CHAPTER THE TENTH.

JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS.


Yet I found my attention wandering, and my wits wool-gathering, even in
the afternoon, when I had gone down with Julia and my mother to the new
house, to see after the unpacking of that load of furniture. I can
imagine circumstances in which nothing could be more delightful than the
care with which a man prepares a home for his future wife. The very tint
of the walls, and the way the light falls in through the windows, would
become matters of grave importance. In what pleasant spot shall her
favorite chair be placed? And what picture shall hang opposite it to
catch her eye the oftenest? Where is her piano to stand? What china, and
glass, and silver, is she to use? Where are the softest carpets to be
found for her feet to tread? In short, where is the very best and
daintiest of every thing to be had, for the best and daintiest little
bride the sun ever shone on?

There was not the slightest flavor of this sentiment in our furnishing
of our new house. It was really more Julia's business than mine. We had
had dozens of furnishing lists to peruse from the principal houses in
London and Paris, as if even there it was a well-understood thing that
Julia and I were going to be married. We had toiled through these
catalogues, making pencil-marks in them, as though they were catalogues
of an art exhibition. We had prudently settled the precise sum (of
Julia's money) which we were to lay out. Julia's taste did not often
agree with mine, as she had no eye for the harmonies of color--a
singular deficiency among us, as most of the Guernsey women are born