(_FRAGMENT FROM A HISTORICAL SKETCH YET TO BE WRITTEN._)

[Illustration]

It was shortly after the middle of July, 1892, that the Great
Representative of the British Race stood upon the Victoria Embankment,
watching the river-steamers as they passed to and fro. There were few
persons about, for the General Election was over, and civilised London
was out of Town. Some of civilised London had gone abroad, some were
in Scotland, some by the Sea. So the Great Representative expected to
see no one.

"_Mr. Punch_, I believe!" said some one, approaching the Great
Representative. The speaker was a person who wore a garb peculiarly
suitable to the autumnal sultriness of the weather. He had about a
couple of yards of calico, and one good coating of serviceable paint.
The Great Representative bowed his head, and by a gesture, invited
further explanation.

"I am connected with the literary world, and am a Colonist. I am
known, or used to be known (for I am getting a trifle out of date), as
Lord MACAULAY's New-Zealander."

Again the Great Representative bowed. He knew his visitor, and bade
him welcome. Then he asked him the cause of his visit.

"Well, I really don't know," replied the New-Zealander, with a short
laugh. "I am afraid I must have been hoaxed. I was told that England
was absolutely ruined, and was looking for a comfortable seat amongst