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PETERSON’S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXVIII. THE WIFE'S INFLUENCE.

BY ELLEN ASHTON.

"Hallo! What's the hurry, Ned? Flying off to the conjugal nest again? You are the very fellow I wanted to see. Perkins, and Cald well, and myself are going to Absecom, day after tomorrow, on a gunning expedition; and wish you to make the fourth. Come now, that's a good fellow."

"Thank you, Sanford, but you forget that I am an antiquated family man, of nearly two years' standing. I've given up all my bachelor follies, my dear sir," replied Edward Maurice, laughingly.

"Surely you have played the devoted to Mrs. Maurice long enough. She can certainly spare you for a week," was the answer, with a slight sneer.

"But I don't wish to be spared," retorted Maurice, good-humoredly.

A slight whistle escaped from Mr. Sanford, and he replied. "What a change has come over you! They say there's the finest shooting there that has been for years ; and you used to be such a famous shot too!"

"You can't tempt me."

"I hope you're not becoming a 'sap,' Ned," was the half contemptuous answer.

"No. Only a staid Benedict," said Maurice, who had too much good sense, and loved his wife too dearly, to be laughed out of showing his affection. "But it's my dinner hour, so good bye."

Sanford stood, for a moment, when his friend bad left, gazing after him quite pityingly; and then went on his way, laughing to himself, as he thought of the fun he should have, when showing lp poor, hen-pecked Maurice to his old cronies.

The husband, in the meanwhile, hurried torard bis pleasant home, sure of a glad welcome roxn his wife. On his road, he saw a lad selling ouquets, and as they were the last of the season, o purchased one for Mrs. Maurice, saying, "it ill please her, she loves flowers so." But he was doomed to a disappointment, and one all the more poignant, because it was the first in his married life. When he reached home, no wife came to meet him. He looked for her in the parlor, and then in the sitting-room, but finding her in none of these places, went to the nursery, where he discovered her, in dishabille, holding the infant, while the nursery-maid stood idly by.

Mr. Maurice had one peculiarity. He liked to see a lady dressed for dinner. As his wife had always done this, his first idea, on finding her here, and in such a costume, was that the babe was seriously ill.

"My dear, is he very sick?" he cried, has tening to her.

"Oh! no, I believe not; only a little fretful: he's teething, you know."

The face of Mr. Maurice brightened. He kissed his wife and child, and holding up the bouquet, said,

" How relieved I am ! And here is a bouquet, one of the last of the season, which I have bought you, dearest."

The child extended its hands, attracted by the gay flowers. Without a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Maurice transferred the bouquet to the infant, who began immediately thrashing it about, so that the carpet was soon strewed with the fallen leaves and petals.

The countenance of the husband fell. He could not help recalling the time, when his bouquets had been oarefully preserved, the water being changed daily. Of late several examples of this too exclusive devotion to the infant, this making it first and him secondary, had forced themselves on his notice : but he had never been so much hurt as he was now. He thought of the disabille also.

"If the^child had been really sick, I would not have cared," he said to himself, as he went to his chamber to arrange his toilet a little for