MY WEDDING.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 2, Issue 323, 24 November 1879, Page 2

MY WEDDING.

Restless night. Afraid of over-sleeping myself. Wake with a start-sun streaming strongly in at window. Look at watch anxiously. Half-past live! All right-go to sleep again. Wake again at half-past six, again at a quarter past seven. Plenty of time for another snooze—ceremony not till eleven. Go to sleep once more. Wake refreshed and comfortable. Don't remember anything' and don't try to. Cosy. Get up an°d L have a quiet breakfast presently. * * * J Remember wedding day suddenly. I say ( —here—hope I've not missed it! By j* George! quarter past ten! Perform a rapid act of dressing and make for church. Don't think my cravat is tied properly; fancy my boots are not a pair; quite certain I've " snicked" my face all over with razor. Feel fluffy and uncomfortableout of breath with hurry, All waiting at church. General grinning of populace and guests at my late arrival. Ceremony proceeds. Am beginning to recover my wonted calm when, in a flash am conscious of having left ring on my dressingtable, Agony-trembling knees, etc. What shall Ido ? The thing will be wanted directly. Look wildly into body of church. Shall I make a dash at married woman and demand her ring or her life ? The dreaded timo when it will be required approaches-nearer-nearer! Can imagine the feelings of the party in "The Pit and Pendulum." Only a few more words between me and my doom - the words are said. (Why do the six bridesmaids and six groomsmen feel in their Dockets \) I burst into a cold perspiration and gasp tremulously," I've forgotten it!" In an instant a dozen rin°s are thrust into my hand, and a dozen voices whisper, "I knew you would." Saved ! saved! (By the bridesmaids and groomsmen.) I recover rapidly, pocket eleven of the rings and use the other. Ceremony over. March out with Anna on my arm. Crowd at porch. Someone says, "flullo, here's the father and mother comin' out just." Proceed to carriage with dignity. As we drive off, "best man" and principal b-idesmaid emerge from porch. Received with cheers, showers of rice and old slippers, Mistaken for the ' ' happy pair." Glad of it—don't ike nee and old slippers, Sumptuous breakfast, Glad of that, too; had nothing this morning-ravenous, Make a good meal. Toasts begin; don't object to that. Soniebodyproposessomebodyelse'shealth, I drink it. Somebody proposes my health (and Anna's). Don't care for that much: can't drink your own health. Can take a drink to get courage for reply, though ; also drink to refresh talk-parched throat when you sit clown again. Propose bridesmaids' health and drink it, Somebody proposes Anna's father's health-talks about "losing loving daughter." Cries. Anna's father cries. Anna cries. Everybody else cries. Why, I wonder? Didn't Anna want to marry? Bad this h**** forced upon her? Poor thing LJhBB had ascertained the fact before, «BBK must make the best of a bad.yHWß her; I will make a sacrinV' yffißSß my feet (after drinking fAn ffo fatluil health and knocking over" my chair and some plates), and make the following speech;~" Ladies and gentlemen—l am sorry to see you grieved, and am still more sorry to be the cause of that grief. I cannot disguise from myself that if I hadn't married Anna none of you would have had cause to weep. I pity you much, and to prove my sincerity I will do my best to remedy the evil that I have done. Take her, old man. Anna, go to your father, lake her; from this moment I relinquish all claim upon her. (Anna, why don't You go lo your father?) All shall be as though I had never existed, and I will go . forth on my sad, broken-hearted way >V ~ alone-al ." Here I bowed my aged head amid the lobster-salad, and wept the salt tears of Ouida's heroes. There is silence. Then Anna whispers, " You've taken quite enough," and the servant announces the carriage. We are off. The ' honeymoon begins. '