e very scarecrows
in the orchard and fruit garden were ordered to be dressed in black.

Sister Anne was the only person who refused to wear black. Mrs.
Bluebeard would have parted with her, but she had no other female
relative. Her father, it may be remembered by readers of the former part
of her Memoirs, had married again, and the mother-in-law and Mrs.
Bluebeard, as usual, hated each other furiously. Mrs. Shacabac had come
to the hall on a visit of condolence; but the widow was so rude to her
on the second day of the visit that the step-mother quitted the house in
a fury. As for the Bluebeards, of course _they_ hated the widow. Had not
Mr. Bluebeard settled every shilling upon her? and, having no children
by his former marriage, her property, as I leave you to fancy, was
pretty handsome. So Sister Anne was the only female relative whom Mrs.
Bluebeard would keep near her; and, as we all know, a woman _must_ have
a female relative under any circumstances of pain, or pleasure, or
profit,--when she is married, or when she is widowed, or when she is in
a delicate situation. But let us continue our story.

"I will never wear mourning for that odious wretch, sister!" Anne would
cry.

"I will trouble you, Miss Anne, not to use such words in my presence
regarding the best of husbands, or to quit the room at once!" the widow
would answer.

"I'm sure it's no great pleasure to sit in it. I wonder you don't make
use of the closet, sister, where the _other_ Mrs. Bluebeards are."

"Impertinence! they were all embalmed by M. Gannal. How dare you report
the monstrous calumnies regarding the best of men? Take down the family
Bible, and read what my blessed saint says of his wives,--read it,
written in his own hand:--

"'_Friday, June 20_.--Married my beloved wife, Anna Maria
Scrogginsia.

"'_Saturday, August 1_.--A bereaved husband has scarcely
strength to write down in this chronicle that the dearest of
wives, Anna Maria Scrogginsia, expired this day of sore throat.'

"There! can anything be more convincing than that? Read again:--

"'_Tuesday, September 1_.--This day I led to the hymeneal altar
my soul's blessing, Louisa Matilda Hopkinson. May this angel
supply the place of her I have lost!

"'_Wednesday, October 5_.--O Heavens! pity the distraction of a
wretch who is obliged to record the ruin of his dearest hopes
and affections! This day my adored Louisa Matilda Hopkinson gave