“Our beautiful young friend, Mrs. Alexander Lyon.” And it was honored with enthusiasm. Then, some unlucky idiot had the mishap to rise and name— “_Mr._ Alexander Lyon,” tearfully adding—“‘Though lost to sight, to memory dear.’” And a panic fell upon all that part of the company who knew or suspected the state of the case with that interesting absentee. But old General Lyon quickly dispelled the panic. Would that true gentleman suffer Drusilla’s feelings to be wounded? No, indeed. He was the very first to fill his glass and rise to his feet. His example was followed by all present. And unworthy Alick’s health was drank with the rest. And while the brave old man honored the toast with his lips, he prayed in his heart for the prodigal’s reformation and return. And oh! how Drusilla understood and loved and thanked him! Other speeches were made and other toasts drank. Then tea and coffee were handed around. And one set of feasters gave way to another, like the flies in the fable of old. The rising set immediately went out upon the lawn, where the brass band was in full play on their stand, and where quadrilles were performed upon the greensward. The feasting in the house and the music and dancing on the lawn was kept up the whole of that bright May day, even to the going down of the sun. Never before had the youth of the neighborhood had such a surfeit of frolicking. They voted that a marriage in May weather, and by daylight, with unlimited dance music, greensward, sunshine and sweetmeats, was the most delightful thing in the world. In the very height of the festivities, at about four o’clock in the afternoon, the bride, attended by Drusilla, slipped quietly away to her own chamber and changed her bridal robes and veil, for a traveling habit of silver gray Irish poplin, and a bonnet of gray drawn silk. The traveling carriage had been quietly drawn up to the door where Richard Hammond waited to take away his bride, and General Lyon stood to bid farewell to his child. When Anna was ready to go down, she turned and threw her arms around Drusilla’s neck and burst into tears. “Oh, Drusa!” she sobbed, “be good to my dear grandfather. Oh! love him, Drusa, for my sake! I was all he had left, and it must be so hard to give me up! Oh, Drusa, love him and pet him. He is old and almost childless. When I am gone, put little Leonard in his arms; it will comfort him; and stay with him as much as you can. It is so sad to be left alone in old age. But I know, my dear, you will do all you can to console him without my asking you.” “Indeed I will, dear Anna,” said Drusilla, through her falling tears.