he North--but an old servant and relation of his
family, whom he is not above recognising; who nursed him in his early
days; who has been living in her native place for many years, supported
by the generous bounty of Colonel N------. The gallant officer,
accompanied by his son, a fine youth, has taken repeated drives round
our beautiful environs in one of friend Taplow's (of the King's Arms)
open drags, and accompanied by Mrs. ------, now an aged lady, who
speaks, with tears in her eyes, of the goodness and gratitude of her
gallant soldier!

"'One day last week they drove to Screwcome House. Will it be believed
that, though the house is only four miles distant from our city--though
Don Pomposo's family have inhabited it these twelve years for four or
five months every year--Mrs. M------ saw her cousin's house for the
first time; has never set eyes upon those grandees, except in public
places, since the day when they honoured the county by purchasing the
estate which they own?

"'I have, as I repeat, no vote for the borough; but if I had, oh,
wouldn't I show my respectful gratitude at the next election, and
plump for Pomposo! I shall keep my eye upon him, and am, Mr.
Independent,--Your Constant Reader, Peeping Tom.'"

"The spirit of radicalism abroad in this country," said Sir Brian
Newcome, crushing his egg-shell desperately, "is dreadful, really
dreadful. We are on the edge of a positive volcano." Down went the
egg-spoon into its crater. "The worst sentiments are everywhere publicly
advocated; the licentiousness of the press has reached a pinnacle which
menaces us with ruin; there is no law which these shameless newspapers
respect; no rank which is safe from their attacks; no ancient landmark
which the lava-flood of democracy does not threaten to overwhelm and
destroy."

"When I was at Spielburg," Barnes Newcome remarked kindly, "I saw
three long-bearded, putty-faced blaguards pacin up and down a little
courtyard, and Count Keppenheimer told me they were three damned editors
of Milanese newspapers, who had had seven years of imprisonment already;
and last year when Keppenheimer came to shoot at Newcome, I showed him
that old thief, old Batters, the proprietor of the Independent, and
Potts, his infernal ally, driving in a dogcart; and I said to him,
Keppenheimer, I wish we had a place where we could lock up some of our
infernal radicals of the press, or that you could take off those two
villains to Spielburg; and a