Excerpt from The Hungarian Castle, Vol. 3 of 3

Numberless are the trite old adages which tend to inform us that things which we await are ever tardy in their advent. The heir despairs of the death of the relative from whom he is to inherit - the well-jointured and unloving wife of the exit of the husband who will bequeathe to her a wealthy widowhood - we are even told, that "it is ill waiting for dead men's shoon;" and so in the present case it proved of the long and anxiously expected thaw.

Vain were the sighs heaved by fair young bosoms, and the expletives lavished by impatient cavaliers; the hopes of one party and the prophecies of another.

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