CHAPTER XIV. A WEDDING. "'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, "I saw her but a moment, Yet methinks I see her now, With a wreath of orange blossoms SPRING of life! whither art thou flown? A few hot sighs-and scalding tears-fleeting raptures and still fading hopes-and then-thou art gone for ever. Lovelorn we look on beauty: no blush now answers to our glance; for cold is our gaze, as the deadened emotions of our heart. Fresh garlands bedeck the lap of Spring. Faded as the shrivelled flowers, that withering sink be neath her rosy feet: yet we exclaim :-Spring of life! how and whither art thou flown? Clarendon Gage was a happy man. He had entered upon the world with very bright prospects. The glorious visions of his youth were still unclouded, and his heart beat as high with hope as ever. Experience had not yet instilled that sober truth, that Time will darken the sunniest, as well as the least inviting anticipations; and that the visions of his youth were unclouded, because they were undimmed by the reflections of age. Clarendon Gage was happy and grateful; and so might he well be! Few of us are there, who, on our first loving, have met with a love, fervent, confiding, and unsuspecting as our own,-fewer are there, who in reflection's calm hour, have recognised in the form that has captivated the eye, the mind on which their own can fully and unhesitatingly rely, and fewest of all are they, who having encountered such a treasure, can control adverse circumstances can overcome obstacles that oppose-and finally call it their own. Passionate, imaginative, and fickle as man may be, this is a living treasure beyond a price: than which this world has none more pure-none as enduring, to offer. Ah! say and act as we may-money-makingworldly ambitious as we may become -who among us that will not allow, that in the success of his honest suit-that in his possession of the the one first loved-and which first truly loved him-a kind ray from heaven, seems lent to this changeful world. Such affection as this, lends a new charm to man's existence. It lulls him in his anger-it soothes him in his sorrow-calms him in his fears-cheers him in his hopes-it deadens his grief-it enlivens his joy. It was a lovely morning in May-the first of the month. Not a cloud veiled the sun's splendour-the birds strained their throats in praise of day—and the rural May-pole, which was in the broad avenue of walnut trees, immediately at the foot of the lawn, was already encircled with flowers. Half way up this, was the station of the rustic orchestra-a green bower, which effec tually concealed them from the view of the dancers. On the lawn itself, tents were pitched in a line facing the house. Behind these, between the tents and the May-pole, extended a long range of tables, for the coming village feast. Emily Delmé looked out on the fair sunrise, and noted the gay preparations with some dismay. Her eye fell on her favourite bed of roses, the rarest and most costly that wealth and extreme care could produce; and she mournfully thought, that ere those buds were blown, a very great change would have taken place in her future prospects. She thought of all she was to leave. Will he be this, and more to me? How many a poor girl, when it is all too late, has fearfully asked herself the same question, and how deeply must the answer which time alone can give, affect the happiness of after years! Emily took her mother's miniature, and gazing on that face, of which her own appeared a beautiful transcript; she prayed to God to support him who was still present to her every thought. The family chapel of the Delmés was a beautiful and picturesque place of worship. With the exception of one massive door-way, whose circular arch and peculiar zig-zag ornament bespoke it coeval with, or of an earlier date than, the reign of Stephen-and said to have belonged to a ruin apart from the chapel, whose foundations an antiquary could hardly trace-Delmé chapel might be considered a well preserved specimen of the florid Gothic, of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The progress of the edifice, had been greatly retarded during the wars of the Roses; but it was fortunately completed, before the doctrine of the Cinquecentists-who saw no beauty save in the revived dogmas of Vitruvius-had so far gained ground, as to make obsolete and unfashionable, the most captivating and harmonious style of Architecture, that has yet flourished in Eng land. Its outer appearance was comparatively simple -it had neither spire, lantern, or transepts-and its ivy-hidden belfry was a detached tower. The walls of the aisles were supported by massive |