University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
A CITY WEDDING.

There was not much of the happy bridegoom to be seen
in Joseph's face when he arose the next morning. To Philip's
eyes he appeared to have suddenly grown several years
older; his features had lost their boyish softness and sweetness,
which would thenceforth never wholly come back
again. He spoke but little, and went about his preparation
with an abstracted, mechanical air, which told how much
his mind was preoccupied. Philip quietly assisted, and
when all was complete, led him before the mirror.

“There!” he said; “now study the general effect; I
think nothing more is wanting.”

“It hardly looks like myself,” Joseph remarked, after a
careless inspection.

“In all the weddings I have seen,” said Philip, “the
bridegrooms were pale and grave, the brides flushed and
trembling. You will not make an exception to the rule;
but it is a solemn thing, and I—don't misunderstand me,
Joseph—I almost wish you were not to be married to-day.”

“Philip!” Joseph exclaimed, “let me think, now, at
least,—now, at the last moment,—that it is best for me!
If you knew how cramped, restricted, fettered, my life has
been, and how much emancipation has already come with
this—this love! Perhaps my marriage is a venture, but it
is one which must be made; and no consequence of it shall
ever come between us!”

“No; and I ought not to have spoken a word that might
imply a doubt. It may be that your emancipation, as you
rightly term it, can only come in this way. My life has
been so different, that I am unconsciously putting myself in
your place, instead of trying to look with your eyes. When
I next go to Coventry Forge, I shall drive over and dine with
you, and I hope your Julia will be as ready to receive me as a
friend as I am to find one in her. There is the carriage at
the door, and you had better arrive a little before the appointed
hour. Take only my good wishes, my prayers for your
happiness, along with you,—and now, God bless you, Joseph!”

The carriage rolled away. Joseph, in full wedding costume,
was painfully conscious of the curious glances which
fell upon him, and presently pulled down the curtains.
Then, with an impatient self-reprimand, he pulled them up
again, lowered the window, and let the air blow upon his
hot cheeks. The house was speedily reached, and he was
admitted by a festive waiter (hired for the occasion) before
he had been exposed for more than five seconds to the gaze
of curious eyes in all the windows around.

Mrs. Blessing, resplendent in purple, and so bedight that
she seemed almost as young as her portrait, swept into the
drawing-room. She inspected him rapidly, and approved,
while advancing; otherwise he would scarcely have received
the thin, dry kiss with which she favored him.

“It lacks half an hour,” she said; “but you have the
usual impatience of a bridegroom. I am accustomed to it.
Mr. Blessing is still in his room; he has only just commenced
arranging his cambric cravat, which is a work of time.
He cannot forget that he was distinguished for an elegant
tie in his youth. Clementina,”—as that young lady entered
the room,—“is the bride completely attired?”

“All but her gloves,” replied Clementina, offering three-fourths
of her hand to Joseph. “And she don't know what
ear-rings to wear.”

“I think we might venture,” Mrs. Blessing remarked,
“as there seems to be no rule applicable to the case, to allow
Mr. Asten a sight of his bride. Perhaps his taste might assist
her in the choice.”

Thereupon she conducted Joseph upstairs, and, after some
preliminary whispering, he was admitted to the room. He
and Julia were equally surprised at the change in each
other's appearance: he older, paler, with a grave and serious
bearing; she younger, brighter, rounder, fresher, and with
the loveliest pink flush on her cheeks. The gloss of her
hair rivalled that of the white satin which draped her form
and gave grace to its outlines; her neck and shoulders were
slight, but no one could have justly called them lean; and
even the thinness of her lips was forgotten in the vivid coral
of their color, and the nervous life which hovered about
their edges. At that moment she was certainly beautiful,
and a stranger would have supposed her to be young.

She looked into Joseph's face with a smile in which some
appearance of maiden shyness yet lingered. A shrewder
bridegroom would have understood its meaning, and would
have said, “How lovely you are!” Joseph, it is true, experienced
a sense of relief, but he knew not why, and could
not for his life have put it into words. His eyes dwelt
upon and followed her, and she seemed to be satisfied with
that form of recognition. Mrs. Blessing inspected the dress
with a severe critical eye, pulling out a fold here and
smoothing a bit of lace there, until nothing further could be
detected. Then, the adornment of the victim being completed,
she sat down and wept moderately.

“O ma, try to bear up!” Julia exclaimed, with the very
slightest touch of impatience in her voice; “it is all to come
yet.”

There was a ring at the door.

“It must be your aunt,” said Mrs. Blessing, drying her
eyes. “My sister,” she added, turning to Joseph,—Mrs.
Woollish, with Mr. Woollish and their two sons and one
daughter. He's in the—the leather trade, so to speak,
which has thrown her into a very different circle; but, as
we have no nearer relations in the city, they will be present
at the ceremony. He is said to be wealthy. I have no
means of knowing; but one would scarcely think so, to judge
from his wedding-gift to Julia.”

“Ma, why should you mention it?”

“I wish to enlighten Mr. Asten. Six pairs of shoes!—
of course all of the same pattern; and the fashion may
change in another year!”

“In the country we have no fashions in shoes,” Joseph
suggested.

“Certainly!” said Julia. “I find Uncle Woollish's
present very practical indeed.”

Mrs. Blessing looked at her daughter, and said nothing.

Mr. Blessing, very red in the face, but with triumphant
cambric about his throat, entered the room, endeavoring to
get his fat hands into a pair of No. 9 gloves. A strong
smell of turpentine or benzine entered with him.

“Eliza,” said he, “you must find me some eau de cologne.
The odor left from my—my rheumatic remedy is still
perceptible. Indeed, patchouly would be better, if it were
not the scent peculiar to parvenus.”

Clementina came to say that the clergyman's carriage had
just reached the door, and Mr. Blessing was hurried down

stairs, mopping his gloves and the collar of his coat with
liquid fragrance by the way. Mrs. Blessing and Clementina
presently followed.

“Julia,” said Joseph when they were quite alone, “have
you thought that this is for life?”

She looked up with a tender smile, but something in his
face arrested it on her lips.

“I have lived ignorantly until now,” he continued,—
“innocently and ignorantly. From this time on I shall
change more than you, and there may be, years hence, a
very different Joseph Asten from the one whose name you
will take to-day. If you love me with the love I claim from
you,—the love that grows with and through all new knowledge
and experience,—there will be no discord in our lives.
We must both be liberal and considerate towards each
other; it has been but a short time since we met, and we
have still much to learn.”

“O, Joseph!” she murmured, in a tone of gentle
reproach, “I knew your nature at first sight.”

“I hope you did,” he answered gravely, “for then you
will be able to see its needs, and help me to supply them.
But, Julia, there must not the shadow of concealment come
between us: nothing must be reserved. I understand no
love that does not include perfect trust. I must draw
nearer, and be drawn nearer to you, constantly, or—”

He paused; it was no time to utter the further sentence
in his mind. Julia glided to him, clasped her arms about
his waist, and laid her head against his shoulder. Although
she said nothing, the act was eloquent. It expressed
acquiescence, trust, fidelity, the surrender of her life to his,
and no man in his situation could have understood it
otherwise. A tenderness, which seemed to be the something

hitherto lacking to his love, crept softly over his
heart, and the lurking unrest began to fade from his face.

There was a rustle on the stairs; Clementina and Miss
Woollish made their appearance. “Mr. Bogue has arrived,”
whispered the former, “and ma thinks you should
come down soon. Are you entirely ready? I don't think
you need the salts, Julia; but you might carry the bottle in
your left hand: brides are expected to be nervous.”

She gave a light laugh, like the purl and bubble of a
brook; but Joseph shrank, with an inward chill, from the
sound.

“So! shall we go? Fanny and I—(I beg pardon; Mr.
Asten—Miss Woollish)—will lead the way. We will stand
a little in the rear, not beside you, as there are no groomsmen.
Remember, the farther end of the room!”

They rustled slowly downward, in advance, and the bridal
pair followed. The clergyman, Mr. Bogue, suddenly broke
off in the midst of an oracular remark about the weather,
and, standing in the centre of the room, awaited them. The
other members of the two families were seated, and very
silent.

Joseph heard the introductory remarks, the ceremony,
and the final benediction, as in a dream. His lips opened
mechanically, and a voice which did not exactly seem to be
his own uttered the “I will!” at the proper time; yet, in
recalling the experience afterwards, he was unable to decide
whether any definite thought or memory or hope had passed
through his mind. From his entrance into the room until
his hand was violently shaken by Mr. Blessing, there was a
blank.

Of course there were tears, but the beams of congratulation
shone through them, and they saddened nobody. Miss

Fanny Woollish assured the bridal pair, in an audible
whisper, that she had never seen a sweeter wedding; and her
mother, a stout, homely little body, confirmed the opinion
with, “Yes, you both did beautifully!” Then the marriage
certificate was produced and signed, and the company partook
of wine and refreshments to strengthen them for the
reception.

Until there had been half a dozen arrivals, Mrs. Blessing
moved about restlessly, and her eyes wandered to the front
window. Suddenly three or four carriages came rattling
together up the street, and Joseph heard her whisper to her
husband: “There they are! it will be a success!” It was
not long before the little room was uncomfortably crowded,
and the presentations followed so rapidly that Joseph soon
became bewildered. Julia, however, knew and welcomed
every one with the most bewitching grace, being rewarded
with kisses by the gorgeous young ladies and compliments
by the young men with weak mouths and retreating chins.

In the midst of the confusion Mr. Blessing, with a wave
of his hand, presented “Mr. Collector Twining” and “Mr.
Surveyor Knob” and “Mr. Appraiser Gerrish,” all of
whom greeted Joseph with a bland, almost affectionate, cordiality.
The door of the dining-room was then thrown
open, and the three dignitaries accompanied the bridal pair
to the table. Two servants rapidly whisked the champagnebottles
from a cooling-tub in the adjoining closet, and Mr.
Blessing commenced stirring and testing a huge bowl of
punch. Collector Twining made a neat little speech, proposing
the health of bride and bridegroom, with a pun upon
the former's name, which was received with as much delight
as if it had never been heard before. Therefore Mr. Surveyor
Knob repeated it in giving the health of the bride's

parents. The enthusiasm of the company not having diminished,
Mr. Appraiser Gerrish improved the pun in a third
form, in proposing “the Ladies.” Then Mr. Blessing,
although his feelings overcame him, and he was obliged to
use a handkerchief smelling equally of benzine and eau de
cologne, responded, introducing the collector's and surveyor's
names with an ingenuity which was accepted as the
inspiration of genius. His peroration was especially admired.

“On this happy occasion,” he said, “the elements of
national power and prosperity are represented. My son-in-law,
Mr. Asten, is a noble specimen of the agricultural
population,—the free American yeomanry; my daughter, if
I may be allowed to say it in the presence of so many
bright eyes and blooming cheeks, is a representative child
of the city, which is the embodiment of the nation's action
and enterprise. The union of the two is the movement of
our life. The city gives to the country as the ocean gives
the cloud to the mountain-springs: the country gives to the
city as the streams flow back to the ocean. [“Admirable!”
Mr. Collector Twining exclaimed.] Then we have, as our
highest honor, the representatives of the political system
under which city and country flourish alike. The wings of
our eagle must be extended over this fortunate house to-day,
for here are the strong Claws which seize and guard its
treasures!”

The health of the Claws was drunk enthusiastically. Mr.
Blessing was congratulated on his eloquence; the young
gentlemen begged the privilege of touching their glasses to
his, and every touch required that the contents be replenished;
so that the bottom of the punch-bowl was nearly
reached before the guests departed.

When Joseph came down in his travelling-dress, he found

the drawing-room empty of the crowd; but leaves, withered
flowers, crumbs of cake, and crumpled cards scattered over
the carpet, indicated what had taken place. In the dining-room
Mr. Blessing, with his cravat loosened, was smoking a
cigar at the open window.

“Come, son-in-law!” he cried, “take another glass of
punch before you start.”

Joseph declined, on the plea that he was not accustomed
to the beverage.

“Nothing could have gone off better!” said Mr. Blessing.
“The collector was delighted: by the by, you're to go to
the St. Jerome, when you get to New York this evening.
He telegraphed to have the bridal-chamber reserved for
you. Tell Julia: she won't forget it. That girl has a
deuced sharp intellect: if you'll be guided by her in your
operations—”

“Pa, what are you saying about me?” Julia asked,
hastily entering the room.

“Only that you have a deuced sharp intellect, and
to-day proves it. Asten is one of us now, and I may tell
him of his luck.”

He winked and laughed stupidly, and Joseph understood
and obeyed his wife's appealing glance. He went
to his mother-in-law in the drawing-room.

Julia lightly and swiftly shut the door. “Pa,” she
said, in a strong, angry whisper; “if you are not able
to talk coherently, you must keep your tongue still. What
will Joseph think of me, to hear you?”

“What he'll think anyhow, in a little while,” he doggedly
replied. “Julia, you have played a keen game, and
played it well; but you don't know much of men yet.
He'll not always be the innocent, white-nosed lamb he

is now, nibbling the posies you hold out to him. Wait till
he asks for stronger feed, and see whether he'll follow you!”

She was looking on the floor, pale and stern. Suddenly
one of her gloves burst, across the back of the hand.
“Pa,” she then said, “it's very cruel to say such things
to me, now when I'm leaving you.”

“So it is!” he exclaimed, tearfully contrite; “I am
a wretch! They flattered my speech so much,—the collector
was so impressed by me,—and said so many pleasant
things, that—I don't feel quite steady. Don't forget
the St. Jerome; the bridal-chamber is ordered, and I'll
see that Mumm writes a good account for the `Evening
Mercury.' I wish you could be here to remember my
speech for me. O, I shall miss you! I shall miss you!”

With these words, and his arm lovingly about his
daughter, they joined the family. The carriage was already
at the door, and the coachman was busy with
the travelling-trunks. There were satchels, and little
packages,—an astonishing number it seemed to Joseph,—
to be gathered together, and then the farewells were said.

As they rolled through the streets towards the station,
Julia laid her head upon her husband's shoulder, drew
a long, deep breath, and said, “Now all our obligations
to society are fulfilled, and we can rest awhile. For
the first time in my life I am a free woman,—and you
have liberated me!”

He answered her in glad and tender words; he was
equally grateful that the exciting day was over. But,
as they sped away from the city through the mellow
October landscapes, Philip's earnest, dark gray eyes, warm
with more than brotherly love, haunted his memory,
and he knew that Philip's faithful thoughts followed him.