letter I might put here. I want to put a 'U;' I so long to put a 'U;

the one you in the world that just suits me to a T. 'Laura Towers Upmore.' I won't do it, without your full permission."

"Well, dear," she replied, after some consideration; "Roly has given his full consent now; and my dear mother loves you, like her own son. And I--well, never mind about me; I am nobody. Only I feel, that your time should not be wasted, with all the great things that you will have to do, after saving the Country, to begin with. So perhaps it would be wiser, dear, to put me down with 'U.'"

Now what do you suppose that I did next? Embraced her, kissed her, shed tears with her? As young people do, when they agree to get married, to practise for the time to come. Nay, such things are not to be talked about; or why were trees made, and benches, and moss (the very essence, and symbol of silence, all the year), and houses far off, to show what is to come, yet not blink a window beyond their own doors?

The real thing that I did--which will stir every female heart, tenfold more than chastest salutations--was done with a thumb and finger pushed, on each side simultaneously, to the bottom of my double-breasted waistcoat pockets.

"Look at these, Laura, while I put our names into a true lover's knot;" I said, just as if it was a pair of blue kidney-beans I was showing. "They are come to be eclipsed, my darling, by the brilliance of your eyes."

"Why, they are amethysts! But I never saw such amethysts. They seem to have such a lot of light inside them!"

"So they have, Laura. But what a cold light, darling, compared with what comes from your heart into mine!"

* * * * *

There is nothing that cannot be denied; except that the present condition of things is a great deal better than the past. The humbug of "free trade" is dead at last. The blessing of "Paternal Government" (delivered over the wrong dish of broth) is gone back, like a curse, to roost at home. An Englishman now may eat his breakfast, without gulping down more lies than tea; and may smile at his children, without a smothered sigh, at prolonging a race of dastards. In a word, we have once more a Government, that knows its own mind, and has a mind to know. Whether it be Radical, or Tory, matters little to the average Englishman; so long as it acts with courage, candour, common sense, and consistency. But if its policy be anarchy, quibbling, robbery, cowardice, and treason--then we cast it out (like a leper, and a leopard, mingling sores, and spots, and crawl) and, to save our home, recall that true supporter of our shield and sword, noble once, and not yet ignoble, the sturdy old lion of England.

FINIS.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.