tar of that name I have been
sacrificed. Never has there been a Sir Peter Chillingly who has, in any
way, distinguished himself above his fellows. That name has been a dead
weight on my intellectual energies. In the catalogue of illustrious
Englishmen there is, I think, no immortal Sir Peter, except Sir Peter
Teazle, and he only exists on the comic stage."

MISS SIBYL.--"Sir Peter Lely?"

SIR PETER CHILLINGLY.--"That painter was not an Englishman. He was born
in Westphalia, famous for hams. I confine my remarks to the children of
our native land. I am aware that in foreign countries the name is not an
extinguisher to the genius of its owner. But why? In other countries its
sound is modified. Pierre Corneille was a great man; but I put it to
you whether, had he been an Englishman, he could have been the father of
European tragedy as Peter Crow?"

MISS SIBYL.--"Impossible!"

MISS SALLY.--"He! he!"

MISS MARGARET.--"There is nothing to laugh at, you giddy child!"

SIR PETER.--"My son shall not be petrified into Peter."

MR. CHILLINGLY GORDON.--"If a man is such a fool--and I don't say your
son will not be a fool, Cousin Peter--as to be influenced by the sound
of his own name, and you want the booby to turn the world topsy-turvy,
you had better call him Julius Caesar or Hannibal or Attila or
Charlemagne."

SIR PETER, (who excels mankind in imperturbability of temper).--"On the
contrary, if you inflict upon a man the burden of one of those names,
the glory of which he cannot reasonably expect to eclipse or even to
equal, you crush him beneath the weight. If a poet were called John
Milton or William Shakspeare, he could not dare to publish even a
sonnet. No: the choice of a name lies between the two extremes of
ludicrous insignificance and oppressive renown. For this reason I have
ordered the family pedigree to be suspended on yonder wall. Let us
examine it with care, and see whether, among the Chillinglys themselves
or their alliances, we can discover a name that can be borne with
becoming dignity by the destined head of our house--a name neither too
light nor too heavy."

Sir Peter here led the way to the family tree--a goodly roll of
parchment, with the arms of the family emblazoned at the top. Those arms
were simple, as ancient heraldic coats are,--three fishes _argent_ on
a field _azure_; the crest a mermaid's head. All flocked to inspect the
pedigree except Mr. Gordon, who resumed the "Times" newspaper.

"I