indeed, that Mr. Boniface Newt, the father of
Abel, a celebrated New York merchant and a Tammany Sachem, had a crest.
He had even buttons for his coachman's coat with a stag's head engraved
upon them. The same device was upon his sealring. It appeared upon his
carriage door. It figured on the edges of his dinner-service. It was
worked into the ground glass of the door that led from his dining-room
to the back stairs. He had his paper stamped with it; and a great many
of his neighbors, thinking it a neat and becoming ornament, imitated him
in its generous use.

Mrs. Newt's family had a crest also. She was a Magot--another of the fine
old families which came to this country at the earliest possible period.
The Magots, however, had no buttons upon their coachman's coat; one
reason of which omission was, perhaps, that they had no coachman. But
when the ladies of the Magot family went visiting or shopping they hired
a carriage, and insisted that the driver should brush his hat and black
his boots; so that it was not every body who knew that it was a livery
equipage.

Their friends did, of course; but there were a great many people from
the country who gazed at it, in passing, with the same emotion with
which they would have contemplated a private carriage; which was highly
gratifying to the feelings of the Magots.

Their friends knew it, but friends never remark upon such things. There
was old Mrs. Beriah Dagon--dowager Mrs. Dagon, she was called--aunt of
Mr. Newt, who never said, "I see the Magots have hired a hackney-coach
from Jobbers to make calls in. They quarreled with Gudging over his last
bill. Medora Magot has turned her last year's silk, which is a little
stained and worn; but then it does just as well."

By-and-by her nephew Boniface married Medora's sister, Nancy.

It was Mrs. Dagon who sat with Mrs. Newt in her parlor, and said to her,

"So your son Abel is coming home. I'm glad to hear it. I hope he knows
how to waltz, and isn't awkward. There are some very good matches to be
made; and I like to have a young man settle early. It's better for his
morals. Men are bad people, my dear. I think Maria Chubleigh would do
very well for Abel. She had a foolish affair with that Colonel Orson,
but it's all over. Why on earth do girls fall in love with officers? They
never have any pay worth speaking of, and a girl must tramp all over the
land, and live I don't know how. Pshaw! it's a wretched business. How's
Mr. Din