ink the
general opinion will be that Hehninthia should unite the names of her two
benefactresses,--Cynthia Badlam Hopkins."

"Why, law! Mr. Gridley, is n't that nice?--Minthy and Cynthy,--there
ain't but one letter of difference! Poor Cynthy would be pleased if she
could know that one of our babes was to be called after her. She was
dreadful fond of children."

On one of the sweetest Sundays that ever made Oxbow Village lovely, the
Rev. Dr. Eliphalet Pembertan was summoned to officiate at three most
interesting ceremonies,--a wedding and two christenings, one of the
latter a double one.

The first was celebrated at the house of the Rev. Mr. Stoker, between the
Rev. Cyprian Eveleth and Bathsheba, daughter of the first-named
clergyman. He could not be present on account of his great infirmity,
but the door of his chamber was left open that he might hear the marriage
service performed. The old, white-haired minister, assisted, as the
papers said, by the bridegroom's father, conducted the ceremony according
to the Episcopal form. When he came to those solemn words in which the
husband promises fidelity to the wife so long as they both shall live,
the nurse, who was watching, near the poor father, saw him bury his face
in his pillow, and heard him murmur the words, "God be merciful to me a
sinner!"

The christenings were both to take place at the same service, in the old
meeting-house. Colonel Clement Lindsay and Myrtle his wife came in, and
stout Nurse Byloe bore their sturdy infant in her arms. A slip of paper
was handed to the Reverend Doctor on which these words were
written:--"The name is Charles Hazard."

The solemn and touching rite was then performed; and Nurse Byloe
disappeared with the child, its forehead glistening with the dew of its
consecration.

Then, hand in hand, like the babes in the wood, marched up the broad
aisle--marshalled by Mrs. Hopkins in front, and Mrs. Gifted Hopkins
bringing up the rear--the two children hitherto known as Isosceles and
Helminthia. They had been well schooled, and, as the mysterious and to
them incomprehensible ceremony was enacted, maintained the most stoical
aspect of tranquillity. In Mrs. Hopkins's words, "They looked like
picters, and behaved like angels."

That evening, Sunday evening as it was, there was a quiet meeting of some
few friends at The Poplars. It was such a great occasion that the
Sabbatical rules, never strict about Sunday evening,--which was