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Man, Women and Ghosts

there would ever
be such a story to tell. It was such a pretty, peaceful
wedding! If you
were there, you remember it as you remember a rare
sunrise, or a
peculiarly delicate May-flower, or that strain in a
simple old song
which is like orioles and butterflies and dew-drops.
There were not many of us; we were all acquainted with
one another; the
day was bright, and Harrie did not faint nor cry. There
were a couple
of bridesmaids,--Pauline Dallas, and a Miss--Jones, I
Harrie's little sisters; and the people were well
dressed and well
looking, but everybody was thoroughly at home,
comfortable, and on a
level. There was no annihilating of little country
friends in gray
alpacas by city cousins in point and pearls, no crowding
and no crush,
and, I believe, not a single "front breadth" spoiled by
the ices.
Harrie is not called exactly pretty, but she must be a
very plain woman
who is not pleasant to see upon her wedding day.
Harrie's eyes shone,--I
never saw such eyes! and she threw her head back like a
queen whom they
were crowning.
Her father married them. Old Mr. Bird was an odd man,
with odd notions
of many things, of which marriage was one. The service
was his own. I
afterwards asked him for a copy of it, which I have
preserved. The
Covenant ran thus:--
"Appealing to your Father who is in heaven to witness
your sincerity,
you .... do now take this woman whose hand you hold--