of curious
workmanship with a musical chime of bells that is going to prove
something of a white elephant in moving from one post to another out on
the frontier, but Marion vows it shall never be left behind. It comes
from the men of the captain's own troop, many of whom served under him
in Arizona, and there's a letter signed by the whole company, from the
first sergeant down to Private Zwinge, in which they send their loyalty
and duty to the bride of the bravest officer and kindest friend soldier
ever had, and Marion shows this to Grace with blithe, happy laughter.
"_Now_ talk to me about your Jack!" she says.

Ah, well! Smiles and tears are intermingled, as they must be even in the
marriage feast. There are so many there to whom the bride recalls the
gentle, winsome mother, only, never was seen on that young mother's
face, even in her maiden days, such peace and joy as is in the bride's
to-night. There is no long lingering over the reception. Society will be
invited to some formal affairs of that kind when the happy couple return
from their brief wedding-tour, and only a few magnates from abroad have
to be shaken hands with. The immediate wedding-party are soon
seated--twenty of them--at the great table in the dining-room, while all
the guests are scattered about at little quartette affairs around the
broad halls and conservatory, and the orchestra plays sweet strains from
their perch on the enclosed piazza, and busy waiters fly to and fro, and
soon the champagne-corks are popping and the rooms are ringing with
mirth and merriment, and Ray and Marion, seated side by side at the
head of the broad table, are bombarded with toasts and congratulations,
and the laughter and applause grow incessant as the bridesmaids and
groomsmen exchange the poetic "mottos" in the favors they find at their
places, and no bridesmaid seems quite able to properly affix the little
gold sabre that is nestling in the folds of her napkin: it takes a
soldier's practised hand to fasten them in those dainty India silks; and
every groomsman swears that no one but a woman can ever properly adjust
the daisy, which, as a scarf-pin, is his reward for the evening's
services; and some inspired fellow-citizen gracefully proposes the
health of the hostess, and an eminent statesman present ponderously does
likewise for the bride, although it was the fixed determination that
there should be no formal speech-making; but Mr. Sanford happily comes
to the rescu