Presents, presents, nothing but presents,
of every kind and degree, from the solid silver tea-set of exquisitely
fluted pattern to the excruciatingly ugly bit of _bric-a-brac_ which
has captivated the undiscerning eye of some dear friend. After every
ring at the door-bell appears the maid with a fresh parcel wrapped in
snow-white paper fastened with a dainty ribbon, and on each occasion my
dear Josie's eyes sparkle more excitedly as she clutches it and frees
it from its caparisons. And ever and anon I am struck by the fact that
she is growing thin and pale. I mention it to Josephine, but she tells
me that girls always get peaked before their weddings, and that she
herself was thin as a rail at the time she married me. I get no
sympathy anywhere. My sole connection with the matter is that I am to
give the bride away.
I did so yesterday in the presence of our entire social acquaintance
and their dressmakers, most of whom I subsequently entertained at a
mid-day collation, where I shook hands with a vast array of young
people whom I did not know, and tried to keep up my spirits by asking
my old friends to take wine with me. It was after the third glass that
the spirit moved me to address my new son-in-law as "Jim." An hour
later I saw the young rascal carry off my Josie in a carriage with an
air as though he owned her, and I could have strangled him.
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