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31, 1860.] propose to Mr. Barber, to carry you off without waiting for the licence, reproaching him at the same time with being as slow as a plunger, because he counselled delay, and the prior performance of the nuptial ceremony?”

Mrs. B. (With great dignity.) “Sir, I was a girl just turned sixteen years of age at the time, and Mr. Barber was a man of thirty-two.”

The tears began to trickle slowly down Mrs. Barber’s cheeks. At the same time, Madame Leocadie Lareine stood up and said, in an audible whisper, but so as to attract the attention of the Jury, “''Ah! c’est trop fort.''”

The old Judge had been evidently puzzled for some time. His intelligence was engaged in single combat with the word “plunger;” nor would he at first admit Dr. Lobb’s explanation of the term. Dictionaries were sent for, and the word was very properly overhauled. In the work of our great lexicographer it was found Plunger, from to plunge; v.n., “One who plunges, or who casts himself into water by his own voluntary act, and by a rapid, deciduous motion; a pearl diver from the Philippine Islands; a variety of the duck tribe.” Finally it was ascertained in Rees’s Supplement (a work of authority) that the word was sometimes applied sportively or sarcastically to the officers of the Heavy Dragoons and Household Brigade, in H.B.M.S., and was probably derived from the manner in which they plunged in and out of their military boots when their horses were restive, or moving on the grand pas. The meaning of the term being thus authoritatively settled, the proceedings were resumed.

Dr. L. “We must have the answer at last, Mrs. Barber, but if you please we’ll put it in another way. During the period of your courtship did you ever write to Mr. Barber?”

Mrs. B. (After a moment’s reflection.) “I don’t remember.”

Dr. L. “Now recollect yourself, Mrs. Barber, and make an effort. You can remember the minutest circumstance to your husband’s disadvantage—now see if you can’t recall a trifling fact or two in his favour. I repeat my question. During the period of your courtship did you ever write to Mr. Barber?”

Mrs. Barber couldn’t remember—yes, poor lady, she was doing her best—but she couldn’t remember. She would not positively swear she had not written; but she would distinctly swear that she didn’t remember having done so. She didn’t believe she had. She was seeing Mr. Barber every day—why should she have written to him? Dr. Lobb fidgetted with his hand in his breast-pocket, but Mrs. Barber kept her eye firmly on him, and waited for his attack to develop itself. At last the learned civilian pulled out a letter, and caused it to be handed up to Mrs. Barber, with the inquiry whether that was in her handwriting. Mrs.