of race-horse which never wins and never spoils a course, being
of wood and constructed to go round in a tent, and never to arrive
anywhere or lose any prizes. The pelicans were in high excitement, for
all along their beautiful little river, where it winds through bowery
trees, a profusion of living fish had been emptied and confined here
and there by grated dams, so that the awkward birds had opportunity
to angle in perfect freedom and to their hearts' content. In the
more wooded part of the garden a mimic hunt had been arranged, and
sportsmen in correct suits of green, with curly brass horns and baying
hounds, coursed through the grounds, following a stag which, though
mangy and asthmatic, may yet have been a descendant of the fawn that
fed Genevieve of Brabant. We had re-entered one of the grand alleys,
and were receiving again the little tribute of encomiums which the
greater privacy of the groves had pretermitted--we were parading
happily along, conscious of nothing to be ashamed of, our
orange-blossoms glistening, our veil flying, our broadcloth and
wedding-favors gleaming--when we met another group, which, though more
furtively, bore that matrimonial character which distinguished our
own.

[ILLUSTRATION: THE MIMIC HUNT.]

At the head walked Mr. Cookson & Jenkinson. He still wore that species
of shooting-costume which he had made his uniform, but it was decked
with roses, and his hands were encased in milk-white gloves: on his
hands, besides the gloves, he had the two grammatical ladies from
the Rhine steamboat in guise of bridesmaids. Behind him walked Mary
Ashburleigh. And emerging from the skirts of Mary Ashburleigh's dress,
with the embarrassed happiness of a middle-aged bridegroom, was--no?
yes! no, no! but yes--was Sylvester Berkley. I will not expose what I