"WELL, Bridget, what do you think of the bride?"

  "O, she's a pretty young thing; but if she had known as much as you and I do of her husband's mother, she never would have come to live with her. She's a regular old hyena, and if she don't bring the tears into those blue eyes before the honey-moon is over, my name is n't Bridget. Why, she's the most owdacious old thing! She overhauled all her wardrobe yesterday, before she could get here; and, as I passed through the entry, I heard her muttering to herself 'Silk stockings, humph!—ruffled under-clothes! Wonder if she thinks I'll have them ironed here? Embroidered night-caps, silk dresses! Destruction and ruin!'"

  "What! tears, Emma?—tears!" said the young husband, as he returned from his counting-room one day, about a month after their marriage; and, with a look of

  "What, then, is your pet canary sick? Can't you dress your hair to suit you? Or are you in despair because you can't decide in which of all your dresses you look prettiest?"

  "Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" said Emma, laughing and crying together. "I feel nervous, that 's all. I 'm so glad you 've come home."

  Harry felt sure that was not all; but he forebore to question her, for he felt very sure she would tell him all in good time.

  The truth was, Harry's mother had been lecturing her daughter-in-law, all the morning, upon the degeneracy of the times;—hoped she would not think of putting on all the fine things her friends had been so foolish as to rig her out in!—times were not now as they used to be!—that if Harry gave her pocket-money, she had better give it to her to keep, and not be spending it for nonsense;—that a young wife's place was in her husband's house;—and she hoped she would leave off that babyish trick, of running home every day to see her mother and sisters.

  Emma listened in silent amazement. She was a warm-hearted, affectionate girl, but she was very high-spirited. The color came and went rapidly in her cheek; but she

  After old Mrs. Hall retired, she sat for a moment or two, recalling her words. "'Babyish,' to love my own dear home, where I was as merry as a cricket from morning till night; where we all sang, and played, and read, in mother's dear old room, and father and mother the happiest of us all—'babyish!' I won't be dictated to!" said the young wife. "I'm married if I am only nineteen, and my own mistress;" and the rebellious tones would come in spite of her determination. But then she thought of Harry,—dear Harry,—whom she had already learned to love so well. Her first impulse was, to tell him. But she had a great deal of good sense, if she was young; and she said to herself, "No, that won't do;—then he 'll have to take sides with one or the other, and either way it will make trouble. It may wean his love from me, too. No, no, I 'll try to get along without; but I wish I had known more about her, before I came here to live."

  And so she smiled and chatted gayly with Harry, and hoped he had set it down to the account of "nervousness." Still the hours passed slowly, when he was absent at his business; and she felt uneasy every time she heard a step on the stairs, lest the old lady should subject her to some new trial.

  "I wonder what has come over our Emma?" said one

  Shortly after this, Emma's mother sent her some little delicacy, manufactured by herself, of which she knew her daughter to be particularly fond. Mrs. Hall brought it into her room, and set it down on the table as if she were testing the strength of the dish, and said, "I wonder if your mother is afraid you 'll not have enough to eat here. One would think you were a child at a boarding-school."

  Emma controlled herself by a strong effort, and made no reply, simply taking the gift from her hands, with a nod of acknowledgment. Every day brought her some such petty annoyance; and her father-in-law, who was old and childish, being quite as troublesome as his wife in these respects, it required all of Emma's love for Harry to carry her through.

  She still adhered to her determination, however, to conceal all her trouble from her husband; and though he noticed she was less vicacious, perhaps he thought the mantle of matronly dignity so becoming to his young wife, that he felt no disposition to find fault with it. In the mean time, old Mrs. Hall being confined to her room with a violent influenza, the reins of government were very unwillingly resigned into Emma's hands. What endless charges she received about the dusting and sweeping, and

  "Emma," said Harry, "how should you like living five miles out of the city? I have seen a place that just suits my fancy, and thought of hiring it on trial."

  Emma hesitated. She wished to ask, "Does your mother go with us?" but she only said, "I could not tell, dear Harry, how I should like the place, till I saw it; but I should fear it would take you too much from me. It would seem so odd to have five miles' distance between us for the whole day. O, I 'm very sure I should n't like it, Harry!" and the thought of her mother-in-law clouded her sunny face, and, in spite of herself, a tear dropped on her husband's hand.

  "Well, dear Emma, now I 'm very sure you will like it,"—and his large, dark eyes had a look she did not

  "O, what a little Paradise, Harry! Look at that cluster of prairie roses! What splendid old trees! See how the wind sweeps the drooping branches across the tall grass! And that little, low window, latticed over with sweet briar; and that pretty terraced flower-garden,—O, Harry!"

  "Well, let us go inside, Emma;" and, applying a key he held in his hand, the door yielded to his touch, and they stood side by side in a little rustic parlor, furnished simply, yet so tastefully. Tables, stands, and mantel, covered with vases, sending forth fragrance from the sweetest of wild-wood flowers; the long, white muslin curtains, looped away from a window, whence could be seen wooded hill, and fertile valley, and silvery stream. Then they ascended into the old chamber, which was quite as unexceptionable in its appointments. Emma looked about in bewildered wonder.

  "But who lives here now, Harry?"

  "Nobody."

  "Nobody? What a tease you are! To whom does all this furniture belong,—and who arranged everything with such exquisite taste? I have been expecting every minute to see the mistress of the mansion step out."

  "Well, there she is," said Harry, leading her gayly up to the looking-glass. "I only hope you admire her half as much as I do. Do you think I've been blind and deaf, because I've been dumb? Do you think I've not seen my high-spirited little wife, struggling with trial, day by day, suffering, enduring, gaining the victory over her own spirit, silently and uncomplainingly? Do you think I could see all this, and not think she was the dearest little wife in the world?" and tears and smiles struggled for mastery, as he pressed his lips to her forehead. "And now you will have nobody to please here, but me, Emma. Do you think the task will be difficult?"

  The answer, though highly satisfactory to the husband, was not intended for you, dear reader; so please excuse Fanny Fern.