the froth off. He who, like Armado, has when he likes "a quick venew of wit, aye by the salt Now, I have heard many men of my acquaint- wave of the Mediterranean," becomes now a ance unblushingly aver that their wedding-day hapless idiot, and his funny speeches somehow was the most unhappy one of their lives; and are transformed into funeral dirges. The only this in cases in which everything was favour-persons who take things merrily are the servants, able-where beauty and wealth went hand in who swoop on the remains of the marriage bakehand; when Erycina-fair, laughing goddess-meats, and get well drunken thereon; and the was radiant in her favour; when Plutus smiled postboys, who do the same thing. his substantial approval; and in cases where the after wedded life was as happy as a child's dream.

every fault, walking along the enchanted valley | least half-a-dozen clergymen to help one another band in hand with her true knight. It is no in the service which begins with "Dearlyintention of mine to describe minutely this beloved" and ends with "amazement." He, wedding ceremony; oft has it been done before, too, perchance, is thinking of some not far disand by better hands. Let me linger for a little tant day when he will play chief part in a cerewhue at Grantley's side this morning, and mony like this, and, accordingly, is very angelic assist at his meditations. in his demeanour, and interchanges subdued repartee with the bevy of bridesmaids.

For a man about to be made so happy, surely his face is strangely clouded and overcast, and the tenor of his thoughts seem not to be brightened by anything like exultation. Perhaps he is thinking of a certain morning long long ago-so long that the memory of it is but dim and uncertain-when he stood at a mock altar, before a inock clergyman, and did, in the sight of heaven and in cool blood, wilfully perjure himself, and did promise to love and cherish a woman, whom he knew he was devoting to a life-long misery. All the actors in that cruel ceremony are dead now, save himself and Nathalie; and, horrible thought! she lives only for vengeance-all her love for him curdled into hate, unrelenting, savage hate-all the energies of her mind fully employed in working destruction of his own future happiness, and that of the poor girl whom he was so soon to link with himself in misery. He has had no chance to repent, he thinks-no "golden grace of opportunity "has been presented to him. Remorse, with its scourge, has tortured him full sorely; conscience has never been at rest within his breast. Long ago he learnt that the brother-officer, who acted the clergyman's part in this Masque of Death, had committed suicide, but he had previously received a letter from him, beseeching him to redress this foul wrong, and do justice to the injured woman, whose life he had thus cruelly blighted. And now the burden rang in his ears, "Too late, too late!" He had commenced a new career, he had made another's innocent happiness dependent on him, and he must go on with it to the end.

Soon are the carriages arranged, and off to Turlminster, where everybody seems keeping holiday, and on the look-out for the wedding cortége, for the Stewarts are one of the first families of the neighbourhood, and great favourites with the lower classes, and many a Stewart ere this had been returned for Turlminster without opposition. "God bless them!" is the unanimous cry from the crowd who wait round the church; and "God bless them!" seem the bells to say in their most festive tones, for the ringers have been allowed unlimited beer, and are doing unheard-of feats in the bellringing art. Surely the wedding, under such auspices as these, cannot fail from being a very happy one.

Our friend of the "Black Lion" is in great form to-day - hilariously festive in his demeanour, and willing to stand drink to any amount to those doubtful customers, to whose scores he would on any other day point with sternly-reproving finger. And many officers, drill over, stroll into the cathedral to see the ceremony, or, as Robson profanely expresses himself, "to see the happy man turned off! How festive the fellow looks! People always look that way before they are married, you know, but after

The bishop, with his genial smile and hearty welcome, is there too. Old Stewart is a fast friend of his, and many were the wild bouts they enjoyed at Corpus together when lads, ere that the matrimonial bonds had confined the dignitary of the Church within due order; and, for the matter of that, he hopes to get a good Not very happy reflections for a wedding breakfast to-day, at his old friend's house, and morning-an evil omen for the voyage of Life, to be emancipated for a short season from the when the sky is thus overcast so early in the thrall of the wife of his bosom. Even the morning. But there is no help for it, thinks organist seems inspired to-day, and plays the the Captain; and with this philosophy steeling" Wedding March," as the procession streams his heart, he dons the wedding finery, and goes to meet the bride-the perfect type of a handsome, well-dressed, English gentleman.

"A proper man," say the bystanders, as they behold him. "A braw husband for the pretty mistress!" chime in the servants, in all their wedding appointments; all but the footman, Jeames, who keeps a discreet silence, and, like the proverbial monkey, thinks the more.

Round Ella are gathered a most bewitching coterie of bridesmaids, each rivalling the other in good looks and gay dress; but she stands there, the fairest flower of them all-a flower well worth the wooing and the winning, and not a girl there but envies her lot, and would fain be in her place, little recking of the misery in store for her.

The curate is to assist, as it is impossible that a couple can be married now-a-days without at

on to the altar, with sonorous effect, making the grand old organ discourse Mendelssohn's jubilant music in the most impressive manner. And, to crown all, the glorious sun streams in through the beautiful memorial window, and plays like a many-coloured halo of purple and gold and amethystine rays round the fair head of the trembling bride, as she kneels by Grantley's side, and utters the response in a sweet, low whisper. Would she obey him? would she honour him? Aye, until the grave should open for one or both of them, for "Love is strong as Death." Would she be faithful to him, come weal come woe?-would she cherish him in sickness, in suffering? Aye, her every thought, her every wish, should be for his happiness. As the sweet devotional face looked up through the veil of tears, and rested on the "chief of men to her," vows like these were

hers-" uttered not, yet comprehended," was that dear spirit's silent prayer; and the man by her side felt for one moment supremely, triumphantly happy, and resolutely closed his eyes to the dark future, and lived but for the happy present.

groom; so much that the good Bishop got very husky and maudlin as he rose to propose just one toast more—it might have been his feelings, all the same. I shall trespass too far on the province of the Turlminster Herald, and my dear friend Snarler will say that I write very much in the "penny book" style, if I dwell any more on these details. Let me only say that when that breakfast was ended, and the travelling-carriage ready, everybody was fully primed to the expression point, and those uninvited guests," tears, were in greater request than ever.

A sturdy hand-clasp from the Squire made Grantley's hand tingle, as he said, "God bless you, my boy! You have won a jewel; treat | her kindly.'

"So help me, God, I will!" answered Grantley, fervently.

And the congregation-they entered into the spirit of the thing completely, and the tears gushed from the faded, worn eyes of many an old maid, who attended there, and watched the ceremony from some dark, remote pew. I have often wondered what the fascination is that impels the hopeless sisterhood to such regular attendance at weddings. No matter where the nuptials are celebrated, there are the devoted spinsters to be found, with sympathising looks and eyes filled with tears, and in their hearts, perhaps, just one little touch of envy at the bride's happy lot (and who may blame them? They are but women, and, though their hearts be soured by disappointment and broken vows, have something womanly lingering about them still). Often do they fee the pew-openers liberally to be enabled to get a good view of the happy event; it seems to do them good, poor hearts, and who would grudge them that? I don't know whether the blacksmith at GretnaGreen has a maiden sister living; if so, I war-ing the bridegroom with his precious charge to rant you she never misses one wedding. the fair Rhineland, where they had elected to spend the honeymoon,

The Curate, I am afraid, assisted extremely ill at this ceremony. It was rather a trial to have to read the solemn words of the Church's benison over the nuptials of another, when they might have been his own. And with this they must be taken into consideration that he could not keep his eyes off Katie, and when she cried his eyes got dim too, and produced altogether many blunders. And now the last blessing is pronounced, in the good old Bishop's sonorous voice, and the injunction, "Whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder," and the happy pair, joined for ever and aye, make their way into the vestry, where the Bishop bestows on the pale bride a fatherly kiss, with a relish which would have done his wife's heart good to see, and then the signatures are placed in the great registry, and once more the great organ breaks out with a solemn march of Spohr's, and, once more answering the music, pealed out the mad jingle of the cathedral bells, with 'Health and happiness to the bride and bridegroom!" in their silvery tones, ringing as many changes as could be produced out of the six labouring ringers. And sweeter far than the bells and the organ comes a heart-felt English cheer from the assembled crowd, led by sturdy John Smith. And so, amidst pealing of bells and sturdy cheers, the wedding party returns to Oakland's Hall, to be graced for the last time by the sweet blossom that bloomed the fairest there.

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Why linger over the details of the breakfast? As many good things, and foolish things too, were said there as at any other-as much champagne was drunk from the tall crystal glasses, and as many healths and blessings bestowed on the handsome bride and manly bride

With Mrs. Stewart the parting was sore. Ella had been the light of her eyes, and she would not be comforted.

"There, there, don't cry," said the old Squire kindly; "if they live as happily as we have done, I am not afraid for their future."

Once more a hearty cheer, and the carriage is whirled away and lost in a cloud of dust, bear

Let them be happy now, in Heaven's name! Let them revel in the blissful dream for the present: the time will come when the sun will have set on their happiness, and the bleak, cold moorland stretch its weary length before themwhen the bride, who now looks up with trusting love into her husband's face, will dread the sound of his footsteps, and cease not to moan the live-long day, "I am aweary, aweary, and I would that I were dead." Let them go on lotos-eating for the present: let the wife of an hour hug the semblance of happiness to her heart, for "the end is not yet;" and let the good people who are left behind return to the marriage feast, and make exceeding merry over the remnants thereof, and deem that they have caught some reflection of the happiness that is taken away from them. Let them utter pretty sayings about the bride's good looks and her partner's life of happiness-surely for them, " where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." Let them cry "O Hymenæe!" then, with all their might; and whilst their elders drink the red wine and make well-meaning, incoherent speeches, let the youngsters bill and coo to their hearts' content, and whisper pretty things about the late affair, and wish that the time was come for them to go and do likewise.

In the servants' hall there is high festivity, and later in the day a dance will be proposed, when Jeames Jones will lead forth the fascinating Melia, the housemaid, and induct her into the mysteries of "Thread the Needle;" and there will be much meat eaten, and much strong drink quaffed, and many things sung and said peculiar to the servants' hall. But don't imagine that, for all this, the Captain's

trouble in attending the frequent rehearsals. | first rehearsal was over she had the satisfaction And here for awhile, in the fresh excitement and amid the hurly-burly of London life, she forgot for a short time the trouble that was haunting her, just as one forgets the excruciating pain of a toothache, or heart-ache for the matter of that, in the perusal of some engrossing story; but in the silent watchings of the night, when the day's excitement was over, then came back the furies to tear her heart and howl around her bed-to her as to Orestes, haunted by the grim Erinnyes. The sweet restorer sleep brought no cessation from care: as the body was relaxed from occupation, the mind became more exposed to the terrors of grief and remorse. Times methinks are changed, since Oliver Goldsmith penned those stanzas of his-and as they have nothing to do with the story I "When lovely woman stoops to folly," or, in his own sweet unworldly simplicity, he saw not actual but ideal life; for certainly, in this our day, the "lovely woman" tries every art to wring her lover's bosom but dying.

of knowing that she played as "though to the manner born," and several of the actors who were to play with her-Algernon Montfort, the heavy tragedian, who played the false husband's part, and Miss Travers, who was the second wife-warmly complimented her on her acting, and assured her that she was quite a relief after Madame Vertot, who never let a rehearsal end without a shindy with them all round. From these people Nathalie shrank instinctively, not that she deemed them anything but quiet, unassuming persons enough; but they were not the slightest use to her in the grand object of her life-simply those upon whom her lot was just now cast, and were not deserving of notice,

shall spare the reader a detailed account of the various actors, their appearance and peculiarities. If it be true that "all the world's a stage," it holds good that every stage is a little world in itself, and people quarrel and make up their Some prefer to play "the lovely and accom- quarrels, fraternize and cut one another, very plished victim" part in the Divorce Court, and much the same as they do in real society. For to obtain heavy damages; others prefer nursing the manager, Lawrence Hilton, her regard intheir wrath, till they can be revenged, and of creased every day; there was so much real kindthis kind was Nathalie Duprez. With her, as ness in his conduct towards her, so much of with Charlotte Corday, the idea of revenge had gentlemanly courtesy in his dealings with his become almost a religion; she clung to and wor- company, that her heart began insensibly to shipped the faint hope of distant revenge, and recognize the presence of an equal. Well she she hoped to make it as signal and as knew that he had accepted the engagement at celebrated as that of the simple country girl, very great risk-the risk almost of his good who rid the world of the detestable tiger Marat. name with the public-and she honoured the "Jealousy is cruel as the grave, if love is strong large-hearted man for his kindness. Had it as death." In a man the passion for revenge not been for him, she might at that moment sometimes dies out; he has not the intensity of have been reduced to beg her bread in the cold purpose which a woman possesses: she never streets, or, worse still, might have been comforgets and never forgives. At present, how-pelled to have had recourse to that little phial of ever, the winning of daily bread was the chief object, and Nathalie bestowed all the power of her mind on the piece she was to play in, to such purpose that she really thought that she had been born an actress, and that the manager's idea was a correct one. She mastered the conception thoroughly; and though the play was nothing very extraordinary in its plot, the most that could be said for it was that it was some-wonderment, who could not conceive what all what painfully true to life, and that was all; the language was of the regular tragedy style, very turgid and very nonsensical: it had been written for effect-stage effect simply-and some of the positions were startling and dramatic enough.

Nathalie's predecessor-a gay voluble, but excessively handsome woman-had not rendered the part of the wife much justice; she relied principally on the very liberal exposure of her charms (which pleased the stalls) and a continental reputation. The first rehearsal which Nathalie attended was a nervous thing for her. All the theatrical jargon was so strange to her, the stage directions so complicated and puzzling, that she wondered she did not break down before the enquiring gaze of the company, | who scanned her every movement; but, like many other things, theatrical puzzles may be solved by patient observation; and when the

colourless liquid which the Obeah woman had given her, and rushed into her Maker's presence "unhouselled, unannealed." There was a large fountain of gratitude still in her woman's heart, which sorrow and despair had not completely crushed out, and this with true foreign warmth she lavished upon her benefactor, her saviour-for so she called him, much to Hilton's

the mystery was about. On the Sunday preceding her first appearance before the public he had invited her to dinner at Bayswater, and, though hesitatingly, she did accept the kindlymeant offer; for it was wearying to sit in her solitary room, the prey of her own reflection, with nothing to distract her but, ever and anon, the cry of "Watercreases," in the street below, or the monotonous cry of the milkman. Hilton called for her himself, in his carriage, and people wondered whether this dark, handsome lady, who looked so sad, was the new actress, as they bowed their acknowledgments to the wellknown manager. That Sunday's dinner at the Bayswater Cottage was an event in Nathalie's life, so peaceful and refined, it seemed that she had found rest at last, and, as it were, a firm place for the sole of her foot, after battling with the sea of troubles. Two gentler, tenderer creatures than Jane and Harriet Hilton never