Lost to his friends their worth may now be measured By the strong sense of loss. How "OLD MORALITY's" memory will be treasured, Midst faction's pitch-and-toss. But England which has instincts above Party Most mourns the Man, now gone, Who gave to Duty an allegiance hearty As that of WELLINGTON. Sure "the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal"[1] Would his successor praise; As modest, as unselfish, as impartial, Though fallen on calmer days. No glittering hero, but when England numbers Patriots of worth and pith, His name shall sound, who after suffering slumbers, Plain WILLIAM HENRY SMITH! [Footnote 1: LONGFELLOW's "_The Warden of the Cinque Ports_."] * * * * * [Illustration: THE ETERNAL FITNESS OF THINGS. "I WANT A NICE TIE, FOR A WEDDING. CAN YOU RECOMMEND ME ONE?" "CERTAINLY, SIR. A--ER--_PRINCIPAL_ GUEST, SIR?"] * * * * * A ROMANCE IN NUMBERS. As we announced last week, the _Gentlewoman_ proposes for publication "the most extraordinary novel of modern times"--a tale which is to be written chapter by chapter, week after week, by well-known writers of fiction, without consultation with their collaborateurs. We did the same thing years ago. However, as the notion is still calculated to amuse and instruct our readers, we subjoin a short story, which has been written on the same terms by the entire strength of a paper--political, sporting, and social. It will be found below. WHAT? WHO? AND WHICH? (_A JOINT STOCK MYSTERY._) _Political Writer commences_.--Yes, EUSTACE entered the House prepared to vote for the Government. He knew that Lady FLORA had counted upon his vote in support of her father, the Duke, and the other Members of the Opposition. But when did love outweigh duty? EUSTACE knew that the prosperity of the entire country depended upon his views. With the price of corn falling, with the Russian Bear on the prowl, growing nearer and nearer to our Afghan frontier, with the unsettled state of the South American Republics, he knew that only one course was open to him. "FLORA, darling," he said to the fair girl, as he paced by her side in the Lobby, "believe me, I will do anything to help you; but what _can_ I do?" _Sporting Writer continues_.--"What can you do?" she echoed, with a hearty laugh, as she struck her riding-habit smartly with her whip; "why, tell me the horse you fancy for the Cambridgeshire!" He thought for a moment. He knew the good points of _Bobby_, and was rather partial to _Rosina_; but nothing wrong with _Snuffbox_, the stable reports were favourable. Still, you can't always rely upon what you see, much less what you hear. "Lady," said he, at length, "if you take my advice, you will back nothing until they go to the post."