When the notes of invitation to the wedding at length came, which ceremony was to be performed in the house of Mr. Clayton, in Sycamore Row, Mrs. Marygold declared that to send her an invitation to go to such a place was a downright insult.  As the time, however, drew near, and she found that Mrs. Harwood and a dozen others equally respectable in her eyes were going to the wedding, she managed to smother her indignation so far as, at length, to make up her mind to be present at the nuptial ceremonies.  But it was not until her ears were almost stunned by the repeated and earnestly expressed congratulations to Mrs. Florence at the admirable choice made by her son, and that too by those whose tastes and opinions she dared not dispute, that she could perceive any thing even passable in the beautiful young bride.

Gradually, however, as the younger Mrs. Florence, in the process of time, took her true position in the social circle, even Mrs. Marygold could begin to perceive the intrinsic excellence of her character, although even this was more a tacit assent to a universal opinion than a discovery of her own.

As for Melinda, she was married about a year after Fanny Clayton’s wedding, to a sprig of gentility with about as much force of character as herself.  This took place on the same night that Lieut.  Harwood, son of Mrs. Harwood before alluded to, led to the altar Mary Clayton, the sister of Fanny, who was conceded by all, to be the loveliest girl they had ever seen—­lovely, not only in face and form, but loveliness itself in the sweet perfections of moral beauty.  As for Lieut.  Harwood, he was worthy of the heart he had won.

MAKING A SENSATION.

“Do you intend going to Mrs. Walshingham’s party, next week, Caroline?” asked Miss Melvina Fenton of her friend Caroline Gay.  “It is said that it will be a splendid affair.”

“I have not made up my mind, Melvina.”

“O you’ll go of course.  I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I am much inclined to think that I will stay at home or spend my evening in some less brilliant assemblage,” Caroline Gay replied in a quiet tone.

“Nonsense, Caroline!  There hasn’t been such a chance to make a sensation this season.”

“And why should I wish to make a sensation, Melvina?”

“Because it’s the only way to attract attention.  Now-a-days, the person who creates a sensation, secures the prize that a dozen quiet, retiring individuals are looking and longing after, in vain.  We must dazzle if we would win.”

“That is, we must put on false colors, and deceive not only ourselves, but others.”

“How strangely you talk, Caroline!  Every one now is attracted by show and eclat.”

“Not every one, I hope, Melvina.”

“Show me an exception.”

Caroline smiled as she answered,

“Your friend Caroline, as you call her, I hope is one.”