on coins; on a picture or two hanging here and there in a Club or old-fashioned dining-room; on horseback, as at Trafalgar Square, for example, where I defy any monarch to look more uncomfortable.  He turns up in sundry memoirs and histories which have been published of late days; in Mr. Massey’s “History;” in the “Buckingham and Grenville Correspondence;” and gentlemen who have accused a certain writer of disloyalty are referred to those volumes to see whether the picture drawn of George is overcharged.  Charon has paddled him off; he has mingled with the crowded republic of the dead.  His effigy smiles from a canvas or two.  Breechless he bestrides his steed in Trafalgar Square.  I believe he still wears his robes at Madame Tussaud’s (Madame herself having quitted Baker Street and life, and found him she modelled t’other side the Stygian stream).  On the head of a five-shilling piece we still occasionally come upon him, with St. George, the dragon-slayer, on the other side of the coin.  Ah me! did this George slay many dragons?  Was he a brave, heroic champion, and rescuer of virgins?  Well! well! have you and I overcome all the dragons that assail us? come alive and victorious out of all the caverns which we have entered in life, and succored, at risk of life and limb, all poor distressed persons in whose naked limbs the dragon Poverty is about to fasten his fangs, whom the dragon Crime is poisoning with his horrible breath, and about to crunch up and devour?  O my royal liege!  O my gracious prince and warrior!  You a champion to fight that monster?  Your feeble spear ever pierce that slimy paunch or plated back?  See how the flames come gurgling out of his red-hot brazen throat!  What a roar!  Nearer and nearer he trails, with eyes flaming like the lamps of a railroad engine.  How he squeals, rushing out through the darkness of his tunnel!  Now he is near.  Now he is here.  And now—­what?—­lance, shield, knight, feathers, horse and all?  O horror, horror!  Next day, round the monster’s cave, there lie a few bones more.  You, who wish to keep yours in your skins, be thankful that you are not called upon to go out and fight dragons.  Be grateful that they don’t sally out and swallow you.  Keep a wise distance from their caves, lest you pay too dearly for approaching them.  Remember that years passed, and whole districts were ravaged, before the warrior came who was able to cope with the devouring monster.  When that knight does make his appearance, with all my heart let us go out and welcome him with our best songs, huzzas, and laurel wreaths, and eagerly recognize his valor and victory.  But he comes only seldom.  Countless knights were slain before St. George won the battle.  In the battle of life are we all going to try for the honors of championship?  If we can do our duty, if we can keep our place pretty honorably through the combat, let us say, Laus Deo! at the end of it, as the firing ceases, and the night falls over the field.