It is the triumph of the two sexes. They are allowed to
be the handsomest couple ever married in that church. What an elegant
man, what a lovely woman, what a splendid bride! they seem made for
each other! how happy they both are, eyes can't show--words can't
express it; they are the admiration of all.
If it is in England, they have two courses of pleasure before them--to
retire to a country-house or to travel. The latter is a great bore, it
exposes people, it is very annoying to be stared at. Solitude is the
thing. They are all the world to each other, what do they desire
beyond it--what more can they ask? They are quite happy. How long does
it last? for they have no resources beyond excitement. Why, it lasts
till the first juicy day comes, and that comes soon in England, and
the bridegroom don't get up and look out of the window, on the cloudy
sky, the falling rain, and the inundated meadows, and think to
himself, "Well, this is too much bush, ain't it? I wonder what de
Courcy and de Lacy and de Devilcourt are about to-day?" and then turn
round with a yawn that nearly dislocates his jaw. Not a bit of it. He
is the most happy man in England, and his wife is an angel, and he
don't throw himself down on a sofa and wish they were back in town. It
ain't natural he should; and she don't say, "Charles, you look dull,
dear," nor he reply, "Well, to tell you the truth, it is devilish dull
here, that's a fact," nor she say, "Why, you are very complimentary,"
nor he rejoin, "No, I don't mean it as a compliment, but to state it
as a fact, what that Yankee, what is his name? Sam Slick, or Jim Crow,
or Uncle Tom, or somebody or another calls an established fact!" Her
eyes don't fill with tears at that, nor does she retire to her room
and pout and have a good cry; why should she? she is so happy, and
when the honied honeymoon is over, they will return to town, and all
will be sunshine once more.
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