The evening of the marriage arrived; the handsomely furnished house of Mrs. Gardiner Green was elegantly decorated and thrown open from attic to cellar to the numerous expected visitors. Mrs. Green herself, elegantly attired, was superintending the bridal toilet of Sophie in the dressing-room of the latter. The dress of Miss Churchill, prepared by the taste of Mrs. Green, was a white satin skirt, and over that a white gauze embroidered all over with silver flowers, a large white lace veil, looped up above her brow by a single small diamond star, leaving room to the slight elegant wreath of orange buds that lightly rested on her smoothly braided hair. Rose Green and another young lady of the neighborhood attended her as bridesmaids. A murmur of admiration ran through the crowded parlors as Sophie was led in by Mr. Withers, and the bridal party took their stand in the centre of the room. The bishop of the diocese, summoned from Baltimore, was in attendance to perform the ceremony. He wore the usual full wide black gown of an Episcopal clergyman. The bridal party stood before him cheerily; the young bridesmaids and groomsmen stood in reverent _attitude_, their eyes bent upon the ground, but the corners of their lips full of dimples, scarcely repressing their smiles—stern and solemn stood the tall thin figure of the dark bridegroom, and cold and pale and quiet Sophie waited. Once she raised her eyelids, but her glance fell on the black gown and solemn countenance of the clergyman before her, and she quickly dropped them again. He seemed to her the incarnation of darkest doom. She felt a dreary sinking of the heart as the first words of the ritual fell upon her ear, as the sentence of death falls upon the criminal hearing. It was over. It was over—friends and neighbors crowded around her with their congratulations. First, Emily May drew her to her bosom, and imprinting a kiss upon her brow, whispered hastily— “Courage, love! nothing is so illusory as the emotions of a bride; many a reluctant bride has become a loving and happy wife, many a hopeful and joyous bride has seen her happiness decay and die—courage, love.” Sophie scarcely knew who spoke these hasty words, or how she at last found herself seated with her husband and attendants by her side. Refreshments were served around, and that occupied the company for the next hour; then a low hum of suppressed gaiety was heard all over the room, among the lively young people brought together in the expectation of enjoyment, and now growing uneasy under the restraint put upon their gaiety. The young people voted the parson’s wedding a stupid affair—a disappointment—quite a failure. At last, Miss Rogers, the second bridesmaid of Sophie, a merry little maiden, not overladen with veneration, jumped up from her seat, and standing before the solemn bridegroom, said—