My marriage took place on the appointed day in June with all the pomp and extravagant show befitting my position, and that of the woman I had chosen to wed. It is needless to describe the gorgeousness of the ceremony in detail,--any fashionable 'ladies paper' describing the wedding of an Earl's daughter to a five-fold millionaire, will give an idea, in hysterical rhapsody, of the general effect. It was an amazing scene,--and one in which costly millinery completely vanquished all considerations of solemnity or sacredness in the supposed 'divine' ordinance. The impressive command: "I require and charge ye both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment,"--did not obtain half so much awed attention as the exquisite knots of pearls and diamonds which fastened the bride's silver-embroidered train to her shoulders. 'All the world and his wife' were present,--that is, the social world, which imagines no other world exists, though it is the least part of the community. The Prince of Wales honoured us by his presence: two great dignitaries of the church performed the marriage-rite, resplendent in redundant fulness of white sleeve and surplice, and equally imposing in the fatness of their bodies and unctuous redness of their faces; and Lucio was my 'best man.' He was in high, almost wild spirits,--and, during our drive to the church together, had entertained me all the way with numerous droll stories, mostly at the expense of the clergy. When we reached the sacred edifice, he said laughingly as he alighted-- "Did you ever hear it reported, Geoffrey, that the devil is unable to enter a church, because of the cross upon it, or within it?" "I have heard some such nonsense,"--I replied, smiling at the humour expressed in his sparkling eyes and eloquent features. "It _is_ nonsense,--for the makers of the legend forgot one thing;" he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper as we passed under the carved gothic portico--"The cross may be present,----but----so is the clergyman! And wherever a clergyman is, the devil may surely follow!" I almost laughed aloud at his manner of making this irreverent observation, and the look with which he accompanied it. The rich tones of the organ creeping softly on the flower-scented silence however, quickly solemnized my mood,--and while I leaned against the altar-rails waiting for my bride, I caught myself wondering for the hundredth time or more, at my comrade's singularly proud and kingly aspect, as with folded arms and lifted head, he contemplated the lily-decked altar and the gleaming crucifix upon it, his meditative eyes bespeaking a curious mingling of reverence and contempt. One incident I remember, as standing out particularly in all the glare and glitter of the brilliant scene, and this occurred at the signing of our names in the register. When Sibyl, a vision of angelic loveliness in all her bridal white, affixed her signature to the entry, Lucio bent towards her,--