must in future regard as her constant companion, protector and dearest friend; in a word, as her husband, could not but interpret the singular and untoward circumstances which had preceded the marriage, and caused the delay, as an omen of evil. And a chill ran through her veins, as she heard one of the bridemaids, in a loud whisper, declare to a friend, that a marriage, which had been once postponed, could never be happy. Barbara was not naturally superstitious, and under other circumstances would have laughed the prediction to scorn, but her throbbing heart now told her that the prediction would be fearfully verified. Even then, when standing in her bridal array, before the clergyman, she half resolved to refuse the hand of her affianced husband. But her courage failed her; she was not equal to the task. The die was castSam Renwick and Barbara Howard were wedded! The holy man pronounced the irrevocable words which constituted them "man and wife," and Barbara's gloomiest apprehensions were soon, too soon, realized. Peace and happiness, even during the "honey-moon," had fled from her bosom forever.

Sam Renwick had not sued for the hand of Barbara Howard, because he loved her; he knew not what it was to experience the deep and thrilling emotion of love. He admired her for her vivacity,

for her volatile spirits, and he sought her hand because she was universally known as the "Belle of Allensville." He longed to enjoy the triumph of calling her his own, and often reflected with satisfaction on the dashing figure which he should cut, with such a brilliant wife as Barbara Howard hanging on his arm. Indeed, on the day following his wedding, he was heard to declare with a triumphant grin, that he was the possessor of the finest horse, the most stylish gig, and the handsomest wife, within a circuit of at least a dozen miles. But it might be difficult to decide upon which of these enviable possessions he put the most value.

Sam Renwick took his bride to a neat dwelling house, which his father had handsomely fitted up for the occasion, and which was henceforth to be her home; a theatre on which she was to act a

that of a wife. And as

new and important part she crossed the threshold, while her bosom still harbored forebodings of ill, she vowed to herself that she would faithfully fulfil the duties of her station, and would labor assiduously to preserve the affection and promote the happiness of the man to whom she was united for weal or for woe.

It would have been happy for both, if her husband had formed a similar resolution. But Sam Renwick proved to be a bad husband. Notwithstanding his correct taste and discrimination in the

choice of a horse, a gig, and a wife; and his egregious vanity, which sometimes proves a corrector of other faults, his predominant tastes were decidedly low and vulgar. There was nothing like refinement in his character. Books were his aversion; and all intellectual pursuits he considered unworthy the character of a gentleman. Labor, or business of any kind, he regarded as a bore, and studiously avoided. He was fond of pleasure, of convivial meetings, of card-playing, and of amusements which tend to deaden the moral feelings, and to debase the character. His favorite associates, also, were not of the most elevated class; he courted the society of the dissolute, the intemperate, and the abandoned; those who were impatient under the restraints of morality, religion and law.

In the eyes of such a man, the beautiful, but unfortunate Barbara, soon lost all the merit which she once possessed. He neglected her; home had no charms for him, and the word sounded disagreeably in his ears. Such an old-fashioned phrase as "domestic enjoyment," was not to be found in his vocabulary. Barbara witnessed the change in the conduct of her husband, with a feeling of mortification and wounded pride. She remonstrated with him, she reproached him, she entreated him to abandon the evil way which he was pursuing. But Sam Renwick disregarded alike her remon

strances, her reproaches, and her entreaties. He laughed at her tears; declared with an oath that he would never be tethered to a petticoat; stigmatized himself as a fool for ever thinking of a wife; and would leave her, to pass his hours in loud and discordant revelry among his boon companions.

She felt in that

It was only a few weeks after the marriage, that Barbara was sitting alone late in the evening, poor with her knitting-work before her, awaiting the reThe clock in the corner of turn of her husband. the room had already struck the hour of midnight, and he had not yet come home. dark and lonely hour, all the desolateness of her condition; and the folly of her conduct passed in full review before her. She thought, too, of the generous, frank, and noble-hearted sailor, whose love was so ardent, so pure, so disinterested, and whom she had so cruelly wronged; and she sobbed like a child. Her musings were interrupted by the sound of voices without.

"My husband has come at last!" she exclaimed to herself; but a loud knocking at the door inShe duced her to believe herself in an error. opened the door, and two young men entered, supporting between them her husband, Sam Renwick, whose physical and mental faculties were completely paralyzed with liquor; in a word, he was

drunk! Barbara then became aware of what she had before hardly dared to think, that she was wedded to an intemperate husband; and she felt the shock in the inmost depths of her soul.

Mr. Renwick, too late, saw the fatal error which he had committed in the education of his son; he had winked at his errors, freely forgiven his graver faults, indulged him in a habit of idleness, and now mourned, what he should have foreseen, the serious consequences of his own misconduct. He had not trained his son to industry and virtue; he had sown tares, and when harvest time had come, complained because he did not reap good grain! Mr. Renwick often remonstrated with Sam on his extravagant and dissipated habits; he beseeched him to abandon his vicious course of life, and turn over a new leaf; he warned him of the dark abyss of infamy, to which he was hastening with rapid strides; but, weak man, he frequently concluded his harangues by becoming responsible for his debts, by again furnishing him with money, which he knew he would squander; and thus he indirectly encouraged his only son in his career to infamy and destruction.

One Sunday morning, a few years after the hapless marriage between Sam Renwick and Barbara Howard, old Mr. Renwick was found dead in his bed, having been attacked, according to