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Rh more abiding sense of the responsibilities that awaited me, and a more intense desire that I might so discharge them as to enhance his comfort. I also became fatigued, almost disgusted, with the preparation of a wardrobe, which, in comparison with my previous simplicity and frugality, seemed unduly elaborate.

"Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire?" asked one of the prophets of Israel. I should have been thankful to have been allowed to forget mine. Such purchasing, devising, driving of needle and shears, dealing with mantuamakers, milliners, and sempstresses, had never before entered into my history. I was humbled by it. I analyzed it as an inherent selfishness, a weak compliance with the tyranny of Fashion. It struck me that an event so sacred, so entwined with eternal destinies, should be less marked by trifles and trappings. Nor could I witness without regret the consequent and almost entire absorption of a moderate sum laid aside from my school-earnings, and mentally devoted to my dear, deserted parents.

One of the brightest of June mornings shone upon our nuptials. Every leaf and flower was redolent of dew and sunshine, as the bridal procession set forth. The Episcopal church in Chelsea was two miles distant, and, notwithstanding the early hour of eight, densely thronged. The ceremony, most touching of all save that which renders us back to dust, was feelingly performed by the venerable Mr. Tyler, rector for