orizon, though prostrate. He regained his height of stature with no
man's help. Success was but postponed for a generation or two. Is it so
very distant? Gaze on it with the eye of our parent orb! 'I shall not see
it here; you may,' he said to Jenny Denham; and he fortified his outlook
by saying to Mr. Lydiard that the Tories of our time walked, or rather
stuck, in the track of the Radicals of a generation back. Note, then,
that Radicals, always marching to the triumph, never taste it; and for
Tories it is Dead Sea fruit, ashes in their mouths! Those Liberals, those
temporisers, compromisers, a concourse of atoms! glorify themselves in
the animal satisfaction of sucking the juice of the fruit, for which they
pay with their souls. They have no true cohesion, for they have no vital
principle.

Mr. Lydiard being a Liberal, bade the doctor not to forget the work of
the Liberals, who touched on Tory and Radical with a pretty steady swing,
from side to side, in the manner of the pendulum of a clock, which is the
clock's life, remember that. The Liberals are the professors of the
practicable in politics.

'A suitable image for time-servers!' Dr. Shrapnel exclaimed, intolerant
of any mention of the Liberals as a party, especially in the hour of
Radical discomfiture, when the fact that compromisers should exist
exasperates men of a principle. 'Your Liberals are the band of Pyrrhus,
an army of bastards, mercenaries professing the practicable for pay. They
know us the motive force, the Tories the resisting power, and they feign
to aid us in battering our enemy, that they may stop the shock. We fight,
they profit. What are they? Stranded Whigs, crotchetty manufacturers;
dissentient religionists; the half-minded, the hare-hearted; the I would
and I would-not--shifty creatures, with youth's enthusiasm decaying in
them, and a purse beginning to jingle; fearing lest we do too much for
safety, our enemy not enough for safety. They a party? Let them take
action and see! We stand a thousand defeats; they not one! Compromise
begat them. Once let them leave sucking the teats of compromise, yea,
once put on the air of men who fight and die for a cause, they fly to
pieces. And whither the fragments? Chiefly, my friend, into the Tory
ranks. Seriously so I say. You between future and past are for the
present--but with the hunted look behind of all godless livers in the
present. You Liberals are Tories with foresight, Radicals without faith.
Yo