pair's return, a handsome dinner was
served. The train was a trifle behind time; the day had been cold, and
several other untoward circumstances had conspired to let loose the
bridegroom's natural depravity. An overdone roast served to touch off
this inflammable material.

"---- these servants!" he exclaimed; "I'll kick every one of them through
the front window! Look at that roast!"

The doors being now open, a perfect storm of ugly, evil tempers poured
forth.

At such times as these it was the custom of wife number one to shiver,
shrink, implore--weep, then take the offending roast from the room, and
replace it by something else which most likely was hurled at her, in
the end.

The present Mrs. Daemon neither shivered nor shrank. She knew what to
expect when she married this man, and she was ready. The guns were
loaded and aimed, and they went off, and presto! the enemy lay dead on
the dining room floor.

Instead of a roast beef solo, there was a duet, Mrs. Daemon's feminine
soprano rising above her husband's masculine roar. She agreed with what
he said as to the disposition of the servants, only adding that she
intended to hang them all, before he put them through the front window.

"To insult us during our honeymoon with such a roast," she cried; "and
look at this gravy! It's even worse!"

And with one swift stroke of her hand she sent the gravy bowl flying
from off the table on to the handsome carpet.

"In Heaven's name, what are you about?" he bawled.

"Do you suppose I'd offer you such gravy; it ought to be flung in their
faces."

He gasped and stammered; thought of the recent wedding and regretted it;
but he was married now, and to an awful shrew!

Soon after dinner they repaired to the drawing room. In turning from the
fireplace he stumbled against a large, elegant vase.

"Confound that thing!" he exclaimed, "I always did hate those vases that
set on the floor."

"So do I!" she chimed in, and putting out her foot with an expressive
jerk, she kicked it over, and broke it into a hundred fragments.

"Do you see what you've done?" he cried, "have you forgotten that that
vase was a present from me?"

"No, I haven't, but we both hate it, and what's the use of keeping it?"

This was but the beginning; from that time on, let him but murmur
against a dish, and it was flung on to the floor; torrents of abuse
were poured upon the head of a maid with whom he found fault; some of
the handsomest furnitu