ed armorial bearing of the Mumbles.

The adjacent grounds were also laid out in a style corresponding with
the castle. There was, among other arrangements for the comfort and
delight of visitors, a tournament court, an archery ground, and a
hawking mound. Certainly they were not of very extraordinary dimensions,
but they were rather beyond the general scale of the other parts of the
building. Mrs. Mumbles had in contemplation to give a grand fete of some
kind or other. Mumbles talked of the house-warming, but that was vulgar.
But at last, to ease all difficulties on this score, Master Marmaduke
Tristram St. George Mumbles was born.

When it was ascertained that provision for a baby was necessary Mr.
Mumbles determined that everything should be conducted according to the
established laws of chivalry. But having searched in vain among romances
to find how such matters were managed, he gave up the matter in despair.
He found that all romances having come to a marriage suddenly stopped.
This was very perplexing, but there was no help for it, and as Master
Marmaduke was in a hurry to come into the world he was born before his
father and mother could arrange the solemn order of the proceedings.

But both Mr. and Mrs. Mumbles were determined that the christening
should be conducted upon a scale of all conceivable splendour. There was
no precedent for it, but then there was less likelihood of any mistake
or more room for the fancy. But a gothic christening it was to be--a
gothic christening it should be--a gothic christening it must be.

And what would redound to the glory of so mighty an event? This was the
consideration, this was the feat to be achieved. Mr. and Mrs. Mumbles
had many a discourse upon the subject at breakfast, dinner, and supper,
at morning, noon, and night, but still the happy idea was too good to
strike them suddenly.

At last Mrs. Mumbles had a dream. She dreamed of a tournament, and of
all the glory of such an event. Polished helms, furbished arms, clang of
trumpets, waving of banners and plumes, clouds of dust, clash of swords,
unhorsing of knights, and outcry of heralds. When she awoke, she said
emphatically to Mr. Mumbles, as he was beginning to take his morning
yawn: 'I've hit it'; and gave him a sharp stroke on his wigless pate.

'I think you have,' said Mr. Mumbles, 'and I would thank you not to hit
quite so hard. But what do you mean, my dear Celestia?'

'Mean,' replied the delighted spouse--'