id the elder. "With all his
immense intellect and capacity for business no man wants more looking
after."

That evening Mr. Bonteen was singled out by the Duchess for her
special attention, and in the presence of all who were there
assembled he made himself an ass. He could not save himself from
talking about himself when he was encouraged. On this occasion he
offended all those feelings of official discretion and personal
reticence which had been endeared to the old duke by the lessons
which he had learned from former statesmen and by the experience of
his own life. To be quiet, unassuming, almost affectedly modest in
any mention of himself, low-voiced, reflecting always more than he
resolved, and resolving always more than he said, had been his aim.
Conscious of his high rank, and thinking, no doubt, much of the
advantages in public life which his birth and position had given him,
still he would never have ventured to speak of his own services as
necessary to any Government. That he had really been indispensable to
many he must have known, but not to his closest friend would he have
said so in plain language. To such a man the arrogance of Mr. Bonteen
was intolerable.

There is probably more of the flavour of political aristocracy to
be found still remaining among our liberal leading statesmen than
among their opponents. A conservative Cabinet is, doubtless, never
deficient in dukes and lords, and the sons of such; but conservative
dukes and lords are recruited here and there, and as recruits, are
new to the business, whereas among the old Whigs a halo of statecraft
has, for ages past, so strongly pervaded and enveloped certain great
families, that the power in the world of politics thus produced
still remains, and is even yet efficacious in creating a feeling of
exclusiveness. They say that "misfortune makes men acquainted with
strange bedfellows". The old hereditary Whig Cabinet ministers must,
no doubt, by this time have learned to feel themselves at home with
strange neighbours at their elbows. But still with them something of
the feeling of high blood, of rank, and of living in a park with deer
about it, remains. They still entertain a pride in their Cabinets,
and have, at any rate, not as yet submitted themselves to a conjuror.
The Charles James Fox element of liberality still holds its own, and
the fragrance of Cavendish is essential. With no man was this feeling
stronger than with the Duke of St. Bungay, th