'My tragedy is, then, thy farce!' he exclaimed. 'Well, be it so! I
believe I shall come to song-writing again myself shortly-beneath the
shield of Catnach I'll a nation's ballads frame. I've spent my income in
four months, and now I 'm living on my curricle. I underlet it. It 's
like trade--it 's as bad as poor old Harrington, by Jove! But that isn't
the worst, Franko!' Jack dropped his voice: 'I believe I'm furiously
loved by a poor country wench.'

'Morals!' was Franko's most encouraging reproof.

'Oh, I don't think I've even kissed her,' rejoined Raikes, who doubted
because his imagination was vivid. 'It 's my intellect that dazzles her.
I 've got letters--she calls me clever. By Jove! since I gave up
driving I've had thoughts of rushing down to her and making her mine in
spite of home, family, fortune, friends, name, position--everything!
I have, indeed.'

Franko looked naturally astonished at this amount of self-sacrifice.
'The Countess?' he shrewdly suggested.

'I'd rather be my Polly's prince,
Than yon great lady's errand-boy!'

Raikes burst into song.

He stretched out his hand, as if to discard all the great ladies who were
passing. By the strangest misfortune ever known, the direction taken by
his fingers was toward a carriage wherein, beautifully smiling opposite
an elaborately reverend gentleman of middle age, the Countess de Saldar
was sitting. This great lady is not to be blamed for deeming that her