The Argosy — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6§ MY COUSIN CAROLINE’S WEDDING. [Reprinted.] WAY I drove, four posters and a yellow chaise, wondering what A the invitation could mean. The last visit I had made into Devonshire was volunteered on my part, and I had been quickly driven back by my aunt to musty law-papers and anticipations of briefs, because I had fallen over head and ears in Jove with Caroline. Caro- line, in her own family was a goddess—a seraph—an angel upon earth, fit to be a queen, and sure to be a countess. Other people’s opinion of her was not quite so exalted. Like many another beautiful girl— and Caroline Dashingly was beautiful—she held so preposterous a notion of the infallibility of her own charms that she had a little over- played her cards. Her whole life and energies had been devoted to the tnumph of making conquests. Fifty times might she have married, and been well settled, but that unfortunate propensity for flirtation had invariably damped the swain’s ardour before the time came for popping the question. Everybody at first sight was sure to fall in love with Caroline. JI, a young fellow newly fledged from Cambridge, and un- used to women’s society, was nearly mad after her, and would gladly have asked her to share my fortune—which was nothing a year and find myself, like many another embryo barrister—only my aunt got an inkling of the matter, and sent me and my portmanteau off together. As to Carry, she cared about as much for my own sweet self as she did for the stately old butler who was propped up every day against the sideboard. Her flirtation with me was carried on pretty strongly. She must have seer. how earnest I was, and that what was sport to her might be to me No matter, I managed to outlive it all, save the recollection. And Caroline, now oneandsthity, was ready to catch at straws. Well, twelve months had not elapsed since my summary ejection from Dashingly House, when I was startled by a satin-faced, musk- scented, gilt-edged envelope, from the general morning delivery. It enclosed a note from my aunt, as cordial as if I had owned all the banks in London, and were about to lay them at the feet of Caroline, conveying a pressing invitation to Dashingly there and then. So, cram- ming my old books and papers on to the top shelf of the cupboard, and my gown and wig into the bottom, I turned the key of it, and started. The rail conveyed me to within six miles of Dashingly House. I bargained for a return yellow chaise-and-four, which had just conveyed an old gentleman a two-mile stage up a mountain, jumped into it, and was whirled away towards Dashingly. Who should be stardinits com