taste is for quiet farming and breeding.'

'Friendship, as far as possible; union, if the terms are fair,' said
Philip. 'It's only the name of union now; supposing it a concession that
is asked of them; say, sacrifice; it might be made for the sake of what
our people would do to strengthen the nation. But they won't try to
understand our people. Their laws, and their rules, their systems are
forced on a race of an opposite temper, who would get on well enough, and
thrive, if they were properly consulted. Ireland 's the sore place of
England, and I'm sorry for it. We ought to be a solid square, with Europe
in this pickle. So I say, sitting here. What should I be saying in
Parliament?'

'Is Con at all likely, do you think, Philip?'

'He might: and become the burlesque Irishman of the House. There must be
one, and the lot would be safe to fall on him.'

'Isn't he serious about it?'

'Quite, I fancy; and that will be the fun. A serious fellow talking
nonsense with lively illustrations, is just the man for House of Commons
clown. Your humorous rogue is not half so taking. Con would be the
porpoise in a fish tank there, inscrutably busy on his errand and watched
for his tumblings. Better I than he; and I should make a worse of it--at
least for myself.'

'Wouldn't the secret of his happiness interfere?'

'If he has the secret inside his common sense. The bulk of it I suspect
to be, that he enjoys his luxuries and is ashamed of his laziness; and so
the secret pulls both ways. One day a fit of pride may have him, or one
of his warm impulses, and if he's taken in the tide of it, I shall grieve
for the secret.'

'You like his wife, Philip?'

'I respect her. They came together,--I suppose, because they were near
together, like the two islands, in spite of the rolling waves between. I
would not willingly see the union disturbed. He warms her, and she houses
him. And he has to control the hot blood that does the warming, and she
to moderate the severity of her principles, which are an essential part
of the housing. Oh! shiver politics, Patrice. I wish I had been bred in
France: a couple of years with your Pere Clement, and I could have met
Irishmen and felt to them as an Irishman, whether they were disaffected
or not. I wish I did. When I landed the other day, I thought myself
passably cured, and could have said that rhetoric is the fire-water of
our country, and claptrap the springboard to send us diving into it. I
like