1875
—David of Hartford—

61

Bartlett, and I, retired to a room that had formerly been the study of the ancestral ministeral Kellogg, and there for form's sake and to do the affair on hand, justice in their eyes, took a glass of wine, and Messrs. Yeh and Yung, Wing, having hospited over a bottle or two, before

Wing was exceedingly anxious, and would not move more than the customary found notice about it in the paper, and sent word around that our Halford press had effect, and did it with the time, which established the following.

## The Yung Wing-Kellogg Wedding.

Mr. Yung Wing, of Canton, China, chief of the Chinese commission now in this city, was married yesterday to Miss Mary L. Kellogg. The ceremony took place at the residence of the bride's father, B. S. Kellogg, in Avon, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It was performed by the Rev. J. H. Twichell, of the Asylum Avenue Congregational church, the pastor and a very particular personal friend of the bridegroom.

The bride wore a dress of white crane, imported expressly for this occasion from China. It was elaborately trimmed with floss silk embroidery. The bride also wore the customary marriage veil, fastened by appropriate white blossoms. Her brother and sister attended as groomsman and bridesmaid, the latter being exquisitely dressed.

The house was very beautifully decorated and hung with garlands of evergreens and flowers. After the ceremony a fine collation was served, in which Chinese delicacies were mingled with more substantial dishes of American style.

Messrs. Yeh Shu Tung, manager, and Yung Yun Foo, teacher of the commission in this city, were present at the ceremony in national costume. Mr. Yung Wing, the groom, who has long since adopted our dress, appeared in full evening dress. He is a graduate of Yale College and a highly cultivated young man, enjoying the highest opinion of his countrymen, and the confidence of the emperor and state officials. The bridal presents were numerous and costly. A large number of the intimate friends and relatives of the newly wedded pair attended the ceremony, but no cards were issued. Mr. and Mrs. Wing left on the evening train for a short wedding tour, via New York.

Had

Bushnell looks as he has done for years; his face a little whiter perhaps, and his features chiseled out a little finer, but the old resolute and energetic movement is there, the emphasis which accompanies every motion, as well as every tone of the man. And although for want of voice he no longer preaches, yet in our meetings his tones are clear and strong and martial, and his thoughts as fresh and stirring as of old. The English criticises Bushnell's style as rude and lacking in fineness; but the true key to appreciate his style is to hear him talk. None can truly read him except they have heard him. There is one thing about him which I have never heard mentioned, the singular propriety of his dress. Never of fine or dainty fabrics, generally with a touch of roughness in them, they are so truly in keeping with him, in variety of color, for he shuns dead black, in adjustment to his age, and in such approach to the current style as at once to acknowledge and disallow it, that I often think, as I see him in his walks or in our meeting, There is the most admirably dressed man in Hartford.

Seven years ago our genial Dr. Burton was not much seen in our Monday morning gathering; his health was poor and his horse claimed a large share of his attention. But he is better now, and a doctor besides, and he is always there, and it is no little place that he holds in our hearts, or in the big talk which sometimes fills the morning of our meeting. He has changed somewhat during these seven years, but I think for the better and I hardly know where you will find a more notable presence than his. With a little change of attire, he would pass as a first-class general; I don't think we have in Hartford, among all the retired warriors, so martial a figure or face as his. And his organ voice matches the face and the form; and when he opens his mouth look out for good things. He does not always speak; he sometimes claims the right of silence; but the meeting is not complete

when he is not moved to utterance. Burton is a born poet. He never opens his mouth but out falls a trope. I think I have never known the man whose style is so brilliantly metaphorical; to say that it is full of figures does not express it; it is all figures. I know I am an enthusiast in my love and admiration; but I am writing from a larger point of view than my own, when I say that Burton's wealth of thought, and of feeling, and of fancy, and of sympathy, is a weekly

refreshment to us. He takes up more men into his personality than any soul I ever knew.

Mr. Parker, so well known at Boston, (and I was about to say Bridgeport, but will refrain) still retains his easy sway and his strong hold on our affections. In an easy, quiet fashion, as one who thinks aloud, he rambles on, always piquant, fresh and entertaining, always witty, often satisfactory, sometimes in a fine vein of spiritual feeling and genuine sentiment, and interestingly written.

Meanwhile it will be a healthy exercise just to force alternatives for a while. I cannot forget the confusion into which I saw a conceited young fellow thrown once, when he turned to an aged minister, and, as if challenging discussion, said, "I am told you believe in the inspiration of the whole. Ribleth—The whole, the whole, the whole." Then I said, "I am less dispute. Here is a man who frankly admits he has no faith in the Bible, no interest in breaking my confidence, only he wants me to hear him say all he can against it. I reply, "This dear old book comforted and sustained my father and mother; it solaces and refreshes me; it gives me an outlook beyond the grave. What have you to put in its place?" When he answers that he has nothing, and never said he had, and then coolly proposes to go all over the objections again—how long am I bound to be polite to him? How many minutes must I endure the impertinent questioner who wants to undermine my confidence in my wife's honor, or my Christian faith? It seems to me I have rather too much at stake to waste forbearance on such fruitless dispute.

proposed as to other matters. Here is a gospel who comes to my wife to suggest suspicions concerning her marriage certificate. He grows indignant because she will not hear both sides. How long are we bound to be decent to such impertinence? Here is a man who frankly admits he has no faith in the Bible, no interest in breaking my confidence, only he wants me to hear him say all he can against it. I reply, "This dear old book comforted and sustained my father and mother; it solaces and refreshes me; it gives me an outlook beyond the grave. What have you to put in its place?" When he answers that he has nothing, and never said he had, and then coolly proposes to go all over the objections again—how long am I bound to be polite to him? How many minutes must I endure the impertinent questioner who wants to undermine my confidence in my wife's honor, or my Christian faith? It seems to me I have rather too much at stake to waste forbearance on such fruitless dispute.

This piece was printed in the 'Contemn' and the 'Aphorism' 'Homer of the 'Sterns'.' and the 'Homer' 'Homer's Oldest' and 'Homer's Oldest' was rendered by me.