-A BRIDE. 16& 



the world over ; in the ring, the flower of England's 

 manhood, a-horse and around them. 



A pony phaeton, with four wee white ponies and two 

 lady charioteers, the beautiful black-glancing Cheshire 

 and soft Isabella, creeps slowly round the ring, pauses 

 near Buckingham gate ; a dark cavalier, on a superb 

 white horse, leans over them, his hand resting on the 

 hood of the phaeton. But his face is very sad ; more 

 than sad, melancholy — more than melancholy, apa- 

 thetic ! he smiles, but it is with his lips only, from his 

 teeth ; not with his eyes, from his heart ; and he talks 

 earnestly with those lovely beings, and they are earnest 

 in reply. He loves them not, but likes, almost more 

 than loving. They are bound to him by the memory 

 of a time. He is Percy Fairfax. He starts, his eye 

 has caught something, his hat is off, he bows, his spur 

 is in white Moonbeam's side — he is away, among the 

 press ; through the gate ; in Rotten Row. 



What was it caught his eye ? The vision of a beau- 

 tiful chesnut thorough-bred mare, sweeping, like a 

 swan through the air — a ship through the sea— among 

 the high-bred throng, and on her back a supple, sway- 

 ing figure, a long dark riding habit, a low-crowned, 

 broad-brimmed hat, a black veil scarcely shadowing 

 the rosy chin. 



Away ! Hope is on the wind, and life ! Away ! 



Again a glimpse — those sloping shoulders, the bend 

 of that slender neck, those tresses of pale gold of the 

 rider — those round muscular long, let-down quarters, 

 that full, swinging bang tail, of the ridden — out of 

 ten thousand they are Bonnibelle, and Mary Merton. 



Moonbeam is at his speed, he devom^s the Row — 

 they are almost overtaken, but she has pulled up, and 

 he pulls up too, to sate his eyes on that presence. It 

 is she, and the old admiral, and another female figure ; 

 and is it ? — it is Charley — by her side. 



They wheeled. Fairfax and Moonbeam halted, and 



