object to putting his head into a noose that only slips one way. And in these doubtful cases one must shoot as Davy Crockett shot in a similar condition of uncertainty. Not quite knowing what his game was, he shot to miss it if it was a calf, and to hit it if it was a deer. Yes, you are right in referring this matter to me. It could hardly be expected that you would have the judgment and wisdom necessary just here."

Merciful Father! I respectfully beg the reading public to fancy my feelings during this harangue. All my married. life I had used every precaution to prevent Jack from finding out my great mental superiority over him. I imagined, nevertheless, that he must have some latent conviction of the fact, and feel a corresponding degree of gratitude for my forbearance. But there he stood before me on the hearth, with legs far apart, stroking his massive beard with such entire complacency! I wanted to get up and punch him with something. I doubt whether anything on earth can ever penetrate the crust of self-conceit he carries about him as a snail carries its shell. I wish he knew how small he was in Tildy's estimation as compared with Dolly. For the first time in my life I was surprised into absolute silence. What could I say to him? Words were inadequate to do the subject justice. Words, bah! O, the poverty of our miserable English!

Three or four days passed without further developments. Things were fast coming to a head, however-why will we borrow trouble? I soon discovered that I had been in the situation of the young man who lay awake two-thirds of every night for six months cudgeling his brain to find out how he should pop the question to the lady of his heart, when, one evening, being alone with her and for the moment off his guard-somehow or other, he never knew how-but things being in that state of "ebullient efferves

cence" (as Dolly would say) essential to good champagne or first-rate yeast, the question popped itself between two pair of lips that trembled together rapturously for the first time. How many an Othello finds his occupation gone in some such way as this. And indeed, if it was not such a relief to the mind, it would be vexatious to find that when you expected to fall at least forty feet, you had but to stretch out your legs and be there. Our relief came through that precious blunderer, dear old Jack.

He

It will be remembered that Jack's intention was to shoot in such a way as to kill if it was a deer, and miss if it was a calf. And after racking his poor brain (never much more effective than "punkin in'ards," his own mother used to say), to discover how he should proceed, he at last hit upon an idea that he considered the perfection of human wisdom. had been in the habit of presenting Tildy with an occasional dress, almost invariably accompanied with the observation that it was to be her weddingdress. This remark she had accepted with a grim smile, generally saying, that "if ever she was fool enough to need a dress for sich a purpose, all she would ax of him would be, to sew her up in a bag and send her to the loong-tic asylum." So he purchased the dress, a handsome gray alpacca, and with the bundle in his hand sought occasion when she was alone, and gave it to her with the customary observation. The most disheartening silence followed.

"Now, Tildy," said he, "do tell the truth. I want to know if you and Dolly aint going to be married?” No answer.

"He's a first-rate fellow, Tildy, and no fool if he doesn't look like one. Well, in fact, what I—er—mean to say is-er-he aint a very handsome man, Tildy" (swelling like a toad no doubt; all these great six-foot creatures think themselves perfectly killing), “but he is

like a singed cat, better than he looks, and—” Here Tildy turned round from the table where she was kneading bread, and looked at him in such a manner as to freeze the remainder of the sentence in his throat. After keeping him transfixed, like a chicken on a spit, with that stony immovable stare for at least two minutes, she turned to the bread again, which she handled like a well-trained pugilist, apparently putting enough venom in it to poison twenty families. Now here was a pretty fix for a fellow to be in, who had already embarked ten dollars of hard-earned money in a doubtful enterprise. Realizing the situation, and glancing at the open door, he took fresh courage (as she had her back to him) and went on: "And the fact is, as you are getting along pretty well in years, I think it would be a good chance for you to marry and settle. To be sure, marriage is an up-hill sort of life, Tildy, but single cussedness is a devilish sight worse. It is just a choice between two evils, you see. Now it seems to me that Dolly is just as keen for the match as you are, and-"Good heavens! did she mean to throw all that dough at him? She turned round with it in her hands, and turned back again, throwing it on the table with a thud; then she caught up the dress, lying close at hand, and threw that.

"Take hit," she said, "an' when I want a weddin'-dress I reckon I kin buy it. An' as for his bein' like a swinged cat-well, it's a pity some folks couldn't see 'emselves as other folks see 'em. It mought do 'em good-only thar aint no cure on the face o' the yath for a fool." Then she turned back to the table again, putting double-distilled venom into the bread.

"Tildy," said Jack, "I beg your pardon, if I have made a fool of myself.”

"Yer didn't do it. Hit was done afore ye was culpable o' realizin' the fact."

VOL. 15-4•

"At all events," he said, "I hope you will accept the dress. I know that Em will be glad to make it up handsomely for you. Try and excuse my blunders; being a fool, you know, you oughtn't to expect much of me."

And he left the room; let us hope, with a little of the conceit taken out of him.

Out of this blunder came our speedy relief. Tildy was mad, and pretty soon the news spread among the children that the bread was lying on the bread - board just where she had left it at the time Jack emerged from the kitchen; and further investigation proved that she was up in her room packing her trunk. What could it mean? I was frightened. I could no more keep house without Tildy than a Latter Day Saint go to heaven without his ascension robes. Dolly was about a mile from the house, working on a fence. Jack proposed going to him.

"No, indeed," said Madam, firmly. "You see, old man, you haven't the ability to handle so delicate a matter. You are a good man, and all that-I give you credit for being a most excellent husband and father; but this is a case that requires the exercise of abilities almost statesmanlike. Now, since you shot with such miserable aim, I'll tell you how I am going to shoot. I am going to take a crooked gun and do some circular shooting; and I'll hit something before night closes in." Then I put on my hat and went forth in search of Dolly. When I came in sight of him he was working away with great industry. "Dolly!" I screamed-I had walked nearly a mile up hill, and was out of patience and breath both, and really too tired to tell the truth; so the biggest "whopper" I could think of just chimed with my feelings and gave me relief"Dolly, Tildy has a fit." Here I paused-let us be charitable and say-for breath; but I paused too long, and be

length ahead, and I don't doubt but you can then keep ahead." (Dolly was swelling, just as Jack always did when I flattered him. O, these men, these men— they haven't the least idea how easily we control them, nor how we laugh about it in our sleeves; and yet somehow I am fond of them in spite of their silliness.) "Now, then," I continued, "you had better go right up to Tildy's room and talk the matter over with her."

We were nearly home by this time, and I saw him hesitate.

"Suppose, Madam," said he, "that Miss Southerland should resent my interference to the extent of dissolving our engagement?"

"O, she wont do that," I said. "She knows which side her bread is buttered on, you may be sure. She is not going to lose her chance of marrying a man who may one day be in Congress, if brains count for anything. And if she puts on any airs, you can tell her that your capacity will some time place you in a position where the daughters of wealth and opulence will consider themselves honored by your hand." We had reached the porch, and Jack was sitting there, and heard the last remark. Dolly mounted the hall-steps in search of his dulcinea, and Jack, with a profound bow, handed me his hat.

"Take it, old woman," he said, "and wear it, if it isn't too small for you-but after this tip me none of your blarney. I'm acquainted with you, now."

Nett and Pobby were getting supper; and in the course of half an hour we sent little Jim up-stairs to call the delinquents down. We were all at the table when they entered the room. Dolly made a grand flourish, and announced the fact that they had concluded to remain under our hospitable roof-tree, and be married there. I got up and shook hands with him in the gravest manner. He remarked that all things were arranged in accordance with my wishes, to

his infinite satisfaction. He spoke of his attachment to our family, which, he said, nothing but a "suragical" operation could sever. Jack then shook hands with him. Neither of us dared to speak to Tildy-"fuss and futhers" were her greatest abhorrence. She glanced her practiced eye over the table, took in its awkward appearance, and immediately began to change the position of some of the dishes.

"It beats all," she said-"them children never will larn to set the table. Jim could ha' done it better'n this. This table-cloth's on crooked. Mr. Bartlett, sit back a little, and give me a chance to pull hit round. Thar, now, mebbe we kin eat in some comfort. Well, now, I 'lowed to have some plum-jelly to eat along o' them hot rolls. Well, 'taint too late for hit yet." And away she skirmished, with a velocity that made her skirts fairly pop. Jack winked at me, and began talking to Dolly about the coming crop.

And so "everything was lovely and the goose hung high." We had a big wedding; the turkey was roasted, after being parboiled for two weeks, more or less, and four ducks and ten chickens were sacrificed; and the neighbors all praised the cake and pies; and the youngsters had a dance in the diningroom, led off by Jack and Nett, and we all had the jolliest time you ever saw. Jim wouldn't go to bed, nor Willy; and both of them were picked up out of our big chair, sound asleep, about three o'clock, and carried off up-stairs.

Tildy's honeymoon was of short duration. Indeed, I saw no honeymoon whatever, but had no doubt that there was such an institution in full operation somewhere about the house. I caught glimpses of it in Dolly's eyes, as they rested on his wife; soft, luminous eyes, expressive of such love as no woman ever forgets. Now all the time since the poor fellow first came to our house he

had been troubled with a cough that gradually grew worse. At times he worked with an effort that was painful to see. Jack begged him to "lay off," but he would not. One day, about six months after the wedding, he came into the parlor where we were sitting, and told us he wanted his wages stopped for awhile, until he should get a little better. There was an awful pallor upon his shrunken features, and death looked out of his face as plainly as if that face had been motionless beneath the glass of a coffin-lid. He said he would try and do enough to pay for his board, but he felt so weak it would be like stealing to take any more money of us just yet. Jack advised him to "knock off" and take a complete rest, but he would not consent to do it; and from this hour commenced the most pitiful struggle a dying man ever made. He could not sit still in the house if there was anything to be done. He must do it. It was on his conscience all the time that perhaps he was not working enough to pay his way. Our remonstrances were in vain. He brought in wood and water, and milked the cow, when the least exertion left him powerless as a babe. There came a deprecating, timid, pleading look into. his sunken eyes-eyes that were growing wonderful with the shining of the soul so nearly through. Our hearts bled for him. Our pity and our affection, so far beyond words, must have made themselves manifest, for even the thoughtless little boys were thoroughly softened in their manner toward him.

There came an evening which I shall never forget. We were all in Tildy's room, and by the side of the bed on which poor Dolly's emaciated form was reposing. He had been in awful pain, but was now quiet and apparently asleep, when he opened his eyes and said something about its being so dark. We told him there was a light in the room, and asked him if he did not see it.

"What is it, Dolly?" asked Jack, tenderly.

"Good-night," in his stiffest and most ceremonious tone.

"Good-night, Dolly." "Mrs. Bartlett, good-night." "O, Dolly, good-night." "Miss Southerland, good-NIGHT." "Good-night," said Tildy, with a face quite tearless, but tense and strained and frozen.

"Children," he said (the little things were huddled together at the foot of the bed, with their arms round each other, weeping bitterly) — “children—Pobby.” She disengaged herself and went to him, calling his name. He raised his head and opened his lustreless eyes at the sound of her voice, and essayed the last words he was ever to speak in this life: "Goodnight." His head fell nerveless, his face stiffened in the chill horror of death. And this was all we saw. But who can tell the mystery enacted within that room just beyond the pale of our dim vision?

The days came and went. No one ever needed comfort more than Tildy. Was it my fault that I could not approach her with my sympathy? I think somehow that Jack comforted her in his quiet way. His eyes are so blue and honest, and his soul looks right through them, when he is off his guard. But little Jim came nearer to her in her affliction than any of us. He would sit up at the table in his high chair, where she was making bread or pies, with a little piece of dirt-colored dough in his hand, and talk to her about Dolly.

"I loved him lots, Tildy; didn't you?" "Did you love him, Jim?" she would answer, evasively.

"He was awful good, Tildy; I wish he wouldn't ha' died."