All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. A slow heavy thumping started up in Melusine’s chest, and she scarcely took in the astonished silence in those present in the room. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place.
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