rother) was a merchant resident in London; and to this near relative he
referred me, if I wished to make inquiries about him. The names of
his bankers, authorized to give me every information in respect to
his pecuniary affairs, followed. Nothing could be more plain and
straightforward. I wrote to his uncle, and I wrote to his bankers.
In both cases the replies were perfectly satisfactory--nothing in the
slightest degree doubtful, no prevarications, no mysteries. In a
word, Mr. Marmaduke himself was thoroughly well vouched for, and Mr.
Marmaduke's income was invested in securities beyond fear and beyond
reproach. Even sister Judith, bent on picking a hole in the record
somewhere, tried hard, and could make nothing of it.

The last sentence in Mr. Marmaduke's letter was the only part of it
which I failed to read with pleasure.

He left it to me to fix the day for the marriage, and he entreated
that I would make it as early a day as possible. I had a touch of the
heartache when I thought of parting with Felicia, and being left at home
with nobody but Judith. However, I got over it for that time, and,
after consulting my daughter, we decided on naming a fortnight after Mr.
Marmaduke's arrival--that is to say, the twenty-first of June. This
gave Felicia time for her preparations, besides offering to me
the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with my son-in-law's
disposition. The happiest marriage does indubitably make its demands
on human forbearance; and I was anxious, among other things, to assure
myself of Mr. Marmaduke's good temper.

IV.

June 22d.--The happy change in my daughter's life (let me say nothing
of the change in _my_ life) has come: they were married yesterday.
The manse is a desert; and sister Judith was never so uncongenial a
companion to me as I feel her to be now. Her last words to the married
pair, when they drove away, were: "Lord help you both; you have all your
troubles before you!"

I had no heart to write yesterday's record, yesterday evening, as usual.
The absence of Felicia at the supper-table completely overcame me. I,
who have so often comforted others in their afflictions, could find no
comfort for myself. Even now that the day has passed, the tears come
into my eyes, only with writing about it. Sad, sad weakness! Let me
close my Diary, and open the Bible--and be myself again.

June 23d.--More resigned since yesterday; a more becoming and more pious
frame of mind--obedient to