LETTER III.
My dear Heart!—We went to the wedding at nine o'clock in the morning. We drove to the house of the bride in pouring rain. All the guests, about a hundred in number, were already assembled. The bride's father, an elderly gentleman of a remarkably agreeable appearance, offered me his arm to lead me into the room where the marriage was to take place. It was the only daughter of the house who was to be married. The elder sister had been dead about a year, and that the mother still grieved for her loss might be seen by her pale, sorrowful, countenance. The wedding company was very silent. One might rather have believed oneself in a house of mourning than at a joyful festival. And as the eldest daughter had died soon after her marriage, and in consequence of it, namely, when she was about to become a mother, it was not without cause that this festival was regarded with serious thoughts.
Ladies and gentlemen were introduced to me one after another, and then again the whole circle became silent. Presently it was whispered round that the marriage ceremony was about to commence. A door opened, and a young gentleman entered, leading in a young lady in her bonnet and travelling dress. They took their places side by side at the bottom of the room, a venerable old clergyman stepped forward to the young couple, and—they were united in holy wedlock or ever by a short prayer, a short admonition, and a short benediction. Friends and relations then came forward, and kissed and congratulated the new-married pair; I also went forward, leaning on the father's arm, kissed the bride and shook hands with the young husband. He looked happy and
