tle out of place, as he stood there with a
gay, laughter-loving maiden clinging to his arm; but the happiest of
all, if we may judge from the exterior, was James; arrived but the
night before, after an absence of nearly two years. He had just been
admitted to the bar, and Mr. Hall, who was present at the examination,
said it was rare to meet with a young man of so much promise, and
knowing his untiring industry, he had little doubt of his success in
after life. So James--now a manly-looking fellow of three-and-twenty--was,
after the bride, the observed of all observers; and not a few of the
bride's white-robed attendants put on their most witching smile when
he addressed them.

Despite of all the sunshine and festivity at a bridal, there is to me
more of solemnity, almost sadness, in the scene than in any other we
are called upon to witness, save that more mournful rite, when dust is
returned to dust. There is a young and often thoughtless maiden,
taking upon herself vows which but few understand, in the depth of
their import, vows lasting as life, and on the full performance of
them depends, in a great measure, the joy or misery of her future
years. Then, too, in her trust and innocence, she does not dream that
change can come, that the loved one will ever be less considerate,
less tender, than at the present hour. True, she has been told that it
may be so--but the thought is not harbored for an instant. "He never
could speak coldly or unkindly to me," she murmurs, as eyes beaming
with deep affection meet her own. Then, too, the proud man that stands
beside her, may be but taking that gentle flower to his bosom, to cast
it aside when its perfume may have become less grateful--leaving it
crushed and faded; or, worse still--and still more improbable, though
it is sometimes so--there may be poison lurking in the seemingly pure
blossom, that will sting and embitter his future life. Oh, that woman
should ever prove false to the vow of her girlhood!

All these thoughts, I say, and many more scarcely less sorrowful, come
to my mind when I look upon a bridal; and tears will start, unbidden
it is true, when the faces of those around are radiant with smiles.
But perhaps few have learned with me the truthful lesson of the poet--

"Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers--
Things that are made to fade, and fade away,
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours."

How could I call up such a train of so