“Does it make one sick to sail in dat dare ship?”
“No, no; don’t you see how she rides? That is a bridal party.”
“I am a bride; we is. That is wot we are,” said the young woman, happy hearted. The groom looked radiant.
LINCOLN PARK.
The flags were flying; the music was playing; the bazaars were all life and gayety.
The young colored woman looked enviously on the golden trappings of the procession, and said, with a shadow of despondency, “She outdoes me, she does. I’d like to ride on dat dare camel mysel’.”
“You can do so,” said a listener. “Many people make their wedding tour through the Street of Cairo on the camel.”
The young woman looked happy indeed.
