“Dear Sir Thomas,--I have just learned, from an _unmistakable quarter_, that it is Lord ---------‘s (naming the Premier for the time being) intention to apply to you for your living of Ashburn for the nephew of Mr. ----------, the colonial Bishop of Boreanigger. The coalition is still quite upon the cards, so it would scarcely be advisable to say ‘no;’ while, if they go out, which is more than probable, to say ‘yes’ would be certain to give offence where you would least wish to do so. I would therefore suggest that, if you have not already filled up the vacancy, it would be _most desirable_ to do so without delay, and you will thus avoid the difficulty--_verbum sat_. “I am, dear Sir Thomas, yours very faithfully. “A. Tadpole.” “P.S. You will kindly bear in mind that clerkship in the Woods and Forests; young Grig, Mrs. Tadpole’s nephew, is a very promising lad, and in good hands might do credit to his patron.” Sir Thomas read and re-read the letter. How fortunate that Tadpole had ferreted out this information! but for that he might have been forced to commit himself irrevocably to the wrong side--horrible idea! Yes, Tadpole was right: the living must be disposed of without an hour’s delay: who should he give it to? It must be some one without political influence or connection, Zest he should give offence to either party! At this moment, from one of those strange chances which occasionally appear to determine the whole destiny of a lifetime by the agency of a mere trifle, Sir Thomas knocked some papers off his desk, and as he stooped to pick them up, the card Ernest Carrington had sent in some weeks before fell from among them. He raised it, and regarding it fixedly, as though he were scrutinizing the person whose name it bore, muttered--