hunting, cock-fighting, or watching entranced while two men pound
each other unrecognizable in the prize ring. Occasionally he has
the good taste to break his neck in the hunting field, or get
himself gloriously shot in a duel, but the generality live on to
a good old age, turn their attention to matters political and,
following the dictates of their class, damn reform with a
whole-hearted fervor equalled only by their rancor."

"Deuce take me!" ejaculated Sir Richard feebly, while Mr. Grainger
buried his face in his pocket-handkerchief.

"To my mind," I ended, "the man who sweats over a spade or follows
the tail of a plough is far nobler and higher in the Scheme of
Things than any of your young 'bloods' driving his coach and four
to Brighton to the danger of all and sundry."

Sir Richard slowly got up out of his chair, staring at me
open-mouthed. "Good God!" he exclaimed at last, "the boy's a
Revolutionary."

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, but, before I could speak,
Mr. Grainger interposed, sedate and solemn as usual:

"Referring to your proposed tour, Mr. Peter, when do you expect
to start?"

"Early to-morrow morning, sir."

"I will not attempt to dissuade you, well knowing the difficulty,"
said he, with a faint smile, "but a letter addressed to me at