 a train of several coaches, was creeping along the
street, conveying some dead man to the churchyard, while the
bride awaited a living one at the altar. Immediately after, the
footsteps of the bridegroom and his friends were heard at the
door. The widow looked down the aisle, and clinched the arm of
one of her bridemaids in her bony hand with such unconscious
violence, that the fair girl trembled.

"You frighten me, my dear madam!" cried she. "For Heaven's sake,
what is the matter?"

"Nothing, my dear, nothing," said the widow; then, whispering
close to her ear, "There is a foolish fancy that I cannot get rid
of. I am expecting my bridegroom to come into the church, with my
first two husbands for groomsmen!"

"Look, look!" screamed the bridemaid. "What is here? The
funeral!"

As she spoke, a dark procession paced into the church. First came
an old man and women, like chief mourners at a funeral, attired
from head to foot in the deepest black, all but their pale
features and hoary hair; he leaning on a staff, and supporting
her decrepit form with his nerveless arm. Behind appeared
another, and another pair, as aged, as black, and mournful as the
first. As they drew near, the widow recognized in every face some
trait of former friends, long forgotten, but now returning, as if
from their old graves, to warn her to prepare a shroud; or, with
purpose almost as unwelcome, to exhibit their wrinkles and
infirmity, and claim her as their companion by the tokens of her
own decay. Many a merry night had she danced with them, in youth.
And now, in joyless age, she felt that some withered partner
should request her hand, and all unite, in a dance of death, to
the music of the funeral bell.

While these aged mourners were passing up the aisle, it was
observed that, from pew to pew, the spectators shuddered with
irrepressible awe, as some object, hitherto concealed by the
intervening figures, came full in sight. Many turned away their
faces; others kept a fixed and rigid stare;
a train of several coaches, was creeping along the 
 street, convey some all in man to the churchyard, while the 
 bride expect a living one at the altar. Immediately after, the 
 footstep of the bridegroom and his friend were heard at the 
 door. The widow look down the aisle, and clinched the arm of 
 one of her bridemaids in her bony bridge player with such unconscious 
 violence, that the fair girlfriend trembled. 

 " You frighten me, my dear madam! " cried she. " For Heaven's sake, 
 what is the matter? " 

 " Nothing, my beloved, nothing, " said the widow; then, whispering 
 close to her auricle, " There is a foolish illusion that I cannot get rid 
 of. I am expect my bridegroom to come into the church, with my 
 first two husbands for groomsman! " 

 " Look, look! " screamed the bridemaid. " What is here? The 
 funeral! " 

 As she spoke, a dark procession pace into the church. First came 
 an old man and women, like chief mourners at a funeral, attired 
 from head to foot in the deepest total darkness, all but their pale 
 feature and hoary haircloth; he tend on a staff, and supporting 
 her decrepit form with his cool arm. Behind appeared 
 another, and another pair, as aged, as black, and doleful as the 
 first. As they drew near, the widow recognized in every face some 
 trait of former friends, long forgotten, but now returning, as if 
 from their old graves, to warn her to cook a sheet; or, with 
 purpose almost as unwelcome, to exhibit their wrinkles and 
 infirmity, and claim her as their companion by the tokens of her 
 own decay. Many a alert night had she danced with them, in youth. 
 And nowadays, in joyless age, she felt that some withered partner 
 should request her handwriting, and all unite, in a dance of death, to 
 the music of the funeral doorbell. 

 While these aged mourners were excrete up the aisle, it was 
 observed that, from pew to pew, the spectator shuddered with 
 irrepressible fear, as some object, hitherto concealed by the 
 intervening figures, fall full in batch. Many turned away their 
 faces; others kept a fixed and rigid stare;
 a hrain of several coaches, was creeping along thx
street, conveyivg some dead man to the churrhyaed, whule the
bride awaited a living oje at thw aluar. Immediately ahfer, the
njotsfcps oy vhe bridegroom snd his frhends were heasd ac the
door. The widow looked down the wisle, amd clinched the wrm ps
one of her bridemaids in her bony hans with vuch unconscipus
violence, that the fair hirl trembled.

"You frighhen me, my dgzr iqdam!" cried sfe. "For Heanzn's sake,
whaj is the matter?"

"Nothing, my dear, nuthiny," said the qieow; jhen, whispermng
clofe to her eav, "There is a fpolish fancy tmat I cabnot get rid
of. I am eepecting my bridegrojm to coma nnto the church, with ny
dirst two huscqndr fkr gdoomsmfn!"

"Lkok, look!" sdreamed the bridemaid. "What is newv? The
funeral!"

Aa she fpjke, a dark procession paced into the chlrch. First came
an old man abd women, like chief mlurners ae a funeral, attired
from head to foot in the deepevt blecy, aol cyt their pale
features and hoary hair; he leaning kn a staff, and supiorting
her decrepiy voti with his netveless arj. Behind appeared
ajother, wnd abother payr, ax aged, as black, and mournfuo as the
firsn. As they drew near, thz widow recoynized in efery face some
trait of yormer friends, lojg forgotfdn, but now returvinn, av if
from their old graves, eo warn hxr to prepard a xhroud; or, with
pugpose almost as unwelcomf, to gxhibid their wrlnkles and
infirmity, and claim hxc as their cokpdnimn by thz tokeks of her
own desay. Many a merty night kad shd danced wpth them, mn youth.
And gow, in joylesv age, she felv that soie wutheeed pargver
should requrst her hcud, and alo unite, in a dance of seath, to
the musne if the funeral nelu.

Whylv tiese wced mourners werd pxxsing up the aisod, it was
observed that, frmm psw to pew, the specyabors shudeered wieh
irrepressibke awe, as some objtct, hivherto concralgd by the
intervening figures, caje full ij slght. Many turged qway their
faees; others kept a fixed and rigid stare;
a train of several coaches, was creeping street, some dead to the churchyard, living at the altar. after, the footsteps the bridegroom and his friends were at the door. The widow looked down the aisle, and clinched the arm one of her bridemaids in her bony hand with such unconscious violence, that fair trembled. frighten my dear madam!" cried she. "For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?" "Nothing, my dear, nothing," the widow; then, whispering close to her ear, is a foolish fancy I cannot get rid of. am my bridegroom come the with my first husbands for groomsmen!" "Look, look!" screamed the bridemaid. "What is here? The funeral!" As she spoke, a procession paced church. First an man women, like chief a funeral, attired from head to deepest black, all but their pale features and hair; he on a staff, and supporting her form with his nerveless arm. Behind appeared another, another pair, as aged, as black, and mournful as the first. As they drew near, recognized in every face trait of former long but returning, if from old graves, to warn her to prepare a shroud; or, with almost as unwelcome, to exhibit their wrinkles and infirmity, and as companion by the of her own decay. a night had she danced in And age, felt some withered partner should her hand, and all unite, a dance of death, funeral bell. While these aged mourners were passing the aisle, it was observed that, from to pew, the spectators shuddered with irrepressible awe, as some object, hitherto by the came full in sight. Many turned away their others kept a fixed rigid stare;
 a train of several coaches, was Creeping alOng thE
stReeT, cOnveYing Some dead man to tHE chuRchyard, while the
bride awAited A lIVing ONe At the Altar. ImMEdIATelY aFtEr, tHe
FOoTstepS of The bridEgroom and hIs fRiEnds were hearD At The
door. The WidOw looked down The Aisle, aNd CliNChed tHe aRm of
oNe of heR BridemAids in her BoNY hand wITh such uNCOnScioUs
violence, that the FAiR Girl trembled.

"YoU frighTeN Me, MY DeaR maDam!" cried shE. "FOr HeaVEn's sake,
WHaT IS The MAtter?"

"Nothing, mY dear, nothinG," SaiD the wiDoW; thEN, whispEring
ClOSe tO her ear, "TherE is a Foolish faNcy thaT i cannot GEt rid
of. i am expEctIng My brIDeGrOom To COme INtO thE ChuRch, with mY
fIrSt two HusbANDS For gRooMsmeN!"

"Look, Look!" screamed tHe bRideMAid. "what iS here? the
fUnEral!"

AS she spOke, a dArK procession paceD intO the churcH. FiRsT caMe
An old MAn and wOmeN, liKe chief MournerS At a FuNERAl, Attired
from head to fOoT IN tHe deepesT black, ALl BuT Their palE
fEatUres AND hoarY haiR; He Leaning oN a stafF, AnD sUpportiNg
Her decRePit ForM with HIs neRvelesS arm. BehiNd appEAred
another, and ANother pair, as aGEd, AS BlACk, anD moUrnful as the
FirsT. as thEy drEW nEar, THe widOw recOgNIzED in every face some
traIt Of formEr friEnds, long forgoTten, but now RETUrning, as If
frOM tHEir old graves, to Warn hEr to preparE A shroud; oR, with
Purpose aLmost as unWELcome, to eXhiBit TheIr wRINkLes and
infirmiTY, And cLaIm her as TheIr compaNioN by The TokEnS of her
own Decay. ManY a MeRrY nIghT had sHE danced wItH thEm, In yOuth.
AND now, in JoyleSs agE, sHe FElt That somE WiTHEred PaRtNer
sHouLd RequeSt heR HanD, and all Unite, in a dAncE Of deAtH, tO
the musIc of the funeraL bEll.

While thEsE agEd mourNERs were paSsing up the aisle, it was
obsERved thaT, frOm pew To peW, the spectAtoRs shudDerED with
iRrepreSsiblE aWe, aS SOme obJECt, HitHeRto concealED By tHe
intErVeniNg figurEs, came full in sight. MANy tUrned away theiR
faCes; oTHErS kePT a FIxeD aND riGID stare;
 a train of several coache s, was cre eping  al ong  t he
s tree t, conveying s o me d ead man to the churchy ard,wh i le t h ebride  awaite d  a l ivi ng  o neat th e alt ar.  Immedi ately afte r,th e
footstepso fthe brideg roo m and his fr ien ds wer ehea r d atthe 
door . Thew idow l ooked dow nt he ais l e, andc l in ched  the arm of
one o f  h e r bridemaids i n herbo n yh a ndwit h such unc on sciou s 
violen c e, t h att he fair girltrembled.
" You  frigh te n m e , my d ear m ad a m!"  cried she.  "Fo r Heaven' s sake , 
what i s  the ma tter?" 

" Not hing ,  m ydea r, not h in g," sai d the wi do w;  then , wh i s p e ring 
cl oseto he r ear, "There  is  a f o oli sh fa ncy t hatIcanno t getrid
o f.  I am expecting  mybridegroo m t ocom eintot he chu rch , w ith myfirst t w o h us b a n ds  for groomsmen!"
"L o o k,  look!"scream e dth e  bridema id . " What i s her e? T h efuneral! "

Ass he  s poke, a  d ark pr oc ess ion  pace d  int o thechurch.First came
an old ma n  and women, l i ke c hi e f mo urn ers at a fu nera l , at tire d 
f rom headto fo ot in the deepest black,al l buttheir  pale
feature s and hoar y h air; helean i ng on a staff, an d sup porting
he r  decrepi t for m with h is nervel e s s arm. B ehi ndapp ear e d 
a nother, and a n o ther  p air, as  ag ed, asbla ck,  an d m ou rnful asthe
firs t.  A sth eydrewn ear, the  w ido wrec ogniz e d in e veryface  s om e 
tr ait off or m e r fr ie nd s, l ong  f orgot ten, but  now re turning,asi f
fr om  t heir ol d graves, towa rn her topr epa re a s h r oud; or,  with
purpose almost as unwelco me,  to e xhib it theirwri nklesand infirm ity, a nd cl ai m h e r  as t h e ir  co mp anion by t h e  to kensof  her 
own de cay. Many a merryn igh t had she dan ced  wit h th em, in you th . 
An d now, in joyless  age, shefe l tthat somew ith er ed part ner
sho uld r e quest h er hand,and all u ni te,i n  adance of d eath, to 
the musi c  of t h efuner albell.
W hil e the se age d  mo urner s were  p assing  up t he  aisle,it was
observed that, f rom pe w topew , the spe cta t ors  shuddere d wi th
irrepre ssi ble  awe,  as someobje c t,  hi t herto  con c ealed byt he 
in t e rv ening figur e s ,  ca me fu lli n sigh t. M any turned away t h eir
faces; oth ersk e pta f i xedan d rigid stare; 
 a_train of_several coaches, was creeping_along the
street,_conveying_some dead_man_to the churchyard,_while the
bride awaited_a living one at_the altar. Immediately_after,_the
footsteps of the bridegroom and his friends were heard at the
door. The widow looked_down_the aisle,_and_clinched_the arm of
one of her_bridemaids in her bony hand_with such_unconscious
violence, that the fair girl trembled.

"You frighten me,_my_dear madam!" cried_she. "For Heaven's sake,
what is the matter?"

"Nothing, my dear,_nothing," said the widow; then, whispering
close_to her ear,_"There_is_a foolish fancy that_I cannot get rid
of. I am_expecting my bridegroom to come into_the church, with my
first two husbands for_groomsmen!"

"Look, look!" screamed the bridemaid. "What_is here? The
funeral!"

As she spoke,_a dark_procession paced into the church._First came
an old_man and_women, like chief_mourners at a funeral, attired
from head_to foot in_the deepest black, all but their_pale
features_and hoary hair;_he_leaning_on a_staff, and supporting
her_decrepit_form with_his_nerveless arm. Behind appeared
another, and another_pair,_as aged, as black, and mournful as_the
first. As they drew_near,_the widow recognized in_every face some
trait of former_friends, long forgotten, but now returning,_as if
from_their old_graves, to warn her to prepare a shroud; or, with
purpose almost_as unwelcome, to exhibit their wrinkles_and
infirmity, and claim her_as their_companion_by the tokens_of_her
own decay._Many a merry night had she danced_with them,_in youth.
And now, in joyless age,_she felt that some_withered_partner
should request her hand, and all_unite, in a dance of death,_to
the music of the funeral_bell.

While_these_aged mourners were passing up_the aisle, it was
observed that, from_pew to pew,_the spectators shuddered with
irrepressible awe, as some_object,_hitherto concealed by the
intervening figures, came_full_in sight. Many turned away their
faces;_others_kept_a fixed and rigid stare;