The grand old gardener and his wife,
Smile at your claims of long descent.
Howe’er it be, it seems to me,
’Tis only noble to be good;
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.”
And so it was, that no shadow of regret or drawback mingled with the glad events of that auspicious day, which crowned the happiness of two loyal hearts, filled the old squire’s cup with blessing, dispersed the last vestige of fear from Blithe Natty’s mind, drove Nestleton into hysterical delight, and filled all Waverdale with joy.
At Old Adam Olliver’s suggestion, the first service on the opening day was held at eight o’clock in the morning, and consisted solely of prayer and praise, with a brief address from Mr. Clayton, to whom they were so greatly indebted, alike for the initiation of the scheme and its triumphant completion. Herein, the wise and thoughtful villagers happed exactly on what was indisputably the fitting thing to do, both as to the nature of the primal service and the choice of the individual who should line out the first hymn of praise and offer the consecrating prayer. The custom which prevails of asking some popular minister from a distance to perform this honourable task, and to make a sermon the chief feature of the dedication, is one which would be much more honoured in the breach than the observance. He has had no sleep-depriving cares, no tireless labours, no anxious heartaches, during the harassing history of the work, and probably never heard of it, until he receives the invitation to be the high priest of the day. Let those who present the gift lay it upon the altar, and then it may be wise to summon whatever oratorical harp, sackbut, and psaltery may add effect and interest to the holy festival. During that early morning meeting the crowd of worshippers had evidence prompt and potent that their gift had “come up acceptable before God.”
“Cum an’ fill the hoose in which we sit!” pleaded Adam Olliver; “suddenly cum te Thi’ temple. It’s Thahne! It’s nobbut a poor thing cumpared wi’ what Thoo’s gi’en te uz, bud it’s best we can deea! Mair sud Thoo hev, if we had mair! An’ we gi’ Thoo oorsens wiv it. Tak’ it an’ tak’ uz, O Lord. Cum an’ live in it, an’ iv oor ’arts. Let t’ cloven tungues o’ fire sit on uz while we kneel! Greeat grace be noo upon uz all!”
And “great grace” did come, “and the glory of the Lord filled the temple,” for we may be assured that such a gift offered in such a spirit, by those inspired by such motives, shall now and ever be graciously acknowledged by Him whose name is recorded there. It will be seen that the building was now fitly prepared for the second ceremonial, which was nothing less than the joining together of Philip and Lucy in the holy bands of matrimony. I am sorry to disappoint those of my readers who are eagerly looking for “a true and particular description of that interesting transaction.” Were I to make the attempt my pen would be like Pharaoh’s chariots in the Red Sea’s vacated bed, which “drave heavily,” and would lag in tedious despondency, conscious that the feat was beyond its power. Suffice it to say that there were all the usual accessories common to such a rare occasion: orange flowers and veils and coaches, horses with white rosettes and tasseled ear-caps, wedding guests in white gloves, white waistcoats, or white robes, according as their sex demanded. This I may note, that the Rev. Matthew Mitchell was promoted to the high position of “best man,” adding my own opinion that a much better man would have been difficult to discover. Mr. Mitchell was kept in countenance by a couple of Philip’s college chums, who loved him in his student days, and whose esteem was of that true metal which did not lose its ring at the sight of a Methodist chapel or a cottage-born bride. Amongst the bridesmaids was one of Lucy’s school companions, who rejoiced in being the daughter of “a private gentleman of competent means,” which may probably be accepted by Mrs. Grundy as a passable certificate, giving right of entry within the magic circle of “people of position.” It may be depended on, however, that this was not our Lucy’s reason for selecting her. That was because she was as good as gold, had been for years a correspondent given to writing crossed letters, and was a true and bosom friend. I should not like to forget that bonny Grace Houston was also an attractive feature of the bridal train, and more than one or two observant spectators of the day’s proceedings were led to suspect, from certain numerous, but undefinable phenomena, that Mr. Mitchell “had an eye in that direction.” As for the two chief actors in this exciting and brilliant business, I can only say that Philip bore himself as nobly as a conqueror should, and led his captive with so proud a mien that you might have thought she was a De Montmorency or a Fitzroy at the very least. Lucy was simply Lucy, for I declare that yards and yards of white tulle, yards and yards of silvery drapery, a marvellous wreath of orange blossoms, satin shoes, and all the rest of her bridal adornments, could not add one iota to the magical charm which dwelt in and around the plain unvarnished “Lucy” whom we know.