There was mirth, and noise, and shouting and whooping, and the respectable old couple looked calmly on; Hobbs the father smoking his pipe (alas, it was not the dear meerschaum); Hobbs the mother talking to her eldest daughter (a fine young woman, three months married, for love, to a poor man), upon the proper number of days that a leg of mutton (weight ten pounds) should be made to last.

"Always, my dear, have large joints, they are much the most saving.

Let me see--what a noise the boys do make! No, my love, the ball's not here." "Mamma, it is under your petticoats." "La, child, how naughty you are!" "Holla, you sir! it's my turn to go in now.

Biddy, wait,--girls have no innings--girls only fag out." "Bob, you cheat." "Pa, Ned says I cheat." "Very likely, my dear, you are to be a lawyer." "Where was I, my dear ?" resumed Mrs.Hobbs, resettling herself, and readjusting the invaded petticoats.

"Oh, about the leg of mutton!--yes, large joints are the best--the second day a nice hash, with dumplings; the third, broil the bone--your husband is sure to like broiled bones!--and then keep the scraps for Saturday's pie;--you know, my dear, your father and I were worse off than you when we began.