"For founding the family," replies Minim gravely, and I have sometimes
thought a little severely.
"This," he says, pointing to a dame in hoops and diamond stomacher,
"this is Lady Sheba Sculpin."
"Ah! yes. Famous for what?" I inquire.
"For being the wife of Sir Solomon."
Then, in order, comes a gentleman in a huge, curling wig, looking
indifferently like James the Second, or Louis the Fourteenth, and
holding a scroll in his hand.
"The Right Honorable Haddock Sculpin, Lord Privy Seal, etc., etc."
A delicate beauty hangs between, a face fair, and loved, and lost,
centuries ago--a song to the eye--a poem to the heart--the Aurelia of
that old society.
"Lady Dorothea Sculpin, who married young Lord Pop and Cock, and died
prematurely in Italy."
Poor Lady Dorothea! whose great grandchild, in the tenth remove, died
last week, an old man of eighty!
Next the gentle lady hangs a fierce figure, flourishing a sword, with
an anchor embroidered on his coat-collar, and thunder and lightning,
sinking ships flames and tornadoes in the background.
"Rear Admiral Sir Shark Sculpin, who fell in the great action off
Madagascar.
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