“Did you bring some of Miss Honeyman’s lodging-house cards with you, Ethel?” says her brother, “and had we not better hang up one or two in Lombard Street; hers and our other relation’s, Mrs. Mason?” “My darling love, who is Mrs. Mason?” asks Lady Anne. “Another member of the family, ma’am. She was cousin——” “She was no such thing, sir,” roars Sir Brian. “She was relative and housemaid of my grandfather during his first marriage. She acted, I believe, as dry nurse to the distinguished Colonel of sepoys, my uncle. She has retired into private life in her native town of Newcome, and occupies her latter days by the management of a mangle. The Colonel and young pothouse have gone down to spend a few days with their elderly relative. It’s all here in the paper, by Jove!” Mr. Barnes clenched his fist, and stamped upon the newspaper with much energy. “And so they should go down and see her, and so the Colonel should love his nurse, and not forget his relations if they are old and poor,” cries Ethel, with a flush on her face, and tears starting into her eyes. “Hear what the Newcome papers say about it,” shrieks out Mr. Barnes, his voice quivering, his little eyes flashing out scorn. “It’s in both the papers, I dare say. It will be in the _Times_ to-morrow. By —— it’s delightful. Our paper only mentions the gratifying circumstance; here is the paragraph. ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Newcome, C.B., a distinguished Indian officer, and younger brother of our respected townsman and representative Sir Brian Newcome, Bart., has been staying for the last week at the King’s Arms, in our city. He has been visited by the principal inhabitants and leading gentlemen of Newcome, and has come among us, as we understand, in order to pass a few days with an elderly relative, who has been living for many years past in great retirement in this place.’” “Well, I see no great harm in that paragraph,” says Sir Brian. “I wish my brother had gone to the Roebuck, and not to the King’s Arms, as the Roebuck is our house: but he could not be expected to know much about the Newcome inns, as he is a _new-comer_ himself. And I think it was very right of the people to call on him.” “Now hear what the _Independent_ says, and see if you like that, sir,” cries Barnes, grinning fiercely; and he began to read as follows:— “‘Mr. _Independent_—I was born and bred a Screwcomite, and am naturally proud of _everybody_ and _everything_ which bears the revered name of Screwcome. I am a Briton and a man, though I have not the honour of a vote for my native borough; if I had, you may be sure I would give it to our _admired_ and _talented_ representative, Don Pomposo Lickspittle Grindpauper, Poor House Agincourt, Screwcome, whose ancestors fought with Julius Cæsar against William the Conqueror, and whose father certainly wielded a _cloth yard shaft_ in London not fifty years ago.