So much for a passing outline of John Bull—­the shadow on the wall of John Mattock.  The unostentatious millionaire’s legacy to his two children affected Mr. Bull thrillingly, pretty nearly as it has here been dotted in lining.  That is historical.  Could he believe in the existence of a son of his, a master of millions, who had never sighed (and he had only to sigh) to die a peer, or a baronet, or simple Knight?  The downright hard-nailed coffin fact was there; the wealthiest man in the country had flown away to Shadowland a common Mr.!  You see the straight deduction from the circumstances:—­we are, say what you will, a Republican people!  Newspaper articles on the watch sympathetically for Mr. Bull’s latest view of himself, preached on the theme of our peculiar Republicanism.  Soon after he was observed fondling the Crown Insignia.  His bards flung out their breezy columns, reverentially monarchial.  The Republican was informed that they were despised as a blatant minority.  A maudlin fit of worship of our nobility had hold of him next, and English aristocracy received the paean.  Lectures were addressed to democrats; our House of Lords was pledged solemnly in reams of print.  We were told that ‘blood’ may always be betted on to win the race; blood that is blue will beat the red hollow.  Who could pretend to despise the honour of admission to the ranks of the proudest peerage the world has known!  Is not a great territorial aristocracy the strongest guarantee of national stability?  The loudness of the interrogation, like the thunder of Jove, precluded thought of an answer.

Mr. Bull, though he is not of lucid memory, kept an eye on the owner of those millions.  His bards were awake to his anxiety, and celebrated John Mattock’s doings with a trump and flourish somewhat displeasing to a quietly-disposed commoner.  John’s entry into Parliament as a Liberal was taken for a sign of steersman who knew where the tide ran.  But your Liberals are sometimes Radicals in their youth, and his choice of parties might not be so much sagacity as an instance of unripe lightheadedness.  A young conservative millionaire is less disturbing.  The very wealthy young peer is never wanton in his politics, which seems to admonish us that the heir of vast wealth should have it imposed on him to accept a peerage, and be locked up as it were.  A coronet steadies the brain.  You may let out your heels at the social laws, you are almost expected to do it, but you are to shake that young pate of yours restively under such a splendid encumbrance.  Private reports of John, however, gave him credit for sound opinions:  he was moderate, merely progressive.  When it was added that the man had the habit of taking counsel with his sister, he was at once considered as fast and safe, not because of any public knowledge of the character of Jane Mattock.  We pay this homage to the settled common sense of women.  Distinctly does she discountenance leaps in the dark, wild driving, and the freaks of Radicalism.