Luckless wight doomed through a whole summer day tobe the butt of mirth and mischief among the frolicsomemaidens！ Bolt upright in a sulky rides a thin， sour-visagedman who as he pays his toll hands the toll-gatherer aprinted card to stick upon the wall. The vinegar-facedtraveller proves to be a manufacturer of pickles. Now pacesslowly from timber to timber a horseman clad in black，with a meditative brow， as of one who， whithersoever hissteed might bear him， would still journey through a mist ofbrooding thought. He is a country preacher going to laborat a protracted meeting. The next object passing townwardis a butcher’s cart canopied with its arch of snow-whitecotton. Behind comes a “sauceman” driving a wagon fullof new potatoes， green ears of corn， beets， carrots， turnipsand summer squashes， and next two wrinkled， witheredwitch-looking old gossips in an antediluvian chaise drawnby a horse of former generations and going to peddleout a lot of huckleberries. See， there， a man trundling awheelbarrow-load of lobsters. And now a milk-cart rattlesbriskly onward， covered with green canvas and conveyingthe contributions of a whole herd of cows， in large tincanisters.
But let all these pay their toll and pass. Here comesa spectacle that causes the old toll-gatherer to smilebenignantly， as if the travellers brought sunshine withthem and lavished its gladsome influence all along theroad. It is a barouche of the newest style， the varnishedpanels of which reflect the whole moving panorama ofthe landscape， and show a picture， likewise， of our friendwith his visage broadened， so that his meditative smile istransformed to grotesque merriment. Within sits a youthfresh as the summer morn， and beside him a young ladyin white with white gloves upon her slender hands and awhite veil flowing down over her face. But methinks herblushing cheek burns through the snowy veil. Anotherwhite-robed virgin sits in front. And who are these onwhom， and on all that appertains to them， the dust ofearth seems never to have settled？ Two lovers whom thepriest has blessed this blessed morn and sent them forth，with one of the bride-maids， on the matrimonial tour. —Takemy blessing too， ye happy ones！ May the sky not frownupon you nor clouds bedew you with their chill and sullenrain！ May the hot sun kindle no fever in your hearts！ Mayyour whole life’s pilgrimage be as blissful as this first day’sjourney， and its close be gladdened with even brighteranticipations than those which hallow your bridal-night！
They pass， and ere the reflection of their joy has fadedfrom his face another spectacle throws a melancholyshadow over the spirit of the observing man. In a closecarriage sits a fragile figure muffled carefully and shrinkingeven from the mild breath of summer. She leans againsta manly form， and his arm enfolds her as if to guard histreasure from some enemy. Let but a few weeks pass， andwhen he shall strive to embrace that loved one， he willpress only desolation to his heart.
And now has Morning gathered up her dewy pearlsand fled away. The sun rolls blazing through the sky， andcannot find a cloud to cool his face with. The horses toilsluggishly along the bridge， and heave their glisteningsides in short quick pantings when the reins are tightenedat the toll-house. Glisten， too， the faces of the travellers.