We had a black wedding—­a very black one—­in my schoolroom the other night; our cook having decided to take to herself a lord and master.  It was the funniest affair I ever saw.  Such comical dresses! such heaps of cake, wine, coffee, and candy! such kissings and huggings!  The man who performed the ceremony prayed that they might obey each other, wherein I think he showed his originality and good sense, too.  Then he held a book upside down and pretended to read, dear knows what! but the Professor—­that is to say, Mrs. P.—­laughed so loud when he said, “Will you take this wo-man to be your wedded husband” that we all joined in full chorus, whereupon the poor priest (who was only the sexton of St. James’) was so confused that he married them over twice.  I never saw a couple in their station in life provided with a tenth part of the luxuries with which they abounded.  We worked all day Saturday in the kitchen, making and icing cake for them, and a nice frolic we had of it, too.  Do you love babies?  We have a black one in the lot whom I pet for want of something on which to expend my love.

When I find anything that will interest the whole family, I read it aloud for general edification.  The girls persuaded me into writing a story to read to them, and locked me into my room till it was done.  It was the first love-story I ever wrote, for hitherto I have not known enough about such things to be able to do it.  This reminds me that you asked if I intend forgetting you after I am married.  I have no sort of idea what I shall do, provided I ever marry.  But if I ever fall in love I dare say I shall do it so madly and absorbingly as to become, in a measure and for a season, forgetful of everything and everybody else.  Still, though I hate professions, I don’t see how I can ever cease to love you, whatever else I forget or neglect.  There is a restlessness in my affection for you that I don’t understand—­a half wish to avoid enjoyment now, that I may in some future time share it with you.  And yet I have a presentiment that we may have sympathy in trials of which I now know nothing.

I am ashamed of myself, of late, that these subjects of love and matrimony find a place in my thoughts which I never have been in the habit of giving them, but people here talk of little else and I am borne on with the current.  I think that to give happiness in married life a woman should possess oceans of self-sacrificing love and I, for one, haven’t half of that self-forgetting spirit which I think essential.

I am glad you like the “Christian Year,” and I see you are quite an Episcopalian.  Well, if you are like the good old English divines, nobody can find fault with your choice.  Mr. Persico was brought up a Catholic but professes to be a nothingarian now.  For myself, this only I know that I earnestly wish all the tendencies of my heart to be heavenward, and I believe that the sincere inquirer after truth will be guided by the Infinite Mind.  And so on that faith I venture myself and feel safe as a child may feel, who holds his father’s hand.  Life seems full of mysteries to me of late—­and I am tempted to strange thoughtfulness in the midst of its gayest scenes.