Lope and Calderon. With you, I have shared
my delight in Spanish art and Moorish
architecture. With you, I have watched the
roadside water-wheel and listened to the insatiate
cicalas. We have been burnt by the same
sun and shared the same bitter beer (Hear,
hear! from Spanker). We have slept under the
same roof, and sat at the same tables, picked
at the same grape-bunches and divided the
same loaf. With your names will ever be
associated my sunny recollections of Spain.
I never shall part an orange's sections, or
hear a guitar speak, but I shall think, kind
friends, of you; and, when I reach in old
age the inevitable regions of Fogiedom, and
pass on querulously to that dark country
of Twaddledom, which is bisected by the
great black river of Oblivion, I shall bore
my delighted children with stories in which
your friendly names will be intertwined.
Gentlemen— Mr. Chairman and gentlemen,
I shall now sit down, expressing once
more my fervent and grateful sense of the
honour you have done me." (Tremendous
cheering.)

"I suppose it's too late to get the old
trump a piece of plate?" says Spanker, "I
shan't care how soon I leave Gib now he's
going."

' Don't forget me," I said, " Spanker."

"Not I," said Spanker.

"Not likely," said Driver.

"Gentlemens," said Rose, coming in, " the
luggage is gone down. It is time to be
moving, my gentlemens."

Pressing cigars on me, small bull-terriers,
Barbary monkeys, Crimean swords, fishing
rods, accordions, merschaums, and other
trifles, Spanker and Driver followed me to the
Waterport Gate, where we took boat.

It was a delicious sunset as we glided from
the land, and Schwartzenlicht said, referring
to Spanker, now fading to a mere scarlet
speck on the shore, " Dat is a fine young
mans. I should like to have taken his
bordtrait."

"By Jove, so should I," said Fluker.

Old Gib grew smaller and smaller; but, as
long as I could distinguish objects on the
shore, I could still see two scarlet specks of
exactly the same size standing there—the
one was Spanker and the other was Driver.
I kept the glass up till they grew no larger
than house flies— the blue bottle behind
waving a handkerchief, was, I presume, Major
Hodgins of the Mounted Bombardiers.

NOBODY'S PHILANTHROPIST.

A CERTAIN philanthropist took a notorious
young pickpocket by the hand, and introduced
the little criminal to his wife and children;
bidding them look upon him as a servant of
the family.

And when young Nobody (the subject of
the experiment), after a sermon from the
Philanthropist on the inestimable advantages
of honesty, and the losing game of theft;
told him to go into the kitchen, eat his dinner,
and learn the household duties he had to
perform: when Nobody, in short, was fairly
ensconsed in his new home, he began to
reflect seriously on the step, which, in a
moment of honest enthusiasm, under the fire of
the Philanthropist's eloquence, he had determined
upon trying.

He remembered, possibly, the days in the
native court, when his kind old protector had
soothed and comforted him, after his father
had thrashed him: the days when he walked
boldly about the streets in no fear of the
police. He remembered, also, that while he
was risking his liberty by thieving, he was
enduring all kinds of hardships. He did not,
probably, weigh these advantages and
disadvantages, clearly and methodically; but he
held a confused conclusion that there was
something better in the plan of life proposed
to him by the Philanthropist, than he could
find in the career of a thief. The sympathy
of a good man touched him, and helped
to win him over. He was startled by the
appearance of a strange friend, who really
and truly did not wish to do him harm. For
it had been poor little Nobody's creed, as it
had unhappily been his experience, that
simple, pure selfishness was the mainspring
of every human action. So that cunning, to
him, was the admirable quality. It was an
art by which the artist could obtain the
greatest advantages from others with the least
exertion to himself. His life had been almost
exclusively devoted to the development of
this cunning. His caution was remarkably
precocious. He would have been a clever lad,
who had played a successful trick upon astute
little Nobody. Strangely, doubtingly, did the
boy look up into the Philanthropist's face,
endeavouring to read the teacher's heart.
Nobody found it hard to believe that there was
really and truly an unselfish person in the
world. Might not the old fellow be trying on
some game? What could his dodge be? Why
should an elderly party, who had got a good
house of his own, run into slums and low
lodging-houses, and pick out the like of him?
Could it be for amusement? or was he
soft-headed, with a little money about him that he
didn't exactly know how to get rid of? For
some time, Nobody was sorely puzzled. The
man who did anything without having a selfish
object in view, was, to his unhappy judgment, an
idiot. Nobody could not respect any passer-
by who happened to give him a few pence.
The donor was simply a very shallow man of
the world. This state of feeling was natural
to him and his companions. They lived in a
permanent state of suspicion. It was their
business to be on their guard against everybody;
for, on all sides, they had something to
fear. A little, ragged army in a great enemy's
country, vigilant scouts, and a strong vanguard,
protecting outposts were as necessary to
them, as are these precautions to the French