"time and talents" are devoted to "domestic policy," who will bring in a bill "for the better regulation of the marriage ceremony," and put the canonical hours later in the day? What justice, or, what is more to the point in the present day, what philanthropy is there in disturbing the natural rest of a whole household, because one of them is to be married? at all events, could there not be a special clause in favour of London? A spring morning there is the very reverse of Thomson's description; for "delicious mildness" read "a cutting east wind;" and for "veiled in roses" substitute "smoke and fog." The streets are given up to the necessities of life—to the milkman with his cans, the butcher with his tray, the baker with his basket; all belong to the material portion of existence. Now, marriage is (or ought to be) an affair of affections, sentiments, &c. The legislature ought to give it the full benefit of moonlight and wax-candles.
When they arrived at St. George's, Lady Anne looked better than her daughters; they had been up half the night, clinging with natural fondness to the sister about to leave her home for ever, and they had risen far earlier than was necessary; and, in their anxiety that she should look her best, had done their utmost, by over fatigue, to make the whole party look as ill as possible. Isabella was too much dressed; her slight figure was quite weighed down with satin and blonde. Mr. Glentworth had fallen into the common
