An actor who was married recently for the third time, and whose bride had been married once before, wrote across the bottom of the wedding invitations: "Be sure and come; this is no amateur performance."
A wealthy young woman from the west was recently wedded to a member of the nobility of England, and the ceremony occurred in the most fashionable of London churches—St. George's.
Among the guests was a cousin of the bride, as sturdy an American as can be imagined. He gave an interesting summary of the wedding when asked by a girl friend whether the marriage was a happy one.
"Happy? I should say it was," said the cousin. "The bride was happy, her mother was overjoyed, Lord Stickleigh, the groom, was in ecstasies, and his creditors, I understand, were in a state of absolute bliss."—Edwun Tarrisse.
The best man noticed that one of the wedding guests, a gloomy-looking young man, did not seem to be enjoying himself. He was wandering about as though he had lost his last friend. The best man took it upon himself to cheer him up.
"Er—have you kissed the bride?" he asked by way of introduction.
"Not lately," replied the gloomy one with a far-away expression.
The curate of a large and fashionable church was endeavoring to teach the significance of white to a Sunday-school class.
"Why," said he, "does a bride invariably desire to be clothed in white at her marriage?"
As no one answered, he explained. "White," said he, "stands for joy, and the wedding-day is the most joyous occasion of a woman's life."
A small boy queried, "Why do the men all wear black?"—M.J. Moor.
Lilly May came to her mistress. "Ah would like a week's vacation, Miss Annie," she said, in her soft negro accent; "Ah wants to be married."
Lillie had been a good girl, so her mistress gave her the week's vacation, a white dress, a veil and a plum-cake.
Promptly at the end of the week Lillie returned, radiant. "Oh, Miss Annie!" she exclaimed, "Ah was the mos' lovely bride! Ma dress was pcrfec', ma veil mos' lovely, the cake mos' good! An' oh, the dancin' an' the eatin'!"
"Well, Lillie, this sounds delightful," said her mistress, "but you have left out the point of your story—I hope you have a good husband."
Lillie's tone changed to indignation: "Now, Miss Annie, what yo' think? Tha' darn nigger nebber turn up!"
There is living in Illinois a solemn man who is often funny without meaning to be. At the time of his wedding, he lived in a town some distance from the home of the bride. The wedding was to be at her house. On the eventful day the solemn man started for the station, but on the way met the village grocer, who talked so entertainingly that the bridegroom missed his train.
Naturally he was in a "state." Something must be done, and done quickly. So he sent the following telegram:
Don't marry till I come.—HENRY.—Howard, Morse.
In all the wedding cake, hope is the sweetest of the plums.—Douglas Jerrold.