The Ancients certainly made a great mistake in not choosing Niobe for
the Goddess of Marriage. Hymen is by far too jolly; he is all smiles—
more of the hyena than the crocodile; whilst Niobe is just as she ought
to be—all tears.
There never yet was a marriage that was not a perfect St. Swithin
affair. No one—unless he has a soul of gutta-percha, thoroughly
waterproof—should think of going to a wedding with less than two
pocket-handkerchiefs; and, even then, a sponge is better adapted to the
"joyful occasion." Men take wives as they do pills, with plenty of
water—excepting, indeed, when the "little things" are well gilt.
If a kind of matrimonial barometer were kept in each family, and its
daily indications as to the state of the weather at the fireside
accurately registered, we have no doubt that on the average being taken
the following results would be arrived at—
BEFORE MARRIAGE _Fair_.
DURING MARRIAGE _Wet_.
AFTER MARRIAGE _Stormy_.
Meteorologically speaking, it would be highly interesting could we
arrive at a knowledge of the exact amount of "doo" prevailing during
courtship.
Nobody can feel more truly wretched than on the happiest day of his
life. A wedding is even more melancholy than a funeral. The bride weeps
for everything and nothing. At first she's heart-broken because she's
about to leave her Ma and Pa; then, because she hopes and trusts Chawles
will always love her; and, when no other excuse is left, she bursts into
tears because she's afraid he will not bring the ring with him. Mamma,
too, is determined to cry for the least thing. Her dear girl is going
away, and she is certain something dreadful is about to happen; and
goodness gracious! she's forgotten to lock the dining-room door, with
all the wine and plate on the table, and three strange greengrocers in
the house. At church the water is laid on at _eye_-service; indeed, the
whole party look so wretched, no one would imagine there was a "happy
pair" among them. When Papa gives away his darling child, he does it
with as many sobs as if he were handing her over to the fiercest
Polygamist since Henry the Eighth—instead of bestowing her upon one who
loves his "lamb," regardless of the "mint" sauce that accompanies her.
The bridegroom snivels, either because crying's catching, or because he
thinks he ought, for decency's sake, to appear deeply moved; and the
half-dozen bridesmaids are sure to be all weeping, because everybody
else weeps.
[Illustration:
_The Happiest moment of my life_——
]
When the party return home, however, the thoughts of the breakfast cheer
them up a little; and the bridesmaids, in particular, feel quite
resigned to their fate. As if they had grown hungry by crying—or the
tears had _whetted_ their appetites—they drown their cares for a while
in the white soup-tureen. The champagne goes off, and goes round. Eyes
begin to twinkle, the young ladies get flushed, and titter and giggle
with the bridegroom, until at last the "funny man" of the party begins
talking of the splendid gravy spoon he means to give when he's a
godfather; but is immediately frowned down by the old aunt opposite, who
has come dressed out as gaily and as full of colours as an oilman's
shop-front.
Then the father gets up, and after a short and pathetic eulogium upon
the virtues of that "sweet girl," whom he "loves as his own flesh and
_blood_," thumps the table, and tells the company that "any one who
would not treat her properly would be a _scoundrel_!" Upon this everyone
present turns round to look and frown at the wretched villain of a
bridegroom, and then they all fall to weeping again. But so strongly has
the feeling set in against the new son-in-law, that it is only by a
speech full of the deepest pathos, that he can persuade the company that
he has not the least thought of murdering, or indeed even assaulting his
wife.
At last the mother, bride, and bridesmaids retire to say "Good-bye," and
have a good cry altogether upstairs. Then the blessing and the weeping
begin again with renewed vigour. As at Vauxhall, they seem to keep the
grandest shower for the last. The bridesmaids cry till their noses are
quite red, and their hair is as straight as if they had been bathing.
And when the time comes for the happy pair to leave, in order to catch
the train for Dover, then the mother, father, sisters, brothers, bride,
bridegroom, bridesmaids, and every soul in the house, all cry—even down
to the old cook "who knowed her ever since she were a babby in long
clothes"—as if the young couple were about to be "transported for life"
in the literal rather than the figurative sense of the term.
[Illustration:
RECOMMENDED TO MERCY.
]
[Illustration:
FIRST AND SECOND WRANGLERS.
]
COLLEGE FOR LADIES.
Examination Papers.
Examiners.