THE REHEARSAL
The rehearsal for the wedding is usually held in the church on the afternoon preceding the day of the nuptials. The ushers, of course, are an hour late, which gives the bridegroom (Bap.) an opportunity to meet the minister (Epis.) and have a nice, long chat about religion, while the best man (Atheist) talks to the eighty-three year old sexton who buried the bride’s grandpa and grandma and has knowed little Miss Dorothy come twenty years next Michaelmas. The best man’s offer of twenty-five dollars, if the sexton will at once bury the maid of honor, is generally refused as a matter of courtesy.
THE BRIDAL DINNER
In the evening, the parents of the bride give the bridal dinner, to which all the relatives and close friends of the family are invited. Toasts are drunk in orange juice and rare old Virginia Dare wine, and much good-natured fun is indulged in by all. Speeches are usually made by the bride and groom, their parents, the best man, the maid of honor, the minister and Aunt Harriet.
Just a word about the speeches at a bridal dinner. Terrible!
A CHURCH WEDDING
On the day of the wedding the ushers should arrange to be at the church an hour or so in advance of the time set for the ceremony. They should be dressed in cutaways, with ties, gloves and gardenias provided by the groom.
It is the duty of the best man to dress the bridegroom for the wedding. As you enter his room you see, lying half-dressed on the bed, a pale, wan, emaciated creature, who is staring fixedly at the ceiling. It is the happy bridegroom. His lips open. He speaks feebly. “What time is it?” he says. You reply, “Two-thirty, old man. Time to start getting dressed.” “Oh, my God!” says the groom. Ten minutes pass. “What time is it?” says the groom. “Twenty of three,” you reply. “Here’s your shirt.” “Oh, my God!” says the groom.
He takes the shirt and tries to put it on. You help him. “Better have a little Scotch, old man,” you say. “What time is it?” he replies. “Five of three,” you say. “Oh, my God!” says the groom.
At three-thirty you and he are dressed in cutaways and promptly at three-forty-two you arrive at the church. You are ushered into a little side room where it is your duty to sit with the corpse for the few brief hours which elapse between three-forty-five and four o’clock. Occasionally he stirs and a faint spark of life seems to struggle in his sunken eyes. His lips move feebly. You bend over to catch his dying words. “Have—you—got—the ring?” he whispers. “Yes,” you reply. “Everything’s fine. You look great, too, old man.” The sound of the organ reaches your ears. The groom groans. “Have you got the ring?” he says.