of society, and exposed its rottenness.

Mrs. Mount's house was discreetly conducted: nothing ever occurred to
shock him there. The young man would ask himself where the difference
was between her and the Women of society? How base, too, was the army
of banded hypocrites! He was ready to declare war against them on her
behalf. His casus beli, accurately worded, would have read curiously.
Because the world refused to lure the lady to virtue with the offer of a
housemaid's place, our knight threw down his challenge. But the lady had
scornfully rebutted this prospect of a return to chastity. Then the form
of the challenge must be: Because the world declined to support the lady
in luxury for nothing! But what did that mean? In other words: she was
to receive the devil's wages without rendering him her services. Such
an arrangement appears hardly fair on the world or on the devil. Heroes
will have to conquer both before they will get them to subscribe to it.

Heroes, however, are not in the habit of wording their declarations of
war at all. Lance in rest they challenge and they charge. Like women
they trust to instinct, and graft on it the muscle of men. Wide fly the
leisurely-remonstrating hosts: institutions are scattered, they know not
wherefore, heads are broken that have not the balm of a reason why. 'Tis
instinct strikes! Surely there is something divine in instinct.

Still, war declared, where were these hosts? The hero could not charge
down on the ladies and gentlemen in a ballroom, and spoil the quadrille.
He had sufficient reticence to avoid sounding his challenge in the
Law Courts; nor could he well go into the Houses of Parliament with
a trumpet, though to come to a tussle with the nation's direct
representatives did seem the likelier method. It was likewise out of the
question that he should enter every house and shop, and battle with its
master in the cause of Mrs. Mount. Where, then, was his enemy? Everybody
was his enemy, and everybody was nowhere! Shall he convoke multitudes on
Wimbledon Common? Blue Policemen, and a distant dread of ridicule, bar
all his projects. Alas for the hero in our day!

Nothing teaches a strong arm its impotence so much as knocking at empty
air.

"What can I do for this poor woman?" cried Richard, after fighting his
phantom enemy till he was worn out.

"O Rip! old Rip!" he addressed his friend, "I'm distracted. I wish I was
dead! What good am I for? Miserable! selfish! What ha