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arm cliair drawn up to the fire, and snugly ensconced therein is Mary, gazing steadily into the coals: “ Mary, whose trcs>es, golden pale, Are blown about an open brow, Or glimmer their misty veil, Like yellow primroses in snow— Tell me what tender fairy lies In tiiose blue lakes, which are your ejes?” “ I was thinking of so many things we must do, and so many things we must have, 1 will write to morrow for sis ter Alice to come to us. Won't we be happy in a home of our own “ Very happy, I earnestly trust, my dear.” Ah ! what an inestimable blessing is a good wife ! And yet how poorly appreciated ! Ah, men ! ye are all miser able sinners—not always wickedly, but too often weakly. Before marriage, there are many courtesies and kindnesses —pleasant rides and rambles—dainty gifts, timed thought fully to holidays and birth days—the tender words, en dearments and nameless attentions—that after marriage are too often among pleasures forever past. How many men forget the anniversary of their marriage—an impor tant era in their lives, and one which should always be ob served. As an unknown writer sagely observes: “The first foe that marriage meets, is marriage itself. While the pursuit of a desirable object is in progress, and failure possible, every faculty is strained towards its attainment, and every available auxiliary is brought to bear upon the same end. There is excitement in it—often excitement the most intense. It matters nothing whether the object sought be a woman or a wager. A man knows, that to win the woman of his choice, he must please her. lie is indefatigable in it. He docs not mean to be a hypocrite— his love is honest, or he thinks it is. Weeks, months, years pass, perhaps, before the object of his affection is secured to him. When marriage consummates his desires and aims, he is at tne end of a long and exciting race. Possession brings reaction. Satiety breeds indifference,”&c. The first night in our new home was one of pleasant dreams;'and the first morning dawned bright and clear— on a contented pair. Before breakfast, Mary and I went all over the house. It is very convenient and very com fortable—fully supplied with pantries and closets—the kitchen joining the house. “ A ptrfect bijou of a place,” as Mary declared. Yet it wanted painting badly, and needed repairs considerably. The steps in the rear of the house I was compelled to have repaired, at a cost of some twenty' dollars; but when I’presented the bill to my landlord, 1 got a hard look, and he savagely clutched his pantaloon pocket, where his* pocket-book was I presume. In fact, in the end, 1 had to take an ancient wheel barrow, value about two dollars, for the debt. I must here acknowledge, in order to account for some of my actions that will seem very “ green,” that lam rather easy, and a very poor hand to make a bargain—lacking brass or impudence—a great desidera tum these days. Old Matthew had cabbages set out, and button onions and rutabaga turnips planted, and I subsequently gave him some lettuce seed. As I cannot say much about this garden, I will pass it by, with the remark that we had more cabbages than we could use—some of them heading fine ly—plenty of turnips, onions and lettuce—the latter, how- .SOUTHERN CULTIVATOR. ever, did not head well. This was Matthew’s garden sole ly, as 1 hardly gave it a the ught,and no personal attention. My first purchase was chickens. We had six lions and one rooster, that we brought wi l l i us—having purchased them at ten dollars each in Confederate currency, on the 9th April, 1805. I bought two dozen chickens, and pla ced them all in an out house, that had evidently been in tended for poultry, although there was no fastening to the door. The former occupant of the premises told me his chickens always roosted in the oak trees surrounding the house. I was ik t long the owner of two dozen and seven chick ens, for on the second night of our sojourn at home, nine, teen of our fowls were no longer ours, for some otic stole them. Up to this day 1 have not decided who took those chickens ; but the theft certainly lies between my neigh bor’s freedmen and the Yankee soldiers who were en camped a short distance f**om us in the rear. I have the strongest suspicion that it was the former. Old Matthew’s quarter was very near the ancient fowl abode, but lie was so deaf, he said, “ that he couldn’t hear no chicken hol ler.” “Too deaf to hear nothing but the breakfast bell,” put in Catharine, with whom Matthew was no favorite, as he was a teiriblc cater. At a Q. M. sale, 1 had purchased a small mule, about four years old, for sixty two dollars. Fhe was very frol ieksome, and being seldom worked, was restive in harness. I verily believe old Matthew thought the devil possessed that mule, for he was as afraid of her as of death. I bought another supply of chickens, and let them roost m the trees until 1 could have a sow l house built near tho house, which was done early in the spring. In January I discovered a mail trying to climb the oak tree after my chickens. 1 laid my pistol, but was so excited as to bo unable to get it cocked in time, and the would-be-thief escaped. The winter months passed pleasantly and happily with us—our family being increased by Miss Alice Brown, my wife’s sister, who came to live with us. My wife hired, in consideration of board and clothes, a little negro, Bose by name—but a nigger by any other name would have smelt as sweet—to wait on the table y and do lig tit work about the house. Said nigger, though certainly not twelve years of age, showed such a fondness for “ strong waters,” and such an aptitude for appropria ting the same —even swallowing the contents of the cam phor bottle —that w e were compelled to discharge her. Old Matthew, who had a hankering after everything that wore “petticoats,” was “in love” with Rose, (a contrast indeed, 12 and 7<>,) and grieved greatly because of her departure ; and as Catharine would not tolerate him, con cluded to depart himself—and did so. And now I hope to introduce you into my garden, and tell you of my troubles and pleasures therein. “ Strawberry Hill" “ Bress dk Lord I’se Free.” —The Brenham (Texas) Banner gives one of the various novel modes the negroes there take of asserting their freedom, in the case of a cook who persists in making up bread with dirty hands, flatly ref using to wash them. When remonstrated with, her re joinder is: “White folks used to make me wash my hands, but bres3 de Lord l’se free now—l is.” 123