span of full-blooded Arabian horses; magnificent specimens of their
species; proudly sits their owner in his costly equipage. As a man of
wealth, high family, Mr. Howe occupied a prominent position in the
household of the Douglas family. His coming is awaited with eagerness.
Captain Douglas, his friend and companion, is at his side in a moment
addressing him with hearty familiarity, "Howe, you are late. Has business
been pressing? Takes some time to get reconciled to the hum drum of life
in New Brunswick! Well, old fellow, send around the horses and we will
yet have time for a cigar before dinner. Strange, I enjoy one better
before than after. You know I am an odd bird in every sense. Was odd last
evening at mess when we got the rubber." "Douglas, one thing is
confoundedly odd." "How did the natives of New Brunswick ever impose upon
the British Government to send a governor and a private secretary,"
interrupted Charles Douglas. "Ha, ha, ha," laughed the latter, with
repeated and renewed attacks. "Howe, you have been baulked in some design
to-day; perhaps the fair one smiled on another, or odder still, some
rival is ready to exchange a few kindly shots." "Oh, Douglas, for
Heaven's sake stop and save your breath for more interesting topics,"
exclaimed the latter. The secretary lit a cigar and sat down to glance
over the contents of a letter. Muttering some irreverent expressions upon
the writer. "Howe, you 'see through a glass darkly,'" yelled Captain
Douglas, "to-morrow you will see face to face Major McNair and the sports
of H.M. 52nd. It will be mightily odd if you do not give them a brush.
Count upon me, too, as I intend to show in earnest what stuff Prince is
made of." "One thing you show," said Mr. Howe, with a strange grin--"a
desire to turn parson or priest. I might make a few suppositions without
interruption. Perhaps you have been initiating yourself in the good
graces of a Rev. Clergyman, by a few such quotations. Perhaps the church
might take better in New Brunswick than the army. Douglas, with all your
perhapses, you are a cunning diplomatist." "You certainly do me credit,
Howe," said his friend; "I possess enough cunning to perceive that you
are not in your native element this September 22nd, 1824."

The private secretary of His Excellency, Sir Howard Douglas, was a man
of no ordinary stamp. He had ability and coolness; the last named
quality had gained him much favour from the veteran commander, and a
desir