The Continental Monthly, Vol. 5, No. May, 1864: Devoted To Literature And National Policy

behold her as they lead her forth, with myrtle wreath upon her brow, andfloating drapery of snow. She moves slowly, as if in fear, and the churchrises like a vast cemetery before her eyes. Charmed with her modest love-liness, men smile on her as she glides forward, while children, changed intolittle angels, strew fresh flowers before her. The bishop and attendant priestslook bright in gay dalmatics; and throngs of people crowd round, praising,envying, and wishing bliss. She alone is silent, with long lashes shading herdowncast eyes, as she leans on the arms of her maidens.Weariness is in every movement of her slight form, her nerves seem unstrung,and the rays of soul gleam vague and troubled through the expanded pupilsof her blue eyes; it were indeed hard to divine whether plaint or prayer wouldbreathe through the half-open lips. As she passes on before the shrines andchapels she lifts her hand, as if intending to make the sign of the cross, but sheseems without energy to complete the symbols, and they fall broken and halfformed in the air. Inclining her head before the Mother of God, she bendsas if about to kneel, but, her strength evidently failing her, she moves trem-blingly on toward the sanctuary, and the Great Altar in its gloomy depthslooms before her like a sepulchre.3 VARIOUSThere, encircled by relations and friends, with pride and pleasure beamingfrom his aged eyes, her father awaits her; and well may he be proud, for neverhad God given to declining years a lovelier child. She shines upon the sunsetof his life with the growing lustre of the evening star, and never has its lightbeamed dim upon him until this very hour. He will not, however, thinkof this momentary eclipse now, for this same hour will see the fulfilment ofhis brightest dreams. In his joy and pride he exclaims to the friends aroundhim: 'Look on my child; how young, pure, and innocent she is-tremblingin the ignorance of her approaching happiness!' Then he gazes wistfully,far as his eye can reach, down the long aisles of the church, to ascertain ifthe bridegroom yet appears, and, seeing him not, his gray eyebrows