Dinner was scarce done, the cloth was not yet removed,
when Miss Agnes must needs climb into my lap with her
stamp album, a relic of the generosity of Uncle
William. There are few things I despise more than old
stamps, unless perhaps it be crests; for cattle (from
the Carthew Chillinghams down to the old gate-keeper's
milk-cow in the lane) contempt is far from being my
first sentiment. But it seemed I was doomed to pass
that day in viewing curiosities, and, smothering a
yawn, I devoted myself once more to tread the well-
known round. I fancy Uncle William must have begun the
collection himself and tired of it, for the book (to my
surprise) was quite respectably filled. There were the
varying shades of the English penny, Russians with the
coloured heart, old undecipherable Thurn-und-Taxis,
obsolete triangular Cape of Good Hopes, Swan Rivers
with the Swan, and Guianas with the sailing ship. Upon
all these I looked with the eyes of a fish and the
spirit of a sheep; I think, indeed, I was at times
asleep; and it was probably in one of these moments
that I capsized the album, and there fell from the end
of it, upon the floor, a considerable number of what I
believe to be called "exchanges.
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