"Now," said Caleb, "you'll be kind enough to tell me the names of these children. By my faith, they are pretty ones--as pretty as my own!" "This is William--this is George--this is Andrew--this is Mary--and this is Margaret." "Well, we must fall upon some way of distinguishing those of mine and those of yours, who carry the same name. Let it be your George and my George, your Andrew and my Andrew. I see now no difficulty about the matter." "Neither do I," answered Jemima. "All we have to provide against is to avoid calling our own _mutual_ children George or Andrew, for a third of the name wouldn't do." "Neither it would," rejoined he. According to these arrangements, Mr Crabbin commenced business again; and, having been taught experience by his former failure, did very well. We believe there were at least two or three additional children born afterwards; but that was of no consequence, because Mr Crabbin's means became, by his own industry, proportionate. A good lesson hangeth by the peg of our tale, or we are somewhat out. THE SERJEANT'S TALES. THE IMPRUDENT MARRIAGE. Serjeant Square again resumed the narrative of his adventures:-- There is a strange feeling, that every reflecting person must have often been conscious of, accompanying the idea of time. We feel as if in contact with the past, as far back as our memory can reach. If our reading has been extensive, it requires reflection to disentangle the events of early ages, as well as those of a more recent date; and, even as regards the time to come, we feel as if it also were for us, until the melancholy certainty of the shortness of life forces us back upon the present moment, which, until passed, we cannot call our own. Neither is there a situation in which we can be placed, in which we do not feel some cause of uneasiness, from the faintest shade of unfulfilled anticipation, to the depth of real suffering.