Nestleton Magna: A Story of Yorkshire MethodismWray, J. Jackson (James Jackson)
General
Nestleton Magna: A Story of Yorkshire Methodism
Wray, J. Jackson (James Jackson)
Methodist Church (Great Britain) -- Fiction; Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
choice of a Church were at stake, so he pulled himself together, and
planted his feet firmly en the ground, as though he was about to quote
Sir Walter Scott,--
“Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I!”
“Mr. Chairman!” A roar of laughter and rappings that made the glasses
dance a fandango, greeted this _lapsus linguæ_, but he was now equal
to the occasion,--
“That is the word I should have used if ‘my foot had been on my native
heath,’ as it is I must forego the familiar formula, and at once
address myself to the attractive task before me. There can be but one
opinion as to the peculiar charm which the bridesmaids have lent to
the happy proceedings of the day. Their winning beauty, the magic
influence, shall I say, the grace,----”
“Yes, Grace Houston!” said a waggish guest, who had noted the
speaker’s marked devotion to that more than comely damsel: whereupon
our tyro blushed like a boy, and almost lost his equilibrium, while
Grace herself found something amiss with the rose on her bosom, which
required close attention to secure its proper re-adjustment.
“I recommend the young gentlemen here present,” continued he, “to ‘use
well the present moment,’ for not only may they go further and fare
worse, but they may go anywhere and not fare so well. I hope that this
bevy of fair damsels may speedily follow in the steps of the bride,
and have the promise of as fair a future.”
Of course, “all went merry as a marriage bell,” until at last the
carriage rolled up to the door, and the bridal pair departed amid
cheers, and tears, and blessings, to spend the honeymoon at
Scarborough, in which delightful resort of health and pleasure I will
leave them awhile, and proceed to chronicle the subsequent doings of
Nestleton in its holiday attire.
The entire village, together with its numerous visitors, had
immigrated bodily to Waverdale Park. A bountiful feast was spread for
all comers, an ox had been roasted whole for their delectation, and a
boundless supply of other comestibles had been provided by the squire
and his son, to an extent that defied the heavy run upon them to
exhaust. I am bound to say that there was also a sufficient supply of
foaming ale, for beneficent teetotalism had not yet penetrated those
rural regions, and Good Templary had not been even dreamed of by the
most determined and sanguine votary of anti-Bacchus. Of course, there
were more speeches, in the course of which the squire himself proposed
the health of Old Adam Olliver. The old hedger received an ovation
such as might well have turned the heads of less humble men. For a
moment or two the old man was in danger of being mounted, chair and
all, upon the shoulders of his fellow-villagers, and carried in
triumph round the park. They contented themselves, however, by calling
for a speech.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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