arriage was showery as April, but a gleam of soft,
fitful sunshine streamed into the little church windows, and fell across
the tiny figure that stood by Frank Addison's side, like a ray of
glory, till the golden curls glittered through her veil, and the fresh
lilies-of-the-valley that crowned her hair and ornamented her simple
dress seemed to send out a fresher fragrance, and glow with more pearly
whiteness. Mrs. Bowen, in a square pew, sobbed, and snuffled, and sopped
her eyes with a lace pocket-handkerchief, and spilt cologne all over
her dress, and mashed the flowers on her French hat against the dusty
pew-rail, and behaved generally like a hen that has lost her sole
chicken. Mr. Bowen sat upright in the pew-corner, uttering sonorous
hems, whenever his wife sobbed audibly; he looked as dry as a stick, and
as grim as Bunyan's giant, and chewed cardamom-seeds, as if he were a
ruminating animal.

After the wedding came lunch: it was less formal than dinner, and
nobody wanted to sit down before hot dishes and go through with the
accompanying ceremonies. For my part, I always did hate gregarious
eating: it is well enough for animals, in pasture or pen; but a thing
that has so little that is graceful or dignified about it as this taking
food, especially as the thing is done here in America, ought, in my
opinion, to be a solitary act. I never bring my quinine and iron to my
friends and invite them to share it; why should I ask them to partake
of my beef, mutton, and pork, with the accompanying mastication, the
distortion of face, and the suppings and gulpings of fluid dishes that
many respectable people indulge in? No,--let me, at least, eat alone.
But I did not do so to-day; for Josey, with the most unsentimental air
of hunger, sat down at the table and ate two sandwiches, three pickled
mushrooms, a piece of pie, and a glass of jelly, with a tumbler of ale
besides. Laura Lane sat on the other side of the table, her great
dark eyes intently fixed on Josephine, and a look in which wonder was
delicately shaded with disgust quivering about her mouth. She was a
feeling soul, and thought a girl in love ought to live on strawberries,
honey, and spring-water. I believe she really doubted Josey's affection
for Frank, when she saw her eat a real mortal meal on her wedding-day.
As for me, I am a poor, miserable, unhealthy creature, not amenable to
ordinary dietetic rules, and much given to taking any excitement, above
a certain amou