listen, smokin my pip in
silence. But to our tail.

Reglar every evening there came to the "Constantanople" a young gent
etired in the igth of fashn; and indead presenting by the cleanlyness
of his appearants and linning (which was generally a pink or blew shurt,
with a cricketer or a dansuse pattern) rather a contrast to the dinjy
and whistkcard sosaity of the Diwann. As for wiskars, this young mann
had none beyond a little yallow tought to his chin, which you woodn
notas, only he was always pulling at it. His statue was diminnative,
but his coschume supubb, for he had the tippiest Jane boots, the
ivoryheadest canes, the most gawjus scarlick Jonville ties, and the most
Scotch-plaidest trowseys, of any customer of that establishment. He was
univusaly called Milord.

"Que est ce jeune seigneur? Who is this young hurl who comes knightly
to the 'Constantanople,' who is so proddigl of his gold (for indeed the
young gent would frequinly propoase gininwater to the company), and who
drinks so much gin?" asked Munseer Chacabac of a friend from the "Hotel
de l'Ail."

"His name is Lord Yardham," answered that friend. "He never comes here
but at night--and why?"

"Y?" igsclaimed Jools, istonisht.

"Why? because he is engaygd all day--and do you know where he is engaygd
all day?"

"Where?" asked Jools.

"At the Foring Office--NOW do you begin to understand?"--Jools trembled.

He speaks of his uncle, the head of that office.--"Who IS the head of
that offis?--Palmerston."

"The nephew of Palmerston!" said Jools, almost in a fit.

"Lor Yardham pretends not to speak French," the other went on. "He
pretends he can only say wee and commong porty voo. Shallow humbug!--I
have marked him during our conversations.--When we have spoken of the
glory of France among the nations, I have seen his eye kindle, and his
perfidious lip curl with rage. When they have discussed before him, the
Imprudents! the affairs of Europe, and Raggybritchovich has shown us
the next Circassian Campaign, or Sapousne has laid hare the plan of
the Calabrian patriots for the next insurrection, I have marked this
stranger--this Lor Yardham. He smokes, 'tis to conceal his countenance;
he drinks gin, 'tis to hide his face in the goblet. And be sure, he
carries every word of our conversation to the perfidious Palmerston, his
uncle."

"I will beard him in his den," thought Jools. "I will meet him
corps-a-corps--the tyrant of Europe shall suffer through his nep