nk
of all the bandboxes that in such a case would be put in at the
coach-window by the driver, to be held in the hapless laps of the nine
passengers! Almost I was persuaded to leave my own black satin bonnet,
and perambulate the streets of New York in my travelling-calash, which
looked exactly like, and was nearly of the size of, a "bellows-top
shay."

I was thinking of this last sacrifice, when my husband said, in a
dreamy, bewildered way,--

"Here are five boxes, mother, two bundles, and the rest of these books.
I give up!"

"Give up? Not I! Now, where a man's energies are exhausted, a woman's
just begin to show themselves. First and foremost, lock this trunk, and
let me put the key in my pocket. That's one thing done, and can't be
undone."

He stepped back from the trunk.

"What's this? all your clothes on the floor!"

"Well, yes, my dear, most of 'em. You see, I couldn't leave Zipporah
Haven's shawl out, which she sends to her grandmother; and I must put in
these bundles of the Burts's, and Mary Skinner's box of linen thread. If
my own things are lost, why, they must be replaced, you know, my dear;
that is all."

"And we must keep a good lookout, ourselves, that our bandboxes and
bundles don't fall off behind," replied the Dominie, faintly.

"Yes; and you can put the small trunk under my feet, and the big basket
under your own, and you will keep an eye on my red shawl,--and pray
don't lose the umbrella, nor your great-coat, nor your cane. I will, on
my part, see to these three small bundles, and my parasol. Doubtless we
shall go on smoothly as need be, only I am afraid you won't be able to
think up many sermons on the highway. There! I forgot the jar of
currant-jelly to go to Ruth Hoyt's aunt! However, we must manage
somehow. You are sure our names are down at the stage-office?"

But, like Charles XII., "after Pultowa's dreadful day," when the
tale-teller listened for his sympathy,

"The king had been an hour asleep."

I am ashamed to say that I must have lost myself after that, though I
thought I was only thinking of the Day of Judgment. But I must have
dreamed it, or how should I have thought it the last trumpet, when it
was only the stage-driver's warning knock?

It was delightful to hear the knock, and the simultaneous clang of pots
and pans which assured us, that, though night had been no night to us,
the dark morning would usher in our breakfast with coffee by the
faithful Polly. The driver