Charles Denham, glided smoothly and sweetly
along its unruffled course, until it eventuated in that fountain of
human happiness or misery, marriage. On the lady's side there was no
stern, selfish parent who would burden the young shoulders, and drive
from her path those inmost pleasures so natural to the young and
light-hearted, and cause her to lose her freshness and bloom, by
attending solely to his whims and wishes, or crush her young heart with
hope deferred. There was no ambitious match making mother, ready to
sacrifice the hearts best affections, in order that she might become the
unloved wife of some shallow pated young dandy, with more aristocratic
blood than brains, and a coronet in perspective.
Nor was the reverend lover subjected to any trials of a similar nature;
he was an orphan, with but one near relative, a bachelor Uncle, who was
fond of his nephew, and proud of his talent and the position he had
attained as Rector of Vellenaux. The old gentleman had intended to leave
him his property, amounting to some five thousand pounds, in the five
per cents., at his death; but the kind-hearted relative on learning that
his brother's son had secured so estimable a lady for his wife;
belonging to a family who for so many years had resided in the
neighborhood of Vellenaux, the scene of the young Rector's labours; he
altered his will, placing half of the original sum to Charles Denham's
credit, at Drummond's Bank in London, subject to his cheque or order, so
that the rectory could be furnished and fitted up with all the
requisites befitting the position of the young couple.
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