nor yet by the "gaanted-up,"
long-legged animals, with all their constitutions bred out of them, such
as rich greenhorns buy and cover up with their plated trappings.

Whether his equine experience was of any use to him in the selection of
the mate with whom he was to go in double harness so long as they both
should live, we need not stop to question. At any rate, nobody could
find fault with the points of Miss Marilla Van Deusen, to whom he offered
the privilege of becoming Mrs. Rowens. The Van must have been crossed
out of her blood, for she was an out-and-out brunette, with hair and eyes
black enough for a Mohawk's daughter. A fine style of woman, with very
striking tints and outlines,--an excellent match for the Lieutenant,
except for one thing. She was marked by Nature for a widow. She was
evidently got up for mourning, and never looked so well as in deep black,
with jet ornaments.

The man who should dare to marry her would doom himself; for how could
she become the widow she was bound to be, unless he could retire and give
her a chance? The Lieutenant lived, however, as we have seen, to become
Captain and then Major, with prospects of further advancement. But Mrs.
Rowens often said she should never look well in colors. At last her
destiny fulfilled itself, and the justice of Nature was vindicated.
Major Rowens got overheated galloping about the field on the day of the
Great Muster, and had a rush of blood to the head, according to the
common report,--at any rate, something which stopped him short in his
career of expansion and promotion, and established Mrs. Rowens in her
normal condition of widowhood.

The Widow Rowens was now in the full bloom of ornamental sorrow. A very
shallow crape bonnet, frilled and froth-like, allowed the parted raven
hair to show its glossy smoothness. A jet pin heaved upon her bosom with
every sigh of memory, or emotion of unknown origin. Jet bracelets shone
with every movement of her slender hands, cased in close-fitting black
gloves. Her sable dress was ridged with manifold flounces, from beneath
which a small foot showed itself from time to time, clad in the same hue
of mourning. Everything about her was dark, except the whites of her
eyes and the enamel of her teeth. The effect was complete. Gray's Elegy
was not a more perfect composition.

Much as the Widow was pleased with the costume belonging to her
condition, she did not disguise from herself that under cert