than in coffins.
She is such a spare, straight, dry old lady--such a pew of a woman--that
you should find as many individual sympathies in a chip. Mr Sownds,
now, who is fleshy, and has scarlet in his coat, is of a different
temperament. He says, as they stand upon the steps watching the young
couple away, that she has a pretty figure, hasn't she, and as well as
he could see (for she held her head down coming out), an uncommon pretty
face. 'Altogether, Mrs Miff,' says Mr Sownds with a relish, 'she is what
you may call a rose-bud.'

Mrs Miff assents with a spare nod of her mortified bonnet; but approves
of this so little, that she inwardly resolves she wouldn't be the wife
of Mr Sownds for any money he could give her, Beadle as he is.

And what are the young couple saying as they leave the church, and go
out at the gate?

'Dear Walter, thank you! I can go away, now, happy.'

'And when we come back, Florence, we will come and see his grave again.'

Florence lifts her eyes, so bright with tears, to his kind face; and
clasps her disengaged hand on that other modest little hand which clasps
his arm.

'It is very early, Walter, and the streets are almost empty yet. Let us
walk.'

'But you will be so tired, my love.'

'Oh no! I was very tired the first time that we ever walked together,
but I shall not be so to-day.' And thus--not much changed--she, as
innocent and earnest-hearted--he, as frank, as hopeful, and more proud
of her--Florence and Walter, on their bridal morning, walk through the
streets together.

Not even in that childish walk of long ago, were they so far removed
from all the world about them as to-day. The childish feet of long ago,
did not tread such enchanted ground as theirs do now. The confidence
and love of children may be given many times, and will spring up in many
places; but the woman's heart of Florence, with its undivided treasure,
can be yielded only once, and under slight or change, can only droop and
die.

They take the streets that are the quietest, and do not go near that in
which her old home stands. It is a fair, warm summer morning, and
the sun shines on them, as they walk towards the darkening mist that
overspreads the City. Riches are uncovering in shops; jewels, gold, and
silver flash in the goldsmith's sunny windows; and great houses cast a
stately shade upon them as they pass. But through the light, and through
the shade, they go on lovingly together, lost to everything aro