"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts."
How often it happens when looking forward to a particular event with a certain degree of pleasure, by some capricious freak of the nervous system our prospects are defeated, and we experience the reverse of what we anticipated. It was thus with Rosalind on Mary Kingley's wedding day. The cares she had assumed for the last month had been somewhat exhausting, and the thoughts of her own approaching, bridal agitated her as she and Walter accompanied them to the parlor. Just as the ceremony was about to commence, Milly, who was sitting by the side of Ernest, whispered to him, "Now you can sec how you and Rosalind will look when you stand up."
The oddity of this remark in the midst of the solemnity of the occasion, so out of keeping with her accustomed reserve, especially towards him, excited an involuntary smile, which, observed by Rosalind, brought back to her cheeks the color that had momentarily forsaken them.
The usual salutations passed, when Ernest, being in a playful humor, and amused by her childish perturbations kissed her instead of the bride, which heightened the flush on her cheeks, and gave rise to a merry laugh all round.
The cake was passed, but not the wine, and before the evening shadows gathered, the happy couple were enjoying themselves quietly in their own neat little parlor, where they were soon visited by Deacon Brewster and his wife, who came to offer their congratulations, bringing with them a refreshing draught of iced lemonade.
"What a pity," said Kate, as the carriage rolled down the avenue, "when the minister was all here and every things was ready, that it shouldn't have been all done up and saved the trouble of gettin' up another marryin'."
"You looked as white as a ghost, and trembled like a frightened bird when you took my arm," said Walter to Rosalind after they returned to the parlor, where she stood nervously opening and shutting her fan, looking neither grieved, vexed nor pleased, but the personification of childish helplessness, mutely appealing from one to the other without receiving the assistance it craved.
"And I stood on tiptoe ready to get the smellin' salts if you should faint," remarked Kate, intruding her head in the doorway.
"They do not know what it is to be so near becoming a bride do they," observed her mother, who was immediately succeeded by Walter with the remark.
"I guess, sis, you wish you hadn't been quite so officious to act a prominent part in the play yourself,—rather too real, wasn't it?"
"I never felt so bad in my life," replied she in an earnest, emphatic tone.
"Oh yes you have," said Ernest, in that quiet, significant way of his, the meaning of which Rosalind comprehended, when one of her sudden impulses seized her, and she thrust herself unceremoniously into his lap, pulling one of his curls with such force that he was obliged to interfere in its defence.
Milly laughed at this unexpected turn of affairs and left the room. She had enjoyed the day greatly, and was thinking now how she could appropriate some of its incidents to her novel. Going to her chamber, she found it already occupied by Kate, whose mind was busily manufacturing weddings on a scale to suit herself.
"Now Milly," said Kate after singing a snatch of a song, for she never sung a whole one, "wouldn't it be a capital joke if we could get you married off next. Such a funny thing, if the author of a novel should knock the whole thing in head by gettin' married herself. Ye wouldn't find it quite such a moonshiny affair I reckon, as what ye make it out in your novel. Well now, we are in the business, I want to discribe Sykes' weddin'. That was a most magnificent affair, and would be a mighty takin' thing for your book. But before that I must tell you some of his rencounters with miskeeturs, cause you know when a person's married it's just the same as if they was dead. I shouldn't want to bring him up after wards."
"I hope you don't think you are going to impose that thing on me. I never believed there was any such person as Sykes, and you'd have told of his marriage before now if there were. I don't care about hearing a description of it."
"Nonsense Milly, there's no use in being so offish about it. You've got to hear about Sykes' weddin', whether you want to or not, if was such a magnificent affair. He used to love to take a nap out doors in the yard and I used to love to plague him, and he'd always think 'twas the miskeeturs. Sometimes I'd sprinkle water in his face, and when he got up I'd ask him if he had a good nap, and he'd snarl up his face like a knot, and say, 'Yes if it hadn't been for them tarnal critturs.'"
"Why Sykes!" says I, "what if you should get that word into your sermons, you never'd get a culprit's place in the world. Now he was very fond of English titles, he always thought he descended from the English, which gin him a sort of nobility in his own eyes, and he'd rather have the title of culprit than minister."
"Curate, you mean," retorted Milly.
"No matter, it's all the same, if they could only get the money."
"Where did it take, place, in a shed or a palace?"
"Hush, Milly, you forgot yourself. You shouldn't make light of sober things, and that was awfully solemn. But then it was such a magnificent affair there had to be some extensive preparations about it. In them days, 'twan't a great while ago though, but you know in country towns they have some extra buildin's for school'ouses, and so it was thought best to lease one o' them for the occasion, and it was fitted up in the most fittin' style for such a magnificent affair. In them days, oh 'twan't long ago though, school'ouses were built in a plain substantial style, with rough, wooden benches, and Sykes, he had a good deal of taste and he thought that wouldn't exactly correspond, and so he had 'em covered with black drapery. Now he was such a simple, honest-hearted soul he didn't know the difference between a weddin' and a funeral, and it strikes me there wouldn't be so much disappintment in the world if folks ginerally took that rational view of it. Now Sykes, he had a good deal of taste, and was very fond of flowers so he had wreathes of sun-flowers all round the room, and he made a great boquet of sun-flowers he meant to have the bride hold in her hand, but she had so much else in her hands that she looked as if she was goin' to drop it, and so he just took it and laid it down on the floor between 'em. Then in another thing he showed great taste as if he wanted to have things about right. He liked the effect of havin' it dark which would make it a much more magnificent affair than as if 't was light, as well as more solemn. So he had the rough board shutters closed and lit some taller candles. He hadn't no candle-sticks and he showed his common sense agin, in not bein' over nice on such a solemn occasion. He put one in a pewter mug, all polished up so it looked like silver, and one in a chany sarcer that belonged to one of his grandmothers in England. Such associations made it pleasant you know. Them stood, the mug in front o' him, and the chany sarcer in front o' her, so they could see they hadn't got hold of nobody else but themselves. Then he stuck some up all round the room in the wreathes of sun-flowers. I was afraid they might burn down so as to set the sun-flowers a'fire, but then 'twas all over so quick after they got ready there wan't no danger. Now I've come to the most interestin' part, how they was dressed. She wore a green calabash on her head,"
"A what?"
"A green calabash. Don't you know what that is? A sort of winnerin' mill they used to wear on the head, with a bridle in front to hold it down, and big enough to put a cheese inside, on each side of the head. Then on that she had a blue gauze veil, and on one arm a work bag with knittin' work in it; and on the other a basket. I can't tell what kind of one it was, it wan't round nor square, but long with two covers to it like a half moon. In that was her headdress, a funny sort of head gear it was too. It had a broad white linen frill on one side, and some pink gauze on the other, and right in the middle on top was the imitation of a sun-flower. I 'spose that was the reason she couldn't wear it with her calabash 'cause that set down kind o' flat on the top of her head. In one hand she had a yaller silk pocket handkerchief to correspond with the sun-flower, and in the other which had on a gentleman's black kid glove, she held a smellin' bottle. That's where they showed their good sense agin, 'cause if any body ever wants smellin' bottles, then's the time. Then she had on pink silk stockin's and cowhide shoes, and he had on white slippers and blue cotton stockin's.
"Oh dear! don't give any more of your shocking descriptions."
"Why that was sensible, and Sykes was one that never would let his taste outrun his good sense. She might have damped her feet and took cold, women are so kind o' tender you know, excep' when they have a shiftless husband to take care of. Next come the ceremony which was very imposing. It was altogether the most magnificent affair you ever witnessed.
"When the Squire that was to marry 'em asked him if he would promise to love and take good care of her and so on, just as if his sayin' so would make any difference, he pulled back her calabash and gin her such a smack you could 'a heard it half a mile, and says he, 'That's what I reckon I will.'"
"What did she say? did she promise to obey?"
"Oh she was all kind 'o took aback, and then was the time she used the smellin' bottle. Well, the Squire waited until she recovered her senses agin, so she would fully understand what he was sayin' to her, and then proceeded in a solemn voice to tell her how she must honor and obey him in all things whether sick or well, drunk or sober, and then the poor thing went clean off. Howbeit, with the use of the smellin' bottle she come to agin, and the Squire he was very considerate, he didn't exact any promise of her and it was just as well as if he had, 'cause it's no matter how much a woman promises she always means to have her own way if she can get it."
"That's the end of the chapter is it, about long enough I think."
"That's the last I ever heard of 'em. I expect he's preached himself into paradise, and his wife into purgatory long 'fore this."
"Then he didn't think so much of her afterwards?"
"Of course he wouldn't, who does? There's somethin' kind o' strange about some o' them things. I never could understand it no how. You take a couple 'fore they's married, and how careful they'll be of each other, as if the very earth wa'nt good enough for 'em to walk on, and then 'fore the year's out half on 'em would git unmarried agin if they could."
"They should have a bottle of smelling salts by them all the time."
"Then another thing's mighty strange, when a body dies, how mighty good they is all at once. I never thought my old man was any better for bein' dead."
"Well, James and Mary are married, and I believe they will be happy."