in three weeks.

* * * * *

_September 19th._--I have been in New York a week, transacting business.
I got back yesterday. I find every one here talking about our
engagement. Esther tells me that it was talked about a month ago, and
that there is a very general feeling of disappointment that I am not
rich.

"Really, if you don't mind it," said I, "I don't see why others should."

"I don't know whether you are rich or not," says Esther; "but I know
that I am."

"Indeed! I was not aware that you had a private fortune," etc., etc.

This little farce is repeated in some shape every day. I am very idle. I
smoke a great deal, and lounge about all day, with my hands in my
pockets. I am free from that ineffable weariness of ceaseless _giving_
which I experienced six months ago. I was shorn of my hereditary
trinkets at that period; and I have resolved that _this_ engagement, at
all events, shall have no connection with the shops. I was balked of my
poetry once; I sha'n't be a second time. I don't think there is much
danger of this. Esther deals it out with full hands. She takes a very
pretty interest in her simple outfit,--showing me triumphantly certain
of her purchases, and making a great mystery about others, which she is
pleased to denominate tablecloths and napkins. Last evening I found her
sewing buttons on a tablecloth. I had heard a great deal of a certain
gray silk dress; and this morning, accordingly, she marched up to me,
arrayed in this garment. It is trimmed with velvet, and hath flounces, a
train, and all the modern improvements generally.

"There is only one objection to it," said Esther, parading before the
glass in my painting-room: "I am afraid it is above our station."

"By Jove! I'll paint your portrait in it," said I, "and make our
fortune. All the other men who have handsome wives will bring them to be
painted."

"You mean all the women who have handsome dresses," said Esther, with
great humility.

Our wedding is fixed for next Thursday. I tell Esther that it will be as
little of a wedding, and as much of a marriage, as possible. Her father
and her good friend the schoolmistress alone are to be present.--My
secret oppresses me considerably; but I have resolved to keep it for the
honeymoon, when it may take care of itself. I am harassed with a dismal
apprehension, that, if Esther were to discover it now, the whole thing
would be _a refaire_. I have taken rooms at a