ar, was
celebrated in her father's house on Christmas Eve, 1803, in the presence
of ecclesiastical, national and State dignitaries. There were only two
bridesmaids, the Misses Brown, great folk of that day, and no groomsman.

Jerome had imported for her a superb trousseau, but her bridal attire
was a simple India muslin, costly with old lace, a row of pearls
encircling her lovely throat--"a gown I had frequently worn," she said
in describing the event to the writer, "for I particularly wished to
avoid vulgar display; and, truth to say, there was as little as possible
of any gown at all, dress in that day being chiefly an aid in setting
off beauty to advantage." These bridal garments are still preserved, as
well as Jerome's wedding-suit of laced and embroidered purple satin--the
white satin-lined pointed skirts reaching to his heels--knee-breeches
and diamond buckles, the powdered hair enhancing his Napoleonic beauty.

In 1804, Aaron Burr wrote from Washington to his daughter: "Jerome
Bonaparte and his bride are here. She is a charming little woman--just
the figure and nearly the size of Theodosia Burr Alston, by some thought
a little like her; perhaps not so well in the shoulders; dresses with
taste and simplicity (by some thought too free); has sense, spirit and
sprightliness." Jerome now began to quake at Napoleon's fulminations
against his marriage, and but for his spirited wife would have longer
delayed confronting the imperial wrath. In 1805 they set sail from
Philadelphia, but before reaching the Capes a terrific gale drove them
on a sandbank, each moment threatening destruction. Mme. Bonaparte's
courage saved their lives. Clambering to the deck, she insisted that the
sailors should man a boat. "Pray, are you commanding this vessel?" asked
the captain.--"Yes, if necessary."--"How do you propose reaching that
boat?" he queried when at length it was launched.--"You are to throw me
in." He obeyed, but in attempting to lower her from the ship, now nearly
on its side, his strength failed and she fell into the waves. Her wadded
silk pelisse carried her down, but as she rose the sailors grasped and
hauled her into the boat. "Where is Prince Jerome?" was her first
question in that perilous moment. They reached land through a dangerous
surf, and forgot their drenching in the hospitality of a farm-house.
"You irreligious little wretch!" said her aunt: "instead of kneeling in
thanksgiving for your deliverance, you are enjoyi