And then, for a little while, sitting around the table, they were all engaged in looking over the newspapers, each occasionally reading aloud to the others, who suspended their own employment to hear any little item of news supposed to be interesting. “I declare there is nothing in our papers. Anything in yours, dear?” inquired Anna of Drusilla, who had been the only silent reader of the party. “Not much of interest to us, over here. We do not care about the doings in Parliament, or the trials at the Old Bailey, or the meetings at Exeter Hall, or the murders in Bermondsey, or even about the movements of royalty and nobility.” “Oh, yes, we do care about that last item. We are intensely democratic and republican here, and so of course we are breathlessly anxious to know where ‘Majesty,’ took an airing, what ‘Royal Highness’ wore to the opera, and whom ‘Grace’ entertained at dinner!” laughed Anna. “Then read for yourself, my dear,” answered Drusilla, passing the “Times.” “And _to_ yourself also, my child. We are not interested in those high themes,” added the General, who was deep in a senatorial debate. And Anna did read to herself for some time, but at length she exclaimed: “Well, here is an item in which I think you will be interested, all of you.” Drusilla started and looked up anxiously. She thought that Anna had come upon some news of Alexander, and she wondered how she herself could have overlooked such a matter. Even the General laid down his paper to listen. “Well, what is it, dear?” inquired Dick. Anna read: “‘The Barony of Killcrichtoun, so long in abeyance, has been claimed by a young American gentleman in right of his mother. The barony, it will be remembered, is not a male feoff only; but, failing male heirs, descends in the female line. The right of the new claimant is said to be indisputable. He is the great great grandson and only living descendant of George-Duncan-Bertie-Bruce, the tenth and last Baron of Killcrichtoun.’” “Oh, I saw _that_,” said Drusilla, with a look of disappointment. “Who is he?” inquired General Lyon, indifferently. “Does not say,” answered the reader. “Some poor devil of an adventurer making a donkey of himself, I suppose,” said Dick. “Come, I won’t read you any more sensational news if that is the way you treat it,” said Anna. And the subject was dropped and forgotten. The family circle then separated, each retiring to his or her own room, to fill up the time till the dinner hour with answering letters. CHAPTER XIII. OLD AND NEW. One in stories of the past, One in glories still to last, One in speech and one in face, One in honest pride of race, One in faith and hope and grace.—M. F. TURNER.