step had been exchanged for the stately and swimming gait of a duchess.

"This lady had consented to receive the addresses of a rich old Frenchman, who lived two or three miles distant from her house, and still further from the spot where the young Richard Lemoine had established himself with his old parents, and their numerous progeny. Monsieur Du Lac was a little old gentleman, of sixty years of age, an inveterate hypochondriac, and the most fretful and irritable being imaginable, with a bilious, withered face, an under lip projecting so as to be the most conspicuous feature of his countenance, and the corners of his mouth drawn down with a perpetual grimace of discontent. No subject could be more unpromising for a woman of the disposition of Madame Labedoyère; but she was weary of having nobody but servants to govern; besides, she was a lady of spirit, and felt herself moved by the noble ambition of taming so intractable a creature as Monsieur Du Lac. She therefore began to treat him with extreme civility and deference, inquired, with the tenderest interest, the state of his health, sent him prescriptions for his maladies, and good things from her well-stored pantry, and whenever they met, accosted him with her mildest words and softest accents, and chastised the usual terrors of her eye into a catlike sleepiness and languor of look.

The plan succeeded; the old gentleman's heart was taken by surprise; he reflected how invaluable would be the attentions, the skill and the sympathy of so kind a friend and so accomplished a nurse as Madame Labedoyère, in the midst of his increasing infirmities; he studied a few phrases of gallantry, and offered her his hand, which, after a proper exhibition of coyness, hesitation, and deliberation, on a step so important to the lady's happiness, was accepted.

"Thus matters were arranged between the mature and between the youthful lovers; they were to be married, and to be happy, and honest Baltazar Polo, the favourite of both young and old for leagues round, was to perform the marriage ceremony. The courtship of both couples had been in autumn, and now the chilly and frosty month of January was over, and the rains of February had set in, flooding the roads and swelling the streams to such a degree, that nobody could think of a wedding until finer weather. The weary rains of February passed away also, and the sun of March looked out in the heavens. March is a fine month in our climate, whatever it may be in yours, Mr. Herbert; it brings bright pleasant days, and soft airs-now and then, it is true, a startling thundershower; but then, such a magnificence of young vegetation, such a glory of flowers over all the

woods and the earth! You have not yet seen the spring in Louisiana, Mr. Herbert, and I assure you it is a sight worth a year's residence in the country.

"March, as I told you, had set in; the planters began to intrust to the ground the seeds of cotton and maize; fire flies were seen to twinkle in the evening, and the dog-wood to spread its large white blossoms, and the crimson tufts of the red bud to burst their winter sheaths, and the azalea and yellow jessamine, and a thousand other brilliant flowers, which you shall see if you stay with us till spring, flaunted by the borders of the streams, and filled the forests with intense fragrance; and the prairies were purple with their earliest blossoms. Spring is the season of new plans and new hopesthe time for men and birds to build new habitations, and marry-the time for those who are declining to the grave with sickness and old age, to form plans for long years to come. I myself, amidst the freshness and youthfulness of nature, and the elasticity of the air of this season, white as my hair is, sometimes forget that I am old, and almost think I shall live for ever. Mons. Du Lac grew tenderer as the sun mounted higher, the air blew softer, and the forests looked greener; he became impatient for the marriage day, and entreated the widow to defer their mutual happiness no longer.

"Ah, my dear madam!" said the withered old gentleman, in a quaking falsetto voice, "let us gather the flowers of existence before they are faded-let us enjoy the spring of life!" It was impossible for the gentle widow to resist such ardent solicitations, and she consented that the nuptial rites should be delayed no longer.

Nearly at the same time that this tender scene was passing, Richard Lemoine also, in phrase less select, but by no means less impassioned, pressed the lovely Teresa, and not in vain, to a speedy union. But it was already near the close of the carnival, and but two or three days intervened before the commencement of Lent, that long melancholy fast, in which, for the space of forty days, the Catholic church forbids the happy ceremony of marriage. I have often thought, that if the observances of our church had been regulated with a particular view to the climate of Louisiana, the fast of Lent would have been put a month or two earlier in the calendar; but I am no divine, and do not presume to give my profane opinion upon this delicate and sacred subject. Neither did the four lovers; but it was agreed by them all, that they could not possibly wait until Lent was over, and the only alternative was to be married before it began.

In the mean time it seemed as if all the inha

VOL. II.

F

bitants of the parish of Natchitoches, who had the misfortune to be single, had formed the resolution of entering into the state of wedlock before the carnival ended. They came flocking in couples of various nations, ages, and complexions, to the church of Adayes, to be married by the good Baltazar Polo; and that year was long afterwards remembered in the parish of Natchitoches, under the name of l'an des nôces, the year of weddings.

"Do you know, Richard," said Teresa to her lover, on his proposing that the wedding ceremony should take place the next day, " do you know that Father Polo has promised, on the day after tomorrow, which is the last of the carnival, to begin at four o'clock in the morning, and to marry at the same mass all who shall present themselves at the church of Adayes? It is so awkward to be married with every body staring at one !-but if we are married in company with a dozen others, they cannot laugh at us, you know. Let it therefore be the day after to-morrow, dear Richard, and as early in the morning as you please, for the earlier we go to the church, the darker it will be, and I should like, of all things, to be married in the dark." Richard could not but assent to so reasonable a proposal, and departed to make his little arrangements at home for the reception of his bride.

It is somewhat remarkable that Madame Labe