the newspaper editor in his pay could not tack _any_ epithet more flattering than “_neat_” to Sir Kit’s address to his constituents. Quere, may not this word _neat_, applied to gentlemen’s harangues, which are neither sensible, witty, eloquent, nor impressive, be a delicate cover for--_calf_? Well, shouts rent the air, and the sweet sounds of “Sir Christopher for ever!” struck upon the listening organs of Mrs. Hannaper, who was seated in a balcony of the Red Lion inn, glowing like a Chinese poppy, and surrounded with her attendant nymphs, though certainly very unlike Calypso herself, awaiting the happy moment of victory to buff and blue. No sooner did the glad tidings reach the portals of her ear, than Mrs. Hannaper, with her plumed hat in one hand, and a white handkerchief in the other, cheered the populace. A shower of silver next bestrewed the pavement. Tar barrels, beer barrels, and all the usual vulgarities of _mobbish_ demonstration, had their turn, and the tables at Parham Hall groaned under the hecatomb sacrificed that day to this new pillar of the Constitution, this swollen, shining faced, addle pated, member of the British Senate, duly elected to represent that _goodly_ portion of the British empire; the ale-steeped suffrages of which gave him a trifling majority over a sensible, worthy man, who was his opponent, and committed its interests to the head of one who would never have made the troublesome discovery through any appeal to his judgment, that he had a head at all on his shoulders, if it had not been for a reference once submitted to his fiat, to decide between the rival merits of unadulterated Lundy Foot, and the Duke of York’s mixture. On the evening of that auspicious day, Mrs. Hannaper, wound up to the highest height of generous enthusiasm, took her niece aside, and just as the dancing was about to commence, presented her with a power of attorney, duly executed to her agents in London, and enabling them to transfer £20,000 from her name to that of Miss Ormsby, in the New Four per Cents, saying, as she slipped the paper into her niece’s hand, “we do not know what is before us; this is a day of rejoicing, and you shall have your share in it. Here I have made you independent, and you may please yourself in the choice of a husband.” Little did the poor lady dream of what she was about, nor guess the prompt obedience of Miss Ormsby in adopting her aunt’s suggestion.