of a third, and your backs were
turned on the noisy lower world, your ears were deaf to it.

Apply we now the knocker to the door of venerable Quotation, and call the
aged creature forth, that he, half choked by his eheu!--

'A sound between a sigh and bray,'

may pronounce the familiar but respectable words, the burial-service of a
time so happy!

Mr. Grancey Lespel would still have been sitting for Bevisham (or
politely at this elective moment bowing to resume the seat) had not those
Manchester jugglers caught up his cry, appropriated his colours,
displaced and impersonated him, acting beneficent Whig on a scale
approaching treason to the Constitution; leaning on the people in
earnest, instead of taking the popular shoulder for a temporary lift, all
in high party policy, for the clever manoeuvre, to oust the Tory and sway
the realm. See the consequences. For power, for no other consideration,
those manufacturing rascals have raised Radicalism from its primaeval
mire--from its petty backslum bookseller's shop and public-house
back-parlour effluvia of oratory--to issue dictates in England, and we,
England, formerly the oak, are topsy-turvy, like onions, our heels in the
air!

The language of party is eloquent, and famous for being grand at
illustration; but it is equally well known that much of it gives us
humble ideas of the speaker, probably because of the naughty temper party
is prone to; which, while endowing it with vehemence, lessens the stout
circumferential view that should be taken, at least historically. Indeed,
though we admit party to be the soundest method for conducting us, party
talk soon expends its attractiveness, as would a summer's afternoon given
up to the contemplation of an encounter of rams' heads. Let us be quit of
Mr. Grancey Lespel's lamentations. The Whig gentleman had some reason to
complain. He had been trained to expect no other attack than that of his
hereditary adversary-ram in front, and a sham ram--no honest animal, but
a ramming engine rather--had attacked him in the rear. Like Mr. Everard
Romfrey and other Whigs, he was profoundly chagrined by popular
ingratitude: 'not the same man,' his wife said of him. It nipped him
early. He took to proverbs; sure sign of the sere leaf in a man's mind.

His wife reproached the people for their behaviour to him bitterly. The
lady regarded politics as a business that helped hunting-men a stage
above sportsmen, for numbers of the poli