The wedding breakfast very much resembled the similar festivities at which most of us have assisted. The usual speeches were made, nobody seemed very much inclined to eat, but everybody's health was drunk; and I think it was rather a relief to all present when young Mrs. Haggard appeared in travelling dress, ready to quit, for the first time in her life, the happy home of her childhood. Then, and then only, did the young person from the West End millinery establishment remove the pins from her mouth, which enabled her to swallow a much needed glass of sherry; and then the squire's voice failed him, and he saw his daughter rather dimly as he pressed her to his heart for the last time upon the steps. The bridesmaids relieved their feelings by many salutes and much tittering. As the carriage moved off there was a perfect shower of satin slippers, and it wasn't till it got quite out of King's Warren village that the bride was able to leave off bowing and kissing her hand to her numerous well-wishers. Then the wedding party broke up into little groups in the garden; at first they didn't amalgamate; the men smoked, and came to the universal conclusion that Haggard was a lucky beggar; while the ladies talked over the interesting details of the ceremony. Old Warrender retired to his study in a rather excited frame of mind, excusing himself on the ground of his age. And now everybody turned out with a feeling of intense relief to witness the rejoicings on the village green. The school children were there enjoying rustic games in a somewhat half-hearted manner, for they had partaken with the appetites of young boa constrictors of the squire's hospitality, and each of them had a brand new shilling or half-crown in his or her pocket, according to age. A cricket-match was in progress, but the bowling and batting were extremely wild, thanks to The Warren strong beer. But soon the Rev. John Dodd imparted fresh vigour into the proceedings. The youths and maids pulled themselves together on his approach; the more bibulous among the men left the proximity of the big barrels of strong ale, over which the squire's head gardener was presiding. Lovers, who had been promenading arm-in-arm, separated for the moment by mutual consent, the swains touched their forelocks to the vicar, while Phyllis and Chloe smoothed their skirts and courtesied low to Mrs. Dodd as Lady Paramount. But the vicar meant that they should enjoy themselves, and he whispered to the squire, the squire nodded, and the vicar called loudly for Blogg. "Where's your father, Jemima Ann?" he said to the poacher's daughter, who, in all the glories of a pink print dress and a much beribboned straw hat, had gone off into a succession of courtesies. "Please, sir, he's gone to fetch _it_," she said.