“Why, how in the world did you pick up so much learning out West? I should think you had been to college by the way you talk!” said Mr. Leyton, one evening, addressing his nephew, who had just been expounding some knotty point. “Yes, uncle, and I have just taken my degree,” replied Reuben, looking at Lucy. “_You_, the deuce you have. Why where did your mother raise the money to send you to college?” “My education was provided for by my grandfather’s will.” “It was, eh! well, I am glad of it, and so the Richards family were a good stock after all. I am sure I never dreamed you had been to college, though I thought from the first you knew considerable for your years.” “Thank you, Uncle Andrew.” “And what are you going to do now?” “My dear uncle, I shall soon receive my diploma for the practice of medicine; then, if you will give me dear Lucy for a wife, I will buy that pretty cottage at the foot of the hill, and commence business.” “You buy it! No, no, I am able to buy it myself, and give it to Lucy on her wedding-day. I am sorry you don’t like the farm better, for I had set my heart upon seeing you settled upon the old family estate, but no matter. Come here Lu, will you marry your Cousin Reuben? Ah, I see you will; here take her nephew she is yours—God bless you!” Lucy burst into tears, and for a moment her lover also appeared much agitated. He then took Mr. Leyton’s hand: “Then you really like me, uncle?” “First rate, lad.” “And you don’t know of any one else whom you would prefer for a son-in-law!” “Always had my eye upon you, Reuben.” “But suppose you have been imposed upon; suppose that I am not your nephew after all!” “Ho, ho! imposed upon—not my nephew! don’t talk to me—imposed upon, pooh, don’t I know the Leyton look—all but the red hair—I wonder where you got that from!” “I bought it of Frizeur and Frizette, French barbers, Broadway, New York, it is a capital wig, don’t you think so?” replied the young man, coolly taking it off, and handing it for the inspection of Mr. Leyton. “Hey! why, what’s all this—who are you—what does this mean?” exclaimed Mr. Leyton, starting up in astonishment, wig in hand, and staring at the fine looking youth with dark-brown locks, who was now bending so tenderly over Lucy. “Mr. Leyton, why should I hesitate to confess who I am,” was the answer, “since you have already assured me of your affection, and of your willingness to bestow upon me this dear hand. My name is Edward Bartine.” “Bartine—Bartine—why, that is the same fellow—” “That you was going to try your new raw-hide upon, my dear sir!” “Hum, and if I had it here I would try it now!” “O, no, you wouldn’t, father!” interposed Lucy.