The afternoon is now far spent and the hum of many voices is somewhat subdued. The band strikes up a sort of wedding-march. The groom, attired in plum-colored silk p'anoong and a neatly-fitting white muslin jacket, rises, and, leaving the group, attended by his young friends, dressed in the same style, bare-legged and bare-headed, walks toward the neighboring house of the American missionary. At a respectful distance follow some of the matrons, aged women and maidens. Amid them, like a gay butterfly, dressed in a red and yellow silk waist-*cloth, a brilliant green silk, tight-fitting jacket and a fire-colored silk scarf thrown gracefully over her shoulders, walks the young bride—no shoes or stockings, no hat nor veil to hide her pretty blushes. The guests all go up through the veranda into the house, where they are welcomed by the missionary. Chairs are offered, but many prefer to crouch on the floor, as they have never been elevated above it in all their lives. The Christian marriage that follows is a novel episode to many present. At a Siamese wedding the Buddhist priests come to the house and chant prayers for the benefit of the young couple. The parents of the bride and bridegroom and all the guests vie with each other in their attention to these priests, who receive gifts also. The young couple are copiously bathed with holy water, poured by the elders first on
