the probable profits that would accrue to him, by reason of the increased demand for raisins, ginger, all-spice and molasses, which experience had taught him to expect as incidental to the season, Mrs. Axy, his amiable consort, was forming a determination to avail herself of the very first opportunity to call the matter of Joab's and Lucy's wedding to the mind of her brother. The Colonel, himself, somewhat pricked in the conscience for his neglect and procrastination, was resolving to delay no longer, but to open the same subject that very night to his wife, and to enjoin upon her and Lucy the commencement of a series of preparations for the momentous event. Mrs. Manners, with lips a little compressed, was slyly watching the face of her sister-in-law, the deacon's wife, occasionally giving a quick glance of observation at the Colonel, though, meanwhile, she affected to be gazing steadfastly towards the pulpit. Lucy, upon another seat of the pew, was pouting with anger, and almost ready to cry with vexation, because Joab, from the gallery, facing her, was trying to catch her eye, and when he thought he had succeeded in this maneuver, to convey to her the intelligence of what was passing in his own mind. John, duly observant of Joab's winks and leers, was one moment tingling with suppressed wrath, and, at the next, flushing in an extatic agony of anxious hope, when he recalled to mind the confident prediction of his aunt Betsy, that never, the longest day of his life, would Joab Sweeny be the husband of Lucy Manners.

Thirty years ago, the New England Sabbath ended at set of sun. When, closely watched by impatient children, the orb of day slid slowly down the western sky, and finally vanished from the sight, beyond the distant mountains, a universal shout of juvenile gladness saluted his departure; and even the grave visages of the elders, weary with the strait religious aspect, relaxed into Inwonted smiles. Then commenced noisy sports upon the village green, and sprucely attired swains set forth to where buxom damsels, all made ready to be courted, awaited the coming of their beaux. Then, thrifty housewives, of the brisk and bustling sort, were accustomed to begin the weekly labor of the wash-tub and pounding-barrel. No

one need be shocked or surprised, therefore, to hear that Colonel Manners and his godly brother-in-law, the deacon, met each other, that Sunday night, at the bar-room of the tavern, where, of a Sabbath evening, it was the habit of the village elders to assemble for the purposes of social intercourse, the exchange of news and opinions, and the discussion of town, state and These national affairs and politics.

conclaves selected, from time to time, the candidates for selectmen and deputies to the General Assembly, and the town and freemen's meetings rarely failed to ratify these nominations. Each of the grave seniors, in his turn, used to call for a mug of flip or sling, which, when prepared by the landlord, was passed from hand to hand, and from mouth to mouth. Even Parson Graves himself not unfrequently took his seat at the bar-room fire, and though he never paid a reckoning, like the rest of the company, it was not because he abstained from imbibing his full share of the good liquor furnished by the smiling publican. Those were good old times, when every man had a stomach under his waistcoat, for whose sake he deemed it his duty to drink a little of something more potent than water.

But our fathers kept early hours, and so, soon after the clock struck nine, Deacon Sweeny and the Colonel started on their way homewards. At the Deacon's gate, they paused for a moment, and just as the Colonel was. about to resume his walk, Mrs. Axy appeared at the door, and invited her brother to come into the house. expect," said she, as she closed the door behind him with a slam, and casting a look of wormwood and vinegar at her spouse; "I expect the Deacon was a goin' to let you marvel right straight along hum, arter all my wearin' myself out a tellin' him, over and over agin, to be sure and have you step in here a minute, ef he found you to the tavern-the most kerless crittur I

“Come, come, Axy," cried the Colonel, who, since he had paid the sixtyfive hundred dollars, often ventured to make head against the torrent of his sister's scolding; now, you jest shet

up, and let the Deacon have a minute's peace; or, by jingo! I'll clear out without ever offerin' to set down."

To this rebuke, Mrs. Sweeny, who had an especial reason why she did not

wish to displease or irritate her brother, made no reply, but discreetly restrained her wrath; though, as the Deacon well knew, and trembled at the consciousness, it never lost any of its vigor by being pent up in this way; but, like small beer, was all the more lively, pungent, noisy and sparkling, for being bottled awhile.

After Sally Blake's unfortunate successor had brought in a dish of Early Greening apples, and a pitcher of brisk new cider, and then, in obedience to a sharp-toned command of her mistress, had crept up, in the dark, to her nest in the garret, Mrs. Sweeny, without further delay, brought forward for consideration the subject of the proposed alliance. What was afterwards said and done by and between the high contracting parties, in Deacon Sweeny's presence and hearing, during the remainder of the interview, it would be tedious to relate, for Mrs. Axy, when excited, could talk enough, in the space of ninety minutes, to fill a large octavo volume of fine print. Neither do I think it worth the while to set forth the earnest dialogue which took place, when, on his way home, the Colonel met Joab, returning in a fit of unusual and extreme dejection from his weekly courting visit. Let it suffice to say, that at parting, the uncle shook the nephew by the hand with great vigor, and assured him, with many vehement asseverations, that he, the Colonel himself, would do the rest of the courting, and would do it in a hurry, too.

Lucy was in her mother's bed-room, relating, with angry vivacity, a narration of the open rupture which had that evening been the final result of Joab's renewed and persistent allusions to the subject of the wedding. She had just finished the burden of her story, and was proceeding, according to the custom of young ladies in the like circumstances, to gratify her pique and vexation, by coupling sundry disparaging epithets, denoting the absent Joab, with divers scornful and contumelious adjectives, when she heard her father's step at the door. A moment afterwards he entered the room. A single glance at his flushed and angry face told the two women that the crisis had at length arrived. Mrs. Manners, however, continued knitting busily, but her keen, gray eyes stealthily followed the motions of her husband, as, without saying

[July

a word, he pulled off his boots with a jerk, and drew up his arm-chair to the fire, with an angry hitch. Lucy lit her candle, and was going to slip out of the room, but a stern, abrupt command from her father' slips, stayed her trembling steps. She put down her light upon the table, and stood waiting with a throbbing heart for the next word. It was not long delayed, for the Colonel was full of his subject, and the account which he had just received from Joab. of the disdainful dismissal that Lucy had given his suit, artfully embellished with false or garbled reports of the reasons, therefor by her assigned, and of her unfilial declarations of independence, had exasperated him to a degree altogether unprecedented.

"So, Miss Lucy," said he, turning towards her, "you don't think the husband I've chosen for you is good enough, eh? Think you know better'n your old father, do you? Mean to suit yourself, whether your father, that gave you a bein', likes it or not, hey? Come, let's hear some of your brave speeches

now.

Jest talk as promp' to me as you Colonel, waxing warmer as he went on; did to Joab. Speak up," continued the "don't stand there a sulkin', you little hussy! You expect to jilt Joab, don't ye?"

"I don't love him, papa," replied imploring look at her mother's calm poor Lucy, with a quivering lip and an

face.

The Colonel, with an effort, stifled a strong inclination to open profanity, and then continued in a hightened, sneering tone. "Don't love him, eh? He aint so smart and slick as them 'are dandyfied clarks and stoodents to Har'ford, mebby? Don't use pomatum, praps. Don't smell enough like a skunk to suit ye, eh? sich a fine stylish lady as you've got to be, I expect you're ashamed of your country relations-old clod-hopper of a father, and all. By jingo! I was a dumb fool, I'm afraid, as your aunt Axy says, to let you go to that infernal school. I might ha' known you'd get your idees raised too high, and your foolish little head turned arter some smoothily-spoken fop or other.”

Lucy's eye began to kindle, for she was not one of your spiritless damsels, whose only reply to abuse is a flood of tears. She was about to retort in a very undutiful tone and manner, but a quick glance of reproof and warning from her

mother checked the untoward impulse, before it had matured into action.

Husband," began Mrs. Manners, "let me say a word."

"Well, say it," replied the Colonel, who entertained so profound a respect for his wife, that even when the most angry and out of temper, he never ventured to speak to her with harshness.

"I wish," continued Mrs. Manners, pausing in her knitting; "I wish that you'd let Lucy have a little more time. She's young yet, a mere girl, and at present it seems don't fancy Joab for a husband, but

Here the good lady hesitated, and began to knit again; and her husband, after waiting decorously for her awhile, resumed his remarks.

"Betsey," said he, "I must say I never heerd you talk so kind o' foolish, and little to the purpose in my life. I know you're more'n half agin this match, and I'm sorry enough you be, for my heart is set on it, my promise is given, and my mind's made up. As for waitin', you know and I know, 'taint no use. She's as old as you was when we was married, and you've allus made a good wife. The fact is, delays is dangerous, and the gal won't be no more willin' a year from this time than she is

now.

I'll leave it to her. Come now, Lucy, answer, honor bright, would you be ?"

Speak the truth, Lucy," said her mother.

'No, sir,” replied Lucy, stoutly. "There," cried the Colonel; "what did I tell ye? Now, the fact is," he continued, "the fact is just this, and there is no gettin' round it. This weddin' has got to take place next Thanksgivin' night, and 'twont be a year afore you'll both own I was right. Lucy 'll be all reconciled, and wouldn't be onmarried for a fortin', and the old homestead here will be goin' to be inherited by my father's grand-children; jest as he told me on his death-bed he wanted to have it. I've gin up expectin' that it can go in the name, but it'll go in the blood, and my grand-child will be a Manners, both on his father's and mother's side, and that will kind o' make up for his not havin' the name. Ef Lucy had jest been a boy now, so that it could ha' been kep in the name, I shouldn't ha' been strenoous, and I wouldn't ha' undertook to have interfered with her choosin' sich a husband

-no-I mean wife-as she'd took a fancy for; if so be she'd ha' chosen a decent young feller; though, even in that case, I should ha' rather she'd ha' had Joab; well-no-but-well-I declare," added the Colonel, after a brief pause, during which he had diligently rubbed his forehead; "I get it out sort o' confused; but my meanin' 's plain. I can state the upshot o' the matter middlin' quick," he continued, his irritation manifestly hightened by his recent failure to express his ideas with distinctness; "and that's this. You and your cousin Joab are to be married next Thanksgivin' night; you understand that, don't ye, Miss Lucy?"

"Yes, sir,” faltered Lucy.

"And you're a goin' to mind, aint ye, say?"

No, sir," replied Lucy, with a sudden boldness.

"Heavens and airth! what do ye mean?" cried the Colonel, starting from his chair in wrath and surprise. "Jest look a here, Miss

Husband," began Mrs. Manners. "I tell ye, Betsey," said the Colonel, striving to lower his voice to a respectful key while speaking to his wife; “I don't interfere. The child tell ye, now, don't interfere. is mine as well as yourn, and I'm a dealin' with her now. "Taint fair, nor proper, nor best for you to meddle, and you musn't. When you begin fust you you shall have the floor, as they say to Gin'ral Court; but now it's my turn, and I raly do wish you'd wait till it's fairly yourn.'

Only don't be rash," pleaded the mother.

"I ain't agoin' to be," resumed the Colonel. Nevertheless, no sooner had he turned once more towards the fair rebel, who, frightened but resolute, stood shrinking and cowering before her father's fiery glance, yet meeting it with a steady, defiant look, than his voice again rose to an angry pitch.

"Do you mean to tell me," he cried, "that you're agoin' to refuse to obey your father-you-you-ain't you agoin' to marry Joab when I bid you to?"

"No, sir," replied Lucy, in a low but determined tone. "I don't love him, and I won't marry anybody I don't love."

"But you'll larn to love him," said her father, trying hard to keep his temper within safe bounds, and deigning to argue the case with his refractory daughter.

"I hope not," cried Lucy, passionately, for she was thoroughly roused. "Oh! I hope not. It would be dreadful to have a heart capable of loving such a creature!"

"By !" cried the Colonel, swearing outright for the first time in twenty years. "There!" he added, quite aghast at the profanity. "Do you hear that? You've made your father swear, you wicked child. The Lord forgive me! and I'm a church-member and a Justice of the Peace! But it shan't be for nothin', I tell ye! I won't take the Lord's name altogether in vain, for I do solemnly swear

"Oh! hush, my dear husband!” cried Mrs. Manners, pale with emotion and alarm. But her husband enjoined silence by an imperious gesture. "I do solemnly swear," he continued, holding up his right hand, "that unless you marry with my consent-unless you marry your cousin, in this house, on next Thanksgivin' night, in my presence, I will disown you for a disobedient daughter, and cut you off with a shillin' in my will-so help me God!"

While the angry old man was uttering his oath, his wife sat with her eyes fixed upon his face, her breath restrained, her lips apart, a very statue of anxious attention; while Lucy stood before him, pale, erect, and rigid; and no sooner had he ceased speaking, and her mother had, with a long breath, fallen back in her chair, than she began with flashing eyes and dilated nostrils, “And now hear me !" she cried; "I swear, that I will marry no one else than—”

"Lucy! Lucy!" cried her mother; stop, I command you! Hush! hush!" she repeated, as the excited girl, after hesitating for an instant, attempted to resume her speech, "sit down!" Lucy obeyed, and leaning her head against the side of her bed, began to sob convulsively. Her mother stooped over her and whispered in her ear.

Mean

while the Colonel, recovering somewhat from the exaltation of his wrath, began both to look and feel a little foolish and ashamed, albeit he strove hard to keep his anger hot.

Husband," at last said Mrs. Manners, still keeping Lucy's hand in hers, "you've taken a very solemn oath."

"I know it," replied the Colonel, doggedly. "I don't need to be told on't, Betsey I've taken an oath, and what's more I mean to keep it."

"I don't doubt it a bit," continued his wife, with an accent of reproach that was by no means lost on her husband. "I know you too well to doubt it."

"You may be sure on't," said the Colonel; "and so may Lucy.”

"An oath so solemn should be recorded," resumed Mrs. Manners. -66 I remember your very words; for I took care to notice what you said. I'll write 'em out, and you shall put your

name to 'em."

"Poh, psha!" said the Colonel, with a sheepish, sullen air; "what's the use of all that ceremony?"

"Because," said his wife, "I intend that Lucy shall obey the conditions of it to the very letter. The penalty is pretty severe if she fails; nothing short of being disowned and disinherited."

At this point Lucy's sobs filled her father's heart with anguish. The tears came into his eyes. "All she's got to do is just to obey me, and that's her dooty, you'll own yourself," said he, with a deprecatory manner.

"Of course, and I intend she shall; but she ought to have the command, enforced as it is with a penalty, and that by an oath, fairly written out. Come, you're not afraid to put in writing what you've uttered with your tongue.

"Write it out, then," cried the Colonel; whereupon his wife, after another whisper to Lucy, rose, went to the desk, took a pen and wrote a few words upon a sheet of paper, which she brought to her husband on a book. There; read it," said she; "they are your very words."

"Um-m- -m-, yes," said the Colonel, "yes; that's what I mean to stick to."

'Sign it, then," said his wife, handing the pen to him.

The Colonel took the quill, and slowly subscribed his name. He was not a dexterous penman; the book made but an unhandy desk; and he wrote without his spectacles.

Meanwhile his wife stood looking over his shoulder, with a shrewd smile upon her lips, and her gray eyes twinkling. Lucy, with her face buried in the bedclothes, continued at intervals to sob faintly.

"There," said the Colonel, returning the pen to his wife, but carefully avoiding at the same time to meet her glance.

"Now," said Mrs. Manners, after she had folded up the paper, and put it carefully away in a drawer of the desk, "now, there's your oath in black and white, so that some future day, if necessary, we may know just what it calls for. On my part, I intend to do all that I can to make Lucy perform what is therein required of her to the very letter."

"If she will," said the Colonel, glancing towards the bed, "there aint nothin' I won't do for her." ·

"I want you to promise, then," said his wife, "that if she conforms to what was written on that paper, as I shall try to make her, you'll forgive her for what's happened to-night; and though you may yourself be sorry for having compelled her to marry her cousin, you'll not blame her for her strict observance."

"Promise! of course I do," cried the Colonel.

in each eye. The old gentleman held out his arms, and Lucy put hers about his neck. He kissed her wet cheek, and smoothed down her disordered curls. "Love will come with the babies, sissie," said he; whereat Lucy burst out crying again, and was led off up stairs to her own chamber by her mother, sobbing with redoubled vehe

mence.

"By George!" said the Colonel, talking to himself, after the women had got out of hearing. "By George !" said he, blowing his nose, and nodding his head in a positive manner; "there's nothin' like bein' firm and decided when you've got women to deal with. I vow I didn't expect, one spell, that Lucy would ha' gi'n up so quick and easy; for she's gritty as buckwheat bran when she gets her Ebenezer up; and as for her mother, really, I was afeared she'd take up on her side agin me, and there'd be the Old Nick to pay. I'm actilly tempted to tell Axy how it came out arter I put my foot down, jest to shut her mouth when she says that Betsey leads me by the nose, and ollers makes me do jest as she wants to have me. I'm the head of my own family yet, I guess."

WE

E always go to the country of a Fourth of July. We do so from a sense of duty. A man who sits twelve hours a day in his counting-house, ought to take one day in a year for recreation.

Our usual resort is Jehosaphat, a beautiful village of Long Island-the Long Islanders affect scriptural names, you know-which combines the maritime and the rural in graceful proportions; the staple of its productions being corn and clams,-the one the finest flower of the land, and the other the richest gem of the sea. Corn, when manufactured into whisky, and clams, baked in their own liquor under the sand, are the meat and drink of the inhabitants, who are duly grateful that Providence has cast their lot in a very

pleasant place. You get to Jehosaphat by that stupendous specimen of American_enterprise-the Long Island railroad-on which the travel, especially during the whole of the 3d of July, is so immense, that every gentleman is obliged to stand up in the passages, or on the platforms, to make room for the ladies. It is true that the Company have a whole year's notice that there will be an unusual crowd on that day; but a whole year is not enough to enable them to accommodate the multitude who rush out of the city by this favorite mode of conveyance. The dividends of the road, we suspect, are, on that day at least, enormous.

The last time that we went to Jehosaphat was on the Fourth of July, 1855, when Mr.Pepperage delivered the annual