nt to London next morning
by the coach; and, as it was discovered that the story concerning Miss
Coddlins was a shameful calumny, why, of course, the widow married
Captain Blackbeard. Dr. Sly married them, and has always declared that
he knew nothing of his nephew's doings, and wondered that he has not
tried to commit suicide since his last disappointment.

Mr. and Mrs. Trippet are likewise living happily together, and this, I
am given to understand, is the ultimate fate of a family in whom we were
all very much interested in early life.

You will say that the story is not probable. Pshaw! Isn't it written in
a book? and is it a whit less probable than the first part of the tale?

THE PICNIC PARTY.

BY HORACE SMITH.

To give a picnic party a fair chance of success, it must be almost
impromptu: projected at twelve o'clock at night at the earliest,
executed at twelve o'clock on the following day at the latest; and even
then the odds are fearfully against it. The climate of England is not
remarkable for knowing its own mind; nor is the weather "so fixed in its
resolve" but that a bright August moon, suspended in a clear sky, may be
lady-usher to a morn of fog, sleet, and drizzle. Then, again,--but this
being tender ground, we will only hint at the possibility of such a
change,--a lady of the intended party might quit the drawing-room at
night in the sweetest humor imaginable, and make her appearance at
breakfast in a less amiable mood, or, perhaps, "prefer taking breakfast
in her own room,"--from which notice husbands sometimes infer that such
a change has taken place.

Mr. Claudius Bagshaw, a retired silk mercer, in the vicinity of London,
determined, notwithstanding all these arguments, to have a picnic party
on the 24th of August, his wedding-day. On the 3d of July, Mr. Claudius
Bagshaw, after eating his breakfast and reading the Morning Post, looked
out of his parlor window to watch the horticultural pursuits of his
better part. Mr. Bagshaw had become a member of one of the
"march-of-intellect-societies," and was confident that the picnic would
turn out a very pleasant thing.

"How fortunate we shall be, dear," said Mr. Bagshaw, "how happy we shall
be, if the weather should be as fine on our wedding-day as it is now."

"True, love," replied Mrs. Bagshaw; "but this is only the 3d of July,
and, as the anniversary of our happy day is the 24th of August, the
weather _may_ change."

This proposition Mr. B