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 598 has read it, let him send a well-expressed and becoming letter of thanks to the writer of these lines, for their having indicated a new pleasure.

The “Golden and Silver Weddings” are foreign inventions. Perhaps their meaning is more thoroughly understood in England than many smart persons imagine—perhaps the observances themselves, divested of the foreign ceremonial, are not neglected in happy old homes. But the folks who have heart for such things do not advertise their happiness, and in these days, unless a festival forms the subject of a penny-a-lining paragraph, it is not taken into account by many observers of national peculiarities. I do not think that an English husband and wife who, having shared the sorrows and joys of half-a-century, and with eyes a little dimmed by years, and a little by the overflowing of affectionate hearts, should revert to the memory of their bridal day, and with thankfulness, and some mingling of smiles and tears, should try to recall its incidents, amid a circle of loving children and grandchildren, would much care to read in the suburban journal that infests their neighbourhood a paragraph like this:

“.—Yesterday we had the distinguished pleasure of witnessing, or ‘assisting at,’ as our lively neighbours on the other side of the Channel would say, one of those interesting festivities which, in the words of the immortal bard of Avon, ‘cause our youth to be renewed like the eagle.’ The locus in quo, if the ladies will forgive us for quoting from a classical author, was the delightful residence of Methusaleh Parr, Esquire, and known as Harmony Lodge, Wandsworth. The occasion was the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of his wedding with the amiable and accomplished lady who has been his partner during the moiety of a century. The gardens of the lodge were tastefully decorated with garlands, and other ornaments, from the world-famous establishment of Messrs. Flaunter and Gingle, and under a spacious tent, erected expressly by Mr. Paull, was laid out a handsome collation, at which, sooth to say, the ‘troops of friends’ who assembled were nothing loath to put in an early appearance, and to refresh the inner man with the delicacies so hospitably provided. When enjoyment had waited on appetite, and, let us hope, health on both, an old friend of the family, a gentleman resident not a hundred miles from Araminta Road, Bermondsey, rose to propose the toast of the day, it is needless for us to add, the United Healths of Mr. and Mrs. Parr. The orator’s speech was all that could possibly be desired, and if its touching pathos occasionally brought tears into the bright eyes of many a fair listener, melancholy was speedily dissipated by the sparkling wit with which the speaker relieved his discourse. The toast was honoured with the most heartfelt enthusiasm. Mr. Parr, in returning thanks, was much affected, &c. &c.”

No, a real Golden Wedding is held without the aid of our friend with the fluent pen. May many and many such a wedding, and en attendant (as he would write) many and many a Silver one be celebrated by those who are now contributing interesting paragraphs to the first column of the “Times.” And if they have chosen well, and time is kind to them, there is no reason why the brides and bridegrooms of this our November should not join affectionate hands in November, 1886, and even November, l9l1, and on every day in the meantime.

But as it is the fashion of the day to use imitations in lieu of realities, as Mr. is accepted as a divine, and Mr. as a poet, and Mr. as a critic, and Lord as a statesman (it is of no use to count these stars, I don’t mean anybody in particular, and I hope I am too great a Sham myself to wish to give offence), and as we have false shirt fronts and paper collars, and as we dye our wigs, and smile on everybody whom we detest, and pretend to feel genial at Christmas, and call on friends when we know they are out, and cordially thank bores for sending us their bad books, and rave about the opera which we would give a guinea not to go to, and manœuvre for cards entitling us to be crushed on the third step from the hall when Mrs. St. Bullion is At Home, and send sovereigns to charities whose secretary has the sense to be very careful in advertising his receipts, and offer mugs and medals to Volunteer shots, now that the shooting is so capitally reported, and stay in London when we would rather go to the sea, and go to Brighton when we would rather stay in London, and deliver lectures when we have nothing to say, and applaud lectures when the teacher has nothing to teach, and rejoice when Biggings, whom we hate, comes into a legacy, which we expected, and do all the rest of the wise and sincere things which wise and sincere cynics (like myself) think it caustic and clever to enumerate,—I say, if we do all this, why should we not borrow the Golden Wedding notion, but adapt it to the tone of the society that comports itself as above depicted? It would only be adding another sham to a very long list, and I think the addition might be rather a pleasant one.

Silver and gold have we none, but we may go in for Electrotype. Joseph Surface has epigrammatised upon the value of “sentimental French plate,” and Joseph was a wise man, though Sheridan, who was a witty man, thought it necessary, for theatrical purposes, to make him exhibit himself, in the hour of trial, as such an ass as the real Mr. Surface never would have proved. Let us avail ourselves of his hint, I say, and electrotype the interesting ceremonial so charmingly described by Miss Bremer. Who will come with me to an Electrotype Wedding? I can take you, but you must dress yourself very nicely. No studs? Ah, but you must get some beautiful studs, or I cannot think of introducing you, and those sleeve links are very paltry. Here is the Burlington Arcade, and here are five shillings for you. A gentleman must wear jewellery; how else is he to be distinguished from the lower orders?

Just in time, I declare. Lunch at three, that noble-looking butler said. Butler, my dear boy, he is as much our friend Lacquerby Veneer’s butler, as you are, but be is very well got up, and wears a benevolent smile, specially invented for the day—generally he is austerely polite, while sober. Attention to trifles is sneered at by fools,