to what degree their sports, and their fierce feastings, and their opposition to ideas, and their timidity in regard to change, and their execration of criticism applied to themselves, and their unanimous adoption of it for a weapon against others, are signs of a prolonged indulgence in the cushioned seat.  Victor saw it.  But would the people he loved?  He agreed with Colney, forgetting the satirist’s venom:  to-wit; that the journalists should be close under their editor’s rod to put it in sound bold English;—­no metaphors, no similes, nor flowery insubstantiality:  but honest Saxon manger stuff:  and put it repeatedly, in contempt of the disgust of iteration; hammering so a soft place on the Anglican skull, which is rubbed in consequence, and taught at last through soreness to reflect.—­A Journal?—­with Colney Durance for Editor?—­and called conformably the whipping-top?  Why not, if it exactly hits the signification of the Journal and that which it would have the country do to itself, to keep it going and truly topping?  For there is no vulgarity in a title strongly signifying the intent.  Victor wrote it at night, naming Colney for Editor, with a sum of his money to be devoted to the publication, in a form of memorandum; and threw it among the papers in his desk.

Young Dudley had a funny inquisitiveness about Dartrey Fenellan; owing to Fredi’s reproduction or imitation of her mother’s romantic sentiment for Dartrey, doubtless:  a bit of jealousy, indicating that the dry fellow had his feelings.  Victor touched—­off an outline of Dartrey’s history and character:—­the half-brother of Simeon, considerably younger, and totally different.  ’Dartrey’s mother was Lady Charlotte Kiltorne, one of the Clanconans; better mother than wife, perhaps; and no reproach on her, not a shadow; only she made the General’s Bank-notes fly black paper.  And—­if you ’re for heredity—­the queer point is, that Simeon, whose mother was a sober-minded woman, has always been the spendthrift.  Dartrey married one of the Hennen women, all an odd lot, all handsome.  I met her once.  Colney said, she came up here with a special commission from the Prince of Darkness.  There are women who stir the unholy in men—­whether they mean it or not, you know.’

Dudley pursed to remark, that he could not say he did know.  And good for Fredi if he did not know, and had his objections to the knowledge!  But he was like the men who escape colds by wrapping in comforters instead of trusting to the spin of the blood.

’She played poor Dartrey pranks before he buried—­he, behaved well to her; and that says much for him; he has:  a devil of a temper.  I ’ve seen the blood in his veins, mount to cracking.  But there’s the man:  because she was a woman, he never let it break out with her.  And, by heaven, he had cause.  She couldn’t be left.  She tricked him, and she loved him-passionately, I believe.  You don’t understand women loving the husband they drag through the mire?’