sparkling cider were broached on the grass; and plenty of
substantial fare kept the knives and forks clattering under the marquees
by the hedgerow. The rude and hospitable feudalism of old times had not
died out yet; marriage being an honourable estate, the bride and
bridegroom did not steal away in a travelling carriage, trying to pass
for something else, to unknown regions, but remained courageously upon
the premises, the central figures of a genial gala.

Need I describe the wedding? It always seems to me that I saw it, and
see it still, I've heard the old folk talk it over so often. The
reader's fancy will take that business off my hands. 'What's a play
without a marriage? and what is a marriage if one sees nothing of it?'
says Sir Roger in Gay's tragi-comic pastoral. 'Let him have his humour,
but set the doors wide open, that we may see how all goes on.'

(_Sir Roger at the door, pointing_.)

'So natural! d'ye see now, neighbours? The ring, i'faith. To have and to
hold! Right again; well play'd, doctor; well play'd, son _Thomas_. Come,
come, I'm satisfied. Now for the fiddles and dances.'

And so are we--now, then, for the fiddles and dances! And let those who
love to foot it keep it up--after sack-posset and stocking thrown--till
two o'clock i' the morning; and the elder folk, and such as are 'happy
thinking,' get home betimes; and smiling still, get to their beds; and
with hearty laughter--as it were mellowed by distance--still in their
ears, and the cheery scrape of the fiddle, all pervading, still humming
on; and the pleasant scuffle of light feet, and with kindly ancient
faces, and blushing young ones all round in airy portraiture; grinning,
roguish, faithful, fuddled old servants, beflowered and liveried,
pronouncing benedictions at the foot of the stairs, and pocketing their
vails; and buxom maids in their best Sunday finery, giggling and
staring, with eyes starting out of their heads, at the capering
'quality,', through the half-open doors; let us try to remember the
'sentiment' delivered by that ridiculous dog, Tom Toole, after supper,
at which we all laughed so heartily. And, ah! there were some pretty
faces that ought to have been there--faces that were pleasant to see,
but that won't smile or blush any more; and I missed them, though I said
nothing. And so, altogether, it went down among my pleasant
recollections, and I think will always remain so, for it was all kindly,
and had its root in the heart