head of yellow hair."

"'Tis written that we women should leave all to follow our husband. I
think our courtship was not very long, dear Martin!" said the matron,
laying her hand on her husband's arm.

"'Tis human nature, and what can you expect of the jade?" sighed the
Colonel.

"And I think I did my duty to my husband, though I own I left my papa
for him," added Mrs. Lambert, softly.

"Excellent wench! Perdition catch my soul! but I do love thee, Molly!"
says the good Colonel; "but, then, mind you, your father never did me;
and if ever I am to have sons-in-law----"

"Ever, indeed! Of course my girls are to have husbands, Mr. Lambert!"
cries mamma.

"Well, when they come, I'll hate them, madam, as your father did me; and
quite right too, for taking his treasure away from him."

"Don't be irreligious and unnatural, Martin Lambert! I say you are
unnatural, sir!" continues the matron.

"Nay, my dear, I have an old tooth in my left jaw, here; and 'tis
natural that the tooth should come out. But when the toothdrawer pulls
it, 'tis natural that I should feel pain. Do you suppose, madam, that
I don't love Hetty better than any tooth in my head?" asks Mr. Lambert.
But no woman was ever averse to the idea of her daughter getting a
husband, however fathers revolt against the invasion of the son-in-law.
As for mothers and grandmothers, those good folks are married over again
in the marriage of their young ones; and their souls attire themselves
in the laces and muslins of twenty-forty years ago; the postillion's
white ribbons bloom again, and they flutter into the postchaise, and
drive away. What woman, however old, has not the bridal favours and
raiment stowed away, and packed in lavender, in the inmost cupboards of
her heart?

"It will be a sad thing, parting with her," continued Mrs. Lambert, with
a sigh.

"You have settled that point already, Molly," laughs the Colonel. "Had I
not best go out and order raisins and corinths for the wedding-cake?"

"And then I shall have to leave the house in their charge when I go to
her, you know, in Virginia. How many miles is it to Virginia, Martin? I
should think it must be thousands of miles."

"A hundred and seventy-three thousand three hundred and ninety-one and
three-quarters, my dear, by the near way," answers Lambert, gravely;
"that through Prester John's country. By the other route, through
Persia----"

"Oh, give me the one where there is the least of the sea, and