“Nay, nay, uncle,” said the youth, “to avoid delay, I will go at once, and chide her so, that she must despatch. Now,--dear Mary,” and the happy couple ran out of the room together. “Sly rogues,” chuckled the old man, who saw how matters stood. Mary, it seems, had been refractory, for it was not until a considerable length of time had elapsed, that she appeared, carrying a few glasses, whilst her cousin bore two large bottles, Rehoboam and Jeroboam. “Ah! ah!” cried the vicar. “Fie, fie, whence come these blushes, Mary? Let both of you approach; now kneel; and God bless you, my dear children! Nephew William, take her hand as a Christmas present from her father; you have already obtained her heart from herself.” “Dear, dear uncle,” exclaimed the delighted youth, as he clasped his relative’s knees with his hands. “Nay, nay,” the parson interrupted, “put your arms around that blushing neck. I have long watched you. When you read for the old man, William, she sat beside you, gazing upon the same book, and when your locks and cheeks were together, your voice became agitated, and then she looked innocently into your face. You always preferred a large folio, and she slipped her little hand in one side, beneath it, and then you put yours through, to meet hers; and for hours, the happy father has been delighted with your loves. Ah! one other remembrance comes upon me. In our evening walk I was strolling behind you, when a beautiful child left his sister’s hand, and ran to you, Mary, and climbing up, kissed you once and again. I was near enough to hear William say, ‘now, cousin, give me one likewise.’ Ah! rogues, rogues,” and he took them both in his arms, and hugged them together, when a knocking was heard at the gate. The vicar started, but the lovers were so happy in each other, that they had not even heard the noise. “Some poor traveller seeking shelter from the storm. How the storm blows without. Hark to that awful howl,” and the good man arose from the table. He heard the servant open the door, and instantly a form bounced into the room, all drifted and covered with snow. A single shake served to discover Mrs. Gideon Chiselwig. “Oh! doctor,” she exclaimed, in a tone altogether foreign to her usual voice, “what a dream I have been visited with. The devil has appeared to me, and shewed my dear husband’s name, affixed to a contract, that he shall be a slave in hell, from to-morrow night, henceforth, and for ever. He is then to come and take him from me. Oh! I have shamefully treated Gideon, and now I love him so much, that I could die for him. ’Twas but this evening, that I struck him with these heavy hands. Oh! doctor, what can I do? Is there no hope?”