There had been great altercation the morning before as to who should be married first, but Jenny Hart did not conquer this time. They all coaxed and threatened, and at last she had to consent, to save time, she said. “I would not give up now, my dear girls, but I feel as if the poor shop girl”— “Hold your tongue, Jenny Hart,” said Mrs. Martin Barton, “you are not a poor”— Martin Barton gave her a push. Then came the dispute as to which of the twins should stand up first, for Mrs. Martin Barton had forgotten which was the oldest; there was only half an hour’s difference, however. Jenny Hart settled that by saying, that, as Jasper Merry was older than Alfred Gray, his bride should take the precedence—and all was settled. So Jenny Hart, and her manly, handsome lover, Archy Campbell, were married first—and there had like to have been no one else married, there was so much kissing and crying; but the ceremonies proceeded, and the clergyman said he had never married three such lovely couples before. He had five little notes in his hand as the carriages drove off; it was a surprise to the poor clergyman, for each paper contained a hundred dollar note—even Mr. Martin Barton and Mr. Norton made the clergyman a present. But—half a million! Away the carriages flew—five miles to Camperdown—and there, looking quite young and handsome, stood good Mr. and Mrs. Daly, waiting to bless them all, and to tell them that dinner was ready. The table—two tables, I should say, were set out, and people may believe it or not as they choose, but, though every delicacy was on them, there was neither decanter nor wine glass. Temperance was their motto; it was by temperance in all things that these thread and needle people made themselves rich and happy. The dinner was all one happy confusion; and, if Hosea Bringle had not solaced himself with a good luncheon, beforehand, he would have risen from the table with but a poor account of delicacies eaten—he was impelled on by the tide of joyful faces, to follow, as they left the house to take possession of their future homes. Archy Campbell, with Jenny hanging on his arm, (good reader, let me go back again, and call her Jenny Hart.) Archy Campbell, with dear Jenny Hart hanging on his arm; walked slowly forward; his heart was too full to be gay; his happiness was too new; his gratitude too deep, to know what was passing; and his bride, letting in a flood of new feelings, was pondering and wondering to see the quiet, yet alert, shopman, who, for fifteen years, had frittered away the minutes in selling pennyworths of tape and needles, transformed into a man of great elevation of soul, and deep, tender feeling. “And this man is my husband,” said she, casting her eyes up to his handsome countenance, which was all radiant with joy as her eye met his.