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 depend_. 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, a