n of Dissenters.

'And those thirty or forty thousand, colonel, call the men that do the
work they ought to be doing demagogues. The parsonry are a power
absolutely to be counted for waste, as to progress.'

Cecilia perceived that her father was beginning to be fretted.

She said, with a tact that effected its object: 'I am one who hear Mr.
Culbrett without admiring his wit.'

'No, and I see no good in this kind of Steynham talk,' Colonel Halkett
said, rising. 'We're none of us perfect. Heaven save us from political
parsons!'

Beauchamp was heard to utter, 'Humanity.'

The colonel left the room with Cecilia, muttering the Steynham tail to
that word: 'tomtity,' for the solace of an aside repartee.

She was on her way to dress for church. He drew her into the library, and
there threw open a vast placard lying on the table. It was printed in
blue characters and red. 'This is what I got by the post this morning. I
suppose Nevil knows about it. He wants tickling, but I don't like this
kind of thing. It 's not fair war. It 's as bad as using explosive
bullets in my old game.'

'Can he expect his adversaries to be tender with him?' Cecilia simulated
vehemence in an underbreath. She glanced down the page:

'FRENCH MARQUEES' caught her eye.

It was a page of verse. And, oh! could it have issued from a Tory
Committee?

'The Liberals are as bad, and worse,' her father said.

She became more and more distressed. 'It seems so very mean, papa; so
base. Ungenerous is no word for it. And how vulgar! Now I remember, Nevil
said he wished to see Mr. Austin.'

'Seymour Austin would not sanction it.'

'No, but Nevil might hold him responsible for it.'

'I suspect Mr. Stukely Culbrett, whom he quotes, and that smoking-room
lot at Lespel's. I distinctly discountenance it. So I shall tell them on
Wednesday night. Can you keep a secret?'

'And after all Nevil Beauchamp is very young, papa!--of course I can keep
a secret.'

The colonel exacted no word of honour, feeling quite sure of her.

He whispered the secret in six words, and her cheeks glowed vermilion.

'But they will meet on Wednesday after this,' she said, and her sight
went dancing down the column of verse, of which the following trotting
couplet is a specimen:--

'O did you ever, hot in love, a little British middy see,
Like Orpheus asking what the deuce to do without Eurydice?'

The middy is jilted by his FRENCH MARQUEES, whom he 'did adore,' and in
hi