272 

KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

manifest in the whole machinery of public 
offices, the administration of justice, and 
last, not least, in the courts of law :—and the 
newest fruit of the “‘move on’ system is its 
adaptation to the slowest of all slow things 
that pretend to motionat all—the Court of 
Chancery itself. Everywhere, high and low, 
socially, morally, and politically, we see the 
continual workings of this system; and while 
all things else are active, let it be our duty to 
see well to it,—that WE _ intellectually, 
morally, and spiritually, “‘ MOVE oN !” 
egy Disa & Us 
“FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS.” 
WE RECENTLY GAVE a graphic sketch of 
a “ Fashionable Honeymoon.” Our con- 
temporary, ‘‘ Household Words,” has since 
glanced at a “ Fashionable Wedding.” It 
were a pity to separate so harmonious a pair 
of pictures, and so true to the life :— 
A wedding dress! all white satin, lace, and 
silver sprigs. Methinks I can see it now— 
glistening and sparkling in the August sun, 
and rustling and crumbling in the August 
air; as, at the close of the London season, its 
beautiful wearer descends that ugly narrow 
little staircase, which has been a ladder of 
delight to so many—a vza dolorosa to so many 
more, and which leads from the vestry-room 
of St. George’s, Hanover Square, into Mad- 
dox Street. 
The wearer of the satin dress comes down 
the shabby steps a wedded bride. She is 
married to “a lord.” “A duke” has given 
her away. Fourteen young bridesmaids in 
white have wept at the responses. Two have 
fainted; and one has been carried into the 
vestry to be sal-volatilised. 
A nervous clergyman has addressed the 
bride-expectant as ‘Thomas, wilt thou have 
this man to be thy wedded wife?” The 
bridegroom has been seized with ‘“ the usual” 
deadly perturbation, and offers to place the 
ring on the finger of the pew-opener; and the 
clerk, while gravely correcting the errors of 
all parties, has viewed the whole proceedings 
with an air of deep misanthropy. 
At last, somehow or other, the right man 
has married the right woman. ‘The pew- 
opener and beadle have been feed, and the 
verger remembered. The clergyman has 
had his rights and the clerk his dues. The 
licence has been conned over; the register 
has been signed—by the bridegroom in a 
character meant to be very valiant and 
decided, but in reality very timorous and in- 
distinct ; by the bride, with no pretence or 
compromise, but in a simply imbecile and 
hysterical manner. By the father of the 
bride in a neat hand; and by big General 
Gwallyor, of the Indian army (the additional 



witness), in a fierce military manner, with a 
dash at the end like an oath. 
The little boys too have shouted; and the 
wedding carriage, with its crimson-vested 
post-boys and spanking greys, has clattered 
up. The policemen have put down an ima- 
ginary riot; threatened with their batons the 
crowd generally; and menaced with arrest 
one individual lamp-post. And here, shining 
out like a star among the silver favors and 
orange flowers, the snowy dresses and black 
dress coats, the smiles and tears, comes the 
bride—God bless her! 
Is there a sight more beautiful under 
Heaven than a young bride coming out of 
church? Can we forget Sir John Suckling’s 
beautiful lines in his ballad upon a wedding? 
Her feet beneath her petticoat 
Like little mice stole in and out, 
As if they feared the light. 
And then she dances such a way, 
No sun upon an Kaster day - 
Is half so fine a sight. 
x * * % * 
Now, alas, my lord is at Florence, my lady 
is in furnished lodgings in London, and the 
bride’s dress is at Mrs. Brummus’s second- 
handshop. My lord (of course) hates my 
lady, and my lady (of course) hates my lord ; 
and (of course) they write abusive letters 
against each other to their mutual friends. 
The above forms one of the scenes which 
are of daily occurrence at St. George’s 
Church, Hanover Square, as most of us can 
attest. 
By the way, how often have we slipped in 
here to gaze upon the many cruel sacrifices 
at the altar of Mammon; and with what sad 
thoughts have we not been occupied as we 
passed out among the gaping crowd! 
To see the gay, scented, wnsuspecting* 
butterflies going to meet their wretched 
doom; and to ponder upon what must await 
them ere perhaps a single month has passed 
—is it not horrible? But then, “mamma has 
got her child off!” 
Fashionable life has much to answer for; 
but as all who move in it have hearts much 
harder than steel, it were silly for us to try 
and make any impression on them. 
* We say unsuspecting, because we believe 
there are some “innocent” girls among the 
victims, who really go up the steps of the 
altar like lambs to the slaughter. There is no 
doubt that “the majority’ are well tutored. A 
practised eye can see this at a glance. It is not 
for these we feel. Oh—no! ‘They can sob, or 
erin, as suiteth them best. Tears flow ad 
libitum; whilst the face is veneered with a smile 
at a given signal. ‘The “consequences”? of this 
deception are visible almost immediately after 
marriage. The lady gets a title; and a cold, 
callous husband. The gentleman gets a tricked- 
out doll—to play with or illuse, as the case may 
be. ‘‘ Affection’’ is a word unknown t0 either. 


