meditatinge on y^e goode Lucke of Clarence, & my owne harde Case, I had suche a sudden Rage of peevishnesse y^t I knewe scarcelie what I did.--Soe when She ask'd me merrilie why I turn'd my Backe on Her, I made Reply I had turn'd my Backe on muche Follie.--Wh. was no sooner oute of my Mouthe than I was mightilie Sorrie for it, and turninge aboute, I perceiv'd She was in Teares & weepinge bitterlie. Wh^at my Hearte wolde holde no More, & I rose upp & tooke Her in my arms & Kiss'd & Comforted Her, She makinge no Denyal, but seeminge gretelie to Neede such Solace, wh. I was not Loathe to give Her.--Whiles we were at This, onlie She had gott to Smilinge, & to sayinge of Things which even y^is paper shal not knowe, came in y^e Dominie, sayinge He judg'd We were the Couple he came to Wed.--With him y^e Sexton & y^e Sexton's Wife.--My swete Kate, alle as rosey as Venus's Nape, was for Denyinge of y^is, butt I wolde not have it, & sayde Yes.--She remonstrating w. me, privilie, I tolde Her She must not make me Out a Liar, y^t to Deceave y^e Man of God were a greavous Sinn, y^t I had gott Her nowe, & wd. not lett her Slipp from me, & did soe Talke Her Downe, & w. suche Strengthe of joie, y^t allmost before She knewe it, we Stoode upp, & were Wed, w. a Ringe (tho' She Knewe it nott) wh. belong'd to My G. father. (Him y^t Cheated Her^n.)-- Wh. was no sooner done, than in came Clarence & Angelica, & were Wedded in theyre Turn.--The Clergyman greatelie surprised, but more att y^e Largenesse of his Fee. This Businesse beinge Ended, we fled by y^e Trayne of 4-1/2 o'cke, to y^is Place, where we wait till y^e Bloode of all y^e Ffrenches have Tyme to coole downe, for y^e wise Mann who meeteth his Mother in Lawe y^e 1^st tyme, wil meete her when she is Milde.-- And so I close y^is Journall, wh., tho' for y^e moste Parte 'tis but a peevish Scrawle, hath one Page of Golde, wh^on I have writt ye laste strange Happ wh^by I have layd Williamson by y^e Heeles & found me y^e sweetest Wife y^t ever * * * * * stopp'd a man's Mouthe w. kisses for writinge of Her Prayses. TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. By N. P. Willis. (_From "People I Have Met" (now out of print)._) "Five hundred dollars a year!" echoed Fanny Bellairs, as the first silver gray of the twilight spread over her picture. "And my art," modestly added the painter, prying into his bright copy of the lips pronouncing upon his destiny. "And how much may that be, at the present rate of patronage--one picture a year, painted for love!" "Fanny, how can you be so calculating!" "By the bumps over my eyebrows, I suppose. Why, my dear coz, we have another state of existence to look forward to--old man-age and old woman-age! What am I to do with five hundred dollars a year, when my old frame wants gilding--(to use one of your own similes)--I sha'n't always be pretty Fanny Bellairs!"