Mr. Mivers.—“I don’t think
so. Oliver Cromwell made short work of radicals
and their doctrines; but perhaps we can find a name
less awful and revolutionary.”
“I have it! I have it!” cried the
Parson. “Here is a descent from Sir Kenelm
Digby and Venetia Stanley. Sir Kenelm Digby!
No finer specimen of muscular Christianity.
He fought as well as he wrote; eccentric, it is true,
but always a gentleman. Call the boy Kenelm!”
“A sweet name,” said Miss Sibyl:
“it breathes of romance.”
“Sir Kenelm Chillingly! It sounds well,—imposing!”
said Miss Margaret.
“And,” remarked Mr. Mivers, “it
has this advantage—that while it has sufficient
association with honourable distinction to affect the
mind of the namesake and rouse his emulation, it is
not that of so stupendous a personage as to defy rivalry.
Sir Kenelm Digby was certainly an accomplished and
gallant gentleman; but what with his silly superstition
about sympathetic powders, etc., any man nowadays
might be clever in comparison without being a prodigy.
Yes, let us decide on Kenelm.”
Sir Peter meditated. “Certainly,”
said he, after a pause, “certainly the name
of Kenelm carries with it very crotchety associations;
and I am afraid that Sir Kenelm Digby did not make
a prudent choice in marriage. The fair Venetia
was no better than she should be; and I should wish
my heir not to be led away by beauty but wed a woman
of respectable character and decorous conduct.”
Miss Margaret.—“A British matron,
of course!”
Three sisters (in chorus).—“Of
course! of course!”
“But,” resumed Sir Peter, “I am
crotchety myself, and crotchets are innocent things
enough; and as for marriage the Baby cannot marry
to-morrow, so that we have ample time to consider that
matter. Kenelm Digby was a man any family might
be proud of; and, as you say, sister Margaret, Kenelm
Chillingly does not sound amiss: Kenelm Chillingly
it shall be!”
The Baby was accordingly christened Kenelm, after
which ceremony its face grew longer than before.
Before his relations dispersed, Sir Peter summoned
Mr. Gordon into his library.
“Cousin,” said he, kindly, “I do
not blame you for the want of family affection, or
even of humane interest, which you exhibit towards
the New-born.”
“Blame me, Cousin Peter! I should think
not. I exhibit as much family affection and
humane interest as could be expected from me,—circumstances
considered.”
