disturb me when I am
composing, either my speech to be delivered in the Senate, or my work
which is destined to refute Sir William Hamilton.

Let us stroll in. A strain of tender music comes from the sitting-room,
and I recognize the exquisite air of "Katharine Ogie" which Annie is
singing. Let us look, nevertheless, at the pictures as we pass.

What a stately head my old grandfather had! He was president of the King's
Council, a hundred years ago--a man of decided mark. He wears a long
peruke descending in curls upon his shoulders--a gold-laced waistcoat--and
snowy ruffles. His white hand is nearly covered with lace, and rests on a
scroll of parchment. It looks like a Vandyke. He must have been a resolute
old gentleman. How serene and calm is his look!--how firm are the finely
chiselled lips! How proud and full of collected intelligence the erect
head, and the broad white brow! He was a famous "macaroni," as they called
it, in his youth--and cultivated an enormous crop of wild oats. But this
all disappeared, and he became one of the sturdiest patriots of the
Revolution, and fought clear through the contest. Is it wrong to feel
satisfaction at being descended from a worthy race of men--from a family
of brave, truthful gentlemen? I think not. I trust I'm no absurd
aristocrat--but I would rather be the grandson of a faithful common
soldier than of General Benedict Arnold, the traitor. I would rather
trace my lineage to the Chevalier Bayard, simple knight though he was,
than to France's great Constable de Bourbon, the renegade.

So I am glad my stout grandfather was a brave and truthful gentleman--that
grandma yonder, smiling opposite, was worthy to be his wife. I do not
remember her, but she must have been a beauty. Her head is bent over one
shoulder, and she has an exquisitely coquettish air. Her eyes are
blue--her arms round, and as white as snow--and what lips! They are like
carnations, and pout with a pretty smiling air, which must have made her
dangerous. She rejected many wealthy offers to marry grandpa, who was then
poor. As I gaze, it seems scarcely courteous to remain thus covered in
presence of a lady so lovely. I take off my hat, and make my best bow,
saluting my little grandmamma of "sweet seventeen," who smiles and seems
graciously to bow in return.

All around me I see my family. There is my uncle, the captain in Colonel
Washington's troop. I do not now mean the Colonel Washington of the French
wars, who