“They are of the eighteenth century,” he observed, by way of settling the question, making the statement simply and courteously, as the most natural thing in the world. But Aunt Deen exclaimed indignantly and father exerted that calm authority that broke down all resistance. Grandfather did not insist; he never insisted. But I understood him, since they were bad paintings. Grandfather’s government was negligent and fitful. As well say he had no government. When I read in my history book, or in that of my elder brothers, the chapter consecrated to the sluggard kings I immediately thought of grandfather. He made no point at all of his prerogatives. And yet his name was Augustus. I knew it, because great-aunt Bernardine, she whom we called Aunt Deen, and who was his sister, called him Augustus, though as seldom as possible, for his name irritated him. “Yes,” he said one day, “they named me Augustus--why the mischief I don’t know. That’s another trick that ancestors have. They fasten a ridiculous label upon you for all your days.” Though of medium height, grandfather gave the impression of being tall, because of his fine head, which he was not in the least proud of and carried with indifference. His well-cut nose was slightly aquiline. His white hair, which he would never have had cut but for Aunt Deen’s abrupt interventions, curled a little, and he was continually thrusting his fingers through his long beard,--which waved like that of the Emperor Charlemagne in the pictures,--lest some grains of tobacco should be caught in it, for he smoked and took snuff. On a nearer view the impression as of a prophet which he first gave gradually faded away and vanished. He looked down too often, or lifted upon you vague eyes that refused to see you. You felt that you did not exist, so far as he was concerned, and nothing is more irritating than that. He cared for nothing and for no one. His clothes hung upon his body by the grace of God and Aunt Deen. He never knew whether they were well or ill fitting, and as to changing them he would gladly have worn them till they left him first. The more worn they were the more was he at ease in them. I fancy that he had never known the use of suspenders, and cravats seemed to him a wretched concession to fashion. He detested whatever restricted his movements and would have been content to wear all day long the green dressing gown and the black velvet Greek cap in which he felt at ease, and which he did sometimes wear to the midday breakfast. When my brothers and I saw him appear in this accoutrement we would be bursting with laughter which a glance from our father forced us to smother; but the same glance seemed to include a reproof of the famous dressing gown. It was with great difficulty that grandfather could be induced to be regular at meals. “Oh,” he would say good-naturedly, “one eats when he is hungry. Rules for meal times are absurd.”