with something, and in the agony of desperation,

he began:

"Know all men by these presents, that I—” here he paused and looked up to the ceiling, while an audible voice in a corner of the room was heard

to say:

"He's drawing up a deed to a tract of land," and they all laughed.

"In the name of God, Amen!"-he began a second time, only to hear another voice in a loud whisper say:

"He's making his will now. I thought he couldn't live long, he looks so powerful bad."

"Now I lay me down to sleep,

pray the Lord—”

was the next essay, when some erudite gentleman remarked:

"He is not dead, but sleepeth."

"O yes! O yes!" continued the Squire.

One voice replied: "Oh no! oh no! don't let's.” Another whispered, "No ball!" Some person out of doors, sung out, "Come into court!" and the laughter was general.

The bridesmaids spilt the tallow from their candles all over the floor, in the vain attempt to

look serious. One of them had a red mark on her lip for a month afterwards, where she had bit it. The bridegroom put his hands in his pockets, and took them out again; the bride looked as if she would faint and so did the Squire!

But the Squire was an indefatigable man, and kept trying. His next effort was:

"To all and singular, the sher-”

"Let's run! he's going to level on us," said two or three at once.

Here a gleam of light flashed across the face of Squire Tompkins. That dignitary looked around all at once, with as much satisfaction as Archimedes could have felt, when he discovered the method of ascertaining the specific gravity of bodies. In a grave and dignified manner, he said:

"Mr. Hodgkins, hold up your right hand." George Washington obeyed, and held up his hand.

"Miss Polly, hold up yours."

Polly, in her confusion held up the left hand. "The other hand, Miss Peablossom."

And the Squire proceeded, in a loud and composed manner, to qualify them:

"You and each of you do solemnly swear, before the present company, that you will perform toward

each other, all and singular the functions of a husband or wife-as the case may be-to the best of your knowledge and ability, so help you God!"

"Good as wheat !" said Captain Peablossom. "Polly, my gal, come and kiss your old father; I never felt so happy since the day I was discharged from the army, and set out homewards to see your mother."

XXVI.

THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD.

WHENCE comes the gibberish which is almost invariably used by mothers and nurses, to infants? Take for example the following, which will answer the twofold purpose of illustrating my idea, and of exhibiting one of the peculiarities of the age.

A few days ago, I called to spend an hour in the afternoon with Mr. Slang, whose wife is the mother of a child about eight months old.

While I was there, the child in the nurse's arms,

in an adjoining room began to cry.

"You Rose," said Mrs. Slang, addressing a female slave, "quiet that child!"

Rose walked it, and sang to it; but it did not hush.

"You Rose! if you do not quiet that child, I lay I make you."

"I is tried, ma'am," said Rose, "an' he wouldn't get hushed."

(Child cries louder.)

"Fetch him here to me, you good for nothing hussy you. What's the matter with him?" reaching out her arms to receive him.

"I dun know ma'am."

“Nhei—nhun—nhonha’am !” (mocking and grinning at Rose.)

As Rose delivered the child, she gave visible signs of dodging, just as the child left her arms; and, that she might not be disappointed, Mrs. Slang gave her a box: in which there seemed to be no anger mixed at all; and which Rose received as a matter of course, without even changing countenance under it.

"Da den!" said Mrs. Slang, "come elong e muddy (mother.) Did nassy Yosey, (Rose,) pague muddy thweety chilluns? (children)" pressing the child to her bosom, and rocking it backward and forward tenderly. "Muddins will whippy ole nassy Yosey. Ah! you old uggy Yosey," (knocking at Rose playfully.) "Da den; muddy did wippy bad Yosey."