There is a certain church， in the city of New York whichI have always regarded with peculiar interest on accountof a marriage there solemnized under very singularcircumstances in my grandmother’s girlhood. Thatvenerable lady chanced to be a spectator of the scene，and ever after made it her favorite narrative. Whetherthe edifice now standing on the same site be the identicalone to which she referred I am not antiquarian enoughto know， nor would it be worth while to correct myself，perhaps， of an agreeable error by reading the date of itserection on the tablet over the door. It is a stately churchsurrounded by an enclosure of the loveliest green， withinwhich appear urns， pillars， obelisks， and other forms ofmonumental marble， the tributes of private affectionor more splendid memorials of historic dust. With sucha place， though the tumult of the city rolls beneath itstower， one would be willing to connect some legendaryinterest.
The marriage might be considered as the result of anearly engagement， though there had been two intermediateweddings on the lady’s part and forty years of celibacyon that of the gentleman. At sixty-five Mr. Ellenwoodwas a shy but not quite a secluded man； selfish， like allmen who brood over their own hearts， yet manifestingon rare occasions a vein of generous sentiment； a scholarthroughout life， though always an indolent one， becausehis studies had no definite object either of publicadvantage or personal ambition； a gentleman， highbredand fastidiously delicate， yet sometimes requiring aconsiderable relaxation in his behalf of the common rulesof society. In truth， there were so many anomalies in hischaracter， and， though shrinking with diseased sensibilityfrom public notice， it had been his fatality so often tobecome the topic of the day by some wild eccentricity ofconduct， that people searched his lineage for a hereditarytaint of insanity. But there was no need of this. Hiscaprices had their origin in a mind that lacked the supportof an engrossing purpose， and in feelings that preyed uponthemselves for want of other food. If he were mad， it wasthe consequence， and not the cause， of an aimless andabortive life.
The widow was as complete a contrast to her thirdbridegroom in everything but age as can well be conceived.
Compelled to relinquish her first engagement， she hadbeen united to a man of twice her own years， to whomshe became an exemplary wife， and by whose death shewas left in possession of a splendid fortune. A Southerngentleman considerably younger than herself succeededto her hand and carried her to Charleston， where aftermany uncomfortable years she found herself again awidow. It would have been singular if any uncommondelicacy of feeling had survived through such a life as Mrs.
Dabney’s； it could not but be crushed and killed by herearly disappointment， the cold duty of her first marriage，the dislocation of the heart’s principles consequent ona second union， and the unkindness of her Southernhusband， which had inevitably driven her to connect theidea of his death with that of her comfort. To be brief，she was that wisest but unloveliest variety of woman， aphilosopher， bearing troubles of the heart with equanimity，dispensing with all that should have been her happinessand making the best of what remained. Sage in mostmatters， the widow was perhaps the more amiable for theone frailty that made her ridiculous. Being childless， shecould not remain beautiful by proxy in the person of adaughter； she therefore refused to grow old and ugly onany consideration； she struggled with Time， and held fasther roses in spite of him， till the venerable thief appearedto have relinquished the spoil as not worth the trouble ofacquiring it.
The approaching marriage of this woman of the worldwith such an unworldly man as Mr. Ellenwood wasannounced soon after Mrs. Dabney’s return to her nativecity. Superficial observers， and deeper ones， seemedto concur in supposing that the lady must have borneno inactive part in arranging the affair； there wereconsiderations of expediency which she would be farmore likely to appreciate than Mr. Ellenwood， and therewas just the specious phantom of sentiment and romancein this late union of two early lovers which sometimesmakes a fool of a woman who has lost her true feelingsamong the accidents of life. All the wonder was how thegentleman， with his lack of worldly wisdom and agonizingconsciousness of ridicule， could have been induced to takea measure at once so prudent and so laughable. But whilepeople talked the wedding-day arrived. The ceremony wasto be solemnized according to the Episcopalian forms andin open church， with a degree of publicity that attractedmany spectators， who occupied the front seats of thegalleries and the pews near the altar and along the broadaisle. It had been arranged， or possibly it was the customof the day， that the parties should proceed separately tochurch. By some accident the bridegroom was a little lesspunctual than the widow and her bridal attendants， withwhose arrival， after this tedious but necessary preface， theaction of our tale may be said to commence.
