ing you, but it is important!--baby's
name: sha' n't we call him Augustine?"

"Augustine," said my father, dreamily,--"why that name's mine."

"And you would like your boy's to be the same?"

"No," said my father, rousing himself. "Nobody would know which was
which. I should catch myself learning the Latin accidence, or playing at
marbles. I should never know my own identity, and Mrs. Primmins would be
giving me pap."

My mother smiled; and putting her hand, which was a very pretty one, on
my father's shoulder, and looking at him tenderly, she said: "There's no
fear of mistaking you for any other, even your son, dearest. Still, if
you prefer another name, what shall it be?"

"Samuel," said my father. "Dr. Parr's name is Samuel."

"La, my love! Samuel is the ugliest name--"

My father did not hear the exclamation; he was again deep in his books.
Presently he started up: "Barnes says Homer is Solomon. Read Omeros
backward, in the Hebrew manner--"

"Yes, my love," interrupted my mother. "But baby's Christian name?"

"Omeros--Soreino--Solemo--Solomo!"

"Solomo,--shocking!" said my mother.

"Shocking indeed," echoed my father; "an outrage to common-sense." Then,
after glancing again over his books, he broke out musingly: "But, after
all, it is nonsense to suppose that Homer was not settled till his
time."

"Whose?" asked my mother, mechanically. My father lifted up his finger.

My mother continued, after a short pause., "Arthur is a pretty name.
Then there 's William--Henry--Charles Robert. What shall it be, love?"

"Pisistratus!" said my father (who had hung fire till then), in a tone
of contempt,--"Pisistratus, indeed!"

"Pisistratus! a very fine name," said my mother, joyfully,--"Pisistratus
Caxton. Thank you, my love: Pisistratus it shall be."

"Do you contradict me? Do you side with Wolfe and Heyne and that
pragmatical fellow Vico? Do you mean to say that the Rhapsodists--"

"No, indeed," interrupted my mother. "My dear, you frighten me."

My father sighed, and threw himself back in his chair. My mother took
courage and resumed.

"Pisistratus is a long name too! Still, one could call him Sisty."

"Siste, Viator," muttered my father; "that's trite!"

"No, Sisty by itself--short. Thank you, my dear."

Four days afterwards, on his return from the book-sale, to my father's
inexpressible bewilderment, he was informed that Pisistratus was
"growing the very image of him."

When at length the good ma