eds, and
robbers about to try a barely-bolted door. . . Then do we, who have so
sweetly sung our senses to sleep, start up, in their grip, rush to the
doctor and the blacksmith, rig alarums, proclaim ourselves intestinally
torn, defenceless, a prey to foes within and without. It is discovered to
be no worse than an alderman's dream, but the pessimist frenzy of the
night has tossed a quieting sop to the Radical, and summoned the
volunteers to a review. Laudatory articles upon the soldierly 'march
past' of our volunteers permit of a spell of soft repose, deeper than
prudent, at the end of it, India and Ireland consenting.

So much for a passing outline of John Bull--the shadow on the wall of
John Mattock. The unostentatious millionaire's legacy to his two children
affected Mr. Bull thrillingly, pretty nearly as it has here been dotted
in lining. That is historical. Could he believe in the existence of a son
of his, a master of millions, who had never sighed (and he had only to
sigh) to die a peer, or a baronet, or simple Knight? The downright
hard-nailed coffin fact was there; the wealthiest man in the country had
flown away to Shadowland a common Mr.! You see the straight deduction
from the circumstances:--we are, say what you will, a Republican people!
Newspaper articles on the watch sympathetically for Mr. Bull's latest
view of himself, preached on the theme of our peculiar Republicanism.
Soon after he was observed fondling the Crown Insignia. His bards flung
out their breezy columns, reverentially monarchial. The Republican was
informed that they were despised as a blatant minority. A maudlin fit of
worship of our nobility had hold of him next, and English aristocracy
received the paean. Lectures were addressed to democrats; our House of
Lords was pledged solemnly in reams of print. We were told that 'blood'
may always be betted on to win the race; blood that is blue will beat the
red hollow. Who could pretend to despise the honour of admission to the
ranks of the proudest peerage the world has known! Is not a great
territorial aristocracy the strongest guarantee of national stability?
The loudness of the interrogation, like the thunder of Jove, precluded
thought of an answer.

Mr. Bull, though he is not of lucid memory, kept an eye on the owner of
those millions. His bards were awake to his anxiety, and celebrated John
Mattock's doings with a trump and flourish somewhat displeasing to a
quietly-disposed commoner. Jo