Ned’s hint caused a movement towards the dancing-room among the young people, when the captain, as if waking from a reverie, exclaimed, in a loud voice, “Oh, the devel! what are we all thinking of? Why, here’s Squire Tompkins; he can perform the ceremony. If a man can’t marry folks, what’s the use of being squire at all?”

Manna did not come in better time to the children of Israel in the wilderness than did this discovery of the worthy captain to the company assembled. It was as vivifying as a shower of rain on corn that is about to shoot and tassel, especially to G. W. Hodgkins and his lady-love.

Squire Tompkins was a newly-elected magistrate, and some-what diffident of his abilities in this untried department. He expressed a hint of the sort, which the captain only noticed with the exclamation, “Hoot, toot!”

Mrs. Peablossom insinuated to her husband that in her day the “quality,” or better sort of people, in North Car’lina, had a prejudice ag’in’ being married by a magistrate; to which the old gentleman replied, “None of your nonsense, old lady; none of your Duplin County aristocracy about here now. The better sort of people, I think you say! Now, you know North Car’lina ain’t the best State in the Union, no how, and Duplin’s the poorest county in the State. Better sort of people, is it? Quality, eh? Who the devil’s better than we are? Ain’t we honest? Ain’t we raised our children decent, and learned them how to read, write, and cipher? Ain’t I fou’t under Newnan and Floyd for the country? Why, darn it! we are the very best sort of people. Stuff! nonsense! The wedding shall go on; Polly shall have a husband.”

Mrs. P.’s eyes lit up, her cheek flushed, as she heard “the old North State” spoken of so disparagingly; but she was a woman of good sense, and reserved the castigation for a future curtain lecture.

Things were soon arranged for the wedding; and as the old wooden clock on the mantelpiece struck one, the bridal party were duly arranged on the floor, and the crowd gathered round, eager to observe every twinkle of the bridgroom’s eye and every blush of the blooming bride.

The bridesmaids and their male attendants were arranged in couples, as in a cotillon, to form a hollow square, in the centre of which were the squire and betrothing parties. Each of the attendants bore a candle; Miss Tabitha held hers in a long brass candlestick which had belonged to Polly’s grandmother, in shape and length somewhat resembling Cleopatra’s Needle; Miss Luvisa bore a flat tin one; the third attendant bore such an article as is usually suspended on a nail against the wall; and the fourth had a curiously-devised something cut out of wood with a pocket-knife. For want of a further supply of candlesticks, the male attendants held naked candles in their hands. Polly was dressed in white, and wore a bay flower with its green leaves in her hair, and the whisper went round, “Now don’t she look pretty?” George Washington Hodgkins rejoiced in a white satin stock and a vest and pantaloons of orange colour; the vest was straight-collared, like a Continental officer’s in the Revolution, and had eagle buttons on it. They were a fine-looking couple.

When everything was ready, a pause ensued, and all eyes were turned on the squire, who seemed to be undergoing a mental agony such as Fourth-of-July orators feel when they forget their speeches, or a boy at an exhibition when he has to be prompted from behind the scenes. The truth was, Squire Tompkins was a man of forms, but had always taken them from form-books, and never trusted his memory. On this occasion he had no “Georgia Justice” or any other book from which to read the marriage ceremony, and was at a loss how to proceed. He thought over everything he had ever learned “by heart,” even to

but all in vain; he could recollect nothing that suited such an occasion. A suppressed titter all over the room admonished him that he must proceed with something, and, in the agony of desperation, he began: