e "Camford and Oxbridge Club,"
upon the London pavement. I like to see them over the Morning Post in
the common-room; with a "Ha, I see Lady Rackstraw has another daughter."
"Poppleton there has been at another party at X---- House, and YOU
weren't asked, my boy."--"Lord Coverdale has got a large party staying
at Coverdale. Did you know him at Christchurch? He was a very handsome
man before he broke his nose fighting the bargeman at Iffly: a light
weight, but a beautiful sparrer," &c. Let me add that Leader, although
he does love a tuft, has a kind heart: as his mother and sisters in
Yorkshire know; as all the village knows too--which is proud of his
position in the great world, and welcomes him very kindly when he comes
down and takes the duty at Christmas, and preaches to them one or two
of "the very sermons which Lord Grimsby was good enough to like, when I
delivered them at Talboys."

"You are not acquainted with Lord Talboys?" Leader asks, with a degage
air. "I shall have much pleasure in introducing you to him. Talboys, let
me introduce you to Lady Kicklebury. Sir Thomas Kicklebury was not at
Christchurch in your time; but you have heard of him, I dare say. Your
son has left a reputation at Oxford."

"I should think I have, too. He walked a hundred miles in a hundred
hours. They said he bet that he'd drink a hundred pints of beer in a
hundred hours: but I don't think he could do it--not strong beer; don't
think any man could. The beer here isn't worth a--"

"My dear Talboys," says Leader, with a winning smile, "I suppose Lady
Kicklebury is not a judge of beer--and what an unromantic subject of
conversation here, under the castled crag immortalized by Byron."

"What the deuce does it mean about peasant-girls with dark blue eyes,
and hands that offer corn and wine?" asks Talboys. "I'VE never seen any
peasant-girls, except the--ugliest set of women I ever looked at."

"The poet's license. I see, Miliken, you are making a charming sketch.
You used to draw when you were at Brasenose, Milliken; and play--yes,
you played the violoncello."

Mr. Milliken still possessed these accomplishments. He was taken up
that very evening by a soldier at Coblentz, for making a sketch of
Ehrenbreitstein. Mrs. Milliken sketches immensely too, and writes
poetry: such dreary pictures, such dreary poems! but professional people
are proverbially jealous; and I doubt whether our fellow-passenger, the
German, would even allow that Millik