turns up to sell nuts and sweetmeats in a crowd, plied his trade in silence, and found few indeed (to the credit of the nation be it spoken) who had the heart to crack a nut at such a time as this.  The police were on the spot, in large numbers, and in mute sympathy with the people, touching to see.  Julius, on being stopped at the door, mentioned his name—­and received an ovation.  His brother! oh, heavens, his brother!  The people closed round him, the people shook hands with him, the people invoked blessings on his head.  Julius was half suffocated, when the police rescued him, and landed him safe in the privileged haven on the inner side of the public house door.  A deafening tumult broke out, as he entered, from the regions above stairs.  A distant voice screamed, “Mind yourselves!” A hatless shouting man tore down through the people congregated on the stairs.  “Hooray!  Hooray!  He’s promised to do it!  He’s entered for the race!” Hundreds on hundreds of voices took up the cry.  A roar of cheering burst from the people outside.  Reporters for the newspapers raced, in frantic procession, out of the inn, and rushed into cabs to put the news in print.  The hand of the landlord, leading Julius carefully up stairs by the arm, trembled with excitement.  “His brother, gentlemen! his brother!” At those magic words a lane was made through the throng.  At those magic words the closed door of the council-chamber flew open; and Julius found himself among the Athletes of his native country, in full parliament assembled.  Is any description of them needed?  The description of Geoffrey applies to them all.  The manhood and muscle of England resemble the wool and mutton of England, in this respect, that there is about as much variety in a flock of athletes as in a flock of sheep.  Julius looked about him, and saw the same man in the same dress, with the same health, strength, tone, tastes, habits, conversation, and pursuits, repeated infinitely in every part of the room.  The din was deafening; the enthusiasm (to an uninitiated stranger) something at once hideous and terrifying to behold.  Geoffrey had been lifted bodily on to the table, in his chair, so as to be visible to the whole room.  They sang round him, they danced round him, they cheered round him, they swore round him.  He was hailed, in maudlin terms of endearment, by grateful giants with tears in their eyes.  “Dear old man!” “Glorious, noble, splendid, beautiful fellow!” They hugged him.  They patted him on the back.  They wrung his hands.  They prodded and punched his muscles.  They embraced the noble legs that were going to run the unexampled race.  At the opposite end of the room, where it was physically impossible to get near the hero, the enthusiasm vented itself in feats of strength and acts of destruction.  Hercules I. cleared a space with his elbows, and laid down—­and Hercules II. took him up in his teeth.  Hercules III. seized the poker from the fireplace, and broke it on his arm.  Hercules IV. followed with the