“Oh, I hope to Heaven, Anna, we may neither of us ever be married but once! I trust in the Lord, Anna, that we may live together to keep our golden wedding-day half a century hence,” answered Dick, very devoutly. For honest Dick was what the Widow Bedot would have called very much “solemnized” by the impending crisis in his fate. “Blessed is the bride that the sun shines on.” The day of days came at last—the auspicious fifteenth of May—clear, bright, warm, genial, with a light breeze playing a lively tune, to which all the green leaves danced in glee. All the flowers bloomed to decorate the scene—all the birds turned out to sing their congratulations! Never was seen such a rosery on the lawn; never was heard such a concert in the groves. The brass band that arrived upon the scene as early as ten o’clock in the morning, was quite a superfluity. Anna sent out and ordered the men not to play until the birds should be silent. So they sat under the shade of the great oak trees, and had ale served out to them, in which they drank the health of the bridegroom and the bride, while they watched the train of carriages that were constantly coming up, bringing guests to the wedding feast. Such was the scene on the shaded, flowery lawn. Even more festive was the scene within the house. All the windows of the great drawing-room were thrown open, letting in all the sunshine and the cool breeze of this bright May day. The walls were hung with festoons of fragrant flowers, and the large table in the centre was loaded with the splendid wedding presents to the bride. It would take up too much time to tell of all these presents. You will find them fully described in the “_Valley Courier_” of that date. They consisted of the usual sort of offerings for these occasions—“sets” of diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls and other gems; “sets” of silver plate; “sets” of fine lace, et cetera. But we must not omit to mention Drusilla’s munificent offering to the bride. It was also a “set,” a tea set of pure gold, whose exquisite workmanship was even of more value than its costly material. The appearance of the long dining-room, with the table laid for the wedding breakfast, should have immortalized the French cook if he had not been immortalized before. Here, also, all the windows were thrown open to the light and air. It would never do, said “Monsieur le Chef,” for people to be too warm while eating and drinking. Here, however, were no natural flowers. Their powerful odors, said “Monsieur,” affected too much the delicious aromas of the viands. But the walls were decorated with artificial flowers, with paintings and gildings, and with mirrors that multiplied the splendors of the scene a thousandfold, and opened imaginary vistas into unending suites of splendid saloons on every side.