this odious Spanish conspiracy against my darling Montpensier and
daughter; this ferocity of Palmerston against Coletti, makes me quite
ill. Give me your opinion, my dear duke. But ha! whom have we here?"

The august individual who had spoken, had used the Hebrew language
to address Mendoza, and the Lord Codlingsby might easily have pleaded
ignorance of that tongue. But he had been at Cambridge, where all the
youth acquire it perfectly.

"SIRE," said he, "I will not disguise from you that I know the ancient
tongue in which you speak. There are probably secrets between Mendoza
and your Maj--"

"Hush!" said Rafael, leading him from the room. "Au revoir, dear
Codlingsby. His Majesty is one of US," he whispered at the door; "so is
the Pope of Rome; so is . . ."--a whisper concealed the rest.

"Gracious powers! is it so?" said Codlingsby, musing. He entered into
Holywell Street. The sun was sinking.

"It is time," said he, "to go and fetch Armida to the Olympic."




PHIL FOGARTY.

A TALE OF THE FIGHTING ONETY-ONETH.

BY HARRY ROLLICKER.