the Calabrian patriots for the next insurrection, I have marked this
stranger--this Lor Yardham. He smokes, 'tis to conceal his countenance;
he drinks gin, 'tis to hide his face in the goblet. And be sure, he
carries every word of our conversation to the perfidious Palmerston, his
uncle."

"I will beard him in his den," thought Jools. "I will meet him
corps-a-corps--the tyrant of Europe shall suffer through his nephew, and
I will shoot him as dead as Dujarrier."

When Lor Yardham came to the "Constantanople" that night, Jools i'd
him savidgely from edd to foot, while Lord Yardham replied the same.
It wasn't much for either to do--neyther being more than 4 foot ten
hi--Jools was a grannydear in his company of the Nashnal Gard, and was
as brayv as a lion.

"Ah, l'Angleterre, l'Angleterre, tu nous dois une revanche," said Jools,
crossing his arms and grinding his teeth at Lord Yardham.

"Wee," said Lord Yardham; "wee."

"Delenda est Carthago!" howled out Jools.

"Oh, wee," said the Erl of Yardham, and at the same moment his glas of
ginawater coming in, he took a drink, saying, "A voternsanty, Munseer:"
and then he offered it like a man of fashn to Jools.

A light broak on Jools's mind as he igsepted the refreshmint.
"Sapoase," he said, "instedd of slaughtering this nephew of the infamous
Palmerston, I extract his secrets from him; suppose I pump him--suppose