or nearly so, the wedded pair would enter a rowboat and let it drift down the current, or guide it in and out among the scattering clusters of inlets that diversified the coast, where Mr. Helmstedt took a deep interest in pointing out to Marguerite vestiges of the former occupancy or visitings of those fierce buccaneers of the bay isles, that made so hideous the days and nights of the early settlers of Maryland, and from whom scandal said Philip Helmstedt himself had descended. Returning from these expeditions, they would pass the long, winter evenings as they were passing this one when I present them again to the reader, that is, in reading, work, or its semblance, conversation and music, when Marguerite would awaken the sleeping spirit of her harp to accompany her own rich, deep and soul-thrilling voice, in some sacred aria of Handel, or love song of Mozart, or simple, touching ballad of our own mother tongue. But Marguerite’s improvisations were over. Upon this evening in question, Philip Helmstedt threw aside his book, and after gazing long and earnestly at his bride, as though he would absorb into his being the whole beautiful creature at his side, he said: “Take your guitar, dear Marguerite, and give me some music--invest yourself in music, it is your natural atmosphere,” and rising, he went to a table and brought thence the instrument, a rare and priceless one, imported from Spain, and laid it upon Marguerite’s lap. She received it smilingly, and after tuning its chords, commenced and sung, in the original, one of Camoens’ exquisite Portuguese romaunts. He thanked her with a warm caress when she had finished, and, taking the guitar from her hand, said: “You never improvise now, my Corinne! You never have done so since our union. Has inspiration fled?” “I do not know--my gift of song was always an involuntary power--coming suddenly, vanishing unexpectedly. No, I never improvise now--the reason is, I think, that the soul never can set strongly in but one direction at a time.” “And that direction?” She turned to him with a glance and a smile that fully answered his question. “I am too happy to improvise, Philip,” she said, dropping her beautiful head on his bosom, as he passed his arm around her, bent down and buried his face on the rich and fragrant tresses of her hair.