“Why, I’m sorry, but I forgot all about it until I came back to London; but I thought being an old married woman now, a nice calamanco would do as well.” This turn in the conversation changed the current of his mother’s thoughts, and she wished to see the rarities he had brought home. In her impatience, before her husband had half-finished his second cup of coffee, she ordered—I am wrong. The perogative of ordering the servants in this family, Vi’let allowed to none but herself—she desired Scipio to bring in the ponderous sea-chest, the weight of which was a sufficient excuse for the appearance of the other three, each bearing a corner. Aunt Vi’let indulgently making allowances for the curiosity of Flora and Peter, and telling them, patronizingly, “to bear a hand.” Madam and her niece, full of eager expectation, seated themselves on the floor beside the chest, both ready to dive into its deepest recesses, the moment it should be opened. The first thing which presented itself to view, was a red worsted cap with a famous red tassel. This George threw to Scipio, telling him, it was for him. It was received with a grin from ear to ear. “Tank you, massa, now Scip got suthen to put on his head nex ’lection. Primus shan’t be king no longer. Scip king heself! He! he! he!” The others withdrew, they having too much of the pride of the family to be willing to have it supposed they were expecting there was any thing for them. Scipio not being able to restrain his impatience to try on his new finery, pulled it on as he went into the kitchen, exclaiming— “It fits dizackly!” and in his exultation at the favor shown himself, losing his awe of Vi’let, appealed to her, without her usual title of respect, “if it wasn’t mighty becoming?” At which, with some indignation, she told him—“He looked like a black monkey with that red cap on his head, and that great thing jigging up and down behind,” betraying some of the infirmity of human nature, at the preference shown her rival. Mrs. Wendell now pounced upon a package of some size, and opening it, cried— “Oh, here’s my yellow calamanco; well, it’s really a beauty! Nobody could tell it from a rich satin! I’ll have it made up for Christmas—it’s full handsome enough, aunt, isn’t it? I’m sure, I am much obliged to you, George.” “Stop, cousin,” said he, taking it from her, “upon second thoughts, I cannot let you have that—I remember now, I bought it for Aunt Vi’let.” Aunt Vi’let was called in, the others following in her wake, and the present unfolded before her admiring eyes. Her usually grim features were softened into benignity at the sight. “That aint for me, Misser George! Well, it is a parfec’ speck, I ’clare!”