and those pieces at the sides: then I found one on the trunk of the finest oak on my estate, that great one, you know, at the corner by the cross-roads: in the village they are everywhere, and there is actually one sprawling its full length across both the church doors!'

'More than that, I have set four men at work to tear them down from every scrap of property I possess in the neighborhood, trees, walls, doors, and all, and you know there can be very few left, as I possess all the parish except fifteen acres !'

'I suppose the meeting will come off."

'Oh! yes; of course,-let Plantagenista alone. I'll go myself as a parishioner, Evangelical,' and 'a friend of the Gospel,' and I should like to see them turn me out.'

'They would hardly do that!"

'No, indeed! I wish I'd bought that little screed of land the other day when it was on sale; and now, through my sheer negligence, and because I thought I had as much as I required, and could take care of, here has Plantagenista come and bought two acres and three quarters of freehold ground in the very centre of my property, and goodness knows how much mischief he may do! Dear! dear! who would have thought it!' And the Baronet took out his purse and shook it viciously, and grinned at it, as if he thought he could break its back with satisfaction for not expending itself on the obnoxious acres.

'Let me see, Sir George,' said the Rector, again taking up the rainbow, which had fallen on the carpet, 'When is the day?'

'Next Friday at eight o'clock.'

Mr. Warborough made a memorandum to that effect, and so did Sir George. Both had resolved to go to the meeting; Sir George with rather John Bullish, threatening ideas of doing something very like reading the riot act; Mr. Warborough in the hopes of quietly leading the audience away from the orators, in case any of the wiser parishioners should by any chance, by accident, or out of mistaken, misplaced condescension, attend the meeting.

Poor Sir George! such a revolution had never taken place within his domains before, and he longed to quash it at once; but patience, for once, he was obliged to exercise.

He left the Rectory that evening, sad, and sorrowful at heart, leaving its inmate not less sorrowful, not less sad. "The gates of Hell,' said Mr. Warborough as he returned from the porch door into his library, after seeing Sir George depart, the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it!' (To be continued.)

A SKETCH OF HIS MOSQUITO MAJESTY.
From the "Morning Advertiser."

WHEN the Emperor of the French and his Cabinet appear to be steering England into war with the United States of America, it must naturally excite the interest of Englishmen to learn some particulars of the illustrious Potentate who forms the subject of the quarrel.

Unfortunately, the curiosity of Britons has been hitherto very cruelly balked in the case of the Mosquito Monarch. Imagination conjures up, of course, a charming compound of wild simplicity and American barbaric splendour. A Montezuma reigns, in fancy, in the plains of Nicaragua, and we picture to ourselves his Court, his State, his native Majesty, his wives, his concubines, and all his domestic arrangements. Misfortune always claims the sympathies, as well as the subscriptions of Englishmen, and monarchial misfortunes peculiarly appeal to their loyalty and cash. No wonder, then, that they make the cause of the Mosquito Sovereign theirs, and are willing to 'protect' with as many men and millions as the protection may require, the scion of this race of kings.

Whilst everybody must have felt this sentiment paramount in his breast, every one must also have secretly owned his anxiety to realise his fond conception of his Mosquito Majesty. That was indubitably the lacuna to be filled, the desideratum of desideratums to be satisfied, to make all England happy. The soldiers of Xenophon were not more elated when they discovered the sea, nor the inventor of the Eureka shirt more transported when he discovered its tails, than Britons must be at this moment. Their princely protégé,

their Mosquito ally, is revealed in the flesh, or rather in print, for their admiration and allegiance.

We owe this great fact, and greater obligation, to Mr. Samuel Bard, who went one summer to the kingdom of Mosquito, and one fine morning to Blue-fields, the Mosquito capital. It does not appear that the metropolis in question was peculiarly remarkable for streets, the prominent features being cocoa-nut trees, a broad path, and a river. What was wanting in brick and mortar was made up in the picturesque, which was speedily brought to its culminating point, by Mr. Bard's meeting Mr. Bell, a tall, thin, man, of a serious aspect, and rather hard of hearing. Mr. Bard said 'Good morning,' to Mr. Bell, and Mr. Bell, after some consideration, said 'Good morning' to Mr. Bard. The acquaintance thus auspiciously begun was quite as propitiously proceeded with, Mr. Bell ceremoniously propelling Mr. Bard to Mr. Bell's palatial residence.

Now, this gracious invitation from Mr. Bell was by no means to be sneezed at, for though tall, and thin, and hard of hearing, Mr. Bell was her Majesty's representative at Bluefields, the seat of Mosquito empire. Mr. Bard accordingly walked home with Mr. Bell, to take coffee and notes, and having sipped the coffee, saved the notes for the edification of England. Here they are:-

"His house was a plain building of rough boards, with several small rooms, all opening into the principal apartment, in which I was invited to sit down. A sleepy-looking black girl, with an enormous shock of frizzled hair, was sweeping the floor in a languid, mechanical way, calculated to superinduce yawning, even after a brisk morning walk. The partitions were hung with many prints, in which, "Her Most Gracious Majesty" appeared in all the multiform glory of steel, lithograph, and chromotint. A gun or two, a table in the corner, supporting a confused collection of books and papers, with some ropes, boots, and iron grapnels, beneath a few chairs, a Yankee clock, and a table, completed the furniture and decoration of the room. I am thus particular in this inventory, for reasons which will afterward appear.

'At a word from Mr. Bell, the torpid black girl disappeared for a few moments, and then came back with some cups and a pot of coffee. I observed that there were three cups, and

that my host filled them all, which I thought a little singular, since there were but two of us. A faint, momentary suspicion crossed my mind, that the female polypus stood in some such relation to my host as to warrant her in honouring us with her company. But, instead of doing so, she unceremoniously pushed open a door in the corner, and curtly ejaculated to some unseen occupant, "Get up!" There was a kind of querulous response, and directly a thumping and muttering, as of some person who regarded himself as unreasonably disturbed. Meanwhile, we had each finished our first cup of coffee, and were proceeding with a second, when the door in the corner opened, and a black boy, or what an American would be apt to call "a young darkey," apparently nineteen or twenty years old, shuffled up to the table. He wore only a shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, and cotton pantaloons, scarcely buttoned at all. He nodded to my entertainer with a drawling "Mornin', sir," and sat down to the third cup of coffee. My host seemed to take no notice of him, and we continued our conversation. Soon after, the sloven youth got up, took his hat, and slowly walked down the path to the river, where I afterward saw him washing his face in the stream.'

Who does not instinctively perceive something more than meets the eye, or the ear, in the Mornin', sir,' of that 'young darkey?' Young darkey! Psha! Do mere young darkeys lie abed while Mr. Bell, though hard of hearing, is facing the eager morning air on the banks of the river in Blue-fields? Ridiculous! Do you think that young darkeys make ‘querulous responses' when the black girls of men as tall and thin as Mr. Bell tell them to 'get up?" Preposterous! There is royalty there-majesty in dishabille-a prince, and nothing less, depend upon it. No wonder there was thumping and muttering, and a notion of being woke up too early. That open shirt, those cotton pants warmed or cooled, a Mosquito Monarch!

'As I was about leaving, Mr. Bell kindly volunteered his services to me, in any way they might be made available. I thanked him, and suggested that, having no object to accomplish except to "scare up" adventures, and seek out novel sights, I should be obliged to him for an introduction to the King, at some future day, after Antonio should have suc

ceeded in rejuvenating my suit of ceremony, now rather rusty from saturation with salt water. He smiled faintly, and said, as for that matter, there need be no delay; and, stepping to the door, shouted to the black youth by the river, and beckoned him to come up the bank. The youth put on his hat hurriedly and obeyed. "Perhaps you are not aware that is the King?" observed my host, with a contemptuous smile. I made no reply, as the youth was at hand. He took off his hat respectfully, but there was no introduction in the case, beyond the quiet observation, "George, this gentleman has come to see you. Sit down!"

'I soon saw who was the real "king" in Blue-fields. "George," I think, had also a notion of his own on the subject, but was kept in such strict subordination that he never manifested it by words. I found him shy, but not without the elements of an ordinary English education, which he had received in England. He is nothing more or less than a negro, with hardly a perceptible trace of Indian blood, and would pass at the South for "a likely young fellow, worth twelve hundred dollars, as a body-servant!"

We don't exactly know if his Mosquito Majesty would be worth twelve hundred dollars in the South, but we do know very well that his dusky Highness will cost us Britishers a great deal more than twelve hundred dollars in the North. At whatever 'ticket' 'George' may pitch the English Protectorate and his Protectors, our English Lords have ticketed 'George' at a very high figure indeed. For George, Blue-fields, and Mr. Bell, they are going to war with the States, and almost every stitch in George's shirt and George's cotton 'pants' will cost the intelligent British people (to 'protect' those 'pants' and George) a cool million of British pounds, and a pool of British blood.

Notices of Books.

LAST month no Notices of Books were given, because the Editor was unwell and unable to note the numerous publications which lay on our table; but, as we are thankful to say, that 'Richard is himself again,' we will now bring up our lee way; and the first on our list is :

DAILY STUDIES DURING LENT; by the Rev Edward Monro, the in