of veterans at parade on the drill-ground, into a
public-house; and a dialogue chiefly remarkable for absence of point,
furnished matter to the politician's head of the hearer. Provided that
their beer was unadulterated! Beer they would have; and why not, in
weather like this? But how to make the publican honest! And he was
not the only trickster preying on the multitudinous poor copper crowd,
rightly to be protected by the silver and the golden. Revelations of the
arts practised to plump them with raw-earth and minerals in the guise of
nourishment, had recently knocked at the door of the general conscience
and obtained a civil reply from the footman. Repulsive as the thought
was to one still holding to Whiggish Liberalism, though flying various
Radical kites, he was caught by the decisive ultratorrent, and whirled
to amid the necessity for the interference of the State, to stop
the poisoning of the poor. Upper classes have never legislated
systematically in their interests; and quid... rabidae tradis ovile
lupae? says one of the multitude. We may be seeing fangs of wolves where
fleeces waxed. The State that makes it a vital principle to concern
itself with the helpless poor, meets instead of waiting for Democracy;
which is a perilous flood but when it is dammed. Or else, in course
of time, luxurious yachting, my friend, will encounter other reefs and
breakers than briny ocean's! Capital, whereat Diana Warwick aimed her
superbest sneer, has its instant duties. She theorized on the side of
poverty, and might do so: he had no right to be theorizing on the side
of riches. Across St. George's Channel, the cry for humanity in Capital
was an agony. He ought to be there, doing, not cogitating. The post of
Irish Secretary must be won by real service founded on absolute local
knowledge. Yes, and sympathy, if you like; but sympathy is for proving,
not prating....

These were the meditations of a man in love; veins, arteries, headpiece
in love, and constantly brooding at a solitary height over the beautiful
coveted object; only too bewildered by her multifarious evanescent
feminine evasions, as of colours on a ruffle water, to think of pouncing
for he could do nothing to soften, nothing that seemed to please her:
and all the while, the motive of her mind impelled him in reflection
beyond practicable limits: even pointing him to apt quotations! Either
he thought within her thoughts, or his own were at her disposal. Nor was
it suff