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PETERSON'S

VOL. LI.

MAGAZINE

PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY , 1867. No. 2. A WIFE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES. I WAS only seventeen when I married Owen Wickliffe. Too young, no doubt, but circumstances justified me. My mother died when I was a mere child ; and my father, after the prevalent custom of widowers, showed how much he mourned her loss and respected her memory, by using all possible speed in getting another to fill her place.

She was a good enough woman in her waymy second mother, I mean- strictly honest and upright, and affectionate after a certain fashion ; but she had the misfortune to possess a meddlesome disposition, and a sharp, glibe tonguetwo woeful attributes in a woman. I am certain that she did her best to make me comfortable and happy- or, as happy as it seemed proper, according to the rules of her religion, for a human being to be. She believed in the doctrine which teaches us always to have a thorn in our flesh to keep us contrite and humble. I never fancied the creed. I think the thorn serves as a stinging goad oftener than anything else ; at any rate, it had that effect with me. This new mother of mine, conscientious as she was in regard to her duty, contrived to make my young life thoroughly miserable, not because she was wicked, or spiteful, but on account of the utter antagonism of our natures.

It would not have been a wonder if, under the circumstances, I had accepted Owen Wickliffe, even without loving him, for the sake of the pretty, quiet home he offered me ; but I did love him, when I married him, with all a girl's romance, and a woman's tender devotion ; and he returned my love with equal ardor-at any rate, he made me believe so. We spent our honeymoon in travel, and then settled down as cozily as a pair of robins in our new home-a pretty little cottage on the suburbs of the city, "Rose Cottage, " Owen called it. I remember how proud and pleased I was, when he led me in that first afternoon, and calling the house-maid, bade her deliver up the keys to her new mistress. She did so, but with ill-repressed mirth, for I must have appeared very trifling and unmatronly in her eyes ; and I was not a whit less so than I appeared. I could sing, and play the piano, dance gracefully, and dress myself to perfection ; but with these my accomplishments ended. I knew no more about domestic affairs, had no more idea of the seriousness and sacredness of the duties I had taken upon me than a two-year babe.

"You're too young, too silly and childish to become a wife and mother yet ; better wait awhile, Maggie," ny old aunt said, every time the subject was brought up in her presence ; but Owen would not hear to it.

"Never fear, aunt Debbie," he would reply ; "where there's a will there's a way, you know. Mag can learn what she don't know- her heart's all right, and that's enough. "

And I, although my very soul misgave me, was too much in love with his handsome eyes to turn from his ardent pleadings, and hearken to the sage counsels of age and experience. So we were married, and went to housekeeping, a month after, at " Rose Cottage."

For a time everything went on swimmingly. Dorcas was a good cook, and something more, a fine manager ; the most fastidious eye could have found nothing to complain of in the neat arrangement of our rooms ; or the palate of an epicure found anything amiss in the nicelyflavored, nicely-cooked food that daily appeared upon our table. Owen was in raptures.

"Aha, aunt Debbie !" he said, exultingly, when she came down to tea, "what did I tell you ? Where will you find nicer bread than this ?" breaking open one of Dorcas' feathery rolls. "I said Mag would learn. She's one of the best little housewives in town."

Aunt Debbie made no reply, she did not even glance toward my scarlet cheeks and downcast 99