fed and made to drink in order to stimulate them with the
spirit of _progress_ for the coming election. At bottom it amounts to
the same--the stupefaction of the multitude, the rule of a minority, in
which, however, all consider themselves as having part, the folly of
the nineteenth century."

"This is an unhealthy condition of things, which gives reason to fear
the corruption of the whole body politic," remarked the landholder with
seriousness. "The seats of the legislative chamber should be filled not
through bribery and deception of the masses, nor through party passion,
but through a right appreciation of the qualifications that fit a man
for the office of deputy."

"I ask your pardon, my dear friend," interposed the banker with a
laugh. "Being reared by a mother having a rigorous faith has prompted
you to speak thus, not acquaintance with the spirit of the age. Right
appreciation! Heavens, what _naivete_! Are you not aware that
_progress_, the autocrat of our times, follows a fixed, unchanging
programme? It matters not whether Tom or Dick occupies the cushions of
the legislative hall; the main point is to wear the color of
_progress_, and for this no special qualifications are needed. I will
give you an illustration of the way in which these things work. Let us
suppose that every member is provided with a trumpet which he takes
with him to the assembly. To blow this trumpet neither skill, nor quick
perception, nor experience, nor knowledge--neither of these
qualifications is necessary. Now, we will suppose these gentlemen
assembled in the great hall where the destinies of the country are
decided; should abuses need correction, should legislation for church
or state be required, they have only to blow the trumpet of _progress_.
The trumpet's tone invariably accords with the spirit of progress, for
it has been attuned to it. Should it happen that at a final vote upon a
measure the trumpets bray loudly enough to drown the opposition of
democrats and Ultramontanes, the matter is settled, the law is passed,
the question is decided."

"Evidently you exaggerate!" said Seraphin with a shake of the head.
"Your illustration beats the enchanted horn of the fable. Do not you
think so. Miss Louise?"

"Brother's trumpet story is rather odd, 'tis true, yet I believe that
at bottom such is really the state of things."

"The instrument in question is objectionable in your opinion, my
friend, only because you still bear about