The single wish that I might be a boy again, to find pleasure in his talk, was all that remained to combat the distaste I had for such oppressive deliveries of a mind apparently as little capable of being seated as a bladder charged with gas.  I thanked him for getting rid of Edbury, and a touch of remorse pricked me, it is true, on his turning abruptly and saying:  ’You see me in my nakedness, Richie.  To you and my valet, the heart, the body!’ He was too sympathetic not to have a keen apprehension of a state of hostility in one whom he loved.  If I had inclined to melt, however, his next remark would have been enough to harden me:  ’I have fought as many battles, and gained as startling victories as Napoleon Buonaparte; he was an upstart.’  The word gave me a jerk.

Sometimes he would indulge me transparently in a political controversy, confessing that my dialectical dexterity went far to make a Radical of him.  I had no other amusement, or I should have held my peace.  I tried every argument I could think of to prove to him that there was neither honour, nor dignity, nor profit in aiming at titular distinctions not forced upon us by the circumstances of our birth.  He kept his position with much sly fencing, approaching shrewdness; and, whatever I might say, I could not deny that a vile old knockknee’d world, tugging its forelock to the look of rank and chink of wealth, backed him, if he chose to be insensible to radical dignity.

‘In my time,’ said he, ’all young gentlemen were born Tories.  The doctor no more expected to see a Radical come into the world from a good family than a radish.  But I discern you, my dear boy.  Our reigning Families must now be active; they require the discipline I have undergone; and I also dine at aldermen’s tables, and lay a foundation-stone—­as Jorian says—­with the facility of a hen-mother:  that should not suffice them.  ’Tis not sufficient for me.  I lay my stone, eat my dinner, make my complimentary speech—­and that is all that is expected of us; but I am fully aware we should do more.  We must lead, or we are lost.  Ay, and—­to quote you a Lord Mayor’s barge is a pretty piece of gilt for the festive and luxurious to run up the river Thames in and mark their swans.  I am convinced there is something deep in that.  But what am I to do?  Would you have me frown upon the people?  Richie, it is prudent—­I maintain it righteous, nay, it is, I affirm positively, sovereign wisdom—­to cultivate every flower in the British bosom.  Riposte me—­have you too many?  Say yes, and you pass my guard.  You cannot.  I fence you there.  This British loyalty is, in my estimation, absolutely beautiful.  We grow to a head in our old England.  The people have an eye!  I need no introduction to them.  We reciprocate a highly cordial feeling when they line the streets and roads with respectful salutations, and I acknowledge their demonstrative goodwill.  These things make us a nation.  By heaven, Richie, you are, on this occasion,