to think of himself. Mrs. Lee trusted in him by instinct. "He is a
type!" said she; "he is my idea of George Washington at thirty."

One morning in December, Carrington entered Mrs. Lee's parlour
towards noon, and asked if she cared to visit the Capitol.

"You will have a chance of hearing to-day what may be the last
great speech of our greatest statesman," said he; "you should
come."

"A splendid sample of our na-tive raw material, sir?" asked she,
fresh from a reading of Dickens, and his famous picture of
American statesmanship.

"Precisely so," said Carrington; "the Prairie Giant of Peonia, the
Favourite Son of Illinois; the man who came within three votes of
getting the party nomination for the Presidency last spring, and
was only defeated because ten small intriguers are sharper than
one big one. The Honourable Silas P.

Ratcliffe, Senator from Illinois; he will be run for the Presidency
yet."

"What does the P. stand for?" asked Sybil.

"I don't remember ever to have heard his middle name," said
Carrington.

"Perhaps it is Peonia or Prairie; I can't say."