t said,
"So you met somebody walking with the King of Hungary yesterday in
Kensington Gardens?"

"What little tell-tale told you? A mere casual rencontre--the King goes
there to study his parts, and Lady Maria happened to be crossing the
garden to visit some of the other King's servants at Kensington Palace."
And so there was an end to that matter for the time being.

Other events were at hand fraught with interest to our Virginians. One
evening after Christmas, the two gentlemen, with a few more friends,
were met round General Lambert's supper-table; and among the company was
Harry's new Colonel of the 67th, Major-General Wolfe. The young General
was more than ordinarily grave. The conversation all related to the war.
Events of great importance were pending. The great minister now in power
was determined to carry on the war on a much more extended scale than
had been attempted hitherto: an army was ordered to Germany to help
Prince Ferdinand, another great expedition was preparing for America,
and here, says Mr. Lambert, "I will give you the health of the
Commander--a glorious campaign, and a happy return to him!"

"Why do you not drink the toast, General James!" asked the hostess of
her guest.

"He must not drink his own toast," says General Lambert; "it is we must
do that!"

What? was James appointed?--All the ladies must drink such a toast as
that, and they mingled their kind voices with the applause of the rest
of the company.

Why did he look so melancholy? the ladies asked of one another when they
withdrew. In after days they remembered his pale face.

"Perhaps he has been parting from his sweetheart," suggests
tender-hearted Mrs. Lambert. And at this sentimental notion, no doubt
all the ladies looked sad.

The gentlemen, meanwhile, continued their talk about the war and its
chances. Mr. Wolfe did not contradict the speakers when they said that
the expedition was to be directed against Canada.

"Ah, sir," says Harry, "I wish your regiment was going with you, and
that I might pay another visit to my old friends at Quebec."

What, had Harry been there? Yes. He described his visit to the place
five years before, and knew the city, and the neighbourhood, well. He
lays a number of bits of biscuit on the table before him, and makes
a couple of rivulets of punch on each side. "This fork is the Isle
d'Orleans," says he, "with the north and south branches of St. Lawrence
on each side. Here's the Low Town, wit