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Page 8
IM.
Jump in the parlor,
Jump in the hall,
God made us all!
Now did you ever hear of anything quite so dear as that, for a
baby only three years and five months old? I tell you she is a
wonder. You will all adore her, Clover particularly. Oh, my dear
little C.! To think I am going to see her!
I met both Ellen Gray and Esther Dearborn the other day, and
where do you think it was? At Mary Silver's wedding! Yes, she is
actually married to the Rev. Charles Playfair Strothers, and
settled in a little parsonage somewhere in the Hoosac
Tunnel,--or near it,--and already immersed in "duties." I can't
think what arguments he used to screw her up to the rash act;
but there she is.
It wasn't exactly what one would call a cheerful wedding. All
the connection took it very seriously; and Mary's uncle, who
married her, preached quite a lengthy funeral discourse to the
young couple, and got them nicely ready for death, burial, and
the next world, before he would consent to unite them for this.
He was a solemn-looking old person, who had been a missionary,
and "had laid away three dear wives in foreign lands," as he
confided to me afterward over a plate of ice-cream. He seemed
to me to be "taking notice," as they say of babies, and it is
barely possible that he mistook me for a single woman, for his
attentions were rather pronounced till I introduced my husband
prominently into conversation; after that he seemed more
attracted by Ellen Gray.
Mary cried straight through the ceremony. In fact, I imagine she
cried straight through the engagement, for her eyes looked wept
out and had scarlet rims, and she was as white as her veil. In
fact, whiter, for that was made of beautiful _point de Venise_,
and was just a trifle yellowish. Everybody cried. Her mother and
sister sobbed aloud, so did several maiden aunts and a
grandmother or two and a few cousins. The church resounded with
guggles and gasps, like a great deal of bath-water running out
of an ill-constructed tub. Mr. Silver also wept, as a business
man may, in a series of sniffs interspersed with silk
handkerchief; you know the kind. Altogether it was a most
cheerless affair. I seemed to be the only person present who was
not in tears; but I really didn't see anything to cry about, so
far as I was concerned, though I felt very hard-hearted.
I had to go alone, for Deniston was in New York. I got to the
church rather early, and my new spring bonnet--which is a
superior one--seemed to impress the ushers, so they put me in a
very distinguished front pew all by myself. I bore my honors
meekly, and found them quite agreeable, in fact,--you know I
always did like to be made much of,--so you can imagine my
disgust when presently three of the stoutest ladies you ever saw
came sailing up the aisle, and prepared to invade _my_ pew.
"Please move up, Madam," said the fattest of all, who wore a
wonderful yellow hat.
But I was not "raised" at Hillsover for nothing, and remembering
the success of our little ruse on the railroad train long ago, I
stepped out into the aisle, and with my sweetest smile made room
for them to pass.
"Perhaps I would better keep the seat next the door," I murmured
to the yellow lady, "in case an attack should come on."
"An attack!" she repeated in an accent of alarm. She whispered
to the others. All three eyed me suspiciously, while I stood
looking as pensive and suffering as I could. Then after
confabulating together for a little, they all swept into the
seat behind mine, and I heard them speculating in low tones as
to whether it was epilepsy or catalepsy or convulsions that I
was subject to. I presume they made signs to all the other
people who came in to steer clear of the lady with fits, for
nobody invaded my privacy, and I sat in lonely splendor with a
pew to myself, and was very comfortable indeed.
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