"I think it most happy, certainly."
There remained now no reason for deferring the marriage longer than was rendered necessary by the delays attending the admission of a new member into the friends' society.
It was a beautiful morning in the beginning of May—the mist had rolled away from the valley, and wreathed with silvery clouds the sides and summits of the mountains—the air was sweet with the 'herald blossoms' of spring—and nature, rising from her wintry bed, was throwing on her woods and fields her drapery of tender green—when a carriage, containing Mr. Lloyd, Mary Hull, and little Rebecca, stopped at Mrs. Harvey's door; Jane, arrayed for a journey, stood awaiting it on the piazza; old John, the basket-maker, was beside her, leaning on his cane, and good Mrs. Harvey was giving Jane's baggage to James, who carried it to the carriage. "Farewell, dear Jane," said Mrs. Harvey, affectionately kissing her;—"now go, but do not forget there are other 'friends' in the world, beside quakers. Return to us soon; we are all impatient to see you the happy mistress of the house in which you was born."
John followed her to the carriage, and respectfully taking her hand and Mr. Lloyd's—"You've been my best friends," said he; "take an old man's blessing, whose sun, thanks to the Lord who brought Jemmy back! is setting without a cloud. God grant you both," he added, joining their hands, "a long and a happy day. Truly says the good
