A QUAKER WEDDING.
Arenowned foreigner characterized Philadelphia as a “city of magnificent sameness.” Possibly this is true of the older portions of the town, and surely there is little in the exterior of the compactly built houses on upper Arch Street to distinguish the dwelling of the Twelfth Street Friend from that of a more worldly citizen.
On a certain morning in October, the same atmosphere of seclusion surrounded the whole block between Sixteenth and Seventeenth streets. No possible hint came forth from No. — that within its red brick walls, outlined withthe cold precision of white marble sills and doorsteps and guarded by heavy shutters, there was about to be consummated a tender little drama. The narrow door, with its painted icy glare and glistening knob, opened at short intervals to admit tall figures in long coats, cut with straight collars, and beaver hats in gray or black, whose broad brims shadowed smooth-shaven, manly faces. Trim little maidens too, and their quaint feminine relatives, waited demurely on the spotless step, for the opening touch of a dark-skinned hand within.
It rarely happened that a newcomer entered without a pleasant greeting to the elderly colored woman: “How is thee to-day, Hannah?” or, “I am glad to find thee has conquered thy rheumatism”; which brought a low-voicedanswer: “Thank thee; will thee go up to the second story, or can I send thy bonnet?” This to the elder women, while the sweet young damsels, in a happy subdued flutter, have turned to the guest chamber to smooth their silken raiment, or possibly to venture so far toward personal adornment as the fastening of a few white buds over the dainty corsage. There was a little murmur of soft voices: the expression of joy that Cassy and George had been blessed with such a beautiful wedding day; the hope that Mary Anna Landers would be able to reach there in time for the ceremony. “She always speaks so acceptably to the young.” One told of a certain aged Friend in deep affliction and the message that she bore from the dying bed to the gentle bride whose helpfulhands had so often soothed the pain away. And thus, in groups, the guests descended to the parlor, the straight long room where a strong light from tall windows in front and rear was modified by means of drab Venetian blinds. Between these windows hung, on one hand, a modest engraving of William Penn, and upon the opposite wall that of Elizabeth Fry. Both were framed in dark-colored wood, and the benign expression of the gifted man, and the wealth of dignity in the face of the celebrated philanthropist charmed in spite of their austere surroundings. Upon a marble mantel, under a glass shade, rested a clock, as white and cold as the slab beneath; a small basket of delicate ferns, as if half ashamed of their vivid green, retired behind the solemn mouth of a tallundecorated silver candlestick. The room was well-nigh filled with chairs placed in regular order, and two hair-cloth sofas whose broad seats accommodated the elders of the meeting. Directly below the picture of the venerable Penn were the places designed for George and Cassy, straight-backed old oaken chairs, that would be a delight to the antiquarian of to-day, and near the right wall stood a small table upon which rested a roll of parchment, a pen, and a substantial ink-well.
One of the windows was open, and the fresh sweet air came in laden with the noises of the street: the rumble of the carts, the click of hoofs upon the sharp stone pavements, the distant cries of venders, and the whistle of the locomotive. The lightbreeze stirred the cap borders and the kerchiefs of the placid women, who lifted their soft hands to rearrange the muslin with the same instinct that prompts the care of curl and ornament in their fashionable sisters. The parchment fluttered to the ground, and in replacing it there was exposed to view a page of exquisite penmanship, the great letters in ornate Old English hardly belonging to Quaker simplicity.
Meanwhile in the sitting room at the head of the first flight of stairs there was a sweet picture. This apartment was so entirely an emanation from the home life that the stiffness and coldness of the lower room was totally lacking. The very loud tick of the old-fashioned mahogany clock that stood in the corner had a sound of cheer. The little wood fire on the hearthgave out a welcome, and the half dozen rockers and lounging chairs in gray and brown dress held open arms. A big Maltese cat crouched by the rug, a few pencil sketches from the hand of a favorite nephew graced the wall, and a heavy bookcase gave evidence thro’ its glass door, of much substantial learning. There was a cluster of periodicals on a stand, the clear title of “The Friend” recalling their import; a stereo-scope with a tray of views, a basket of knitting work, and, hanging on the back of a peculiar easy-chair, the round pillow that betokens snatches of rest.
Cassy was standing by the east window. The broad beams of the morning sun were growing more direct, and fell with force over her delicate form. Her gown of silver gray enveloped her likemist, and chastened the rising color. As she turned toward the advancing figure of the bridegroom, her eyes suffused with tears. She held forth her hands and said tremblingly, “Dear George, how earnestly I pray that our Heavenly Father may ever guide me so that I walk aright, and fulfill toward thee all the requirements of this holy relation.” Tenderly he kissed her as he replied, “My soul is assured that thee never would have been drawn so close to me were it not the will of the Divine Master:” and presently when John and Martha entered they pressed the daughter to their hearts and breathed upon the stalwart young man a blessing, so full of emotion that the patience of awaiting Friends was quite forgotten. Then the tall monitor on the corner, that hadmarked the hour of Cassy’s birth, gave warning of another epoch in her life.
The company was seated as the little party entered the parlor. George and Cassy advanced to the chairs assigned them, John and Martha next their daughter, and the parents of George occupied a similar position on the other side. There were a few minutes of absolute silence, then the younger pair arose, joined hands, and in a clear unbroken voice the bridegroom spoke these words:
“In the presence of the Lord and this assembly, I, George Evans take Cassy Wilson to be my wife, promising with Divine assistance to be unto her a faithful and loving husband until death shall separate us;” and after an instant’s pause, the bride, with a far-away look in her sweet eyes,calmly repeated the same tender promise. Then they sat down again, and presently a white-haired man, with so great revelation of power in his face that it might almost have been called conscious strength, appeared in supplication before the throne of grace. He asked that the twain now made one might become nearer and dearer to each other as time went on, and that in fulfillment of the claims of the spirit, they might ever be ready to respond to the call of the Bridegroom who cometh while it is yet night. For some moments after the prayer had ended the company remained with bowed heads, and the stillness was but gently broken by the movement of another honored Friend, who came forward as a member of the committee appointed by the monthly meeting,to be present at the marriage and report that all proceedings had taken place in strict accordance with the rules of the society. He now read aloud the certificate, heretofore lying on the table, testifying to such regularity, and advancing to the bridal pair requested them to affix their signatures. The pen was then passed to the parents, and as each person present gave hands to the happy George and Cassy, the same favor was extended. During the conclusion of this ceremony, Cassy’s color had brightened with the congratulations and gentle admonitions of these so dear to her, and before it was finished the little buzz of friendly interest had wreathed the placid face in smiles, and dried the tears that were almost too ready to start to the eyes of the tender mother. No one was forgotten;even the faithful Hannah and the Cassius of long service added their irregular strokes to the certificate, and Cassy caught up on her arm the three-year-old guest, and guided his playful fingers over the smooth page.
There was a quiet intimation that a collation was spread in an adjoining apartment, and the thrifty folk, who scorn the embellishments but not the substantials of life, did ample justice to the bounteous repast, daintily served from the finest of linen, the clearest of glasses, and the frailest of china. There was no spoken word of thanksgiving, only a pause wherein their hearts might acknowledge the mercies of the Giver of all Good. There was no haste, no indecorous indulgence in the temptations of the table, but a cheerful, happytone pervaded the company who regarded marriage not as the absorption of one life by another, but as a true union of strong souls for the furtherance of God’s holy purpose.
As each guest departed, he or she was freighted with a package of wedding cake for some friend or servant: “Maria, will thee kindly give this to Eldridge Percy? We all feel to regret his absence, and trust that he may be spared to meet with us once again.” “Philip, thee knows how dear our Cassy was to Hagar the summer we spent at your home: thee will not mind carrying her a bit of cake?”
And when at length the hour of parting came, there was no long line of merrymakers to hurl slippers and showers of rice after the retreating carriage, but therewere last words spoken that dwelt in the hearts of the earnest young husband and wife, and the injunction of the father was a simple admonition to “search ever for the light that is revealed in the soul”; and the loving children heard his brave voice reply to the neighbor that regretted the distance that must henceforth separate them: “I can safely trust my son and daughter in the hands of the Lord, wheresoever he may lead them.”