rom the City. It
is a friend of mine, some old fox; he is throwing dust in your eyes with
his reasons; his real reason was that his time is money; it would have
cost the old rogue a hundred pounds' worth of time--you know the City,
Christopher--to go out and choose the girl a present; so he has sent his
clerk out with a check to buy a pewter teapot, and fill it with specie."

"Pewter!" cried Rosa. "No such thing! It's nickel. What is nickel, I
wonder?"

The handwriting afforded no clew, so there the discussion ended: but it
was a nice little mystery, and very convenient; made conversation. Rosa
had many an animated discussion about it with her female friends.

The wedding-day came at last. The sun shone--ACTUALLY, as Rosa observed.
The carriages drove up. The bridesmaids, principally old schoolfellows
and impassioned correspondents of Rosa, were pretty, and dressed alike
and delightfully; but the bride was peerless; her Southern beauty
literally shone in that white satin dress and veil, and her head was
regal with the Crown of orange-blossoms. Another crown she had--true
virgin modesty. A low murmur burst from the men the moment they saw her;
the old women forgave her beauty on the spot, and the young women almost
pardoned it; she was so sweet and womanly, and so sisterly to her own
sex.

When they started for the church she began to tremble, she scarce knew
why; and when the solemn words were said, and the ring was put on
her finger, she cried a little, and looked half imploringly at her
bridesmaids once, as if seared at leaving them for an untried and
mysterious life with no woman near.

They were married. Then came the breakfast, that hour of uneasiness and
blushing to such a bride as this; but at last she was released. She sped
up-stairs, thanking goodness it was over. Down came her last box. The
bride followed in a plain travelling dress, which her glorious eyes and
brows and her rich glowing cheeks seemed to illumine: she was handed
into the carriage, the bridegroom followed. All the young guests
clustered about the door, armed with white shoes--slippers are gone by.

They started; the ladies flung their white shoes right and left with
religious impartiality, except that not one of their missiles went at
the object. The men, more skilful, sent a shower on to the roof of
the carriage, which is the lucky spot. The bride kissed her hand, and
managed to put off crying, though it cost her a struggle. The party
h