the entrance. Little black Mexicans, like charred toys, lounged and lay staring among the ungraded dunes of sand. “Gracious!” said Mrs. Brewton again. Her eye lost nothing; and as she made for the tent the chintz peonies flowed around her, and her step was surprisingly light. We passed through the sunbonnets and entered where the music played. “The precious blessed darlings!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “This will do for the Golden Daughters,” she rapidly added; “yes, this will distinctly do.” And she hastened away from me into the throng. I had no time to look at much this first general minute. I could see there were booths, each containing a separate baby. I passed a whole section of naked babies, and one baby farther along had on golden wings and a crown, and was bawling frightfully. Their names were over the booths, and I noticed Lucille, Erskine Wales, Banquo Lick Nolin, Cuba, Manilla, Ellabelle, Bosco Grady, James J. Corbett Nash, and Aqua Marine. There was a great sign at the end, painted “Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness,” and another sign, labelled “Shot-gun Smith's twins.” In the midst of these first few impressions I found myself seated behind a bare table raised three feet or so, with two boxes on it, and a quantity of blank paper and pencils, while one of the men was explaining me the rules and facts. I can't remember them all now, because I couldn't understand them all then, and Mrs. Brewton was distant among the sun-bonnets, talking to a gathering crowd and feeling in the mouths of babies that were being snatched out of the booths and brought to her. The man was instructing me steadily all the while, and it occurred to me to nod silently and coldly now and then, as if I was doing this sort of thing every day. But I insisted that some one should help me count, and they gave me Gadsden.