GEORGIE'S WEDDING.
In newspaper descriptions of the last moments of celebrated criminals, we constantly read that "the unfortunate man did full justice to a substantial meal;" but nobody ever yet heard of a bridegroom who had any appetite for his breakfast; his own real breakfast is meant, and not the elaborate entertainment which follows close upon the ceremony. Reginald Haggard and his friend, Lord Spunyarn, were the vicar's guests at King's Warren Parsonage, but in vain did Mrs. Dodd press upon Haggard the numerous dainties with which her hospitable board was provided. Haggard was in a state of suppressed excitement, and he couldn't eat a mouthful. They were a cheerful enough party though, and Lord Spunyarn made up for his friend's deficiencies, for the young nobleman had an almost Homeric appetite. Justice Haggard, Reginald's father, and Lord Hetton, who had passed the night at the "Dun Cow," were present, for the sporting nobleman was supposed to represent the head of the family, his father, Lord Pit Town; and though he looked upon the whole matter as a very great nuisance indeed, still it was a family function at which his presence was a matter of course.
That breakfast at the Parsonage seemed interminable to Haggard, but even clerical breakfasts must have an end, and at length Mrs. Dodd rose, to the general relief of all present. There were yet two mortal hours to get through, and the men of the party sought the cool shades of the vicarage garden.
"Pull yourself together, old man," said Spunyarn to his friend, for Haggard was looking pale and miserable; "you're as sulky as a bear with a sore head. It's quite unnecessary to pose as a hero of romance. What's up with you, man; boots too tight?"
"I'll be hanged if I can tell you what's up," said his friend, "but this I know, I'm confoundedly depressed."
"Perhaps it's your natural timidity," said the other.
"Don't chaff, Shirtings; you're a very good fellow, you know, but I'm not in a laughing humour."
"Well, you needn't sulk all the same," said Spunyarn; "take my advice and have a glass of brandy."
Justice Haggard looked far more like a bridegroom than his son; the old gentleman, in his blue frock coat, his blue bird's-eye neckerchief, and with a flower in his button-hole, was the picture of health and happiness; while his white hat, which was cocked a little on one side, completed his festal appearance. He gave his son a hearty smack on the back.
"When I married your mother, Reginald, my boy, I was as jolly as a man could be; why, there's nothing to be alarmed about, unless you've lost the ring, you know; and the ladies wouldn't let you off with that excuse, for there's always the key of the church door in case of an emergency."
Haggard forced a smile.
"The ring's safe enough, father," he said.
"Don't worry him, gentlemen," cried the vicar; "it's only natural. I've had a good deal of experience with bridegrooms; believe me, it's the general symptom. I felt just the same when I was married myself; but it's nothing to preaching one's first sermon. It's all very well for you to talk, Haggard; but I'll be bound we were both just as miserable as our young friend, though we've forgotten all about it now. But here comes my wife with the sacrificial emblems."
There was no compromise about Mrs. Dodd, as she advanced straight to the bride-groom and proceeded to firmly secure a large white favour to his breast. The rest of the party were soon similarly decorated.
"There's one comfort, we haven't far to go," said Lord Hetton. "I feel we look rather like a parcel of fools."
"At all events, we haven't any time to lose," suggested the vicar, as he looked at his watch; "and, unless we mean to keep the bride waiting, we had better be off."
The whole party passed through the little wicket, crossed the churchyard, which was thronged with the whole population of King's Warren in its Sunday best, and entered the church, and the bridegroom and his friends at once took their place at the altar rails.
If Georgie Warrender had acted with proper decorum, she would have wept upon her father's bosom; but this ill-regulated young person did nothing of the kind. They must have been all very glad to get rid of her at The Warren, for nobody shed a single tear; there was a great deal of running about; the young person from the West End milliner's, her mouth full of pins, issued innumerable orders in a muffled whisper; and Miss Lucy Warrender and her three fellow bridesmaids appeared completely attired, at least half-a-dozen times, to submit themselves to old Warrender's inspection in the drawing-room quite half-an-hour before the carriages drew up at the door to take them to the church.
Georgie was not sufficiently old-fashioned to be married in a bonnet. Even a plain girl looks well in white, and Georgie was not a plain girl by any means. Of course, according to all proper precedent she ought to have rushed into her father's arms, and with floods of tears have bid him a touching farewell. What she did do, however, as she entered the room, was to rapidly advance and affectionately embrace him, then she stepped back and dropped him a low courtesy.
"Shall I do, papa?" she said with a loving smile.
"My dear, you're a credit to all of us," said the old gentleman, and her appearance certainly justified the ecstatic looks of Miss Hood, the four bridesmaids, and the young person from the West End.
Georgie was fully conscious of her privileges. No woman can twice in her life dress in white satin and orange blossoms, and if she mars the effect by the regulation tears, it is quite certain that there must be a screw loose somewhere. There was a great deal of tittering, smiling, and blushing; but the squire glanced at the clock, Lucy handed the bridal bouquet to her cousin, then the squire gave his daughter his arm, and, preceded by the bridesmaids, the little procession entered the carriages, and five minutes' drive brought them to the church.
Haggard, when he cast his eyes upon Georgie Warrender, seemed to regain his composure at once; there must have been a terrible amount of forwardness about this young lady, for according to rule and the pictures in the illustrated papers, her eyes should have been fixed upon the ground; and as the latest etiquette book says, "the bride should only acknowledge the bridegroom's presence by an assumption of shrinking timidity suitable to the occasion." But the bride smiled at Haggard, and so did the vicar, and so did the four bridesmaids.
The Reverend John Dodd didn't take long in tying the knot. The village organist had distinguished himself by his florid rendering of the Wedding March. As Lord Spunyarn gave his arm to Lucy Warrender, he almost felt as if he had been married himself, and that it was a rather pleasant process than otherwise.
"It's rather rough on us, Miss Warrender, having to play second fiddle," he said, while they were standing in the vestry during the signing of the register.
"Well, we can look upon it as a dress rehearsal, Lord Spunyarn; but we mustn't forget that it is a solemn moment, for I see that Mrs. Dodd is looking this way."
The bells were clashing merrily from the village spire as the party passed out of the church porch. As Haggard handed his wife into the carriage, she appeared still lost to all sense of the proprieties, for she nodded and smiled in every direction at the King's Warren villagers, among whom she had grown up; even poor Blogg, the poacher, and his hoyden daughter, Jemima Ann, were not unnoticed. And the patriarchal blessing of the village veteran, "Master" Jasper, as he was called (who had represented King's Warren on the field of glory some five-and-forty years before, and stood bobbing his palsied head, arrayed in his holiday garment, a linen ephod or smock frock, to which his Waterloo medal was proudly affixed), was given heartily enough. "God bless 'ee, Missy," cried the old man in the shrill cracked voice of age, as he pressed up to the carriage window.
"Thank you, Jasper," said the girl with a sunny smile. Strange to say, those two words gave the old fellow more pleasure than the thought of the unlimited potations he knew he would enjoy that afternoon at the squire's expense.
The wedding breakfast very much resembled the similar festivities at which most of us have assisted. The usual speeches were made, nobody seemed very much inclined to eat, but everybody's health was drunk; and I think it was rather a relief to all present when young Mrs. Haggard appeared in travelling dress, ready to quit, for the first time in her life, the happy home of her childhood. Then, and then only, did the young person from the West End millinery establishment remove the pins from her mouth, which enabled her to swallow a much needed glass of sherry; and then the squire's voice failed him, and he saw his daughter rather dimly as he pressed her to his heart for the last time upon the steps. The bridesmaids relieved their feelings by many salutes and much tittering. As the carriage moved off there was a perfect shower of satin slippers, and it wasn't till it got quite out of King's Warren village that the bride was able to leave off bowing and kissing her hand to her numerous well-wishers.
Then the wedding party broke up into little groups in the garden; at first they didn't amalgamate; the men smoked, and came to the universal conclusion that Haggard was a lucky beggar; while the ladies talked over the interesting details of the ceremony. Old Warrender retired to his study in a rather excited frame of mind, excusing himself on the ground of his age.
And now everybody turned out with a feeling of intense relief to witness the rejoicings on the village green. The school children were there enjoying rustic games in a somewhat half-hearted manner, for they had partaken with the appetites of young boa constrictors of the squire's hospitality, and each of them had a brand new shilling or half-crown in his or her pocket, according to age. A cricket-match was in progress, but the bowling and batting were extremely wild, thanks to The Warren strong beer. But soon the Rev. John Dodd imparted fresh vigour into the proceedings. The youths and maids pulled themselves together on his approach; the more bibulous among the men left the proximity of the big barrels of strong ale, over which the squire's head gardener was presiding. Lovers, who had been promenading arm-in-arm, separated for the moment by mutual consent, the swains touched their forelocks to the vicar, while Phyllis and Chloe smoothed their skirts and courtesied low to Mrs. Dodd as Lady Paramount. But the vicar meant that they should enjoy themselves, and he whispered to the squire, the squire nodded, and the vicar called loudly for Blogg.
"Where's your father, Jemima Ann?" he said to the poacher's daughter, who, in all the glories of a pink print dress and a much beribboned straw hat, had gone off into a succession of courtesies.
"Please, sir, he's gone to fetch it," she said.
At that moment the sound of a fiddle was heard, and the smiling rascal who played it, stopping his melody for an instant, made a low and sweeping bow, which took in the vicar, the squire and the gentry generally. Then he clapped his fiddle under his chin and without more ado struck up "Bobbing Joan."
"That's right, my man," said the vicar, "you couldn't do better. Now men, now girls."
But not one of them stirred.
"Goodness me!" cried the vicar, and then he forgot himself. Could Mrs. Dodd believe her eyes? Her husband seized Jemima Ann Blogg by the hand.
"Come, gentlemen, set them a good example," he said, and he commenced to turn Miss Blogg violently round. Before her father had got through another two bars of "Bobbing Joan," every soul on the green had commenced to gyrate, the frown died off Mrs. Dodd's face, as she too began to turn with slow but majestic movements, her hand clasped by old Warrender's, her virtuous waist encircled by his aged though still vigorous arm. Lord Spunyarn pounced upon Lucy Warrender, Lord Hetton seized another bridesmaid, Justice Haggard somehow got possession of a third; every village Jack gripped his Jill, and all the parish of King's Warren, gentle and simple, twirled with one accord to the fine old tune of "Bobbing Joan." Once started there was no stopping them, the fun became fast and furious, and I fancy that it was with some regret that the wedding party itself, having set the ball a-rolling, retired to the more dignified festivities which awaited them in the great drawing room at The Warren.
It wasn't a large party; they were most of them Warrenders and Haggards, and offshoots and branches of those prolific trees, or people connected with the families from old association or friendship, but there were quite enough of them to fill the big drawing-room. Old Biggs, the family solicitor, who had come down to The Warren the day previously about the settlements, and Blatherwick, of Lincoln's Inn, who had fought him tooth and nail over every item, in the interest of the Haggard family, got their rubber; but both the legal lights had soon declared that it was impossible to play whist with dance music ringing in their ears. The lawyers looked rather sheepishly at each other when they found themselves vis-à-vis in a quadrille, Miss Hood having honoured the one, while Stacey Dodd clung lovingly to the arm of old Mr. Blatherwick. Of course it was most unprofessional, but they probably kept their indiscretions to themselves, and no doubt charged them to their clients under the head of "sundry attendances." As for the Reverend John Dodd he seemed to be everywhere at once, no one refused the Reverend John. When the youngest and best-looking of the bridesmaids told him that she was danced off her feet the clerical Lothario overpersuaded her in a few seconds, and round they went like a couple of dancing dervishes, being the last to hold the floor.
But even wedding parties must come to an end, though it was midnight before they finally broke up, and at last Justice Haggard and Lord Hetton walked over to their rooms at the "Dun Cow."
"It went off wonderfully well," said Hetton to the Justice.
"Capital, capital," assented the bridegroom's father. "It's a great weight off my mind, you know, Hetton. Reginald's been an awful anxiety, but he's a lucky beggar, he manages somehow to always turn up trumps."
"Yes," remarked his lordship, "that's been his principal occupation since I've known him."
"Boys will be boys, my dear fellow; he'll sober down now, of course he will. I know I did when I married," said the Justice.
"I'll tell you what it is, Justice. Warrender's daughter is a very plucky girl; if she had known half you and I know, Justice, she would have thought twice about it."
"The reformed rake, cousin, makes proverbially the best husband. Why, 'pon my word," continued the Justice, "when I was a young fellow I was a regular devil."
Lord Hetton blew out a big volume of smoke, and looked at his companion with some curiosity.
When an old gentleman, in the fulness of his heart, tells you that he's been a regular devil, you are bound to believe him, particularly if he's a Justice of the Peace.
"We were all devils in those days, my dear fellow, but a man outgrows it; he marries, and he lives it down; he takes to a hobby. I did. I can't tell how I drifted into pigs; much in the same way as you drifted into horses, I suppose. You may take my word for it that pigs are far more interesting and far more respectable, though they're expensive, mind you. Yes, they're uncommonly expensive; so are horses for the matter of that," continued the Justice. "Every man has his ideal, you see, Hetton. The perfect pig must ultimately be produced. You mustn't look upon me, you know, as a mere breeder of pigs. I am a benefactor of my species." Here the pair reached the "Dun Cow" and retired to their respective quarters.
So ended Georgie Warrender's wedding-day. As Lord Hetton had remarked, in engaging herself to Haggard she had done a very plucky thing. Marriage is like Mayonnaise sauce, either a great success or an absolute and entire failure. The materials which are blended together to form a perfect whole are dissimilar and have nothing whatever in common, but once really thoroughly amalgamated the result is very happy. Perhaps the marriage celebrated in King's Warren church may turn out well after all. It is to be feared that like the sauce of sauces in the hands of the inexperienced cook, the result is more than doubtful. Fortunatus, though a good fellow enough, is, like his patroness, notoriously fickle. All we have got to do, however, is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in our stalls. The overture is over, the curtain is about to rise on the drama of Georgie's married life. We haven't a play bill, and don't know whether we are to listen to some pretty pastoral, to a long three-act farce, dignified by the title of a comedy, or whether we are to be thrilled with horror by a gruesome drama of intrigue, limelight effect, and blood. We haven't even seen a review of the piece; the footlights go up with a jump, and now the curtain rises. Let us watch the players.
