Oh, honeymooners, do you remember the little creeper-covered cottage to which You and She planned to fly immediately after the Voice had breathed o’er Eden? It was millions of miles from home, that little rose-colored paradise, and there wasn’t to be any telephone, and letters were not to be forwarded, and mother couldn’t annoy you, and you were going to pick heartsease in the garden,--and then you found you couldn’t afford it, and so you settled in a suburban villa in solitary exile. [Illustration] ALONE, AT LAST The moment in the honeymoon, which is pictured below, is technically known as the _enfin seuls_. The parents have been banished, the best man is still in wine; the bridemaids are at the photographer’s, the footmen have gone to chase up the entrée, and the lovers are at last alone with their J-HOY. What a blissful moment! Six months later a moment like this is a bit of a bore. Any third person then, even a dun from the tailor, would be welcome, for love, alas, is like caviare; a little indigestible--unless consumed in very small portions. [Illustration] WATER, WATER, EVERYWHERE The yachting honeymoon is always a mistake. If anybody offers you a yacht for your honeymoon don’t accept it. The trouble with the ocean, for social purposes, is that it has no kind of taxi service. Take the case of Mr. and Mrs. Boodle-Beauty, who would have died of loneliness if it hadn’t been for bridge. Fortunately, a cook and a sailor knew their way about the card deck. Hearts would come into the bridegroom’s hand, but, with the bride, everything was diamonds. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE EXPRESS TO EDEN Showing the bride and groom at the station just before the departure of the Eden express. Note the almost amorous gentleness with which the sentimental porters are caring for the slippered luggage. Good luck to you, happy newlyweds, before you pass into the Beatific Blue! Good luck, and here’s hoping that the train is a limited express, with no “stop-overs” in Nevada. AMOUR DE VOYAGE Of course, _most_ honeymoons take place at hotels. Such wonderful food, and such dim, religious corners in the corridors. And it makes letters home so ridiculously easy. “Dear Mamma, and all: Arthur and I arrived last night. So, so happy. We are very comfortable. Arthur tries to be very cruel, but, so far, I have had no trouble in sitting on him.” [Illustration] The Poets That Bloom in the Spring _A Popular New Pastime in Smart Society--the Matinée Poétique_