nity to meet
the minister (Epis.) and have a nice, long chat about religion, while
the best man (Atheist) talks to the eighty-three year old sexton who
buried the bride's grandpa and grandma and has knowed little Miss
Dorothy come twenty years next Michaelmas. The best man's offer of
twenty-five dollars, if the sexton will at once bury the maid of honor,
is generally refused as a matter of courtesy.

THE BRIDAL DINNER

In the evening, the parents of the bride give the bridal dinner, to
which all the relatives and close friends of the family are invited.
Toasts are drunk in orange juice and rare old Virginia Dare wine, and
much good-natured fun is indulged in by all. Speeches are usually made
by the bride and groom, their parents, the best man, the maid of honor,
the minister and Aunt Harriet.

Just a word about the speeches at a bridal dinner. Terrible!

A CHURCH WEDDING

On the day of the wedding the ushers should arrange to be at the church
an hour or so in advance of the time set for the ceremony. They should
be dressed in cutaways, with ties, gloves and gardenias provided by the
groom.

It is the duty of the best man to dress the bridegroom for the wedding.
As you enter his room you see, lying half-dressed on the bed, a pale,
wan, emaciated creature, who is staring fixedly at the ceiling. It is
the happy bridegroom. His lips open. He speaks feebly. "What time is
it?" he says. You reply, "Two-thirty, old man. Time to start getting
dressed." "Oh, my God!" says the groom. Ten minutes pass. "What time is
it?" says the groom. "Twenty of three," you reply. "Here's your shirt."
"Oh, my God!" says the groom.

He takes the shirt and tries to put it on. You help him. "Better have a
little Scotch, old man," you say. "What time is it?" he replies. "Five
of three," you say. "Oh, my God!" says the groom.

At three-thirty you and he are dressed in cutaways and promptly at
three-forty-two you arrive at the church. You are ushered into a little
side room where it is your duty to sit with the corpse for the few
brief hours which elapse between three-forty-five and four o'clock.
Occasionally he stirs and a faint spark of life seems to struggle in
his sunken eyes. His lips move feebly. You bend over to catch his
dying words. "Have--you--got--the ring?" he whispers. "Yes," you reply.
"Everything's fine. You look great, too, old man." The sound of the
organ reaches your ears. The groom groans. "Have you got the ring?" he
s