When Tom Linton parted with Mr. Meek he repaired to the club in Kildare Street to listen to the gossip on the rumored dissolution of Parliament, and pick up what he could of the prevailing tone among the country gentry.

His appearance was eagerly hailed by many, who regarded him as generally well informed on all the changes and turns of party warfare; but, as he professed the most complete ignorance of everything, and seemed to devour with greedy curiosity the most commonplace announcements, he was speedily deserted and suffered to pursue his work of inquiry perfectly unmolested. Not that indeed there was much to learn; the tone of banter and raillery with which, from want of all real political influence, men in Ireland accustom themselves to discuss grave questions, concealing their real sentiments, or investing them with a ludicrous exaggeration, oftentimes foiled even the shrewd perception of Tom Linton.

He did, however, learn so much as showed him, that all the ordinary landmarks of party being lost, men were beginning to find themselves at liberty to adopt any leadership which pleased them, without suffering the stain of desertion. They thought themselves betrayed by each of the great political chiefs in turn, and began to fancy that the best course for them in future would be to make specific terms for any support they should accord. Suggestions to this end thrown out in all the bantering gayety of Irish manner might mean anything, or nothing, and so Linton well knew, as he listened to them.

He had taken his place at a whist-table, that he might, while seemingly preoccupied, hear what was said around him, and although no error of play, nor a single mistake in the game, marked the different direction of his attention, he contrived to learn much of the opinion prevalent in certain circles.

“That is the luckiest fellow in Europe,” said one of his late antagonists; “as usual he rises the only winner.”

“You can scarcely call it luck,” said another; “he is a first-rate player, and always so cool.”

Meanwhile, Linton, mounting his horse, rode slowly along the streets till he arrived at Bilton's Hotel, where a handsome britzska was standing, whose large up-standing horses and richly-mounted harnessing gave token of London rather than of Dublin taste.

“Is her Ladyship going out, Halpin?” said he to the footman.

“Her Ladyship ordered the carriage for four precisely, sir.”

Linton mused for a second or two, and then asked if Lord Kilgoff were at home, and not waiting for a reply, passed on.

No sooner, however, had he reached the landing-place, and was beyond the observation of the servant, than he halted and appeared to reflect At last, as if having made his resolve, he turned to descend the stairs, when the drawing-room door opened and Lord Kilgoff appeared.

“The very man I wanted. Linton, come here,” cried he, re-entering the room.

“I was just on my way to you, my Lord,” said Linton, with well-affected eagerness.

“Are they out, Linton, are they 'out'?” said he, in breathless impatience.

“No, my Lord. I've seen Meek; they're safe for the present. A coalition has been formed with O'Morgan and his party, which secures a working majority of forty-five or fifty.”

“This is certain, Linton; may I rely upon it?”

“You may, my Lord, with confidence.”

“Then I suppose the moment has come when my adhesion would be most well-timed. It's a grave question, Tom; everything depends on it. If I join them and they go out—”

“Why, your Lordship goes out too, without ever having the satisfaction of being 'in.'”

“Not if they gave me the mission to Florence, Tom. They never remove the smaller legations in any change of parties.”

“But you could not help resigning, my Lord; you should follow your friends,” said Linton, with an assumed air of high principle.

“Not a bit of it; I 'd hold on. I see no reason whatever for such a course. I have made a rough draft of a letter which Hindley should show to Peel. See here, this is the important passage. I presuppose that I had already given Hindley my resignation to hand in to Aberdeen, but that yielding to his arguments, who refuses to deliver it, I have reconsidered the matter. Now, listen: 'You say that my functions are not of a nature to admit any line of partisanship, and that a man of honorable views can serve his country under a Whig or Tory administration, irrespective of his own preference for one or the other. I feel this to be true. I know that, in my own official career, I have always forgotten the peculiar politics of my masters; but another question arises,—how shall I be judged by others? for while I confess to you that I entertain for Peel's capacity a respect I have never been able to feel for the Whig leaders, yet family prejudices, connections, a hundred minor circumstances, some purely accidental, threw me among the ranks of that party, and a sense of consistency kept me where very probably unbiassed judgment had never suffered me to remain.'”

“Amazingly good! very well done, indeed!” said Linton, in whose dubious smile younger eyes than Lord Kilgoff's might have read the most insolent expression of contempt; not, indeed, at the hypocrisy, but at the poor attempt to give it color. “There could be no thought of removing a man with such sentiments.”

“I think not, Linton. It would be a gross and flagrant case of official tyranny to do so,—a case for inquiry in the House,—a motion to produce the correspondence—”

“Better not, my Lord,” said Linton, dryly; “that is an admirable letter addressed to your friend, Lord Hindley; but in a blue book it won't read so well. Take my advice: hold on if you can, go if you must, but don't ask questions, at all events.”

“Perhaps you are right, Tom,” said Kilgoff, musing.

“Now for another point, my Lord; this visit to Mr. Cashel—”

“I 've declined it,” said Lord Kilgoff, reddening, and with a look of extreme irritation. “The note is there sealed on the table, and shall be sent within an hour.”

“I am not at liberty to ask your reasons, my Lord,” said Linton, gravely and respectfully, “but I am certainly free to state my own, why I think you ought most positively to go there.”

“You may, certainly,” said Lord Kilgoff, rising impatiently, and pacing the room; “I shall not interrupt you, but I shall also pledge myself not to let them influence me in the slightest degree. My mind is made up, sir.”

“Then I shall speak with more freedom,” said Linton, boldly; “because, having no pretension to change your sentiments, I am merely desirous to record my own.”

Lord Kilgoff made no reply, but continued his walk, while Linton resumed:—

“Now I see your impatience, my Lord, and will not trespass on it. Here, in three words, is my case. The borough of Drumkeeran returns a member to Parliament; Hebden, who represents it, is about to accept the Hundreds; Cashel owns the town.”

“And if he does, sir, what signifies it to me?” broke in Lord Kilgoff; “I have not the slightest influence over that gentleman's opinions. He was rude enough to give me a very flat contradiction in the only discussion we ever held together. I venture to assert, from what I have seen of him, that any direction of his course in Parliament would be totally impossible. He is self-willed, obstinate, and opinionated.”

“Granted, my Lord; he is the very calibre to run through his own, and ruin any other man's fortune.”

“Well, sir, and this is the person whose services you think it worth my while obtaining?”

“I never said so, my Lord.”

“What! did n't I hear you this moment—”

“No, you heard me say that the borough is his, but you never heard me say that he ought to be its member. For that honor I had another in my eye,—one over whom your Lordship's influence has never yet been doubted.”

“Whom do you mean?”

“Tom Linton, my Lord; a very unworthy, but a most devoted partisan of your Lordship's.”

“What! Tom—you in Parliament?”

“Even so, my Lord,” said Linton, for once in his life—perhaps, the only time—that a flash of angry meaning colored his calm features. “I am sorry that the notion should so palpably wake your Lordship's amazement.”

“No—no—no! I did n't mean that. I was only surprised. In fact, you took me unawares—we were talking of Cashel.”

“Precisely, my Lord; we were discussing the probable career of a person so eminently gifted with statesmanlike qualities; then, how could I possibly hope for patience when introducing to your notice abilities so humble as my own?”

“But is it possible—is this practicable, Linton?”

“With your assistance it is certain. The influence of your Lordship's rank would give such weight to your opinions, that if you were only to say to him, 'Send Linton into Parliament as your member,' the thing is done.”

“I have my doubts.”

“I have none whatever—I know the man well. He is dying to conform to anything that he supposes to be the discipline of his class. Tell him he ought, and he never resists.”

“I have resolved on not paying this visit,” said Kilgoff, after a brief pause; “reasons of sufficient weight determined me.”

“Oh, my Lord, pardon the freedom, but I must say that they had need be strong reasons to weigh against all the advantages I can show from the opposite course.”

“They are, sir, very strong reasons, nor do I deem it necessary to advert to them again; enough that I esteem them sufficient.”

“Of course, my Lord, I never dreamed of calling them in question; they must needs be cogent arguments which counterpoise the opposite scale—a high diplomatic career—a representative peerage—this there could be no doubt of.”

“How do you mean?” broke in Kilgoff, abruptly.

“Simply that this young man becomes your trump card, if you only please to take him up. As yet he has resisted the advances made by Downie Meek and his set, because of my watchfulness; but sooner or later some party will catch him, and when one thinks how few men with a large unencumbered fortune we possess here, with a great county interest, two boroughs, for he owns Knockgarvan as well, the prize is really worth having, particularly as it only needs the stretching out the hand to take.”

Lord Kilgoff mused and seemed to ponder over the words. He entertained small doubts of his “friend” Linton's capacity; but he had very considerable suspicions of his principles, and it is a strange fact that people willing to commit very gross breaches of fair dealing themselves are exceedingly scrupulous respecting the fair fame of their associates in iniquity, so admirably accommodating is a worldly conscience!

“Well, sir,” said he, at length, “the price—name the price. What are we to pay for the article?—that is the question.”

“I have said, my Lord, it is to be had for asking. Your Lordship has only to take the territory, as our naval men do the chance islands they meet with in the Southern Pacific. Land and plant your flag—voilÀ tout!”

“But you have heard me observe already,” said he, in a querulous tone, “that I dislike the prospect of this visit—that in fact it would be exceedingly disagreeable to me.”

“Then I have nothing more to say, my Lord,” said Linton, coolly, while he took up his hat and gloves. “I can only congratulate you on the excellence of your political prospects, which can dispense with a strong alliance to be had so easily.”

“Our measures of value are very different, Mr. Linton,” said Lord Kilgoff, proudly. “Still, to prove that this is no caprice on my part,”—here he stopped abruptly, while his heightened color showed the degree of embarrassment he labored under,—“to show you that I have—in order to explain my motives—” Here he took a cautious glance around the room, walked to the door, opened and shut it again, and then drawing his arm within Linton's, led him towards a window. For a second or two he seemed undecided, and at last, by a great effort, he whispered a few words in Linton's ear.

Had any third party been there to watch the effect of the whispered confidence, he might easily have read in the speaking brilliancy of Linton's eyes, and in his assured look, that it was of a nature to give him the greatest pleasure. But scarce had his Lordship done speaking, when these signs of pleasure gave way to a cold, almost stern air of morality, and he said, “But surely, my Lord, it were far better to leave her Ladyship to deal with such insolent pretension—”

“Hush, not so loud; speak lower. So I should, Linton, but women never will see anything in these airs of puppyism. They persist in thinking, or saying, at least, that they are mere modern fashionable manners, and this endurance on their part gives encouragement. And then, when there happens to be some disparity of years—Lady Kilgoff is my junior—the censorious world seizes on the shadow of a scandal; in fact, sir, I will not consent to afford matter for newspaper asterisks or figurative description.”

“Your Lordship never had a better opportunity of giving open defiance to both. These airs of Cashel are, as you remark, mere puppyism, assumed to get credit for a certain fashionable character for levity. To avoid him would be to acknowledge that there was danger in his society. I don't go so far as to say that he would assert as much, but most assuredly the world would for him. I think I hear the ready comments on your absence: 'Were not the Kilgoffs expected here?' 'Oh, they were invited, but Lord Kilgoff was afraid to venture. Cashel had been paying attentions.' In a word, every species of impertinence that malevolence and envy can fancy would be fabricated. Your Lordship knows the world far better than I do; and knows, besides, the heavy price a man pays for being the possessor of a high capacity and a handsome wife: these are two insults that the less fortunate in life never do, or never can forgive.”

“Well, what is it you counsel?”

“To meet these calumnies in the face; small slanders, like weak fires, are to be trampled out; to tamper with such, is to fan the flame which at last will scorch you. Besides, to take another view of the matter: her Ladyship is young, and has been much admired; how will she accept this seclusion? I don't speak of the present case; besides, I suppose that this country visit would bore her beyond measure. But how will she regard it in other instances? Is it not an implied fear on your Lordship's part? you, who have really nothing to dread in competition with any man. I only know, if I were in your place, how I should actually seize the very opportunity of openly flouting such calumnious rumor; never was there an occasion to do so on cheaper terms. This Roland Cashel is an underbred boy.”

“There is a great deal in what you say, Linton. But as jealousy is a feeling of which I have never had any experience, I was only anxious on Lady Kilgoff's account, that the thoughtless gayety of a very young and handsome woman should not expose her to the sarcastic insinuations of an impertinent world. She is gay in manner; there is an air of lively imagination—”

“No more than what the French call 'amabilitÉ,' my Lord, which, like the famed armor of Milan is not the less defensive that it is so beautiful in all its details.”

“Well, then, I 'll not send the note,” said Lord Kilgoff, as he took up the letter, and tearing it, threw the fragments into the fire; “of course, Linton, this conversation is strictly confidential?”

“Your Lordship has never found me unworthy of such a trust.”

“Never; nor, I must say, would it be for your advantage to become so.”

Linton bit his lip, and for a second or two seemed burning to make a rejoinder; but overcoming the temptation, assumed his careless smile, and said,—

“I leave you, my Lord, greatly gratified that chance led me to pay this visit. I sincerely believe, that in the counsels I have offered, I have at least been able to be of service to you.”

Lord Kilgoff presented his hand in acknowledgment of the speech, but it was accorded with an air which seemed to say, “Well, here is a receipt in full for your devotedness.”

Linton took it in the same spirit, and left the room, as though deeply impressed with all the honor he enjoyed in such a noble friendship.

Hastening down the stairs, he sprang into the saddle of his horse, and cantering up the street, turned towards the road which leads to the Phoenix Park. It was about the hour when the equipages were wont to throng that promenade, but Linton did not seem desirous of joining that gay crowd, for he took a cross-path through the fields, and after a sharp ride of half-an-hour, reached a low paling which skirted the park on the eastward; here, at a small cottage kept by one of the rangers, a little door led in, passing through which he found himself in one of the long green alleys of that beautiful tract. A boy, who seemed to be ready waiting, now took his horse, and Linton entered the wood and disappeared. He did not proceed far, however, within the shady copse, for after going a short distance he perceived a carriage standing in the lane, by the door of which a footman waited, with a shawl upon his arm. The coachman, with his whip posed, sat talking with his fellow-servant, so that Linton saw that the carriage had no occupant.

He now hastened along, and speedily emerging at a little grassy opening of the wood, came in sight of a lady walking at some distance in front. The fashionable air and splendid dress, which might have suited the most brilliant promenade of a great city, seemed strange in such a lone, unvisited spot. Linton lost no time in overtaking her, only diminishing his speed as he came closer, when, with his hat removed, and in an attitude of the most humble deference, he said,—

“Pray let me stand excused if I am somewhat behind my time; the fault was not my own.”

“Oh, say nothing about it,” said a soft musical voice, and Lady Kilgoff turned an easy smile towards him. “'Qui s'excuse, s'accuse,' says the French proverb, and I never dreamt of the accusation. Is it not a lovely day here?”

Linton was too much piqued to answer at once, but recovering, he said, “Without seeking to apologize for an absence that was not felt, let me return to the subject. I assure your Ladyship that I had been detained by Lord Kilgoff, who was pleased to bestow a more than ordinary share of his confidence upon me, and even condescended to ask my counsel.”

“How flattering! Which you gave, I hope, with all the sincerity for which you are famous.”

Linton tried to smile, but not very successfully.

“What, then, was this wonderful mystery? Not the representative peerage, I trust; I 'm sure I hope that question is at rest forever.”

“You are quite safe there,—he never mentioned it.”

“Oh, then it was his diplomatic ambition,—ain't I right? Ah, I knew it; I knew it How very silly, or how very wicked you must be, Mr. Linton, to encourage these daydreams,—you who have not the excuse of hallucinations, who read the book of life as it is written, without fanciful interpretations!”

“I certainly must disclaim your paneygric. I had one hallucination, if so you term it,—it was that you wished, ardently wished, for the position which a foreign 'mission' bestows. A very natural wish, I freely own, in one so worthy in every way to grace and adorn it.”

“Well, so I did some time back, but I 've changed my mind. I don't think I should like it; I have been reconsidering the subject.”

“And your Ladyship inclines now rather to seclusion and rural pleasures; how fortunate that I should have been able to serve your interests there also.”

“What do you mean?” said she, with a stare, while a deep scarlet suffused her cheek.

“I alluded to a country visit which you fancied might be made so agreeably, but which his Lordship had the bad taste to regard less favorably.”

“Well, sir, you did not presume to give any opinion?”

“I really did. I had all the hardihood to brave Lord Kilgoff's most fixed resolves. You were aware that he declined Mr. Cashel's invitation?”

She nodded, and he went on,—

“Probably, too, knowing the reasons for that refusal?”

“No, sir; the matter was indifferent to me, so I never troubled my head about it. My Lord said we shouldn't go, and I said, 'Very well,' and there it ended.”

Now, although this was spoken with a most admirably feigned indifference, Linton was too shrewd an observer not to penetrate the deception.

“I am doubly unlucky this day,” said he, at last, “first to employ all my artifices to plan a ministerial success to which you are actually averse, and secondly, to carry a point to which you are indifferent.”

“Dare I ask, if the question be not an indiscreet one, what peculiar interest Mr. Linton can have, either in our acceptance or refusal of this invitation?”

“Have I not said that I believed you desired it?” replied he, with a most meaning look.

“Indeed you read inclinations most skilfully, only that you interpret them by anticipation.”

“This is too much,” said Linton, in a voice whose passionate earnestness showed that all dissimulation was at an end, “far too much! The genteel comedy that we play before the world, madam, might be laid aside for a few moments here. When I asked for this interview, and you consented to give it—”

“It was on the express stipulation that you should treat me as you do in society, sir,” broke she in—“that there should be no attempt to fall back upon an intimacy which can never be resumed.”

“When I promised, I intended to have kept my word, Laura,” said he, in deep dejection; “I believed I could have stifled the passion that consumes me, and talked to you in the words of sincere, devoted friendship, but I cannot. Old memories of once happiness, brought up too vividly by seeing you, as I used to see you, when in many a country walk we sauntered on, dreaming of the time when, mine, by every tie of right, as by affection—”

“How you requited that affection, Linton!” said she, in a tone whose deep reproach seemed actually to stun him. Then suddenly changing to an air of disdainful anger, she continued: “You are a bold man, Linton. I thought it would be too much for even your hardihood to recur to a theme so full of humiliation for yourself; but I know your theory, sir: you think there is a kind of heroism in exaggerated baseness, and that it is no less great to transcend men in crime than in virtue. You dare to speak of an affection that you betrayed and bartered for money.”

“I made you a peeress, madam. When you were Laura Gardiner, you couldn't have spoken to me as now you speak.”

“If I consented to the vile contract, it was that, when I discovered your baseness, any refuge was preferable to being the wife of one like you!”

“A most complimentary assurance, not only to myself, but his Lordship,” said Linton, with an insolent smile.

“Now, hear me,” said she, not noticing the taunt, but speaking with a voice of deep collected earnestness. “It is in vain to build upon time or perseverance—the allies you trust so deeply—to renew the ties broken forever. If I had no other higher and more sustaining motive, my knowledge of you would be enough to rescue me from this danger. I know you well, Linton. You have often told me what an enemy you could be. This, at least, I believe of all that you have ever sworn! I have a full faith, too, in your ingenuity and skill; and yet I would rather brave both—ay, both hate and craft—than trust to what you call your honor.”

“You do indeed know me well, Laura,” said he, in a voice broken and faltering, “or you never had dared to speak such words to me. There is not one breathing could have uttered them and not pay the penalty, save yourself. I feel in my inmost heart how deeply I have wronged you, but is not my whole life an atonement for the wrong? Am I not heartbroken and wretched, without a hope or a future? What greater punishment did any one ever incur than to live in the daily sight and contemplation of a bliss that his own folly or madness have forever denied him; and yet, to that same suffering do I cling, as the last tie that binds me to existence. To see you in the world, to watch you, to mark the effect your grace and beauty are making on all around you—how every fascination calls up its tribute of admiration—how with each day some new excellence develops itself, till you seem inexhaustible in all the traits of graceful womanhood, this has been the cherished happiness of my life! It was to this end I labored to induce the acceptance of that invitation that once more, beneath the same roof, I should see you for days long. Your own heart must confess how I have never before the world forgotten the distance that separates us. There is, then, no fear that I should resign every joy that yet remains to me for any momentary indulgence of speaking to you as my heart feels. No, no, Laura, you have nothing to dread either from my hate or my love.”

“To what end, then, was it that you asked me to meet you here to-day?” said she, in a voice in which a touch of compassionate sorrow was blended.

“Simply to entreat, that if I should succeed in persuading his Lordship to accept this visit, you would throw no obstacle in the way on your side.”

“And if I consent, shall I have no cause to rue my compliance?”

“So far as depends on me, none, on my honor!”

It had been better for Linton's cause that he had omitted the last words, at least: as Laura turned away her head, a curl of insolent meaning was on her lip, but she did not speak, and they now walked along, side by side, in silence.

“You will go, then?” said he, at last, in a low whisper.

“Yes,” said she, faintly.

Linton stole a glance at her unperceived, and suddenly the sparkle of his eyes and the elation of his whole expression showed the transport of pleasure he experienced.

“Now for one word of caution,” said Linton, as, drawing closer to her side, he assumed the tone of sincere friendship. “Lord Kilgoff has just revealed to me, in deep confidence, that he has been much offended by certain attentions shown to you by this Mr. Cashel, and which were of so marked a nature that he was almost determined never to admit his intimacy in future. Had his Lordship known you as well as I do, he might have spared himself this anxiety. I believe such savage excellence as his has few attractions for you; nor, save the admiration that all must yield you, has the youth taste or feeling to appreciate your excellence. However, 'my Lord' is jealous; let it be your care, by knowledge of the fact, not to incur anything to sustain the suspicion.”

“How very absurd all this is! Do you know that Mr. Cashel did not condescend to pay me the poor compliment of a special invitation to his house, but asked my Lord to come, and hoped I would accompany him; just as people invite their humbler acquaintances, hoping that only half the request may be accorded.”

“He is underbred even to barbarism,” said Linton.

“He seems a most good-natured creature, and full of generosity.”

“Overwealth has sometimes that air. When the glass is brimful, none but the steadiest hand can carry, without spilling, the wine.”

“He does not appear even to make the effort. They tell me he has squandered some thousands already, making presents to every one who will accept them.”

“He gave me this cane,” said Linton, superciliously, exhibiting a little riding cane, which he had taken himself out of Cashel's hand, and was of no value whatever. “Not any great evidence of exaggerated generosity,” said he. “As to his house, however, I trust its honors may be well done; he has given me carte blanche, and I must only try and not disgrace my prerogative.”

“How very late it is—nearly seven,” said Lady Kilgoff, looking at her watch.

“Shall I see your Ladyship to your carriage?” said Linton.

“I think not,” said she, blushing slightly; “as I left it unaccompanied, so I shall return to it Good-bye.”

She held out her hand as she spoke, but slightly averted her head, so that Linton could not mark the expression of her features. As it was, he pressed the gloved fingers to his lips, but, when doing so, contrived to unclasp her bracelet,—a singularly rich one, and a present from Lord Kilgoff on the day of her marriage. This he let fall noiselessly on the grass, and murmured, in a low voice, “Goodbye.”

Lady Kilgoff, hastily wrapping her shawl about her, left the spot. Linton watched her till he had seen her seated in the carriage, and continued to gaze after it, as it drove rapidly away, and so intently occupied by his thoughts, that he did not notice the approach of a horseman, who came up at a walking pace behind him.

“Eh, Tom!” cried out Lord Charles Frobisher, “this is flying at high game!”

“You are mistaken, Charley,” said he, in some confusion. “This 'meeting under the green-wood tree' was nothing less than a love affair.”

“Oh, hang your morality, Mr. Joseph; it's rather good fun to see the 'insolent beauty' of the season capitulating.”

“Wrong again,” said Linton, affecting a laugh. “Everton is in a scrape, and his wife wants me to get him out of the way—”

“Nonsense, man, I saw the carriage; there is no need of mystifying here. Besides, it's no affair of mine—I'm sure I wish it were! But come, what are the odds on Hitchley's colt—are seven to two taken?”

“Don't bet,” said Linton, knowingly; “there is something 'wrong' in that stable, and I have n't found out the secret.”

“What a deep fellow you are, Tom.”

“Nothing of the kind, Charley. If I were, you 'd never have discovered it. Your only deep fellow is he that the world deems shallow—your light-hearted, rattling knave, whose imputed thoughtlessness covers every breach of faith, and makes his veriest schemes seem purely accident. But, once get the repute of being a clever or a smart fellow, and success is tenfold more difficult. The world, then, only plays with you as one does with a sharper, betting small stakes, and keeping a steady eye on the cards. Your own sleepy eye, Charley, your languid, careless look, are a better provision than most men give their younger children.”

Lord Charles lifted his long eyelashes lazily, and, for a second, something like a sparkle lit up his cold, dark eye, but it was gone in a moment, and his habitually lethargic expression once more returned. “You heard that we were nearly 'out,' I suppose?” said he, after a pause.

“Yes. This is the second time that I bought Downie Meek's carriage-horses on the rumor of a change of administration.”

“And sold them back again at double the price, when he found that the ministry were safe!”

“To be sure; was n't it a 'good hedge' for him to be Secretary for Ireland at the cost of a hundred or so?”

“You 'll get the name of spreading the false intelligence, Tom, if you always profit so much by it.”

“With all my heart. I wish sincerely some good-natured fellow would lay to my charge a little roguery that I had no share in. I have experienced all manner and shades of sensations, but injured innocence, that would really be new to me.”

“Well,” sighed Lord Charles, with a yawn, “I suppose we have only a short time before us here. The end of the session will scarcely see us in office.”

“About that: by keeping all hands at the pumps we may float the ship into harbor, but no more.”

“And what 's to become of us?” said the aide-de-camp, with a deep depression in his accent.

“The usual lot of a crew paid off,” cried Linton, laughing; “look out for a new craft in commission, and go to sea again. As for you, Charley, you can either marry something in the printed calico line, with a hundred and fifty thousand, or, if you prefer it, exchange into a light cavalry corps at Suntanterabund.”

“And you?” said Lord Charles, with something almost of sternness.

“I? Oh, as for me, I have many alternatives. I can remain a Whig, and demand office from the Tories—a claim Peel has never resisted; I can turn Repealer, and be pensioned by something in the Colonies; I can be a waiter on Providence, and live on all parties by turns. In fact, Charley, there never was a better age for your 'adventurer' than this year of our Lord 18—. All the geography of party has been erased, and it is open to every man to lay down new territorial limits.”

“But for any case of the kind you should have a seat in Parliament”

“So I mean it, my boy. I intend to represent,—I'm sure I forget the name of my constituency,—in the next assemblage of the collective wisdom.”

“How do you manage the qualification?” said the aide-de-camp, slyly.

“The man who gives the borough must take care of that; it's no affair of mine,” said Linton, carelessly. “I only supply the politics.”

“And what are they to be?”

“Cela dÉpend. You might as well ask me what dress I 'll wear in the changeable climate of an Irish July.”

“Then you 'll take no pledges?”

“To be sure I will; every one asked of me. I only stipulate to accompany each with a crotchet of my own, so that, like the gentleman who emptied his snuff-box over the peas, I 'll leave the dish uneatable by any but myself.”

“Well, good-bye, Tom,” said Lord Charles, laughing. “If you only be as loyal in love as you promise to be in politics, our fair friend is scarcely fortunate.” And so saying, he cantered slowly away.

“Poor fellow!” said Linton, contemptuously, “your little bit of principle haunts you like a superstition.” And with this reflection, he stepped out briskly to where the boy was standing with his horse.

“Oh, Mr. Linton, darlin', only sixpence! and I here this two hours?” said the ragged urchin, with a cunning leer, half roguery, half shame.

“And where could you have earned sixpence, you scoundrel, in that time?” cried Linton, affecting anger.

“Faix, I 'd have earned half a crown if I 'd got up on the beast and rode down to Bilton's,” said the fellow, grinning.

“You 'd have had your skull cracked with this cane, the next time I met you, for your pains,” said the other, really enraged, while he chucked a shilling at him.

“Success to your honor,—all's right,” said the boy. And touching his cap, he scampered off into the wood, and disappeared.

“You shall have a sea voyage, my friend,” said Linton, looking after him; “a young gentleman with such powers of observation would have a fine opening in our colonies.” And away he rode towards town, his brain revolving many a complex scheme and lucky stratagem, but still with ready smile acknowledging each salutation of his friends, and conveying the impression of being one whose easy nature was unruffled by a care.