If the hard brow ever relaxes, it is at a wedding. The nature cold and unsympathetic thaws out under the glow, and the tears start as we hear the bride’s dress rustling down the stairs and the company stands back, and we hear in the timid “I will” of the twain, the sound of a lifetime’s hopes and joys and sorrows.
We look steadily at them, but thrice at her to once at him, and say, “God bless her, how well she looks!” We cry at weddings, but not bitter tears; for when the heart is stirred, and smiles are insipid, and the laughter is tame, the heart writes out its joy on the cheek in letters of crystal. Put on the ring! Let it ever be bright, and the round finger it encloses never be shrunken with sorrow.—TALMAGE.
