expected footfall, glided from her concealment into the happy
scoundrel's arms. The action which followed I could not see (though it
was a bright moonlight,) for a breeze lifted the large veil which hung
over the lady's shoulder, in such a manner as to envelope the
countenances of both. What the action _ought_ to have been, perhaps
you, madam, or you, mademoiselle, may inform me?--I only know that
when the modest zephyr passed, and the veil fell back again, the fair
cheek that it revealed glowed with

"A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't,
Might well have warm'd old Saturn."

Harry gave me his hand (heartily) as he stood on the carriage step,
and the bride wafted me a farewell with the prettiest action of her
fan from the window, and murmured,--"Give me a good wish for the
tobacconist."

"Yes," said I; "may you never have occasion to say of the love that
now leads you to him, that

"'Its beacon light is quench'd in _smoke_.'"

[For although naturally grave, and silently given, I often catch
myself endeavouring to sport a bad pun, when I have got the ear of a
fair damsel] The only effect which the witticism produced in the
present instance, however, was an enormous groan, in which the fellows
on the dickey participated. Even the postilion who stood near, set up
a crowing laugh--and the very horses by their snorting and neighing,
seemed to be sensible of the utter and deplorable failure.