Very much like a queen looked the beautiful Carolyn, but very little like a bride, either in her dignified self-possession, or in her magnificent array. Her fair hair was carried up above her forehead, and dressed high, in the regal style of that day. Its rich waves and bands were wreathed with pearls, and adorned with a plume of white ostrich feathers, powdered with minute silver spangles. Her neck and arms were bare, but adorned with pearls, and softly shaded with the finest lace at the edge of the boddice and sleeves. Her dress was of rich blue satin brocade, made with long waist, sharp pointed stomacher, and flowing sleeves and flowing skirt—the edges of the skirt finished with a very deep border of silver embroidery; a lighter border of the same running around the sleeves; the stomacher was embroidered with silver and pearls. Over her skirt she wore a train of splendid lace, lightly embroidered with a running vine of silver. She toyed with an elegant fan of carved mother-of-pearl and marabout feathers. She stood there, as I said, not at all like a bride, either in her gorgeous apparel, or her self-asserting manner. She stood there with a gay, proud air, beneath which none could have discerned the deeply humiliated spirit of the arrogant woman, or suspected the wounded and breaking heart of the forsaken bride.—When the murmur of voices which had greeted their entrance had subsided, and silence was restored, Mr. Clifton bowed deeply, and—in the somewhat high-flown grandiloquence of style he had once seen exhibited by a manager of a city theatre, when apologising for the non-appearance of the evening’s star—spoke as follows: “Ladies and gentlemen, the distinction of your presence here this evening, has been prayed that you might give the honor of your countenance to the espousals of my nephew and daughter. You have graciously accorded us the dignity of your society here for that purpose.” (An embarrassed pause, while the assembly listened in breathless curiosity and expectation, and he continued,) “Ladies and gentlemen, ‘man _pro_poses, but God _dis_poses.’ The great Arbiter of destiny has ordained the issue of events otherwise than as we had hoped, planned, and expected. Even last night suddenly came a peremptory order from head-quarters, to Captain Clifton, to join his regiment instantly for the purpose of taking the command of a detachment of cavalry, to march immediately to the Indian frontier to put down an irruption of the Shoshowanawas! Ladies and gentlemen!” (continued the old gentleman, warming up with his subject,) “you know the stern, uncompromising duty of the soldier at such a crisis. One syllable—one single syllable comprehends his insupportable obligation—‘Go.’ The man, the lover, the bridegroom must give place to the soldier. As our greatest poet, Walter Scott, has it,—the soldier at the sound of the trumpet must