LESSON XCII.

PEDIGREE.

Mary. AUNT BETTY, why are you always mending

that old picture?

Aunt Betty. Old picture, Miss! and pray who told you to call it an old picture?

Mary. Pray, aunt, is it not an old picture? I am sure it looks ragged enough to be old.

Aunt Betty. And pray, niece, is it not ten times more valuable on that account? I wish I could ever make you entertain a proper respect for your family.

Mary. Do I not respect the few that remain of them, and yourself among the rest? But what has that old-what shall I call it ?-to do with our family?

Aunt Betty. It is our family coat of arms—the only document which remains to establish the nobility and purity of our blood.

Mary. What is purity of blood, aunt? I am sure I overheard Mrs. Pimpleton say your complexion was almost orange, and she believed it arose from some impurity of the blood.

Aunt Betty. Tut tut, you hussy! I am sure my. complexion will not suffer by a comparison with any of the Pimpleton race. [Tossing up her head.] But that is neither here nor there: it matters not what the complexion is, or the present state of the blood, provided the source is pure. Do people drink the less water because it filtrates through clay?

Mary. But what is pure and noble blood, aunt?
Aunt Betty. Blood, my dear, which has proceeded

from some great and celebrated man, through the veins of many generations, without any mixture with vulgar blood.

Mary. Then whom did we proceed from, aunt Betty?

Aunt Betty. From Sir Gregory McGrincell, who lived in the time of Elizabeth, and left sons a dozen, from the youngest of whom, James McGrincell, gentleman, we are descended.

Mary. What does a gentleman mean, aunt?

Aunt Betty. It means one who has too high a sense of his ancestry to engage in any of what are vulgarly called the useful employments.

Mary. It must mean a lazy man, then, I should think. Was he not extremely poor, aunt?

Aunt Betty. Poor? What is poverty in the scale of nobility? It is the glory of our house, that they have always preferred honorable poverty to disgraceful industry.

Mary. Why, aunt, everybody does not think as you do. I heard the parson's wife say you would be a better Christian, and serve your maker more faithfully, by doing something profitable, than by spending your time in idleness, and depending upon the church for support.

Aunt Betty. She had better mind her own business, and not slander her parishioners. Mighty well, indeed! if the descendant of Sir Gregory McGrincell is to be taught her duty to her ancestors by the daughter of a ploughman, and the wife of a country parson!

Mary. I am sure she is a very good woman, and my mother considers her a pattern of humility.

Aunt Betty. Did she display her humility in walk

ing before me at the deacon's funeral? Answer me that.

Mary. She had not the arrangement of the procession, aunt.

Aunt Betty. She ought to have known her place, however. I shall take care how I go to any more vulgar funerals to be insulted, I promise you.

Mary. I can not see what should make us better than our neighbors, for my mother once told me that your grandfather was only a hostler.

Aunt Betty. Your mother takes a great deal of pains to expose the dark spots in our escutcheon. But did she ever tell you that, when my grandfather was engaged in that profession, it was customary for gentlemen to be their own grooms? No, I'll warrant not.

Mary. Then there is no disgrace in any employment, if it be only fashionable?

Aunt Betty. None at all, my dear; for Count Rumford was a cook, and Sir Isaac Newton a spectacle maker.

Mary. But of what use is our noble blood in this country, aunt, where merit alone is respected?

Aunt Betty. Merit, indeed! and what have we to do with merit? It is well enough for those of vulgar origin to possess merit; the well-born do not need it. Mary. How did our great ancestor obtain his title, then ?

Aunt Betty. O, to be sure, the founder of a family must do something to deserve his title.

Mary. What did Sir Gregory do?

Aunt Betty. Do! why, he painted so flattering a

likeness of Queen Elizabeth, that she knighted him immediately.

Mary. Then he was a painter by trade?

Aunt Betty. By trade! The minx will drive me distracted. Be it known to you, miss, we have never had a tradesman in our family; and I trust I never shall live to see it so degraded. Painting was merely

Sir Gregory's profession.

Mary. I hope I shall learn in time to make the proper distinctions; but I fear it will be difficult, for my mother always taught me to allow no other distinction than that of personal worth, and I must confess I do not see the propriety of any other.

Aunt Betty. No, and I presume you never will, while your mother entertains her present low ideas of meritorious industry, as she pleases to call the occupation of those who are mean enough to work for their living. I did hope to make you sensible of the dignity of your descent; but I now find I must look elsewhere for an heir to my invaluable legacy-this precious, precious coat of arms.

LESSON XCIII.

FORTUNE'S FROLIC.

(Robin Roughhead discovered raking hay.)

Robin. Ah! work, work, work! all day long, and no such thing as stopping a moment to rest! for there's old Snacks, the steward, always upon the lookout;

and if he sees one, slap he has it down in his book, and then there's a sixpence gone plump. (Comes forward.) I do hate that old chap, and that's the truth on't. Now if I was lord of this place I'd make one rule-there should be no such thing as work; it should be one long holiday all the year round. Your great folks have strange whims in their heads, that's for sartin. I don't know what to make of 'um, not I. Now, there's all yon great park there, kept for his lordship to look at, and his lordship has not seen it these twelve years. Ah! if it was mine, I'd let all the villagers turn their cows in there, and it should not cost 'em a farthing; then, as the parson said last Sunday, I should be as rich as any in the land, for I should have the blessings of the poor. Dang it! here comes Snacks. Now I shall get a fine jobation, I suppose. (Enter Snacks, bowing very obsequiously-Robin takes his hat off, and stands staring at him.)

Rob. I be main tired, Master Snacks; so I stopt to rest myself a little. I hope you'll excuse it. I wonder what the dickens he's grinning at. (Aside.)

Snacks. Excuse it! I hope your lordship's infinite goodness and condescension will excuse your lordship's most obsequious, devoted, and very humble servant, Timothy Snacks, who is come into the presence of your lordship, for the purpose of informing your lordship

Rob. Lordship! he, he, he! Wall! I never knew as I had a hump before! Why, Master Snacks, you grow funny in your old age.

Snacks. No, my lord, I know my duty better; I should never think of being funny with a lord.