The ceremony was very brief and simple—­according to the ritual of the Dutch Church—­and people were married by it before they knew it.  The minister had received, in advance, a fee of unprecedented size, which was, at that moment, lying at the bottom of his wife’s pocket, and which that good woman had already spent, in imagination, on a new bonnet for herself, a new hat for the minister, dresses for the girls, books for the boys, and playthings for the baby.  If the dimensions of the fee had any effect whatever on the mind of the excellent minister, that effect was to hurry up the ceremony, and make the two one with the least possible delay.

At last the magical, binding words were spoken; and the husband, stooping proudly to the not-averted face of his blushing wife, gave her the first kiss.  And at the same instant a little band of musicians, with chosen instruments, secretly stationed in the library, of which the door was now thrown open, struck up Mendelssohn’s divine Wedding March.  As its jubilant notes floated through the house, the round of congratulations commenced.

Blest Pet!  What had she ever done—­she thought, so far as giddy happiness would allow her to think—­to merit all these kisses (of which her two shy uncles bestowed two), these benedictions, these tears, and, above all, the possession of this noble heart by her side, henceforth to be all her own?  The exultant peals of the Wedding March—­that highest expression of triumphal love—­but faintly interpreted her joy.

The bridegroom received his full share of the universal good wishes.  Everybody was pleased with his behavior; and the bachelor Bank President, and other members of the old school of gentlemen, pronounced him a glorious young fellow, a refreshing contrast to the puny, cadaverous youth of the day, and altogether worthy to have flourished thirty years ago.  The bridesmaids and groomsmen were not neglected either; and both Miss Pillbody and Miss Trapper thought that the next best thing to getting married, was to assist others in the operation.

As for old Van Quintem, after kissing the bride, and calling Bog his son, and giving both of them his blessing, he had retired from the room to hide the tears of happiness which not even seventy years of this hardening world could keep from his eyes.

For the second time in five minutes, Amos Frump approached Matthew Maltboy, and shook hands with him.  “Fat and jolly as ever,” said he.

From the first adjective Matthew recoiled; though he tried to justify the propriety of the second by a laugh.

“And I like you—­hang me if I don’t!” said Mr. Frump, with California bluntness, “because you’re fat and jolly.  But here’s wifey, and I know she wants to say somethin’ to you.”

“So I do,” said Mrs. Frump.  “My head was so full of business to-day, that I had quite forgotten it.  But you must step aside with me,” she added, looking significantly at Miss Trapper.