SIR PETER stood on his hearthstone, surveyed the guests seated in semicircle, and said: “Friends,—in Parliament, before anything affecting the fate of a Bill is discussed, it is, I believe, necessary to introduce the Bill.” He paused a moment, rang the bell, and said to the servant who entered, “Tell Nurse to bring in the Baby.”

Mr. CHILLINGLY GORDON.—“I don’t see the necessity for that, Sir Peter. We may take the existence of the Baby for granted.”

Mr. MIVERS.—“It is an advantage to the reputation of Sir Peter’s work to preserve the incognito. Omne ignotum pro magnifico.”

THE REV. JOHN STALWORTH CHILLINGLY.—“I don’t approve the cynical levity of such remarks. Of course we must all be anxious to see, in the earliest stage of being, the future representative of our name and race. Who would not wish to contemplate the source, however small, of the Tigris or the Nile!—”

MISS SALLY (tittering).—“He! he!”

MISS MARGARET.—“For shame, you giddy thing!”

The Baby enters in the nurse’s arms. All rise and gather round the Baby with one exception,—Mr. Gordon, who has ceased to be heir-at-law.

The Baby returned the gaze of its relations with the most contemptuous indifference. Miss Sibyl was the first to pronounce an opinion on the Baby’s attributes. Said she, in a solemn whisper, “What a heavenly mournful expression! it seems so grieved to have left the angels!”

THE REV. JOHN.—“That is prettily said, Cousin Sibyl; but the infant must pluck up its courage and fight its way among mortals with a good heart, if it wants to get back to the angels again. And I think it will; a fine child.” He took it from the nurse, and moving it deliberately up and down, as if to weigh it, said cheerfully, “Monstrous heavy! by the time it is twenty it will be a match for a prize-fighter of fifteen stone!”

Therewith he strode to Gordon, who as if to show that he now considered himself wholly apart from all interest in the affairs of a family who had so ill-treated him in the birth of that Baby, had taken up the “Times” newspaper and concealed his countenance beneath the ample sheet. The Parson abruptly snatched away the “Times” with one hand, and, with the other substituting to the indignant eyes of the ci-devant heir-at-law the spectacle of the Baby, said, “Kiss it.”

“Kiss it!” echoed Chillingly Gordon, pushing back his chair—“kiss it! pooh, sir, stand off! I never kissed my own baby: I shall not kiss another man’s. Take the thing away, sir: it is ugly; it has black eyes.”

Sir Peter, who was near-sighted, put on his spectacles and examined the face of the new-born. “True,” said he, “it has black eyes,—very extraordinary: portentous: the first Chillingly that ever had black eyes.”

“Its mamma has black eyes,” said Miss Margaret: “it takes after its mamma; it has not the fair beauty of the Chillinglys, but it is not ugly.”

“Sweet infant!” sighed Sibyl; “and so good; does not cry.”

“It has neither cried nor crowed since it was born,” said the nurse; “bless its little heart.”

She took the Baby from the Parson’s arms, and smoothed back the frill of its cap, which had got ruffled.

“You may go now, Nurse,” said Sir Peter.