WEDDING REFLECTIONS.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 143, 23 July 1914, Page 4

WEDDING REFLECTIONS.

[Written for THE SUN.] The Bride: "Oh, what a crowd, —and all looking at me. How strange to.think that they have all come to see me married, —little insignificant me! I wish they hadn't, almost, —:tluey do stare so.'' (Defiantly) "Well, let them stare, —a gown like this gives one confidence and the look : tlie-whole-world-in the-face feeling. And my veil is real Limerick, —none of your cheap tulle embroidered affairs . . . Oh, there's Jack, —how conscious the poor dear looks ... I wish father wouldn't walk so fast, —he doesn't realise how trains pull . . , There's Madeline, —how she's gone off in looks lately. That rose colour doesn't suit her, either. I believe she angled desperately for Jack before he met me, —it must be so, because her dearest chum told me . . .

There's Alicia, too, —oh, I forgot, I suppose I mustn't smile at anyone when I am going up the aisle to be married. What a long way up it is, —miles and miles to the altar, I should think." (The organ peals out) "Oh dear, oh dear, I begin to feel so queer. I'd like to cry or run out of the church or scream. I wish, I do wish I were home and the wedding over. I wish I wasn't going to be married at all . . . There's dear mamma. How sweet she looks, and how brave, although I know she feels more like crying than smiling. But I'll be good, dear, —I can't, say it out loud, but I know you 'll understand.'' The Bridegroom: "It's ghastly standing here, with hundreds of eyes simply burning holes in me. I wouldn't go through it again,—no, not for a thousand pounds, —unless" (softening) "it was to win Edith over again, bless her. What an age she's keeping me, —

no, by Jove, it's only two minutes since I came myself. I wonder if that clock can be right t It feels like two years." (An appalling thought occurs to him, and he demands of the best man, in a hoarse and penetrating whisper, "Reggie! sure you have the ring?" The best man reassures him with a sight of it. Presently. "I can't stand this much longer . . . can't I though? INi stand worse for her,—if there can be anything worse, —but all the same I'll be glad when it's over ... Here she comes! What an angel she looks in her white dress ... I can't get a look at her face for all that lacy stuff, though ... Here she is beside me, as we're going to be all our lives,—all oUr lives . . . After all, getting married is not" such a dreadful ordeal." The Chief Bridesmaid: "Edith takes it much too calmly for a bride. You'd think she had been married dozens of times. Heavens, what a ninny the best man looks. Can't think why Jack would have him . . . Edith's gown is just a dream, but I wish she'd have let me arrange her veil in the new way,—it's so old-fashioned to have it just over the faee like that. The mob-cap effect is much smarter . . . Goodness, here's the part when I strip off her glove for the "ring that binds." Oh my, what a tight fit, —Edith would always wear gloves a size too small. There! It's off' at last! And now the ring's on, and Edith is Mrs Cheltham. I've lost my chum, and Jack's gained a wife, so I suppose that evens it up . . . Ouch! I knew that fool of. a best man would step on her* train some time or other, and now he's done it . . . Poor boy, hoyr fearfully ashamed he looks. T can't help feeling just a little bit sorry for him . . . After all, he has rather a nice face, and aren't his shoulders good and square.- It's the kind of shoulder that seems specially designed to put one's head down on. I must contrive to let him know that he hasn't damaged the bridal gown irretrievably. Why, he lotfks quite handsome when he

i smiles . . . What a good thing Auntie ; decided to have the bridesmaids' danee in her own tiouse, —there's such a lovely 'stairway with palms and cosy corners and things,, and there's a darling little balcony, too. And the light can never be depended upon at either place, —it fails just like Kipling's, only more soi' ? BrideV Mother: t 'lt seems such a short time since ! was. a bride myself, —and here's my little girl getting married. Oh, Jack, , Jack, be good to her . . . There, I mustn't think that way, or I 'll have to cry, and there must be no tears on Edith's wedding day. I remember how my mother eried on my wedding day, and how miserable it made me. Poor James, how he could have gone on loving a bride who commenced her honeymoon with red eyes and a swollen nose I can't think. There he comes, with Edith on his arm, —just as straight and handsome as the.day I married him . . . Oh, dear I hope the maids have everything ready when we get back from the church, —I do hate delays,* with people standing round waiting to be fed. I wonder if the new maid we got in to help understands waiting on the table. I should die of mortification if anything went wrong at the breakfast. Never will I forget Ellie Morton's wedding, when a raw kitchen recruit upset a cup of hot coffee over the bridegroom, who was so unnerved that he jumped up and swore before tie realised where he was. c< It put a damper on the whole affair, and Ellie wept all the time they were putputting on her travelling dress, she was so bitterly ashamed. Indeed, it looked ■for a while as if there would be a divoree instead of a honeymoon, the way tHfngs were going . . . There, it's all over, and my little girl isn't mine any longer.'* (Stoutly): Yes, she is, — as much mine, as ever,—"a son's a son till he gets a wife, but a daughter's a daughter all her life." (To her next neighbour): "Yes, my dear, a beautiful wedding, —but then all weddings are beautiful, aren't they?" (Brightly):

" The worst of these churehes is thai they are so draughty,—lalmost feel as if I have .a cold coming on. (Wipes her eyes covertly):' 4 Well, come along.." (Continues her reflections): "Of course I don % want her to be a cross, disappointed old maid-, but it's awfully hard to give up one's own little girl . . ♦ one's very own little dear girl." . . The Bride's Father: "The house won't be quite the same place without her, but Jaek's a good fellow, and he'll .make her happy,—that's the main: thing . . . Why, bless me, I must be getting an old man, —111 be a grandfather next and then it's a short eut to the chimney corner and slippers of old'' age . . . Well, well, that's the way life goes . . There 'll be a fine array of bills to pay after all this, but if it's npaking mother any happier to do things- in style I don't mind. Women do love making a fuss over weddings—it's their little way. It's a good thing, too, all this flummery, "because it takes their minds off the wrench of parting. And J3die, too, —of course she was entitled tons good a send-off as we could give her. .... ." "Who: giveth this woman?." —"Well, I do, I guess . There,, Jack, you've got ber for keeps. Yes, my boy, I know you'll be as fond, of her and as proud of her as we were,, but it'll be different . . . She'll have to take her share of the downs as well as the ups now. You can 't shelter her as we did . . . How bonny she looks,, and there's nothing amiss with him either. They make a handsome couple, .—love's young dream realised! God bless you, my children . .be happy ever after!" S. I. B.