Walla Walla Statesman

The Newly Married Couple.

It is a common thing to see a young couple in a railroad car, sitting, as the poet says "wrapt in their mutual atmosphere," and regardless of the passengers. They are surrounded by a score of traveling bags, bundles, and valises. They have cake and cold chicken laid away in baskets, and fruit hidden in most of their many packages. Their clothes are new and fit them exquisitely. They are attentive to each others wants, point out attractive views in the hurrying panorama of the country through which the train is flying, smile at each other with a sort of benign satisfaction, and venture upon various innocent endearments in the face of the busy public which they have only been accustomed to indulge in when alone in a pleasant parlor, with the gas turned low and the old folks gone to bed. He slides his arm around her waist with the easy confidence of ownership, and she rests her head upon his shoulder with the charming affection of dependence. Everybody recognizes the bride and bridegroom on their wedding journey, and their fellow passengers watch them with amused interest. Some with a sneer think of the days to come when the honeymoon has drawn to a close and the mother in law drops in for her first long visit. Others dream of their own early years rebuilding to the sound of the rhythmical car wheels the pleasant visions which that time has left them, and memories of "light and life and love in youth's sweet prime," rise like an exaltation of the brain. Metaphorically speaking, the scent of the orange blossoms spreads an aroma of romance abroad, and recalls the early joy of "life's young dream."