attending solely to his whims and wishes, or crush her young heart with
hope deferred. There was no ambitious match making mother, ready to
sacrifice the hearts best affections, in order that she might become the
unloved wife of some shallow pated young dandy, with more aristocratic
blood than brains, and a coronet in perspective.

Nor was the reverend lover subjected to any trials of a similar nature;
he was an orphan, with but one near relative, a bachelor Uncle, who was
fond of his nephew, and proud of his talent and the position he had
attained as Rector of Vellenaux. The old gentleman had intended to leave
him his property, amounting to some five thousand pounds, in the five
per cents., at his death; but the kind-hearted relative on learning that
his brother's son had secured so estimable a lady for his wife;
belonging to a family who for so many years had resided in the
neighborhood of Vellenaux, the scene of the young Rector's labours; he
altered his will, placing half of the original sum to Charles Denham's
credit, at Drummond's Bank in London, subject to his cheque or order, so
that the rectory could be furnished and fitted up with all the
requisites befitting the position of the young couple.

It was a right joyous group that gathered around the wedding breakfast
table at 54 Harley Street, on that bright summer morn, that saw Emily
Barton made the happy bride of the equally happy Rector of Vellenaux. A
friendly Bishop tied the connubial knot in one of the most aristocratic
churches in London, and a few hours afterwards Emily and Charles
departed, not by rail, to some uncomfortable foreign hotel, but by
travelling, carriage and post horses to their home at Vellenaux. For the
guests who had assembled to witness the wedding ceremony, there was
another treat in store, they were invited to a ball given in honor of
the occasion by the brother of the bride, at his mansion in Berkly