“Generous emotions!” I exclaimed.  “Cherish ’em; cling to ’em till you are fifty, till you are seventy, till you are ninety!  But do as I tell you,—­strike for the best circle of practice, and you ’ll be sure to get it!”

Mr. Langdon did as I told him,—­took a genteel office, furnished it neatly, dressed with a certain elegance, soon made a pleasant circle of acquaintances, and began to work his way into the right kind of business.  I missed him, however, for some days, not long after he had opened his office.  On his return, he told me he had been up at Rockland, by special invitation, to attend the wedding of Mr. Dudley Venner and Miss Helen Darley.  He gave me a full account of the ceremony, which I regret that I cannot relate in full.  “Helen looked like an angel,”—­that, I am sure, was one of his expressions.  As for her dress, I should like to give the details, but am afraid of committing blunders, as men always do, when they undertake to describe such matters.  White dress, anyhow,—­that I am sure of,—­with orange-flowers, and the most wonderful lace veil that was ever seen or heard of.  The Reverend Doctor Honeywood performed the ceremony, of course.  The good people seemed to have forgotten they ever had had any other minister, except Deacon Shearer and his set of malcontents, who were doing a dull business in the meeting-house lately occupied by the Reverend Mr. Fairweather.

“Who was at the wedding?”

“Everybody, pretty much.  They wanted to keep it quiet, but it was of no use.  Married at church.  Front pews, old Dr. Kittredge and all the mansionhouse people and distinguished strangers,—­Colonel Sprowle and family, including Matilda’s young gentleman, a graduate of one of the fresh-water colleges,—­Mrs. Pickins (late Widow Rowens) and husband,—­Deacon Soper and numerous parishioners.  A little nearer the door, Abel, the Doctor’s man, and Elbridge, who drove them to church in the family-coach.  Father Fairweather, as they all call him now, came in late with Father McShane.”

“And Silas Peckham?”

“Oh, Silas had left The School and Rockland.  Cut up altogether too badly in the examination instituted by the Trustees.  Had removed over to Tamarack, and thought of renting a large house and ‘farming’ the town-poor.”

Some time after this, as I was walking with a young friend along by the swell-fronts and south-exposures, whom should I see but Mr. Bernard Langdon, looking remarkably happy, and keeping step by the side of a very handsome and singularly well-dressed young lady?  He bowed and lifted his hat as we passed.

“Who is that pretty girl my young doctor has got there?” I said to my companion.

“Who is that?” he answered.  “You don’t know?  Why, that is neither more nor less than Miss Letitia Forrester, daughter of—­of—­why, the great banking firm, you know, Bilyuns Brothers & Forrester.  Got acquainted with her in the country, they say.  There ’s a story that they’re engaged, or like to be, if the firm consents.”