'He will please;--he does please. Of course he saw what I wrote to you. And now, Larry, if I have ever treated you badly, say that you pardon me.'
'If I had known it-----' he said.
'How could I tell you, till he had spoken? And yet I knew it myself! It has been so,--oh,--ever so long! What could I do? You will say that you will forgive me.'
'Yes;--I will say that.'
'And you will not go away from Chowton?'
'Oh, no! They tell me I ought to stay here, and I suppose I shall stay. I thought I'd just come over and say a word. I'm going away to-morrow for a month. There is a fellow has got some fishing in Ireland. Good-bye.'
'And I thought perhaps you'd take this now.' Then he brought out from his pocket a little ruby ring which he had carried often in his pocket to the attorney's house, thinking that perhaps then might come the happy hour in which he could get her to accept it. But the hour had never come as yet, and the zing had remained in the little drawer beneath his looking-glass. It need hardly be said that she now accepted the gift.
THE Senator for Mikewa,--whose name we have taken for a book which might perhaps have been better called 'The Chronicle of a Winter at Dillsborough' --did not stay long in London after the unfortunate close of his lecture. He was a man not very pervious to criticism, nor afraid of it, but he did not like the treatment he had received at St. James's Hall, nor the remarks which his lecture produced in the newspapers. He was angry because people were unreasonable with him, which was surely unreasonable in him who accused Englishmen generally of want of reason. One ought to take it as a matter of course that a bull should use his horns, and a wolf his teeth. The Senator read everything that was