and nay, and nay again, before I would give him his own way."

"Oh! I am not so very cruel," said Margaret, "he knows my disposition, and how much he may venture on with me."

"Well, when you have made up your mind, let me know," said he, settling himself in an easy chair, and pretending to drop asleep.

"Upon my word, Margaret," said Mrs. Watson, "he gives himself precious airs—would I submit to such a thing from any man in the world—no, indeed—I would see the whole sex annihilated first, that I would."

"Do not be so dreadfully severe, Mrs. Watson," said Tom, without unclosing his eyes, "Allow me to enjoy my last few days of liberty; when I have taken to myself a wife, where will my domestic freedom be?"

"Impudent fellow," said Mrs. Watson, going up and pretending to pat his cheek; he caught her hand and told her in return, she was his prisoner now, and must pay the penalty of the box on the ear, which she had so deliberately bestowed on him. She giggled exceedingly, and he was insisting on his right, when Robert entered the room and said, in a cool off-hand way:

"I suppose, Margaret, Musgrove has told you he wants to marry this day three weeks, and as I presume, you have no objection, I have resolved to get the settlements in hand immediately. I suppose you have not much to do in the way of preparation, have you?"

"Well, I suppose, as you all come upon me so suddenly, there is nothing for me to do but to submit," said Margaret, "and really, I see no harm in it. Of course you will have the marriage put in the newspapers; it must be sent to 'The Morning Post,' Tom."

"I have no objection," observed the ardent lover.

"Well then, Jane, I suppose I had better be seeing about my gown and wedding clothes—will you come with me and help me choose some dresses, Tom?"

"Not I, by Jove! what do I know about dresses, I tell you!—it's all woman's nonsense, and I will have nothing to do with it. I believe if a woman were dying, her only care would be to secure a handsome shawl—and the idea of a plain funeral would break her heart."

"Don't be so dreadfully severe, Tom," interposed Mrs. Watson again, "you are a naughty, spiteful, ill-tempered satirist, and we must teach you better manners before we have done with you."

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