e member rose to propose a pet measure
of his own for preventing the adulteration of beer by the publicans.
He had made a calculation that the annual average mortality of
England would be reduced one and a half per cent., or in other words
that every English subject born would live seven months longer if the
action of the Legislature could provide that the publicans should
sell the beer as it came from the brewers. Immediately there was
such a rush of members to the door that not a word said by the
philanthropic would-be purifier of the national beverage could be
heard. The quarrels of rival Ministers were dear to the House, and as
long as they could be continued the benches were crowded by gentlemen
enthralled by the interest of the occasion. But to sink from that
to private legislation about beer was to fall into a bathos which
gentlemen could not endure; and so the House was emptied, and at
about half-past seven there was a count-out. That gentleman whose
statistics had been procured with so much care, and who had been at
work for the last twelve months on his effort to prolong the lives
of his fellow-countrymen, was almost broken-hearted. But he knew the
world too well to complain. He would try again next year, if by dint
of energetic perseverance he could procure a day.

Mr. Monk and Phineas Finn, behaving no better than the others,
slipped out in the crowd. It had indeed been arranged that they
should leave the House early, so that they might dine together at
Mr. Monk's house. Though Phineas had been released from his prison
now for nearly a month, he had not as yet once dined out of his own
rooms. He had not been inside a club, and hardly ventured during the
day into the streets about Pall Mall and Piccadilly. He had been
frequently to Portman Square, but had not even seen Madame Goesler.
Now he was to dine out for the first time; but there was to be no
guest but himself.

"It wasn't so bad after all," said Mr. Monk, when they were seated
together.

"At any rate it has been done."

"Yes;--and there will be no doing of it over again. I don't like Mr.
Daubeny, as you know; but he is happy at that kind of thing."

"I hate men who are what you call happy, but who are never in
earnest," said Phineas.

"He was earnest enough, I thought."

"I don't mean about myself, Mr. Monk. I suppose he thought that it
was suitable to the occasion that he should say something, and he
said it neatly. But I hate men who can m