[From _Chronicles of a Kentucky Settlement_ (New York, 1897)]
A few weeks after the race there was a grand wedding, and, this time,
Squire Howard united in holy matrimony Jefferson Brantley and Emily
Wilmot, the ceremony taking place at the residence of the bride's
father. Joseph Adair and Horace Benton were the groomsmen, and Laura
Howard and Ada Howard the bridesmaids. A young lady from Princeton was
to have been one of the bridesmaids, but illness prevented her
attendance, and Ada Howard took her place. The residence of Mr. Wilmot
was too small to admit of dancing, but the company present had a merry
time--the fun and frolic being kept up until a late hour. It was then
the custom to "give" (hold) the infare at the residence of the groom's
parents or some other near relative, but, as Mr. Brantley had no
relatives in the county, his infare was held at the Brick Hotel in
Salem, and great were the preparations made on the occasion--never had
such an elegant and sumptuous table been spread in those "parts"; there
were meats of many sorts, including barbacued pigs, and cakes,
pastries, fruits, nuts, and wines and liquors in abundance. Silas Holman
and Billy Wilmot were never in better trim, and their fiddles seemed the
fountain of such ecstatic sounds as to set the nerves of old as well as
young tingling with a pleasurable excitement which could only find its
true expression in the quick and graceful movements of the dance. And
dancing there was, and such dancing! There was Bird McCoy, who could
"cut the double shuffle,"--spring into the air, strike his feet together
thrice before lighting, and not lose step to the music. And among the
young ladies--many of them country girls whose lives in the open air
made them as active as squirrels and as graceful as fawns--were many
good dancers, but it was conceded that among them all the slight,
sylph-like Ada Howard was the best--"the pick of the flock." And the
mirth and fun grew "fast and furious," and the "dancers quick and
quicker flew." Nor did the fun and frolic cease until faint streaks of
light in the East heralded the coming morn. They almost literally
"Danced all night 'til broad daylight,
And went home with the girls in the morning."
And yet, be it said that, while there was a good deal of drinking that
night, there was no drunkenness, rowdyism, unseemly behavior, or
ungentlemanly conversation; for woe to the young man who at such a
time and place, when ladies were present, had violated the recognized
rules of decorum!
It is certain, however, that several young persons came very near that
night being "fiddled out of the church." There was one gay,
good-humored, hearty country girl who, when "churched" for dancing
that night, admitted that she was "on the floor with the so-called
dancers"; that she had a "partner," and took part in the movements;
but, she contended, that inasmuch as she had not _crossed her feet_,
she had violated no rule of the church. "What," she asked, "if I walk
forward and backward and turn and bow _without_ music, is that
dancing? And if I do the same when there _is_ music, does that make it
dancing?" And the good old brethren, who were sitting in judgment,
after mature deliberation, came to the conclusion that they were not
"cl'ar on the p'int 'bout crossin' the feet." "And," said one, "if we
err, let it be on the side o' marcy." "Yes," replied another, "but let
the young sister understand that she must n't do it ag'in." And so the
matter was settled.