r my return, I was overwhelmed with
congratulations from east, west, north, and south; and every postscript
pointed with a request for my interest with boards and public offices of
all kinds; with India presidents, treasury secretaries, and colonial
patrons, for the provision of sons, nephews, and cousins, to the third
and fourth generation.

My positive declarations that I had no influence with ministers were
received with resolute scepticism. I was charged with old obligations
conferred on my grandfathers and grandmothers; and, finally, had the
certain knowledge that my gentlest denials were looked upon as a
compound of selfishness and hypocrisy. Before a month was out, I had
extended my sources of hostility to three-fourths of the kingdom, and
contrived to plant in every corner some individual who looked on himself
as bound to say the worst he could of his heartless, purse-proud, and
abjured kinsman.

I should have sturdily borne up against all this while I could keep the
warfare out of my own county. But what man can abide a daily skirmish
round his house? I began to think of retreating while I was yet able to
show my head; for, in truth, I was sick of this perpetual belligerency.
I loved to see happy human faces. I loved the meeting of those old and
humble friends to whose faces, rugged as they were, I was accustomed.
I liked to stop and hear the odd news of the village, and the still
odder versions of London news that transpired through the lips of our
established politicians. I liked an occasional visit to our little club,
where the exciseman, of fifty years standing was our oracle in politics;
the attorney, of about the same duration, gave us opinions on the drama,
philosophy, and poetry, all equally unindebted to Aristotle; and my mild
and excellent father-in-law, the curate, shook his silver locks in
gentle laughter at the discussion. I loved a supper in my snug parlour
with the choice half dozen; a song from my girls, and a bottle after
they were gone to dream of bow-knots and bargains for the next day.

But my delights were now all crushed. Another Midas, all I touched had
turned to gold; and I believe in my soul that, with his gold, I got
credit for his asses' ears.

However, I had long felt that contempt for popular opinion which every
man feels who knows of what miserable materials it is made--how much
of it is mere absurdity--how much malice--how much more the frothy
foolery and maudlin gossip of the