put in the said husband, "when
there was a county meeting--they call them conventions now--that Persis
was at. They called her Miss Persis Prophayt, but it was spelled like
the English Prophet. She was that pretty and nice-spoken then I couldn't
kape my eyes off her. She's gone off her nice looks and ways a dale
since that time. Then I went back to the childer and the Scripture
readins, with a big dictionary at my elbow for the long names. 'The
beloved Persis' was forever coming up, till the gyurls would giggle and
make my face as red as a turkey cock. So I had this farrum and some
money saved, and I sent to ask the beloved Persis to put me out of my
misery and confusion of countenance."

"Indeed he did," said the old lady, with a merry laugh, "and what do you
think was his way of popping the question?"

"Oh, let us hear, Mrs. Hill," cried Coristine.

"Mother, if you do," interposed the old man, "I'll put my foot down on
your convention of retired taychers at Owen Sound." But mother paid no
attention to the threat.

"He asked if I knew the story of Mahomet and the mountain, and how
Mahomet said, if the mountain will not come to the prophet, the prophet
must go to the mountain. So, said he, you are the prophet and must come
to my house under the mountain, and be a Hill yourself. It was so funny
and clever that I came; besides I was glad to change the name Prophet.
People were never tired making the most ridiculous plays upon it. The
old Scotch schoolmistress, who taught me partly, was named Miss Lawson,
so they called us Profit and Loss; and they pronounced my Christian name
as if it was Purses, and nicknamed me Property, and took terrible
liberties with my nomenclature." At this the whole company laughed
heartily, after which the dominie said: "I see your pipe is out, Corry;
you might favour our kind friends with a song." The lawyer did not know
what to sing, but took his inspiration, finally, from Wilkinson's last
question, and sang the ballad of William Rufus, as far as:--

Men called him William Rufus because of his red beard,
A proud and naughty king he was, and greatly to be feared;
But an arrow from a cross-bow, sirs, hit him in the middell,
And, instead of a royal stag that day, a king of England fell.

Then the correct ear and literary sense of the dominie were offended,
and he opened out on his friend.

"I think, Corry, that you might at least have saved our generous hosts
the inflic