perfect freedom and to their hearts' content. In the
more wooded part of the garden a mimic hunt had been arranged, and
sportsmen in correct suits of green, with curly brass horns and baying
hounds, coursed through the grounds, following a stag which, though
mangy and asthmatic, may yet have been a descendant of the fawn that
fed Genevieve of Brabant. We had re-entered one of the grand alleys,
and were receiving again the little tribute of encomiums which the
greater privacy of the groves had pretermitted--we were parading
happily along, conscious of nothing to be ashamed of, our
orange-blossoms glistening, our veil flying, our broadcloth and
wedding-favors gleaming--when we met another group, which, though more
furtively, bore that matrimonial character which distinguished our
own.

[ILLUSTRATION: THE MIMIC HUNT.]

At the head walked Mr. Cookson & Jenkinson. He still wore that species
of shooting-costume which he had made his uniform, but it was decked
with roses, and his hands were encased in milk-white gloves: on his
hands, besides the gloves, he had the two grammatical ladies from
the Rhine steamboat in guise of bridesmaids. Behind him walked Mary
Ashburleigh. And emerging from the skirts of Mary Ashburleigh's dress,
with the embarrassed happiness of a middle-aged bridegroom, was--no?
yes! no, no! but yes--was Sylvester Berkley. I will not expose what I
suffered to the curiosity of imperfectly sympathetic strangers. I did
not faint, and I believe men in genuine despair never do so. But
I felt that weakness and unmanageableness of knee which comes with
strong mental anguish, and I sank back impotent upon the baron, whose
lingering legs repudiated the pressure, so that we both accumulated
miserably upon Grandstone. My eyes closed, and I did not hear the Dark
Ladye's salutations to Frau Kranich. But I awoke to see with anguish a
sight that drew involuntary applause from all that careless crowd.

It was the salute of the two brides. Imagine, if you can, two
great purple pansies, flushed with all the perfumed sap of an Eden
spring-time, threaded with diamonds of myriad-faceted dew,--imagine
them leaning forward on their elastic stems until both their soft
velvet countenances cling together and exchange mutually their
caparisons of honeyed gems; then let them sway gently back, and
balance once more in their morning splendor. Such was the effect when
these two imperial creatures approached each other and imprinted with