the Lion, as they've whispered of late, Forbery, happens to be
stuffed with straw or with what's worse, with sawdust, a fellow bearing
a pointed horn at close quarters might do him mortal harm; and it must
be a situation trying to the patience of them both. The Lion seems to
say "No prancing!" as if he knew his peril; and the Unicorn to threaten
a playful dig at his flank, as if he understood where he's ticklish.'

Mr. Rumford drank some champagne and murmured with a shrug to the
acquiescent lady beside him: 'Irishmen!' implying that the race could
not be brought to treat serious themes as befitted the seriousness of
the sentiments they stir in their bosoms. He was personally a little
hurt, having unfolded a shy secret of his feelings, which were keenly
patriotic in a phlegmatic frame, and he retired within himself, assuring
the lady that he accepted our standard in its integrity; his objection
was not really an objection; it was, he explained to her, a ridiculous
desire to have a perfect comprehension of the idea in the symbol. But
where there was no seriousness everything was made absurd. He could, he
said, laugh as well as others on the proper occasion. As for the Lion
being stuffed, he warned England's enemies for their own sakes not to
be deluded by any such patent calumny. The strong can afford to be
magnanimous and forbearing. Only let not that be mistaken for weakness.
A wag of his tail would suffice.

The lady agreed. But women are volatile. She was the next moment
laughing at something she had heard with the largest part of her ear,
and she thought the worthy gentleman too simple, though she knew him for
one who had amassed wealth. Captain Con and Dr. Forbery had driven the
Unicorn to shelter, and were now baiting the Lion. The tremendous import
of that wag of his tail among the nations was burlesqued by them, and it
came into collision with Mr. Rumford's legendary forefinger threat. She
excused herself for laughing:

'They are so preposterous!'

'Yes, yes, I can laugh,' said he, soberly performing the act: and Mr.
Rumford covered the wound his delicate sensations had experienced under
an apology for Captain Con, that would redound to the credit of his
artfulness were it not notorious our sensations are the creatures and
born doctors of art in discovering unguents for healing their bruises.
'O'Donnell has a shrewd head for business. He is sound at heart. There
is not a drop of gout in his wine.'

The lady