THE BRIDE OF AN HOUR.
It was a clear, cold, sharp, invigorating winter morning. The snow was
crusted over with hoar frost, and the bare forest trees were hung with
icicles. The cunning fox, the 'possum and the 'coon, crept shivering
from their dens; but the shy, gray rabbit, and the tiny, brown
wood-mouse, still nestled in their holes. And none of nature's small
children ventured from their nests, save the hardy and courageous little
snow-birds that came to seek their food even at the very threshold of
their natural enemy--man.
The approaching sun had scarcely as yet reddened the eastern horizon, or
flushed the snow, when at Locust Hill our travelers assembled in the
dining-room, to partake of their last meal previous to setting forth.
Commodore Waugh, and Mrs. L'Oiseau, who were fated to remain at home and
keep house, were also there to see the travelers off.
The fine, vitalizing air of the winter morning, the cheerful bustle
preparatory to their departure, the novelty of the breakfast eaten by
candle-light, all combined to raise and exhilarate the spirits of the
party.
After the merry, hasty meal was over, Mrs. Waugh, in her voluminous
cloth cloak, fur tippet, muff, and wadded hood; Jacquelina, enveloped in
several fine, soft shawls, and wearing a warm, chinchilla bonnet; and
Dr. Grimshaw, in his dreadnaught overcoat and cloak, and long-eared fur
cap, all entered the large family carriage, where, with the additional
provision of foot-stoves and hot bricks, they had every prospect of a
comfortable mode of conveyance.
Old Oliver, in his many-caped drab overcoat, and fox-skin cap and
gloves, sat upon the coachman's box with the proud air of a king upon
his throne. And why not? It was Oliver's very first visit to the city,
and the suit of clothes he wore was brand new!
Thurston's new gig was furnished with two fine buffalo robes--one laid
down on the seats and the floor as a carpet, and the other laid over as
a coverlet. His forethought had also provided a foot-stove for Marian.
And never was a happier man than he when he handed his smiling companion
into the gig, settled her comfortably in her seat, placed the foot-stove
under her feet, sprang in and seated himself beside her, tucked the
buffalo robe carefully in, and took the reins, and waited the signal to
move on.
Melchisedek, or as he was commonly called, Cheesy, mounted upon Marian's
pony, rode on in advance, to open the gates for the party. Mrs. Waugh's
carriage followed. And Thurston's gig brought up the rear. And thus the
travelers set forth.
The sun had now risen in cloudless splendor, and was striking long lines
of crimson light across the snow, and piercing through the forest
aisles. Flocks of saucy little snow-birds alighted fearlessly in their
path; but the cunning little gray rabbits just peeped with their round,
bright eyes, and then quickly hopped away.
I need not describe their merry journey at length. My readers will
readily imagine how delightful was the trip to at least two of the
party. And those two were not Dr. Grimshaw and Jacquelina.
Thurston pleaded so hard for a private marriage when they got to
Washington that at last Marian consented.
So one day they drove out to the Navy Yard Hill, and there in the
remotest and quietest suburb of the city, in a little Methodist chapel,
without witnesses, Thurston and Marian were married.
Thurston and Marian found an opportunity to be alone in the drawing-room
for the few moments preceding his departure. In those last moments she
could not find it in her heart to withhold one word whose utterance
would cheer his soul, and give him hope and joy and confidence in
departing. Marian had naturally a fine, healthful, high-toned
organization--a happy, hopeful, joyous temperament, an inclination
always to look upon the sunny side of life and events. And so, when he
drew her gently and tenderly to his bosom, and whispered:
"You have made me the happiest and most grateful man on earth, dear,
lovely Marian! dear, lovely wife! but are you satisfied, beloved--oh!
are you satisfied? Do I leave you at ease?"
She spoke the very truth when she confessed to him--her head being on
his shoulder, and her low tones flowing softly to his listening ear:
"More than satisfied, Thurston--more than satisfied, I am inexpressibly
happy now. Yes, though you are going away; for, see! the pain of parting
for a few months, is lost in the joy of knowing that we are united,
though separated--and in anticipating the time not long hence, when we
shall meet again. God bless you, dearest Thurston."
"God forever bless and love you, sweet wife." And so they parted.