If there were no weddings, there would be no art of entertaining. It is the key-note, the initial letter, the "open sesame," of the great business of society. Therefore certain general and very, perhaps, unnecessary hints as to the conduct of weddings in all countries may not be out of place here.

In London a wedding in high life—or, as the French call it, "higlif"—is a very sweeping affair. If we were to read the descriptions in the "Court Journal" of one wedding trousseau alone, furnished to a royal princess, or to Lady Gertrude Somebody, we should say with Fielding that "dress is the principal accomplishment of men and women." As for the wedding-cake which is built at Gunter's, it is a sight to see,—almost as big as Mont Blanc.

The importance of Gunter is assured by the "Epicure's Almanac," published in 1815; and for many years this firm supplied the royal family. When George III. was king, the royal dukes stopped to eat Gunter's pies, in gratitude for the sweet repasts furnished them in childhood; but now the Buzzards, of 197 Oxford Street, also are specialists in wedding-cakes.

Leigh Hunt, in one of his essays, described one Trumbull Walker as "the artist who confined himself to that denomination," meaning wedding-cake. His mantle fell on the Buzzards.

This enormous cake, and the equally enormous bouquet are the chief distinctive marks in which a London wedding differs from ours. To be legal, unless by special license, weddings in England must be celebrated before twelve o'clock. The reason given for this law is that before 1820 gentlemen were supposed to be drunk after that hour, and not responsible for what they promised at the altar.

In France, a singular difference of dress on the part of the groom exists. He always wears a dress-coat and white cravat, as do all his ushers and immediate friends. It looks very strange to English and American eyes.

How does a wedding begin? As for the premonitory symptoms, they are in the air for several weeks. It is whispered about amongst the bridesmaids; it gets into the papers. It would be easy to write a volume, and it would be a useful volume if it brought conviction to the hearts of the offenders, of the wrong done to young ladies by the newspapers who assume, without authority, to publish the news of an engagement. Many a match has been broken off by such a premature surmise, and the happiness of one or more persons injured for life.

Young people like to approach this most important event of their lives in a mutual confidence and secrecy; consequently society newspapers should be very careful how they either report an engagement, or declare that it is off. Sometimes rumors prejudicial to the gentleman are circulated without sufficient reason, and of course much ill-feeling is engendered.

The first intimation of an engagement should come from the bride's mother, and the young bride fixes the day of her wedding herself. Then the father and mother, or guardians, of the young lady issue cards, naming the day and hour of the wedding.

Brides often give the attendant maidens their dresses; or if they do not choose to do this, they suggest what they shall wear.

Six ushers generally precede the party into the church, after having seated the guests. These are generally followed by six bridesmaids, who walk two and two. No one wears a veil but the bride herself, who enters on her father's arm. Widows who marry again must not wear white, or veils. The fact that the bride is in white satin, and often with low neck and short sleeves, and the groom in full morning costume, is much criticised in France.

If the wedding occurs in the evening, the groom must wear a dress-coat and white tie.

The invitations to the wedding are very simple and explicit:—

In asking a young lady to be her bridesmaid, the bride is supposed to be prompted by claims of relationship or friendship, although fashion and wealth and other considerations often influence these invitations. As for the ushers, they must be unmarried men, and are expected to manage all matters at the church.

Music should play softly during the entrance of the family, before the service. The mother of the bride, and her nearest relatives, precede her into the church, and are seated before she enters, unless the mother be a widow and gives the bride away. The ceremony should be conducted with great dignity and composure on all sides; for exhibitions of feeling in public are in the worst possible taste. At the reception, the bride's mother yields her place as hostess for the nonce, and is addressed after the bride.

After two hours of receiving her friends, the young wife goes upstairs to put on her dress for the journey, which may be of any colour but black. Perhaps this is the time for a few tears, as she kisses mamma good-by. She comes down, with her mother and sisters, meets the groom in the hall, and dispenses the flowers of her bouquet to the smiling maidens, each of whom struggles for a flower.

The parents of the bride send announcement cards to persons not invited to the wedding.

Dinners to the young pair succeed each other in rapid succession. For the first three months the art of entertaining is stretched to its uttermost.

A widow, in marrying again, should not use the name or initials of her late husband. If she was Mary Steward, and had married Mr. Hamilton, and being his widow, wishes to marry James Constable, her cards should read:

If she is alone, she can invite in her own name as Mrs. Mary Steward Hamilton; or better still, a friend sends out the cards in her own name, with simply the cards of Mrs. Mary Steward Hamilton, and of the gentleman whom she is to marry.

The custom of giving bridal presents has grown into an outrageous abuse of a good thing. There has grown up a rivalry between families; and the publicity of the whole thing, its notoriety and extravagance, ought to be well rebuked.

At the wedding refreshment-table, the bride sometimes cuts the cake and allows the young people to search for a ring, but this is rather bad for the gloves.

At a country wedding, if the day is fine, little tables are set out on the lawn. The ladies seat themselves, the gentlemen carry refreshments to them. The piazzas can be decorated with autumn boughs, evergreens, and flowers; the whole thing becomes a garden-party, and even the family dogs should have a wreath of white flowers around their necks.

Much ill feeling is apt to be engendered by the distinction which is inevitably made in leaving out the friends who feel that they were entitled to an invitation to the house. It is better to offend no one on so important an occasion.

Wedding-cards and wedding stationery should be simple, white without glaze, and with no attempt at ornamentation.

It is proper for the bride to have her left hand bare as she walks to the altar, as it saves her the trouble of taking off a long glove.

Child bridesmaids are very pretty and very much in favour. These charming children, covered with flowers and looking very grave and solemn, are the sweetest of heralds for a wedding procession.

There is not, however, much difficulty except when Protestant marries Catholic. Such a marriage cannot be celebrated at the High Altar; it leads to a house wedding which is in the minds of many much more agreeable, as saving the bride the journey to church. In this matter, one of individual preference of course, the large and liberal American mind can have a very wide choice.

In France the couple must go to the Mairie, where an official in a tricolour scarf, looking like Marat, marries them. This is especially the case if husband or wife is a divorced person, the Catholic church refusing to marry such. It is a curious fact, that in Catholic Italy a civil marriage is the only legal marriage; therefore good Catholics are all married twice. A mixed marriage in Catholic countries is very difficult; but in our country, alas! the wedding knot can be untied as easily as it is tied.

"This train waits twenty minutes for divorces" is a joke founded on fact.

"What do divorcÉes do with their wedding presents?" has been a favourite conundrum of late, especially with those sent by the friends of the husband.

If an evening wedding takes place in a church those who are asked to the house afterwards should go without bonnets. Catholic ladies, however, must always cover their heads in church; so they throw a light lace or mantilla over the head.

It is not often that the bride dances at her own wedding, but there is no reason why she should not.

"'Tis custom that makes cowards of us all." One brave girl was married on a Saturday in May, thus violating all the old saws and superstitions. She has been happy ever afterwards. Marriages in May used to be said to lead to poverty. It is the month of Mary, the Virgin, therefore Catholics object.

One still braver bride chose Friday; this is hangman's day, and also the day of the crucifixion, therefore considered unlucky by the larger portion of the human race.

However, marriage is lucky or unlucky as the blind goddess pleases; no foresight of ours can make it a certainty. Sometimes two very doubtful characters make each other better, and live happily; again two very fine characters but help to sublimate each other's misery. Perhaps no more hopeless picture of this failure was ever painted than the misery of Caroline and Robert Elsmere, in that masterly novel which led you nowhere.

There is a capital description of a French bourgeoise wedding in one of Daudet's novels:—

"The least details of this important day were forever engraved on Risler's mind.

"He saw himself at daybreak pacing his bachelor chamber, already shaved and dressed, with two pairs of white gloves in his pocket. Then came the gala carriages, and in the first one, the one with white horses, white reins, and a lining of yellow satin, his bride's veil floated like a cloud.

"Then the entrance to the church, two by two, with this white cloud always at their head, floating, light, gleaming; the organ, the verger, the sermon of the curÉ, the tapers twinkling like jewels, the spring toilets, and all the world in the sacristie—the little white cloud lost, engulfed, surrounded, embraced, while the groom shook hands with the representatives of the great Parisian firms assembled in his honour; and the grand swell of the organ at the end, more solemn because the doors of the church were wide open so that the whole quarter took part in the family ceremony; the noises of the street as the cortÈge passed out, the exclamations of the lookers-on,—a burnisher in a lustring apron crying aloud, 'The groom is not handsome, but the bride is stunning,'—all this is what makes one proud when he is a bridegroom.

"Then the breakfast at the works, in a room ornamented with hangings and flowers; the stroll in the Bois, a concession to the bride's mother, Madame ChÈbe, who in her position as a Parisian bourgeoise would not have considered her daughter married without the round of the lake and a visit to the cascade; then the return for dinner just as the lights were appearing on the Boulevard, where every one turned to see the wedding party, a true, well-appointed party, as it passed in a procession of liveried carriages to the very steps of the CafÉ Vefour.

"It was all like a dream.

"Now, dulled by fatigue and happiness, the worthy Risler looked dreamily at the great table of twenty-five covers, with a horseshoe at each end. Around it were well-known, smiling faces in whose eyes he seemed to see his own happiness reflected. Little waves of conversation from the different groups drifted across the table; faces were turned toward one another. You could see here the white cuffs of a black suit behind a basket of asclepias, here the laughing face of a girl above a dish of confections. The faces of the guests were half hidden behind the flowers and the dessert; all around the board were gayety, light, and colour.

"Yes, Risler was happy.

"Aside from his brother Franz, all whom he loved were there. First and foremost, facing him, was Sidonie,—yesterday the little Sidonie, to-day his wife. She had laid aside her veil for dinner, she had emerged from the white cloud.

"Now in her silken gown, white and simple, her charming face seemed more clear and sweet under the carefully arranged bridal wreath.

"By the side of Risler sat Madame ChÈbe, the mother of the bride, who shone and glistened in a dress of green satin gleaming like a shield. Since morning all the thoughts of the good woman had been as brilliant as her robe. Every moment she had said to herself, 'My daughter is marrying Fremont and Risler,'—because in her mind it was not Risler whom her daughter married, but the whole establishment.

"All at once came that little movement among the guests that announces their leaving the table,—the rustle of silks, the noise of chairs, the last words of talk, laughter broken off. Then they all passed into the grand salon, where those invited were arriving in crowds, and, while the orchestra tuned their instruments, the men with glass in eye paraded before the young girls all dressed in white and impatient to begin."