to take shooting-quarters in the Highlands, I formed one of a large party who had engaged an extensive tract of moorland for the season. The game-keeper and the dogs were sent off early in July, and it was settled we were all to dine together at the farm-house we rented with the ground, upon the 10th of August. My friends agreed

to proceed northwards in a body; but as I dislike exceedingly travelling in that sort of company I declined forming one of it, and set out by myself, some weeks before, on a tour through a range of my native country I had never yet seen."

At this part of my story my wife laid down her work; and looked up anxiously in my face. I smiled and proceeded.

"After an interesting and somewhat fatiguing journey, I arrived early on the morning of the 10th of August, at one of the principal towns of the north Highlands. It was market-day, and the streets were filled with crowds of welldressed people, thronging in every direction. Several handsome equipages were driving along among the crowd, while gentlemen on horseback and foot-passengers picked their way carefully through the groups of country people and their wares, who stopped every regular passage. I alighted at a very comfortable inn, and having ordered some refreshment, I sat down very contentedly to look over a newspaper, which lay upon the table of the parlour I had been shown into, when chancing to raise my head, my eyes fell upon a mirror, which hung on the opposite wall, between the portraits of General Washington and Mr. Pitt. I was struck with horror at my own appearance. Hastily ringing for the waiter, I enquired whether there were any hair-dresser in the town on whose skill I might rely. I was told I was within a few doors of the first artist in the country. A man don't like to trust his head to a bungler; but the first step I took in Mr. Blank's shop convinced me the waiter had not been wrong in his assertion. When the operation was over, I surveyed myself with much satis faction in a small hand-glass, obligingly held to me for that purpose; but not feeling myself at liberty to indulge my contemplation so publicly, I returned as quickly as possible to my hotel, to consult at leisure the mirror, which hung on the opposite wall, between the portraits of General Washington and Mr. Pitt. I was perfectly enchanted with my good mien. I was cut and curled in the most becoming manner."

Here my wife laughed aloud; my friend, too, smiled; but I took no notice of their interruption.

"The inn stood back from the street, in a large courtyard, the projecting walls of which, on each side, prevented any view beyond. Across this court-yard numbers of people were constantly passing. I sat down at the open window of my parlour to watch the various groups thus flitting before me. One, in particular, at once engaged my attention; it consisted of an elderly lady in gray, a child in a frock and trowsers, a young lady in white, with pink upon her bonnet, and the captain of a recruiting company quartered in the town. He was apparently saying something extremely amusing, for the young lady was laughing violently; and, looking up in her mirth, she threw on me, as I sat perched at my window, a pair of the most beautiful black eyes I had ever then seen. I fancy mine must have told her so, for she had not gone many steps before she raised those eyes again. Again they met mine; and this time, we both blushed. She withdrew hers quickly, and turned to the recruiting officer: he bowed as in the act of speaking. The lady in gray appeared to join in the conversation, and they all walked leisurely on towards the projecting wall. Will she look up again? I pushed my well-curled head as far as I possibly could out of the window. She held hers, I thought, resolutely down. I followed them with my eyes, as they stepped along across the pavement. They reached the wall, The little child ran quickly out of sight, The lady in gray was half concealed. The young lady turned to reply to some gallantry of the recruiting officer, and once more her eyes were fixed on mine. In another moment she was gone. I drew my head in hastily, flung my hands before my face, to exclude all light; and again, in fancy, those beautiful eyes beamed brightly upon me. After a few minutes I looked up. Crowds of gay passengers still moved on the pavement below, and talked, and laughed, and looked, as they passed me. Will she come again? I took out my watch: it was only three o'clock. Again I glanced at the projecting wall, and I followed eagerly, each succeeding group, as they emerged from behind it. Many a voice deceived me as it approached. Many a party turned the corner to disappoint me. Four o'clock: she will not come. I rose from the window in despair. As I stood, the sound of a voice I had heard before

arrested my attention. There was a laugh, and a stamp, and a jingling noise, and the end of a sword-scabbard pointed out beyond the wall. Did he come alone? The little child ran forward; the lady in gray put out a foot; and again the eyes from the pink bonnet sought the window. We blushed crimson. The young lady turned to her never-failing resource, the recruiting officer. I darted forward, seized my hat, rushed down stairs, and followed her. They had reached the hair-dresser's shop, and they had stopped before it to examine some of his curiosities. The lady in gray took the little child by the hand, and walked on. The young lady prepared to follow her; but as she moved away, she cast one glance towards the window of the inn it was quite deserted. I neither stirred nor spoke, but I saw from her heightened colour she was aware who stood beside her. She held a small nosegay in her hand. She began to pull to pieces the flowers which composed it, and she scattered the leaves upon the pavement. I stooped to gather them. A carriage was in waiting at the end of the street ; it drew up as the party approached. A footman opened the door, and let down the steps, and the recruiting officer handed the ladies into it. He laid his arm upon the door, and stood and talked for some minutes. It was an open carriage: the young lady was leaning thoughtfully against one of the cushions. The officer talked longer; at length he bowed, and they drove away. I was standing before a druggist's shop, supporting myself on the brass-railing that protected it. As the carriage whirled rapidly past, I ventured one last glance at the pink bonnet. She was still leaning back against the cushions, and the remains of the nosegay were beside her. As she passed, she extended the hand, whiter than snow, which held it, over the side of an open carriage, pressed it for an instant to her breast, her lips, and dropped it gently at my feet. I started forward to receive the precious gift- "

"Oh! don't believe him," cried my wife, interrupting me: "it is all a romance it is indeed, I never lookedI never meant—1——”

I interrupted her in my turn, and seizing the hand she extended in the energy of the moment, I pressed it, as she had done the nosegay she gave me.