I soon perceived that it was a marriage-festival. The procession
was led by a long orang-outang of a man, in a straw hat and white dimity
bobcoat, playing on an asthmatic clarionet, from which he contrived to
blow unearthly sounds, ever and anon squeaking off at right angles from
his tune, and winding up with a grand flourish on the guttural notes.
Behind him, led by his little boy, came the blind fiddler, his honest
features glowing with all the hilarity of a rustic bridal, and, as he
stumbled along, sawing away upon his fiddle till he made all crack again.
Then came the happy bridegroom, drest in his Sunday suit of blue, with a
large nosegay in his button-hole; and close beside him his blushing bride,
with downcast eyes, clad in a white robe and slippers, and wearing a
wreath of white roses in her hair. The friends and relatives brought up
the procession; and a troop of village urchins came shouting along in the
rear, scrambling among themselves for the largess of sous and sugar-plums
that now and then issued in large handfuls from the pockets of a lean man
in black, who seemed to officiate as master of ceremonies on the occasion.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147