elight, and afterwards cut away all the obnoxious finery and replaced
it to her own taste. The scanty congregation was no less surprised when
they heard that Tobias Clutterbuck, bachlelor, was about to marry
Lavinia Scully, widow, and that Thomas Dimsdale, bachelor, was to do as
much to Catherine Harston, spinster. They communicated the tidings to
their friends, and the result was a great advertisement to the little
church, so that the incumbent preached his favourite sermon upon barren
fig trees to a crowded audience, and received such an offertory as had
never entered into his wildest dreams.

And if this was an advertisement to the Castle Lane church, how much
more so was it when the very pompous carriages came rolling up with
their very pompous drivers, all of whom, being married men, had a
depreciatory and wearied expression upon their faces, to show that they
had done it all before and that it was nothing new to them. Out of the
one carriage there jumped a very jaunty gentleman, somewhat past the
middle age and a little inclined to stoutness, but looking very healthy
and rosy nevertheless. Besides him there walked a tall, tawny-bearded
man, who glanced solicitously every now and again at his companion, as
though he were the bottle-holder at a prize-fight and feared that his
man might collapse at a moment's notice. From a second carriage there
emerged an athletic brown-faced young fellow accompanied by a small
wizened gentleman in spotless attire, who was in such a state of
nervousness that he dropped his lavender glove twice on his way up the
aisle. These gentlemen grouped themselves at the end of the church
conversing in low whispers and looking exceedingly uncomfortable, as is
the prerogative of the sterner sex under such circumstances.
Mr. Gilray, who was Tom's best man, was introduced to Herr von Baumser,
and every one was very affable and nervous.

Now there comes a rustling of drapery, and every one turns their heads
as the brides sweep up to the altar. Here Is Mrs. Scully, looking quite
as charming as she did fifteen years ago on the last occasion when she
performed the ceremony. She was dressed in a French grey gown with
bonnet to match, and the neatest little bouquet in the world, for which
the major had ransacked Covent Garden. Behind her came bonny Kate, a
very vision of loveliness in her fairy-like lace and beautiful ivory
satin. Her dark lashes drooped over her violet eyes and a slight flush