Mr. Bayham's
suggestions were often exceedingly valuable, as indeed the fact was,
though his conduct was no more of a piece with his opinions than those
of some other folks occasionally are.

"What the Colonel ought to do, sir, to help him in the direction," says
F. B., "is to get into Parliament. The House of Commons would aid him
into the Court of Directors, and the Court of Directors would help him
in the House of Commons."

"Most wisely said," says Warrington.

The Colonel declined. "I have long had the House of Commons in my eye,"
he said; "but not for me. I wanted my boy to go there. It would be a
proud day for me if I could see him there."

"I can't speak," says Clive, from his end of the table. "I don't
understand about parties, like F. B. here."

"I believe I do know a thing or two," Mr. Bayham here interposes.

"And politics do not interest me in the least," Clive sighs out, drawing
pictures with his fork on his napkin, and not heeding the other's
interruption.

"I wish I knew what would interest him," his father whispers to me,
who happened to be at his side. "He never cares to be out of his
painting-room; and he doesn't seem to be very happy even in there. I
wish to God, Pen, I knew what had come over the boy." I thought I knew;
but what was the use of telling, now there was no remedy?

"A dissolution is expected every day," continued F. B. "The papers are
full of it. Ministers cannot go on with this majority--cannot possibly
go on, sir. I have it on the best authority; and men who are anxious
about their seats are writing to their constituents, or are subscribing
at missionary meetings, or are gone down to lecturing at Athenaeums, and
that sort of thing."

Here Warrington burst out into a laughter much louder than the occasion
of the speech of F. B. seemed to warrant; and the Colonel, turning round
with some dignity, asked the cause of George's amusement.

"What do you think your darling, Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome, has
been doing during the recess?" cries Warrington. "I had a letter this
morning, from my liberal and punctual employer, Thomas Potts, Esquire,
of the Newcome Independent, who states, in language scarcely respectful,
that Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome is trying to come the religious dodge,
as Mr. Potts calls it. He professes to be stricken down by grief on
account of late family circumstances; wears black, and puts on the most
piteous aspect, and asks ministers of various denominations