“Give me your arm, Linton; I'm still very far from strong,--this place disagrees with me. I fancy the air is rheumatic, and I am impatient to get away; but the fact is, I have been lingering in the hope of receiving some tidings from the Foreign Office, which I had rather would reach me here than at my own house.” “Precisely, my Lord; the request, then, has the air--I mean it shows you have been sought after by the Minister, and solicited to take office when not thinking of the matter yourself.” “Quite so; I open the despatch, as it may be, at the breakfast-table, jocularly observing that it looks official, eh?” “Exactly, my Lord; you even surmise that it may prove an appointment you have solicited for one of your numerous _protégés_,--something in the Colonies, or the 'troop,' without purchase, in the Blues?” Lord Kilgoff laughed--for him, heartily--at Linton's concurrence in his humor, and went on,-- “And when I open it, Linton, and read the contents, eh?” Here he paused, as if asking what effect his astute friend would ascribe to such pleasant tidings. “I think I see your Lordship throw the heavy packet from you with a 'pshaw!' of disappointment; while you mutter to your next neighbor, 'I have been warding off this these two or three last years; but there's no help for it: the King insists upon my taking the mission at Florence!'” “I must say, Mr. Linton, your conjecture strikes me as strained and unnatural. The appointment to represent my august master at the court of Tuscany might be a worthy object of my ambition. I cannot agree with the view you take of it.” Linton saw that he had “charged too far,” and hastened to secure his retreat. “I spoke, my Lord, rather with reference to your regret at quitting the scenes of your natural influence at home, of withdrawing from this distracted country the high example of your presence, the wisdom of your counsels, the munificence of your charity. These are sad exports at such a time as this!” Lord Kilgoflf sighed, he sighed heavily; he knew Ireland had gone through many trials and afflictions, but the dark future which Linton pictured had never presented itself so full of gloom before. He doubtless felt that when he left the ship she would not long survive the breakers; and, sunk in these reveries, he walked along at Linton's side till they gained the picture-gallery, at one extremity of which lay the boudoir we have spoken of. “Poor things, my Lord!” said Linton, shrugging his shoulders as he passed along, and casting a contemptuous glance at the apocryphal Vandykes and Murillos around, and for whose authenticity he had himself, in nearly every case, been the guarantee. Lord Kilgoff gave a fleeting look at them, but said nothing; and Linton, to occupy time, went on,--