however, been to him a source of
uneasiness, this very knowledge of her unmistakable partiality for him.
Of this he was quite relieved at news of her marriage, which news he
received, with a bountiful supply of bridal cake, as soon as possible
after the ceremony. He chewed his cake and sweet fancies of Ellice
together. A week later, Mrs. Rush threw _his_ wedding cake to the dogs,
her own _bitter_ fancies being sufficient for her to consume.

Faithful memory is on a race to-night, and she hurries Duncan Lisle from
the beautiful picture of Ellice, his bride, over ground of a year or
two, to that other picture, no less dear, that of Ellice, the mother of
his child. The rose has paled a little in her cheek, but the love-light
is in her eye; and can he ever, ever forget how, though he never called
himself a Christian, his heart almost burst with thanksgiving to God
when he clasped in his arms his world, his all--wife and child!

Three years from the other wedding, and another takes place at Kennons.
Philip St. Leger has finished his course at Princeton, and come to take
away his long-promised bride. The first wedding had been altogether
joyous; this second was saddened and sorrowful. Della had become the
wife of a missionary, and was to go at once to New York, taking ship
thence to Turkey.

The cruel separation had come then at length to the tried and true
friends; it might, nay, probably would, be forever in this world.

In the light of memory, Duncan beholds his sister for the last time.
She is very dear to him, one only more dear. He turns to comfort Ellice;
but Ellice, brave, heroic, crushes down her grief to comfort him.

With Della gone, the wife appears alone in the succeeding years. Alone,
but ever bright and shining, whether amid her ebony domestics, or
enthroned as wife and mother. Patient, cheerful, wise, and kind.

O, Ellice Lisle! model of all womanly virtues! Shall a Cady Stanton
preach to such as thou? How wide with wonder and dismay would open those
frank blue eyes at windy declamations about woman's rights, woman's
freedom, and man's tyranny.

Woman voluntarily assumes the _chains_ of matrimony. Be they of iron or
of silk, the good wife discovereth not; for it is only in an unholy
struggle that they bind and fetter.

Memory was hurrying Duncan Lisle apace to-night; scenes in the last few
years shifted with surprising rapidity; everywhere Ellice was the
centre-piece, her fair, pleasant face beaming fr