Bridecake

The Glacier des Bois is no more. Of that of our days is left a little white tongue of ice showing in the blank bed. . . . But the saddest of all is Mont Blanc itself from here—it is, to what it was, as a mere whitewashed wall to a bridecake.

This day my Julia thou must make For Mistresse Bride, the wedding Cake: Knead but the Dow, and it will be To paste of Almonds turn’d by thee: Or kisse it thou, but once, or twice, And for the Bride-Cake ther’l be Spice.

But when the day should come for sending a piece of bridecake and cards with ‘Mrs. Herbert’ on them, all these wrongs would be avenged!

Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that trivialities existed, and never handed round that small-talk of heavy men which is as acceptable as stale bride-cake brought forth with an odor of cupboard.

He came as a Baker: but owned, when too late— And it drove the poor Bellman half-mad— He could only bake Bridecake—for which, I may state, No materials were to be had.