e most agreeable
journey imaginable to the place of marriage, from whence the bridegroom
writ the following letter to his wife's father:--

"Sir,

"After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the happy
hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride carries it, in
the eye of the vicar who married you, much beyond her mother though he
says your open sleeves, pantaloons, and shoulder-knot made a much better
show than the finical dress I am in. However, I am contented to be the
second fine man this village ever saw, and shall make it very merry
before night, because I shall write myself from thence,

"Your most dutiful son,

"T. D.

"March 18, 1672.

"The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel. I am the
happiest man breathing."

The villagers were assembling about the church, and the happy couple
took a walk in a private garden. The bridegroom's man knew his master
would leave the place on a sudden after the wedding, and seeing him
draw his pistols the night before, took this opportunity to go into his
chamber and charge them. Upon their return from the garden, they went
into that room, and, after a little fond raillery on the subject of
their courtship, the lover took up a pistol, which he knew he had
unloaded the night before, and, presenting it to her, said, with the
most graceful air, whilst she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery,
"Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of to
me; consider, before you die, how often you have made a poor wretch
freeze under your casement; you shall die, you tyrant, you shall die,
with all those instruments of death and destruction about you, with that
enchanting smile, those killing ringlets of your hair--" "Give fire!"
said she, laughing. He did so, and shot her dead. Who can speak his
condition? but he bore it so patiently as to call up his man. The poor
wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him. "Will," said
he, "did you charge these pistols?" He answered, "Yes." Upon which, he
shot him dead with that remaining. After this, amidst a thousand broken
sobs, piercing groans, and distracted motions, he writ the following
letter to the father of his dead mistress:--

"Sir,

"I, who two hours ago told you truly I was the happiest man alive am
now the most miserable. Your daughter lies dead at my feet, killed by my
hand, through a mistake of my man's charging my pistols unknown to me.
Him I hav