This intimation was received with solemn silence, if we except the word “Attention!” which proceeded in a respectful and earnest, but subdued tone from old Sam. The Doctor looked about him a little startled, but again proceeded,
“Marriage, my children, may be divided into three heads: first, its duties; next, its rights; and lastly, its tribulations. I place tribulations last, my children, because, if it were not for its tribulations—”
“My good friend,” said Sir Thomas, with impatience, “we will spare you the little homily you speak of, until after the ceremony. I dare say it is designed for married life and married people; but as those for whose especial advantage you are now about to give it are not man and wife yet, I think you had better reserve it until you make them so. Proceed, Doctor, if you please, with the ceremony.”
“I have not the pleasure of knowing you, sir,” replied the Doctor; “I shall be guided here only by Sir Thomas Gourlay himself, as father of the bride.”
“Why, Doctor, what the deuce is the matter with you? Am not I Sir Thomas Gourlay?”
The Doctor put up his spectacles on his forehead, and looking at him more closely, exclaimed,
“Upon my word, and so you are. I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas, but with respect to this dejeuner—homily, I would say—its enunciation here is exceedingly appropriate, and it is but short, and will not occupy more than about half-an-hour, or three-quarters, which is only a brief space when the happiness of a whole life is concerned. Well, my children, I was speaking about this dejuner,” he proceeded; “the time, as I said, will not occupy more than half-an-hour, or probably three-quarters; and, indeed, if our whole life were as agreeably spent—I refer now especially to married life—its tribulations would not—”
Here he was left once more in his tribulations, for as he uttered the last word, Gibson returned, pronouncing in a distinct but respectful voice, “The Earl of Cullamore;” and that nobleman, leaning upon the arm of his confidential servant, Morty O'Flaherty, immediately entered the room.
His venerable look, his feeble state of health, but, above all his amiable character, well known as it was for everything that was honorable and benevolent, produced the effect which might be expected. All who were not standing, immediately rose up to do him reverence and honor. He inclined his head in token of acknowledgment, but even before the baronet had time to address him, he said,
“Sir Thomas Gourlay, has this marriage yet taken place?”