sal, in a tone of considerable astonishment.

"Of course," replied the visitor. "Everything was settled long ago,
and before Christmas there won't be a red-coat in Egypt!"

"Indeed," returned His Highness, "I certainly have not heard it, and I
fancy--"

But the Traveller departed without ascertaining the drift of the
KHEDIVE's fancies, and on his road, strictly according to precedent,
spread the disquieting intelligence, and consequently the Egyptian
people were greatly troubled.

And now the Traveller was once more back in London. He entered Capel
Court and rested himself. He said nothing. It was unnecessary, for he
was well known, and his stories had already been discounted.

"Ah, my little friend RUMOUR," said Mr. BULLBEAR; "you have come back
again! And now you can rest for awhile, until we want you after the
next account."

So RUMOUR is waiting in the Stock Exchange until he is wanted after
the next account!

* * * * *

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.

NO. XIV.--TO SWAGGER.

I approach you with fear and trembling. Somewhere in the Cave of the
Winds you have your home. The ancient Authors, to their discredit,
make no mention of your existence there, but the fact is as I have
stated it. The East wind blows into your gaping mouth, and forth you
go, puffing and swelling with an alien importance, to do your hateful
work. You hover over a second-rate Statesman, who has attracted the
applause of a Party by an opportune speech, compiled by the industry
of a humble Secretary. From that moment his nature changes. Though he
may have been simple and beloved, yet, through you, he shall become
pompous, and abhorred. His fellow-creatures are thenceforth mere
material for his trampling feet; he swells into regions to which no
criticism can reach; he covers himself in a triple hide of vanity,
ostentation, and disdain; he hails himself continually as the unaided
Saviour of his country, and dies in the odour of braggadocio, without
a genuine friend to mourn his loss.

[Illustration]

Or, again, you select some common, smug-faced Clergyman, capable, no
doubt, if he were left alone, of guiding his flock quietly into the
strait paths of goodness and humility. You turn him into a loud-voiced
Clerical quack, vending his wretched patent medicines of salvation
in a style of offensive denunciation that would have ruined a host of
Dulcamaras, trained in the insinuating methods of the ordinary trade.
Bu