The morning of the day fixed for my bridal at length arrived. I remember I slept very little on the preceding night. When I arose the day seemed delightfully fine, which I looked upon as a favorable omen. Habited in a plain white dress, I descended to our little parlor, where Alfred and all the family, except my father, were assembled at breakfast. The latter, I was told, was absent on business relative to our departure. The ceremony was not to take place until one, and we highly amused ourselves during the intermediate time, in projecting future schemes, and building pretty castles in the air. My sister drew a very charming picture of our English residence—Alfred gave us amusing and extravagant descriptions of the English—and I endeavored to estimate how much I should enjoy the English scenery, its picturesque cottages, its snug little gardens, and the luxury of peace and safety. And then Alfred drew me by his side, and whispered compliments in my ear, and assured me that stores of happiness awaited us. Thus pleasantly the time flew on until the clock struck one, when the priest reminded us that the hour for our wedding had arrived. At that moment a knock was heard at the door, which Annette declared was our father’s. The missal was then opened, and my sister placed the chairs in order. Then my heart began to palpitate, and a nervousness come over me which young ladies, I presume, are accustomed to experience upon such occasions. As I was advancing with Alfred toward the priest, I happened to turn my eyes to the window fronting the street, where I saw my dear father in the executioner’s cart, on its way to the guillotine! To describe the feelings which I experienced when this dreadful sight presented itself, would be impossible. Nearly forty years have passed since then, during which I have witnessed many never-to-be-forgotten scenes, and experienced many uncommon trials, yet that moment stands out in greater prominence than any other event of my life, and even now my hand trembles and my eyes become dim as the recollection of it returns to my memory. Upon recovering from the insensibility which the shock produced, I was met with another catastrophe, no less appalling than its predecessor—the death of my mother! It seems she also had observed my father on his way to execution, and the sudden fright operating upon a diseased heart, produced a sudden and fatal attack. Thus the hour which I fancied was to make me happy became the commencement of a series of misfortunes; the day which was to have rescued us from danger carried my father to the scaffold and fitted my mother for the grave! Truly says an old French proverb—“_L’homme propose, et Dieu dispose._”