mentally, with a capital D.

There were many, too, who remarked that a touching friendship in the
front seats (formerly plainly visible to the naked eye from the back) had
been strained--at least. Mr. Crewe still sat with Mr. Botcher and Mr.
Bascom, but he was not a man to pretend after the fires had cooled. The
Honourable Jacob Botcher, with his eyes shut so tight, that his honest
face wore an expression of agony, seemed to pray every morning for the
renewal of that friendship when the chaplain begged the Lord to guide the
Legislature into the paths of truth; and the Honourable Brush Bascom wore
an air of resignation which was painful to see. Conversation languished,
and the cosey and familiar haunts of the Pelican knew Mr. Crewe no more.

Mr. Crewe never forgot, of course, that he was a gentleman, and a certain
polite intercourse existed. During the sessions, as a matter of fact, Mr.
Bascom had many things to whisper to Mr. Botcher, and Mr. Butcher to Mr.
Bascom, and in order to facilitate this Mr. Crewe changed seats with the
Honourable Jacob. Neither was our hero a man to neglect, on account of
strained relations, to insist upon his rights. His eyes were open now,
and he saw men and things political as they were; he knew that his bills
for the emancipation of the State were prisoners in the maw of the
dragon, and not likely to see the light of law. Not a legislative day
passed that he did not demand, with a firmness and restraint which did
him infinite credit, that Mr. Bascom's and Mr. Butcher's committees
report those bills to the House either favourably or unfavourably. And we
must do exact justice, likewise, to Messrs. Bascom and Butcher; they,
too, incited perhaps thereto by Mr. Crewe's example, answered courteously
that the very excellent bills in question were of such weight and
importance as not to be decided on lightly, and that there were necessary
State expenditures which had first to be passed upon. Mr. Speaker Doby,
with all the will in the world, could do nothing: and on such occasions
(Mr. Crewe could see) Mr. Doby bore a striking resemblance to the picture
of the mockturtle in "Alice m Wonderland"--a fact which had been pointed
out by Miss Victoria Flint. In truth, all three of these gentlemen wore,
when questioned, such a sorrowful and injured air as would have deceived
a more experienced politician than the new member from Leith. The will to
oblige was infinite.

There was no doubt about the fact t