time." The wife laughs in her turn--replies, "no
doubt"--and, taking one of the graceful tripods in her hand, carries it
forth to sit upon while she milks the cow--for she understands what she
is expected to do, and does it without delay. In one corner--near the
fireplace--the aforesaid cupboard is erected--being a few oaken shelves
neatly pinned to the logs with hickory forks--and in this are arranged
the plates and cups;--not as the honest pride of the housewife would
arrange them, to display them to the best advantage--but piled away,
one within another, without reference to show. As yet there is no sign
of female taste or presence.

But now the house receives its mistress. The "happy couple" ride up to
the low rail-fence in front--the bride springs off without assistance,
affectation, or delay. The husband leads away the horse or horses, and
the wife enters the dominion, where, thenceforward, she is queen. There
is no coyness, no blushing, no pretence of fright or nervousness--if you
will, no romance--for which the husband has reason to be thankful! The
wife knows what her duties are and resolutely goes about performing
them. She never dreamed, nor twaddled, about "love in a cottage," or
"the sweet communion of congenial souls" (who never eat anything): and
she is, therefore, not disappointed on discovering that life is actually
a serious thing. She never whines about "making her husband happy"--but
sets firmly and sensibly about making him _comfortable_. She cooks his
dinner, nurses his children, shares his hardships, and encourages his
industry. She never complains of having too much work to do, she does
not desert her home to make endless visits--she borrows no misfortunes,
has no imaginary ailings. Milliners and mantua-makers she
ignores--"shopping" she never heard of--scandal she never invents or
listens to. She never wishes for fine carriages, professes no inability
to walk five hundred yards, and does not think it a "vulgar
accomplishment," to know how to make butter. She has no groundless
anxieties, she is not nervous about her children taking cold: a doctor
is a visionary potentate to her--a drug-shop is a depot of abominations.
She never forgets whose wife she is,--there is no "sweet confidante"
without whom she "can not live"--she never writes endless letters about
nothing. She is, in short, a faithful, honest wife: and, "in due time,"
the husband must make _more_ "three-legged stools"--for the "tow-head