heard.  This  must  be  the  bride,  and  the  bride  it  is.  She
is  not  in  hunting  costume,  so  we  will  not  attempt  to  de-
scribe her  dress.  Leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  father,  a  jolly
old  gentleman  beaming  with  smiles  and  duly  attired  Hke
the  rest  in  scarlet  coat,  etc.,  she  makes  the  best  of  her  way,
accompanied  by  her  bridesmaids,  to  the  altar,  and  the  cere-
.mony  forthwith  proceeds.  Charlie  Wildoats  was  not,  we
regret  to  say,  quite  so  well  up  in  the  marriage  service  as
he  was  in — well,  the  racing  calendar,  for  instance — for  when
asked  by  the  Chaplain  of  the  Hunt  (who,  of  course,  officiated)
"■  Charles  Aubrey,  wilt  thou  have  this  woman  to  be  thy
wedded  wife,"  etc.,  he  repHed,  ''  Oh,  certainly,"  which
unexpected  answer,  delivered  in  a  most  matter  of  fact  way,
caused  the  bride  and  her  attendant  bridesmaids  to  titter  out-
right, the  best  man  to  nearly  burst  out  into  a  "guffaw,"
and  a  good  deal  of  giggling  amongst  the  rest  of
the  wedding  guests.  At  last  they   were  made  man  and

wife,  and  after  the  usual  signing  of  names  in  the  vestry,
the  newly-married  couple,  to  the  strains  of  the  ''  Wedding
March,"  proceeded  to  make  the  best  of  their  way,  amidst
the  congratulations  of  their  friends,  to  their  carriage.  Then
a  regular  stampede  ensues,  and  the  cry  is,  ''  My  horse,
my  horse,  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  !  "  Some  of  the  more
reckless  seize  upon  the  first  steed  they  can  lay  hands  upon.
