e New World also. These garments had been
carefully watched and guarded, for were they not the proof that their
owner belonged to a station in life second, if second at all, to the
royal court of King George itself? Precious casket, into which I was
soon to have the privilege of gazing! Through how many long years these
fond, foolish virgins had lighted their unflickering lamps of
expectation and hope at this cherished old shrine!

I was now on my way to the family repository of all our greatness. I
went up stairs "on the jump." We all knelt down before the
well-preserved box; and my proud Aunt Patience, in a somewhat reverent
manner, turned the key. My heart,--I am not ashamed to confess it now,
although it is forty years since the quartet, in search of family
honors, were on their knees that summer afternoon in Snowborough,--my
heart beat high. I was about to look on that which might be a duke's or
an earl's regalia. And I was descended from the owner in a direct line!
I had lately been reading Shakespeare's _Titus Andronicus_; and I
remembered, there before the trunk, the lines:

"O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility!"

The lid went up, and the sisters began to unroll the precious garments,
which seemed all enshrined in aromatic gums and spices. The odor of that
interior lives with me to this day; and I grow faint with the memory of
that hour. With pious precision the clothes were uncovered, and at last
the whole suit was laid before my expectant eyes.

Reader! I am an old man now, and have not long to walk this planet. But
whatever dreadful shock may be in reserve for my declining years, I am
certain I can bear it; for I went through that scene at Snowborough, and
still live!

When the garments were fully displayed, all the aunts looked at me. I
had been to college; I had studied Burke's _Peerage_; I had been once to
New York. Perhaps I could immediately name the exact station in noble
British life to which that suit of clothes belonged. I could; I saw it
all at a glance. I grew flustered and pale. I dared not look my poor
deluded female relatives in the face.

"What rank in the peerage do these gold-laced garments and big buttons
betoken?" cried all three.

"_It is a suit of servant's livery!_" gasped I, and fell back with a
shudder.

That evening, after the sun had gone down, we buried those hateful
garments in a ditch at the bottom of the garden. Rest there perturbed