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PORTRAITS OF MY MARRIED FRIENDS.

PORTRAIT, NO. I.

ALICE.

The little breakfast parlor into which we will enter will enchant you; pause a moment, and examine every thing in it; is it not the personification of earthly comfort ? Every thing is new, you perceive, and arranged with elegance and good taste. The buffet is bountifully laden with appropriate glass, china and silver; just open the doors of the buffet and see the delicacies inside! The furniture of the room is not gaudy, but pleases the eye and fancy; the curtains are left open sufficiently to let in the softest light of the May morning. The table is laid for two; the silver coffee urn is small, and the fumes that rise from it are pure old Java, tho toast is hot, and the rolls, the cook said, “will melt in your mouth.” At the head of the table is seated a blonde of not more than eighteen summers. Is she not beautiful? Her light blue robe fits becomingly; the tiny little lace cap, covered with red roses, rests on the back of her head so coquettishly; her hair, so soft and fine, is arranged with care, and indicates refinement; her little feet (notice them under the table) are encased in kid of the finest texture. Is she alone? No, indeed; opposite this charming bride (she was one month a bride) sits a young man of handsome form and face, his hair is dark, and his eyes of a still darker shade. His face is pale and has at this moment a discontented expression. Discontented ? with so many comforts around him? Yes; he is married, has a wife of his own choice, a delightful house, abundant wealth, and youth to enjoy it, and yet look at his discontented expression. He has taken up the paper and supposes his wife fancies that he is absorbed in the news of the day ; but she knows better; notice with what a searching look she scrutinizes him. What thoughts are passing in her mind ? Listen. “So soon to be offended with me, and for such a trifle! Is he really in earnest? I'll speak to him, and it will all be over. Strange he does not remark that I do not appear to notice his ill-humor. I'll speak, though I ought not; I've always heard

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