Knock succeeded knock, and the influx of visitors, with the oft-repeated “wish you joy, wish you joy,” soon restored harmony to the spirits of the bride, who was in extacies at the crowd that had gathered around her. She quoted poetry, right and left; forgot, for the moment, that tobacco and punch existed; and some assert that even the major was forgotten! That was but scandal, however. Nevertheless, the major enjoyed seven pipes and five tumblers of punch, without once hearing the sound of Die’s voice; a luxury which, in the warmth of his feelings he solemnly whispered to Potts, had not been permitted him since his moonlight trip. The hours sped onward—the merry laugh that rang so loud and clear from the midst of a group of young folks who were playing “hunt the slipper,” “my lady’s toilette,” &c. caused the heads of the matrons to turn from each other in high displeasure at the interruption of some tale of scandal! The happiest moments, still the fleetest!—the hour arrived—the guests departed, and the mistress of the _fairy_ scene began to wonder what had become of her lord. Looking through the empty rooms, peering in every corner by the aid of a feeble night-lamp, and almost suffocated with the vapor of candle-snuff, she was startled by the sonorous notes from her husband’s nasal organ. “I do believe the ass has gone to bed,” she mentally ejaculated. Rushing into her room, she beheld the head of the major, with his blue and white night-cap snugly resting upon her fine linen _day_ pillow-cases. Jerking the pillows from under the offending head, she screamed: “Major! why, Micalf, you are sleeping upon my beautiful cases with real thread-lace borders!” “Bless me, what is the matter? Is the house on fire? O Lord, I smell smoke—fire!—fire!” “Do be quiet now, and don’t make a fool of yourself; it’s only the pillow I wanted.” “Oh, Die! is that you? You have frightened the very life out of me. Give me something to put under my head; my neck is almost broke.” “There, my dear, is the night pillow. Now, never presume to go to bed again, until the cover is turned down and the day cases removed, and—bless me, how you have tossed the bed! Why, major, major, are you asleep already?” “What is it, for heaven’s sake? Am I never to know what rest is again?” “But, my dear—major, I say, shall I tuck you up snugly?”