t him, that he thought the better of the people for their
thinking well of themselves. It came first from the workmen at his
house. 'The right sort, and no humbug: likes you to be men.' Such a
report made tropical soil for any new seed.

Now, it is a postulate, to strengthen all poor commoners, that not even
in comparison with the highest need we be small unless we yield to think
it of ourselves. Do but stretch a hand to the touch of earth in you, and
you spring upon combative manhood again, from the basis where all are
equal. Humanity's historians, however, tell us, that the exhilaration
bringing us consciousness of a stature, is gas which too frequently
has to be administered. Certes the cocks among men do not require the
process; they get it off the sight of the sun arising or a simple hen
submissive: but we have our hibernating bears among men, our yoked oxen,
cab horses, beaten dogs; we have on large patches of these Islands,
a Saxon population, much wanting assistance, if they are not to feel
themselves beaten, driven, caught by the neck, yoked and heavyheaded.
Blest, then, is he who gives them a sense of the pride of standing on
legs. Beer, ordinarily their solitary helper beneath the iron canopy
of wealth, is known to them as a bitter usurer; it knocks them flat
in their persons and their fortunes, for the short spell of recreative
exaltation. They send up their rough glory round the name of the
gentleman--a stranger, but their friend: and never is friend to be
thought of as a stranger--who manages to get the holiday for Wrensham
and thereabout, that they may hurl away for one jolly day the old hat of
a doddered humbleness, and trip to the strains of the internal music he
has unwound.

Says he: Is it a Charity Concert? Charity begins at home, says he: and
if I welcome you gentry on behalf of the poor of London, why, it follows
you grant me the right to make a beginning with the poor of our parts
down here. He puts it so, no master nor mistress neither could refuse
him. Why, the workmen at his house were nigh pitching the contractors
all sprawling on a strike, and Mr. Radnor takes train, harangues 'em and
rubs 'em smooth; ten minutes by the clock, they say; and return train to
his business in town; by reason of good sense and feeling, it was; poor
men don't ask for more. A working man, all the world over, asks but
justice and a little relaxation--just a collar of fat to his lean.

Mr. Caddis, M.P., pursuing the