I naturally consented, and this was the

Im.

Jump in the parlor,
Jump in the hall,
God made us all!

Now did you ever hear of anything quite so dear as that, for a baby only three years and five months old?  I tell you she is a wonder.  You will all adore her, Clover particularly.  Oh, my dear little C.!  To think I am going to see her!

I met both Ellen Gray and Esther Dearborn the other day, and where do you think it was?  At Mary Silver’s wedding!  Yes, she is actually married to the Rev. Charles Playfair Strothers, and settled in a little parsonage somewhere in the Hoosac Tunnel,—­or near it,—­and already immersed in “duties.”  I can’t think what arguments he used to screw her up to the rash act; but there she is.

It wasn’t exactly what one would call a cheerful wedding.  All the connection took it very seriously; and Mary’s uncle, who married her, preached quite a lengthy funeral discourse to the young couple, and got them nicely ready for death, burial, and the next world, before he would consent to unite them for this.  He was a solemn-looking old person, who had been a missionary, and “had laid away three dear wives in foreign lands,” as he confided to me afterward over a plate of ice-cream.  He seemed to me to be “taking notice,” as they say of babies, and it is barely possible that he mistook me for a single woman, for his attentions were rather pronounced till I introduced my husband prominently into conversation; after that he seemed more attracted by Ellen Gray.

Mary cried straight through the ceremony.  In fact, I imagine she cried straight through the engagement, for her eyes looked wept out and had scarlet rims, and she was as white as her veil.  In fact, whiter, for that was made of beautiful point de Venise, and was just a trifle yellowish.  Everybody cried.  Her mother and sister sobbed aloud, so did several maiden aunts and a grandmother or two and a few cousins.  The church resounded with guggles and gasps, like a great deal of bath-water running out of an ill-constructed tub.  Mr. Silver also wept, as a business man may, in a series of sniffs interspersed with silk handkerchief; you know the kind.  Altogether it was a most cheerless affair.  I seemed to be the only person present who was not in tears; but I really didn’t see anything to cry about, so far as I was concerned, though I felt very hard-hearted.

I had to go alone, for Deniston was in New York.  I got to the church rather early, and my new spring bonnet—­which is a superior one—­seemed to impress the ushers, so they put me in a very distinguished front pew all by myself.  I bore my honors meekly, and found them quite agreeable, in fact,—­you know I always did like to be made much of,—­so you can imagine my disgust when presently three of the stoutest ladies you ever saw came sailing up the aisle, and prepared to invade my pew.

    “Please move up, Madam,” said the fattest of all, who wore a
    wonderful yellow hat.