It is seldom that we have to chronicle so dramatic an incident as that which has just occurred in our midst, and which was fraught with deep interest to one of our most respected residents of old standing in the neighbourhood. We refer to the sudden and wholly unexpected matrimonial arrangement made by Miss C—y W—n, the daughter of mine host of the old-established well-known family hotel, the ‘Cheshire Cheese.’ It would appear that Mr. Henry Homminey, the successful Hawkesbury agriculturist, was about to lead the blushing fair one, with the full consent of the family, to the hymeneal altar, on Friday last. ‘All went merry as a marriage bell,’ till on Thursday evening Mr. John Windsor, cattle manager at Rainbar for Ernest Neuchamp, Esq., appeared at the ‘Cheshire Cheese,’ and joined the family party. He had been formerly acquainted with the bride-elect, but stated that he had merely come to offer his congratulations, and pass a pleasant hour. He was warmly welcomed, and the evening passed off successfully. At the appointed hour next morning the happy bridegroom appeared with his friends, who had mustered strongly for the occasion, but, to their dismay and disappointment, they were informed by Mr. W—n that the bride’s chamber was empty, and that she had not attended the family matutinal repast. Mr. Homminey’s feelings may be imagined but cannot be described. He at once started in pursuit of the fugitives, but after riding a few miles at a furious pace, his horse showed signs of distress, and he was persuaded by his personal friends to wend his steps in the direction of Richmond. Much sympathy is felt for his loss and disappointment. But, since the days of earliest classic records, the man of solid worth has occasionally been eclipsed, in the eyes of the fair, by the possessor of the more ornamental qualities with which Mr. Windsor is credited. ‘Well done, Jack!’ shouted Mr. Banks, as he finished the concluding editorial reflection; ‘and well done, Ben Bolt! He must have polished off that hundred and eighty miles, or else Jack would never have been up to time. It’s a good deal to depend on a horse’s legs. Well, Carry Walton’s a stunning girl, and it will be the making of Jack. He’ll go as straight as a die now.’ ‘I must say I feel much gratified also,’ assented Ernest. ‘I should have been afraid of some of the old reckless spirit prevailing over him, if he had lost our friend Carry. How I feel assured of his future prosperity. He is a fine, manly, intelligent fellow, and wants nothing but a sufficient object in life to make him put out his best energies.’ ‘Jack’s as smart an all-round man as ever stepped,’ said Mr. Banks, ‘and with a real good headpiece too, though there’s not much book-learning in it. He’d fight for you to the last drop of his blood, too. I know that.’