“Your affectionate aunt,
“Anna Hazleton.”
“To Mr. Francis Reeve.”
How brightly dawned the morning—how lovely looked the fair young bride—how happy the bridegroom, dear reader mine, determine in your own mind. Every one seemed particularly happy, but no one more so than Mr. Hazleton—although several times, with a very grave face, he demanded of the blushing bride if Cousin Frank had not come yet?
Alice, whose return home had only been postponed that she might be present at her friend’s wedding, stood by the side of Julia, while Wallace performed the same pleasing office for his friend.
And now the priest has blessed them. Mrs. Hazleton has gracefully folded her daughter to her bosom, and turned her cheek modestly to the salute of her son-in-law. The carriage whirls to the door—tender adieus are interchanged, and with a “blush on her cheek and a tear in her eye,” Julia is borne off by the exulting bridegroom!
As the carriage rolled from the door, Mrs. Hazleton sank down on the sofa, and folded her hands, and threw up her beautiful eyes complacently, exclaiming—
“Thank Heaven! my duty to Julia is done—she is off my hands! She has certainly made a most eligible match—as Lady Lackwit, who married into the Ninnybrain family in the reign of George the Second, observed——how, a letter for me?—where did you get it, John?”
“The postman just brought it, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hazleton broke the seal and read: