His is an
universal beat, and he walks it with a grin. But be sure it is at the
sombre portal of the nobleman that he knocks with the greatest gusto.
It is there, where haply his visit will be commemorated with a
hatchment; it is then, when the muffled thunder of the Dead March
in 'Saul' will soon be rolling in cathedrals; it is then, it is there,
that the pride of his unquestioned power comes grimliest home to him.
Is there no withstanding him? Why should he be admitted always with
awe, a cravenly-honoured guest? When next he calls, let the butler
send him about his business, or tell him to step round to the
servants' entrance. If it be made plain to him that his visits
are an impertinence, he will soon be disemboldened. Once the
aristocracy make a stand against him, there need be no more trouble
about the exorbitant Duties named after him. And for the hereditary
system--that system which both offends the common sense of the
Radical, and wounds the Tory by its implied admission that noblemen
are mortal--a seemly substitute will have been found."
Artless and crude in expression, very boyish, it seemed now to its
author. Yet, in its simple wistfulness, it had quality: it rang true.
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