ld him that each bridesmaid carried six
handkerchiefs, half for herself and half for the bride.

The result was, that the last speech made by Harry to his favourite
sister in her maiden days was thus:--'Well, Mary, you do look
uncommonly nice and pretty; but now'--most persuasively--'you'll be a
good girl and not cry, will you?' and as Mary fluttered, tried to
smile, and looked out through very moist eyes, he continued, 'I feel
horribly soft-hearted to-day, and if you howl I must, you know; so
mind, if I see you beginning, I shall come out with my father's old
story of the spirit of the flood and the spirit of the fell, and that
will stop it, if anything can.'

The comicality of Harry's alarm was nearly enough to 'stop it,' coupled
with the great desire of Daisy that he should be betrayed into tears;
and Mary did behave extremely well, and looked all that a bride should
look. Admirable daughter and sister, she would be still more in her
place as wife; hers was the truly feminine nature that, happily for
mankind, is the most commonplace, and that she was a thoroughly generic
bride is perhaps a testimony to her perfection in the part, as in all
others where quiet unselfish womanhood was the essential. Never had
she been so sweet in every tone, word, and caress; never had Ethel so
fully felt how much she loved her, or how entirely they had been one,
from a time almost too far back for memory. There had not been
intellectual equality; but perhaps it was better, fuller affection,
than if there had been; for Mary had filled up a part that had been in
some measure wanting in Ethel. She had been a sort of wife to her
sister, and thus was the better prepared for her new life, but was all
the sorer loss at home.

The bridegroom! How many times had Ethel to remind herself of her
esteem, and security of Mary's happiness, besides frowning down
Gertrude's saucy comments, and trying to laugh away Tom's low growl
that good things always fell to the share of poor hearts and narrow
minds. Mr. Cheviot did in fact cut a worse figure than George Rivers
of old, having a great fund of natural bashfulness and
self-consciousness, which did not much damage his dignity, but made his
attempts at gaiety and ease extremely awkward, not to say sheepish.
Perhaps the most trying moment was the last, when hearing a few words
between Ethel and Mary about posting a mere scrap, if only an empty
envelope, from the first resting-place, he turned rou