For a long time I had divided homes and a divided heart, one at the old home with the old folks, the other in the city by the sea.

In our new-born and first-born enthusiasm, we applied to Mary’s parents for an early union of hands as well as hearts; but they wisely insisted upon a year’s interim, promising that, if at the end of this trial time our ardor had not cooled, they and the minister would “bless you my children,” and our hearts should beat as one forevermore.

The course of true love never did run smooth, and when the claiming day arrived, Mary’s mother told me that she had been credibly informed that another girl had a prior claim to my promised hand.  I protested in vain, and, as the daughter was invisible, I left the house in a rage.

A week, which seemed like a century, passed by on leaden wings in which I strove to drown my sorrows in the “flowing bowl” of hard work, and foolish declarations that “I didn’t care”; then came a kind letter from Alderman B——­, gracefully apologizing for his wife’s mistaken assertions, stating that “Mary was giving them no peace day or night,” and inviting me to call at my earliest convenience.

The very next train took me to the old familiar trysting-place, once more the white-winged dove of peace brooded over the B—­mansion, and we all, especially the parents, fully realized that in order to appreciate heaven we must have at least seven days of hell.

Shortly after, at the home of the bride’s parents, we twain were made one in the presence of numerous friends and presents; the old shoes and rice were duly showered, and we were off for a month’s tour, and a lifelong honeymoon.

During this wedding tour, at the request of my employers, I combined business with pleasure, the firm generously paying all our expenses, and continuing my salary.

We visited many cities, greatly enjoying their varied attractions; but the business part of our journey, which was collecting large sums of money due for books, was not particularly delightful, as the banks had all suspended specie payments as a result of the “green back craze,” and I was often obliged to resort to legal measures and attachments of property, to secure from reluctant book sellers the sums long overdue.

At one hotel we met with an adventure which well-nigh proved serious.  I was awakened at night by the flash from a bull’s eye lantern, a sense of suffocation and a scream from my wife.  A masked burglar was before me, pressing to my face a handkerchief saturated with chloroform, and endeavoring to take from under the mattress a large sum of money which I had collected the day before.

“No noise,” said he, “your money or your life.”

“All right,” said I quietly, “I’ll get it for you.”  He stepped back a pace, I quickly pulled from under the pillow my self-cocking revolver, and fired in rapid succession.