Phineas Finn .......................................................................................................................................................1

Anthony Trollope .....................................................................................................................................1

Phineas Finn proposes to stand for Loughshane .....................................................................................2

Phineas Finn is elected for Loughshane ..................................................................................................7

Phineas Finn takes his seat ....................................................................................................................13

Lady Laura Standish.............................................................................................................................17

Mr and Mrs Low...................................................................................................................................20

Lord Brentford"s dinner ........................................................................................................................26

Mr and Mrs Bunce................................................................................................................................33

The news about Mr Mildmay and Sir Everard ......................................................................................38

The new Government ............................................................................................................................45

Violet Effingham..................................................................................................................................48

Lord Chiltern .........................................................................................................................................54

Autumnal prospects..............................................................................................................................59

Saulsby Wood.......................................................................................................................................62

Loughlinter ............................................................................................................................................66

Donald Bean"s pony.............................................................................................................................72

Phineas Finn returns to Killaloe ............................................................................................................79

Phineas Finn returns to London............................................................................................................83

Mr Turnbull ...........................................................................................................................................89

Lord Chiltern rides his horse Bonebreaker...........................................................................................93

The Debate on the Ballot....................................................................................................................101

" Do be punctual " ...............................................................................................................................107

Lady Baldock at home........................................................................................................................112

Sunday in Grosvenor Place .................................................................................................................117

The Willingford Bull..........................................................................................................................120

Mr Turnbull"s carriage stops the way .................................................................................................127

" The first speech " ..............................................................................................................................133

Phineas discussed ................................................................................................................................138

The second reading is carried.............................................................................................................144

A Cabinet meeting..............................................................................................................................149

Mr Kennedy"s luck.............................................................................................................................153

Finn for Loughton ...............................................................................................................................157

Lady Laura Kennedy"s headache.......................................................................................................163

Mr Slide"s grievance ...........................................................................................................................172

Was he honest?...................................................................................................................................177

Mr Monk upon reform........................................................................................................................181

Phineas Finn makes progress ..............................................................................................................186

A rough encounter ...............................................................................................................................191

The duel..............................................................................................................................................196

Lady Laura is told...............................................................................................................................199

Madame Max Goesler .........................................................................................................................206

Lord Fawn ...........................................................................................................................................211

Lady Baldock does not send a card to Phineas Finn ...........................................................................215

Promotion ............................................................................................................................................219

Phineas and his friends ........................................................................................................................222

Miss Effingham"s four lovers .............................................................................................................230

The Mousetrap....................................................................................................................................234

Mr Mildmay"s bill..............................................................................................................................237

" The Duke ".......................................................................................................................................241

The Duellists meet..............................................................................................................................246

Again successful.................................................................................................................................252

Troubles at Loughlinter .......................................................................................................................257

The first Blow.....................................................................................................................................264

Showing how Phineas bore the blow ..................................................................................................270

Consolation.........................................................................................................................................278

Lord Chiltern at Saulsby.....................................................................................................................281

What the people in Marylebone thought .............................................................................................289

The top brick of the chimney ..............................................................................................................294

Rara avis in terris................................................................................................................................299

The Earl"s wrath.................................................................................................................................303

Madame Goesler"s politics.................................................................................................................310

Another duel ........................................................................................................................................315

The letter that was sent to Brighton....................................................................................................319

Showing how the Duke stood his ground...........................................................................................325

The Horns ............................................................................................................................................331

The Cabinet Minister at Killaloe .........................................................................................................339

Victrix.................................................................................................................................................344

Job"s comforters.................................................................................................................................349

The joint attack...................................................................................................................................354

The Temptress .....................................................................................................................................359

The Prime Minister"s house ................................................................................................................366

Comparing notes.................................................................................................................................370

Madame Goesler"s generosity............................................................................................................375

Amantium irae....................................................................................................................................381

The beginning of the end....................................................................................................................385

P.P.C...................................................................................................................................................389

Conclusion..........................................................................................................................................397

Dr Finn, of Killaloe, in county Clare, was as well known in those parts the confines, that is, of the

counties Clare, Limerick, Tipperary, and Galway as was the bishop himself who lived in the same town,

and was as much respected. Many said that the doctor was the richer man of the two, and the practice of his

profession was extended over almost as wide a district. Indeed the bishop whom he was privileged to attend,

although a Roman Catholic, always spoke of their dioceses being conterminate. It will therefore be

understood that Dr Finn Malachi Finn was his full name had obtained a wide reputation as a country

practitioner in the west of Ireland. And he was a man sufficiently well to do, though that boast made by his

friends, that he was as warm a man as the bishop, had but little truth to support it. Bishops in Ireland, if they

live at home, even in these days, are very warm men; and Dr Finn had not a penny in the world for which he

had not worked hard. He had, moreover, a costly family, five daughters and one son, and, at the time of

which we are speaking, no provision in the way of marriage or profession had been made for any of them. Of

the one son, Phineas, the hero of the following pages, the mother and five sisters were very proud. The doctor

was accustomed to say that his goose was as good as any other man's goose, as far as he could see as yet; but

that he should like some very strong evidence before he allowed himself to express an opinion that the young

bird partook, in any degree, of the qualities of a swan. From which it may be gathered that Dr Finn was a man

Phineas had come to be a swan in the estimation of his mother and sisters by reason of certain early successes

at college. His father, whose religion was not of that bitter kind in which we in England are apt to suppose

that all the Irish Roman Catholics indulge, had sent his son to Trinity; and there were some in the

neighbourhood of Killaloe patients, probably, of Dr Duggin, of Castle Connell, a learned physician who

had spent a fruitless life in endeavouring to make head against Dr Finn who declared that old Finn would

not be sorry if his son were to turn Protestant and go in for a fellowship. Mrs Finn was a Protestant, and the

five Miss Finns were Protestants, and the doctor himself was very much given to dining out among his

Protestant friends on a Friday. Our Phineas, however, did not turn Protestant up in Dublin, whatever his

father's secret wishes on that subject may have been. He did join a debating society, to success in which his

religion was no bar; and he there achieved a sort of distinction which was both easy and pleasant, and which,

making its way down to Killaloe, assisted in engendering those ideas as to swanhood of which maternal and

sisterly minds are so sweetly susceptible. "I know half a dozen old windbags at the present moment," said the

doctor, "who were great fellows at debating clubs when they were boys." "Phineas is not a boy any longer,"

said Mrs Finn. "And windbags don't get college scholarships," said Matilda Finn, the second daughter. "But

papa always snubs Phinny," said Barbara, the youngest. "I'll snub you, if you don't take care," said the doctor,

taking Barbara tenderly by the ear for his youngest daughter was the doctor's pet.

The doctor certainly did not snub his son, for he allowed him to go over to London when he was twentytwo

years of age, in order that he might read with an English barrister. It was the doctor's wish that his son might

be called to the Irish Bar, and the young man's desire that he might go to the English Bar. The doctor so far

gave way, under the influence of Phineas himself, and of all the young women of the family, as to pay the

usual fee to a very competent and learned gentleman in the Middle Temple, and to allow his son one hundred

and fifty pounds per annum for three years. Dr Finn, however, was still firm in his intention that his son

should settle in Dublin, and take the Munster Circuit believing that Phineas might come to want home

influences and home connections, in spite of the swanhood which was attributed to him.

Phineas sat his terms for three years, and was duly called to the Bar; but no evidence came home as to the

acquirement of any considerable amount of law lore, or even as to much law study, on the part of the young

aspirant. The learned pundit at whose feet he had been sitting was not especially loud in praise of his pupil's

industry, though he did say a pleasant word or two as to his pupil's intelligence. Phineas himself did not boast

much of his own hard work when at home during the long vacation. No rumours of expected successes of

expected professional successes reached the ears of any of the Finn family at Killaloe. But, nevertheless,

there came tidings which maintained those high ideas in the maternal bosom of which mention has been

made, and which were of sufficient strength to induce the doctor, in opposition to his own judgment, to

consent to the continued residence of his son in London. Phineas belonged to an excellent club the

Reform Club and went into very good society. He was hand in glove with the Hon. Laurence Fitzgibbon,

the youngest son of Lord Claddagh. He was intimate with Barrington Erle, who had been private secretary

one of the private secretaries to the great Whig Prime Minister who was lately in but was now out. He had

dined three or four times with that great Whig nobleman, the Earl of Brentford. And he had been assured that

if he stuck to the English Bar he would certainly do well. Though he might fail to succeed in court or in

chambers, he would doubtless have given to him someone of those numerous appointments for which none

but clever young barristers are supposed to be fitting candidates. The old doctor yielded for another year,

although at the end of the second year he was called upon to pay a sum of three hundred pounds, which was

then due by Phineas to creditors in London. When the doctor's male friends in and about Killaloe heard that

he had done so, they said that he was doting. Not one of the Miss Finns was as yet married; and, after all that

had been said about the doctor's wealth, it was supposed that there would not be above five hundred pounds a

year among them all, were he to give up his profession. But the doctor, when he paid that three hundred

pounds for his son, buckled to his work again, though he had for twelve months talked of giving up the

midwifery. He buckled to again, to the great disgust of Dr Duggin, who at this time said very illnatured

At the end of the three years Phineas was called to the Bar, and immediately received a letter from his father

asking minutely as to his professional intentions. His father recommended him to settle in Dublin, and

promised the one hundred and fifty pounds for three more years, on condition that this advice was followed.

He did not absolutely say that the allowance would be stopped if the advice were not followed, but that was

plainly to be implied. That letter came at the moment of a dissolution of Parliament. Lord de Terrier, the

Conservative Prime Minister, who had now been in office for the almost unprecedentedly long period of

fifteen months, had found that he could not face continued majorities against him in the House of Commons,

and had dissolved the House. Rumour declared that he would have much preferred to resign, and betake

himself once again to the easy glories of opposition; but his party had naturally been obdurate with him, and

he had resolved to appeal to the country. When Phineas received his father's letter, it had just been suggested

to him at the Reform Club that he should stand for the Irish borough of Loughshane.

This proposition had taken Phineas Finn so much by surprise that when first made to him by Barrington Erle

it took his breath away. What! he stand for Parliament, twentyfour years old, with no vestige of property

belonging to him, without a penny in his purse, as completely dependent on his father as he was when he first

went to school at eleven years of age! And for Loughshane, a little borough in the county Galway, for which

a brother of that fine old Irish peer, the Earl of Tulla, had been sitting for the last twenty years a fine,

highminded representative of the thoroughgoing Orange Protestant feeling of Ireland! And the Earl of

Tulla, to whom almost all Loughshane belonged or at any rate the land about Loughshane was one of

his father's staunchest friends! Loughshane is in county Galway, but the Earl of Tulla usually lived at his seat

in county Clare, not more than ten miles from Killaloe, and always confided his gouty feet, and the weak

nerves of the old countess, and the stomachs of all his domestics, to the care of Dr Finn. How was it possible

that Phineas should stand for Loughshane? From whence was the money to come for such a contest? It was a

beautiful dream, a grand idea, lifting Phineas almost off the earth by its glory. When the proposition was first

made to him in the smokingroom at the Reform Club by his friend Erle, he was aware that he blushed like a

girl, and that he was unable at the moment to express himself plainly so great was his astonishment and so

great his gratification. But before ten minutes had passed by, while Barrington Erle was still sitting over his

shoulder on the club sofa, and before the blushes had altogether vanished, he had seen the improbability of

the scheme, and had explained to his friend that the thing could not be done. But to his increased

astonishment, his friend made nothing of the difficulties. Loughshane, according to Barrington Erle, was so

small a place, that the expense would be very little. There were altogether no more than 307 registered

electors. The inhabitants were so far removed from the world, and were so ignorant of the world's good

things, that they knew nothing about bribery. The Hon. George Morris, who had sat for the last twenty years,

was very unpopular. He had not been near the borough since the last election, he had hardly done more than

show himself in Parliament, and had neither given a shilling in the town nor got a place under Government

for a single son of Loughshane. "And he has quarrelled with his brother," said Barrington Erle. "The devil he

has! said Phineas. "I thought they always swore by each other." "It's at each other they swear now," said

Barrington; "George has asked the Earl for more money, and the Earl has cut up rusty". Then the negotiator

went on to explain that the expenses of the election would be defrayed out of a certain fund collected for such

purposes, that Loughshane had been chosen as a cheap place, and that Phineas Finn had been chosen as a safe

and promising young man. As for qualification, if any question were raised, that should be made all right. An

Irish candidate was wanted, and a Roman Catholic. So much the Loughshaners would require on their own

account when instigated to dismiss from their service that thoroughgoing Protestant, the Hon. George

Morris. Then "the party," by which Barrington Erle probably meant the great man in whose service he

himself had become a politician required that the candidate should be a safe man, one who would support

"the party," not a cantankerous, redhot semiFenian, running about to meetings at the Rotunda, and

suchlike, with views of his own about tenantright and the Irish Church. "But I have views of my own," said

Phineas, blushing again. "Of course you have, my dear boy," said Barrington, clapping him on the back. "I

shouldn't come to you unless you had views. But your views and ours are the same, and you're just the lad for

Galway. You mightn't have such an opening again in your life, and of course you'll stand for Loughshane."

Then the conversation was over, the private secretary went away to arrange some other little matter of the

kind, and Phineas Finn was left alone to consider the proposition that had been made to him.

To become a member of the British Parliament! In all those hot contests at the two debating clubs to which he

had belonged, this had been the ambition which had moved him. For, after all, to what purpose of their own

had those empty debates ever tended? He and three or four others who had called themselves Liberals had

been pitted against four or five who had called themselves Conservatives, and night after night they had

discussed some ponderous subject without any idea that one would ever persuade another, or that their talking

would ever conduce to any action or to any result. But each of these combatants had felt without daring to

announce a hope on the subject among themselves that the present arena was only a trialground for some

possible greater amphitheatre, for some future debating club in which debates would lead to action, and in

which eloquence would have power, even though persuasion might be out of the question.

Phineas certainly had never dared to speak, even to himself, of such a hope. The labours of the Bar had to be

encountered before the dawn of such a hope could come to him. And he had gradually learned to feel that his

prospects at the Bar were not as yet very promising. As regarded professional work he had been idle, and how

And now this thing, which he regarded as being of all things in the world the most honourable, had come to

him all at once, and was possibly within his reach! If he could believe Barrington Erle, he had only to lift up

his hand, and he might be in Parliament within two months. And who was to be believed on such a subject if

not Barrington Erle? This was Erle's special business, and such a man would not have come to him on such a

subject had he not been in earnest, and had he not himself believed in success. There was an opening ready,

What would his father say? His father would of course oppose the plan. And if he opposed his father, his

father would of course stop his income. And such an income as it was! Could it be that a man should sit in

Parliament and live upon a hundred and fifty pounds a year? Since that payment of his debts he had become

again embarrassed to a slight amount. He owed a tailor a trifle, and a bootmaker a trifle and something

to the man who sold gloves and shirts; and yet he had done his best to keep out of debt with more than Irish

pertinacity, living very closely, breakfasting upon tea and a roll, and dining frequently for a shilling at a

luncheonhouse up a court near Lincoln's Inn. Where should he dine if the Loughshaners elected him to

Parliament? And then he painted to himself a not untrue picture of the probable miseries of a man who begins

life too high up on the ladder who succeeds in mounting before he has learned how to hold on when he is

aloft. For our Phineas Finn was a young man not without sense not entirely a windbag. If he did this thing

the probability was that he might become utterly a castaway, and go entirely to the dogs before he was thirty.

He had heard of penniless men who had got into Parliament, and to whom had come such a fate. He was able

to name to himself a man or two whose barks, carrying more sail than they could bear, had gone to pieces

among early breakers in this way. But then, would it not be better to go to pieces early than never to carry any

sail at all? And there was, at any rate, the chance of success. He was already a barrister, and there were so

many things open to a barrister with a seat in Parliament! And as he knew of men who had been utterly

ruined by such early mounting, so also did he know of others whose fortunes had been made by happy

audacity when they were young. He almost thought that he could die happy if he had once taken his seat in

Parliament if he had received one letter with those grand initials written after his name on the address.

Young men in battle are called upon to lead forlorn hopes. Three fall, perhaps, to one who gets through; but

the one who gets through will have the Victoria Cross to carry for the rest of his life. This was his forlorn

hope; and as he had been invited to undertake the work, he would not turn from the danger. On the following

morning he again saw Barrington Erle by appointment, and then wrote the following letter to his father:

"I am afraid that the purport of this letter will startle you, but I hope that when you have finished it you will

think that I am right in my decision as to what I am going to do. You are no doubt aware that the dissolution

of Parliament will take place at once, and that we shall be in all the turmoil of a general election by the

middle of March. I have been invited to stand for Loughshane, and have consented. The proposition has been

made to me by my friend Barrington Erle, Mr Mildmay's private secretary, and has been made on behalf of

the Political Committee of the Reform Club. I need hardly say that I should not have thought of such a thing

with a less thorough promise of support than this gives me, nor should I think of it now had I not been

assured that none of the expense of the election would fall upon me. Of course I could not have asked you to

"But to such a proposition, so made, I have felt that it would be cowardly to give a refusal. I cannot but

regard such a selection as a great honour. I own that I am fond of politics, and have taken great delight in

their study" ("Stupid young fool! his father said to himself as he read this) "and it has been my dream

for years past to have a seat in Parliament at some future time." ("Dream! yes; I wonder whether he has ever

dreamed what he is to live upon.") "The chance has now come to me much earlier than I have looked for it,

but I do not think that it should on that account be thrown away. Looking to my profession, I find that many

things are open to a barrister with a seat in Parliament, and that the House need not interfere much with a

"My chief doubt arose from the fact of your old friendship with Lord Tulla, whose brother has filled the seat

for I don't know how many years. But it seems that George Morris must go; or, at least, that he must be

opposed by a Liberal candidate. If I do not stand, someone else will, and I should think that Lord Tulla will

be too much of a man to make any personal quarrel on such a subject. If he is to lose the borough, why should

"I can fancy, my dear father, all that you will say as to my imprudence, and I quite confess that I have not a

word to answer. I have told myself more than once, since last night, that I shall probably ruin myself." ("I

wonder whether he has ever told himself that he will probably ruin me also," said the doctor.) "But I am

prepared to ruin myself in such a cause. I have no one dependent on me; and, as long as I do nothing to

disgrace my name, I may dispose of myself as I please. If you decide on stopping my allowance, I shall have

no feeling of anger against you. ("How very considerate!" said the doctor.) "And in that case I shall

endeavour to support myself by my pen. I have already done a little for the magazines.

"Give my best love to my mother and sisters. If you will receive me during the time of the election, I shall see

them soon. Perhaps it will be best for me to say that I have positively decided on making the attempt; that is

to say, if the Club Committee is as good as its promise. I have weighed the matter all round, and I regard the

prize as being so great, that I am prepared to run any risk to obtain it. Indeed, to me, with my views about

politics, the running of such a risk is no more than a duty. I cannot keep my hand from the work now that the

work has come in the way of my hand. I shall be most anxious to get a line from you in answer to this.

"PHINEAS FINN" I question whether Dr Finn, when he read this letter, did not feel more of pride than of

anger whether he was not rather gratified than displeased, in spite of all that his commonsense told him on

the subject. His wife and daughters, when they heard the news, were clearly on the side of the young man.

Mrs Finn immediately expressed an opinion that Parliament would be the making of her son, and that

everybody would be sure to employ so distinguished a barrister. The girls declared that Phineas ought, at any

rate, to have his chance, and almost asserted that it would be brutal in their father to stand in their brother's

way. It was in vain that the doctor tried to explain that going into Parliament could not help a young barrister,

whatever it might do for one thoroughly established in his profession; that Phineas, if successful at

Loughshane, would at once abandon all idea of earning any income that the proposition, coming from so

poor a man, was a monstrosity that such an opposition to the Morris family, coming from a son of his,

would be gross ingratitude to Lord Tulla. Mrs Finn and the girls talked him down, and the doctor himself was

almost carried away by something like vanity in regard to his son's future position.

Nevertheless he wrote a letter strongly advising Phineas to abandon the project. But he himself was aware

that the letter which he wrote was not one from which any success could be expected. He advised his son, but

did not command him. He made no threats as to stopping his income. He did not tell Phineas, in so many

words, that he was proposing to make an ass of himself. He argued very prudently against the plan, and

Phineas, when he received his father's letter, of course felt that it was tantamount to a paternal permission to

proceed with the matter. On the next day he got a letter from his mother full of affection, full of pride not

exactly telling him to stand for Loughshane by all means, for Mrs Finn was not the woman to run openly

counter to her husband in any advice given by her to their son but giving him every encouragement which

motherly affection and motherly pride could bestow. "Of course you will come to us," she said, "if you do

make up your mind to be member for Loughshane. We shall all of us be so delighted to have you!" Phineas,

who had fallen into a sea of doubt after writing to his father, and who had demanded a week from Barrington

Erle to consider the matter, was elated to positive certainty by the joint effect of the two letters from home.

He understood it all. His mother and sisters were altogether in favour of his audacity, and even his father was

"I shall take you at your word," he said to Barrington Erle at the club that evening.

"What word?" said Erle, who had too many irons in the fire to be thinking always of Loughshane and Phineas

Finn, or who at any rate did not choose to let his anxiety on the subject be seen.

"All right, old fellow; we shall be sure to carry you through. The Irish writs will be out on the third of March,

One great difficulty about the borough vanished in a very wonderful way at the first touch. Dr Finn, who was

a man stout at heart, and by no means afraid of his great friends, drove himself over to Castlemorris to tell his

news to the Earl, as soon as he got a second letter from his son declaring his intention of proceeding with the

business, let the results be what they might. Lord Tulla was a passionate old man, and the doctor expected

that there would be a quarrel but he was prepared to face that. He was under no special debt of gratitude to

the lord, having given as much as he had taken in the long intercourse which had existed between them

and he agreed with his son in thinking that if there was to be a Liberal candidate at Loughshane, no

consideration of old pillboxes and gallipots should deter his son Phineas from standing. Other

considerations might very probably deter him, but not that. The Earl probably would be of a different

opinion, and the doctor felt it to be incumbent on him to break the news to Lord Tulla.

"The devil he is!" said the Earl, when the doctor had told his story. "Then I'll tell you what, Finn, I'll support

"Yes why shouldn't I support him? I suppose it's not so bad with me in the country that my support will

rob him of his chance! I'll tell you one thing for certain, I won't support George Morris."

"I've never taken much part in politics myself, as you know; but my boy Phineas is on the other side."

"I don't care a for sides. What has my party done for me? Look at my cousin, Dick Morris. There's not a

clergyman in Ireland stauncher to them than he has been, and now they've given the deanery of Kilfenora to a

man that never had a father, though I condescended to ask for it for my cousin. Let them wait till I ask for

anything again." Dr Finn, who knew all about Dick Morris's debts, and who had heard of his modes of

preaching, was not surprised at the decision of the Conservative bestower of Irish Church patronage; but on

this subject he said nothing. "And as for George," continued the Earl, "I will never lift my hand again for him.

His standing for Loughshane would be quite out of the question. My own tenants wouldn't vote for him if I

were to ask them myself. Peter Blake" Mr Peter Blake was the lord's agent "told me only a week ago

that it would be useless. The whole thing is gone, and for my part I wish they'd disfranchise the borough. I

wish they'd disenfranchise the whole country, and send us a military governor. What's the use of such

members as we send? There isn't one gentleman among ten of them. Your son is welcome for me. What

support I can give him he shall have, but it isn't much. I suppose he had better come and see me."

The doctor promised that his son should ride over to Castlemorris, and then took his leave not specially

flattered, as he felt that were his son to be returned, the Earl would not regard him as the one gentleman

among ten whom the county might send to leaven the remainder of its members but aware that the

greatest impediment in his son's way was already removed. He certainly had not gone to Castlemorris with

any idea of canvassing for his son, and yet he had canvassed for him most satisfactorily. When he got home

he did not know how to speak of the matter otherwise than triumphantly to his wife and daughters. Though he

desired to curse, his mouth would speak blessings. Before that evening was over the prospects of Phineas at

Loughshane were spoken of with open enthusiasm before the doctor, and by the next day's post a letter was

written to him by Matilda, informing him that the Earl was prepared to receive him with open arms. "Papa

"I'm told George Morris isn't going to stand," said Barrington Erle to Phineas the night before his departure.

"But I tell you it is. My father has known the Earl these twenty years, and has managed it." "I say, Finn,

you're not going to play us a trick, are you?" said Mr Erle, with something like dismay in his voice.

"Not if I know it," said Phineas, proudly. Let me assure you I wouldn't change my views in politics either for

you or for the Earl, though each of you carried seats in your breeches pockets. If I go into Parliament, I shall

go there as a sound Liberal not to support a party, but to do the best I can for the country. I tell you so, and

Barrington Erle turned away in disgust. Such language was to him simply disgusting. It fell upon his ears as

false maudlin sentiment falls on the ears of the ordinary honest man of the world. Barrington Erle was a man

ordinarily honest. He would not have been untrue to his mother's brother, William Mildmay, the great Whig

Minister of the day, for any earthly consideration. He was ready to work with wages or without wages. He

was really zealous in the cause, not asking very much for himself. He had some undefined belief that it was

much better for the country that Mr Mildmay should be in power than that Lord de Terrier should be there.

He was convinced that Liberal politics were good for Englishmen, and that Liberal politics and the Mildmay

party were one and the same thing. It would be unfair to Barrington Erle to deny to him some praise for

patriotism. But he hated the very name of independence in Parliament, and when he was told of any man, that

that man intended to look to measures and not to men, he regarded that man as being both unstable as water

and dishonest as the wind. No good could possibly come from such a one, and much evil might and probably

would come. Such a politician was a Greek to Barrington Erle, from whose hands he feared to accept even

the gift of a vote. Parliamentary hermits were distasteful to him, and dwellers in political caves were regarded

by him with aversion as being either knavish or impractical. With a good Conservative opponent he could

shake hands almost as readily as with a good Whig ally; but the man who was neither flesh nor fowl was

odious to him. According to his theory of parliamentary government, the House of Commons should be

divided by a marked line, and every member should be required to stand on one side of it or on the other. "If

not with me, at any rate be against me," he would have said to every representative of the people in the name

of the great leader whom he followed. He thought that debates were good, because of the people outside

because they served to create that public opinion which was hereafter to be used in creating some future

House of Commons; but he did not think it possible that any vote should be given on a great question, either

this way or that, as the result of a debate; and he was certainly assured in his own opinion that any such

changing of votes would be dangerous, revolutionary, and almost unparliamentary. A member's vote

except on some small crotchety open question thrown out for the amusement of crotchety members was

due to the leader of that member's party. Such was Mr Erle's idea of the English system of Parliament, and,

lending semiofficial assistance as he did frequently to the introduction of candidates into the House, he was

naturally anxious that his candidates should be candidates after his own heart. When, therefore, Phineas Finn

talked of measures and not men, Barrington Erle turned away in open disgust. But he remembered the youth

and extreme rawness of the lad, and he remembered also the careers of other men.

Barrington Erle was forty, and experience had taught him something. After a few seconds, he brought himself

to think mildly of the young man's vanity as of the vanity of a plunging colt who resents the liberty even

of a touch. "By the end of the first session the thong will be cracked over his head, as he patiently assists in

pulling the coach uphill, without producing from him even a flick of his tail," said Barrington Erle to an old

"If he were to come out after all on the wrong side," said the parliamentary friend.

Erle admitted that such a trick as that would be unpleasant, but he thought that old Lord Tulla was hardly

Phineas went to Ireland, and walked over the course at Loughshane. He called upon Lord Tulla, and heard

that venerable nobleman talk a great deal of nonsense. To tell the truth of Phineas, I must confess that he

wished to talk the nonsense himself; but the Earl would not hear him, and put him down very quickly. "We

won't discuss politics, if you please, Mr Finn; because, as I have already said, I am throwing aside all political

considerations." Phineas, therefore, was not allowed to express his views on the government of the country in

the Earl's sittingroom at Castlemorris. There was, however, a good time coming; and so, for the present, he

allowed the Earl to ramble on about the sins of his brother George, and the want of all proper pedigree on the

part of the new Dean of Kilfenora. The conference ended with an assurance on the part of Lord Tulla that if

the Loughshaners chose to elect Mr Phineas Finn he would not be in the least offended. The electors did elect

Mr Phineas Finn perhaps for the reason given by one of the Dublin Conservative papers, which declared

that it was all the fault of the Carlton Club in not sending a proper candidate. There was a great deal said

about the matter, both in London and Dublin, and the blame was supposed to fall on the joint shoulders of

George Morris and his elder brother. In the meantime, our hero, Phineas Finn, had been duly elected member

The Finn family could not restrain their triumphings at Killaloe, and I do not know that it would have been

natural had they done so. A gosling from such a flock does become something of a real swan by getting into

Parliament. The doctor had his misgivings had great misgivings, fearful forebodings; but there was the

young man elected, and he could not help it. He could not refuse his right hand to his son or withdraw his

paternal assistance because that son had been specially honoured among the young men of his country. So he

pulled out of his hoard what sufficed to pay off outstanding debts they were not heavy and undertook

to allow Phineas two hundred and fifty pounds a year as long as the session should last.

There was a widow lady living at Killaloe who was named Mrs Flood Jones, and she had a daughter. She had

a son also, born to inherit the property of the late Floscabel Flood Jones of Floodborough, as soon as that

property should have disembarrassed itself; but with him, now serving with his regiment in India, we shall

have no concern. Mrs Flood Jones was living modestly at Killaloe on her widow's jointure Floodborough

having, to tell the truth, pretty nearly fallen into absolute ruin and with her one daughter, Mary. Now on

the evening before the return of Phineas Finn, Esq., M.P., to London, Mrs, and Miss Flood Jones drank tea at

"It won't make a bit of change in him," Barbara Finn said to her friend Mary, up in some bedroom privacy

"I know he is good, Barbara; and as for truth, there is no question about it, because he has never said a word

"That's nonsense, Mary." "He never has, then, as sure as the blessed Virgin watches over us only you don't

"Then I hope he will be before the evening is over. He was walking with you all yesterday and the day

"Why shouldn't he and we that have known each other all our lives? But, Barbara, pray, pray never say a

"I don't know why I let you talk to me in this way. There has never been anything between me and Phineas

"And I feel quite sure that there never will be. Why should there? He'll go out among great people and be a

great man; and I've already found out that there's a certain Lady Laura Standish whom he admires very

"A man in Parliament, you know, may look up to anybody," said Miss Mary Flood Jones.

"That wouldn't be looking up. Placed as he is now, that would be looking down; and he is so proud that he'll

Mary Flood Jones was a little girl about twenty years of age, with the softest hair in the world, of a colour

varying between brown and auburn for sometimes you would swear it was the one and sometimes the

other; and she was as pretty as ever she could be. She was one of those girls, so common in Ireland, whom

men, with tastes that way given, feel inclined to take up and devour on the spur of the moment; and when she

liked her lion, she had a look about her which seemed to ask to be devoured. There are girls so coldlooking

pretty girls, too, ladylike, discreet, and armed with all accomplishments whom to attack seems to

require the same sort of courage, and the same sort of preparation, as a journey in quest of the northwest

passage, he thinks of a pedestal near the Athenaeum as the most appropriate and most honourable reward of

such courage. But, again, there are other girls to abstain from attacking whom is, to a man of any warmth of

temperament, quite impossible. They are like water when one is athirst, like plovers' eggs in March, like

cigars when one is out in the autumn. No one ever dreams of denying himself when such temptation comes in

the way. It often happens, however, that in spite of appearances, the water will not come from the well, nor

the egg from its shell, nor will the cigar allow itself to be lit. A girl of such appearance, so charming, was

Mary Flood Jones of Killaloe, and our hero Phineas was not allowed to thirst in vain for a drop from the cool

When the girls went down into the drawingroom Mary was careful to go to a part of the room quite remote

from Phineas, so as to seat herself between Mrs Finn and Dr Finn's young partner, Mr Elias Bodkin, from

Ballinasloe. But Mrs Finn and the Miss Finns and all Killaloe knew that Mary had no love for Mr Bodkin,

and when Mr Bodkin handed her the hot cake she hardly so much as smiled at him. But in two minutes

Phineas was behind her chair, and then she smiled; and in five minutes more she had got herself so twisted

round that she was sitting in a corner with Phineas and his sister Barbara; and in two more minutes Barbara

had returned to Mr Elias Bodkin, so that Phineas and Mary were uninterrupted. They manage these things

"But you will; won't you? I hope you will. I do so hope you will distinguish yourself because of your

"You know that I do. Haven't we been friends ever since we were children? Of course it will be a great pride

to me that a person whom I have known so intimately should come to be talked about as a great man."

"You're a great man to me already, being in Parliament. Only think I never saw a member of Parliament in

"You've seen the bishop scores of times." "Is he in Parliament? Ah, but not like you. He couldn't come to be a

Cabinet Minister, and one never reads anything about him in the newspapers. I shall expect to see your name

very often, and I shall always look for it. "Mr Phineas Finn paired off with Mr Mildmay." What is the

"Mind you do come back. But I don't suppose you ever will. You will be going somewhere to see Lady Laura

"Lady Laura Standish! And why shouldn't you? a course, with your prospects, you should go as much as

"Because your figure is perfect, and because she is straggling. She is as unlike you as possible in everything.

She has thick lumpy red hair, while yours is all silk and softness. She has large hands and feet, and "

"Why, Phineas, you are making her out to be an ogress, and yet I know that you admire her."

"So I do, because she possesses such an appearance of power. And after all, in spite of the lumpy hair, and in

spite of large hands and straggling figure, she is handsome. One can't tell what it is. One can see that she is

quite contented with herself, and intends to make others contented with her. And so she does."

"No; not in love not with her at least. Of all men in the world, I suppose that I am the last that has a right

"But not till I'm forty or perhaps fifty years old. If I was not fool enough to have what men call a high

"I'm sure I'm very glad that you've got a high ambition. It is what every man ought to have; and I've no doubt

that we shall hear of your marriage soon very soon. And then if she can help you in your ambition, we

shall all be so glad." Phineas did not say a word further then. Perhaps some commotion among

the party broke up the little private conversation in the corner. And he was not alone with Mary again till

there came a moment for him to put her cloak over her shoulders in the back parlour, while Mrs Flood Jones

was finishing some important narrative to his mother. It was Barbara, I think, who stood in some doorway,

and prevented people from passing, and so gave him the opportunity which he abused.

"Mary," said he, taking her in his arms, without a single word of lovemaking beyond what the reader has

"No, Phineas, no!" But the kiss had been taken and given before she had even answered him. "Oh, Phineas,

"You shall not; indeed you shall not!" But the scissors were at hand, and the ringlet was cut and in his pocket

before she was ready with her resistance. There was nothing further not a word more, and Mary went

away with her veil down, under her mother's wing, weeping sweet silent tears which no one saw.

"Bother! Do you go to bed, and don't trouble yourself about such trifles. But mind you're up, old girl, to see

Everybody was up to see him off in the morning, to give him coffee and good advice, and kisses, and to

throw all manner of old shoes after him as he started on his great expedition to Parliament. His father gave

him an extra twentypound note, and begged him for God's sake to be careful about his money. His mother

told him always to have an orange in his pocket when he intended to speak longer than usual. And Barbara in

Phineas had many serious, almost solemn thoughts on his journey towards London. I am sorry I must assure

my female readers that very few of them had reference to Mary Flood Jones. He had, however, very carefully

packed up the tress, and could bring that out for proper acts of erotic worship at seasons in which his mind

might be less engaged with affairs of state than it was at present. Would he make a failure of this great matter

which he had taken in hand? He could not but tell himself that the chances were twenty to one against him.

Now that he looked nearer at it all, the difficulties loomed larger than ever, and the rewards seemed to be less,

more difficult of approach, and more evanescent. How many members were there who could never get a

hearing! How many who only spoke to fail! How many, who spoke well, who could speak to no effect as far

as their own worldly prospects were concerned! He had already known many members of Parliament to

whom no outward respect or sign of honour was ever given by any one; and it seemed to him, as he thought

over it, that Irish members of Parliament were generally treated with more indifference than any others. There

were O'B and O'C and O'D , for whom no one cared a straw, who could hardly get men to dine

with them at the club, and yet they were genuine members of Parliament. Why should he ever be better than

O'B , or O'C , or O'D ? And in what way should he begin to be better? He had an idea of the

fashion after which it would be his duty to strive that he might excel those gentlemen. He did not give any of

them credit for much earnestness in their country's behalf, and he was minded to be very earnest. He would

go to his work honestly and conscientiously, determined to do his duty as best he might, let the results to

himself be what they would. This was a noble resolution, and might have been pleasant to him had he not

remembered that smile of derision which had come over his friend Erle's face when he declared his intention

of doing his duty to his country as a Liberal, and not of supporting a party. O'B and O'C and O'D

were keen enough to support their party, only they were sometimes a little astray at knowing which was their

party for the nonce. He knew that Erle and such men would despise him if he did not fall into the regular

groove and if the Barrington Erles despised him, what would then be left for him?

His moody thoughts were somewhat dissipated when he found one Laurence Fitzgibbon the Honourable

Laurence Fitzgibbon a special friend of his own, and a very clever fellow, on board the boat as it steamed

out of Kingston harbour. Laurence Fitzgibbon had also just been over about his election, and had been

returned as a matter of course for his father's county. Laurence Fitzgibbon had sat in the House for the last

fifteen years, and was yet wellnigh as young a man as any in it. And he was a man altogether different from

the O'B s, O'C s, and O'D s. Laurence Fitzgibbon could always get the ear of the House if he chose

to speak, and his friends declared that he might have been high up in office long since if he would have taken

the trouble to work. He was a welcome guest at the houses of the very best people, and was a friend of whom

any one might be proud. It had for two years been a feather in the cap of Phineas that he knew Laurence

Fitzgibbon. And yet people said that Laurence Fitzgibbon had nothing of his own, and men wondered how he

lived. He was the youngest son of Lord Claddagh, an Irish peer with a large family, who could do nothing for

"Well, Finn, my boy," said Laurence, shaking hands with the young member on board the steamer, "so you've

made it all right at Loughshane." Then Phineas was beginning to tell all the story, the wonderful story, of

George Morris and the Earl of Tulla how the men of Loughshane had elected him without opposition;

how he had been supported by Conservatives as well as Liberals how unanimous Loughshane had been in

electing him, Phineas Finn, as its representative. But Mr Fitzgibbon seemed to care very little about all this,

and went so far as to declare that those things were accidents which fell out sometimes one way and

sometimes another, and were altogether independent of any merit or demerit on the part of the candidate

himself. And it was marvellous and almost painful to Phineas that his friend Fitzgibbon should accept the fact

of his membership with so little of congratulation with absolutely no blowing of trumpets whatever. Had

he been elected a member of the municipal corporation of Loughshane, instead of its representative in the

British Parliament, Laurence Fitzgibbon could not have made less fuss about it, Phineas was disappointed,

but he took the cue from his friend too quickly to show his disappointment. And when, half an hour after their

meeting, Fitzgibbon had to be reminded that his companion was not in the House during the last session,

Phineas was able to make the remark as though he thought as little about the House as did the

"Seventeen?" said Phineas, not quite understanding the meaning of the number quoted.

"A majority of seventeen. There are four Irish counties and three Scotch which haven't returned as yet; but we

know pretty well what they'll do. There's a doubt about Tipperary, of course; but whichever gets in of the

seven who are standing, it will be a vote on our side. Now the Government can't live against that. The uphill

"According to my idea, nothing can justify them in trying to live against a majority."

"That's gammon. When the thing is so equal, anything is fair. But you see they don't like it. Of course there

are some among them as hungry as we are; and Dubby would give his toes and fingers to remain in." Dubby

was the ordinary name by which, among friends and foes, Mr Daubeny was known: Mr Daubeny, who at that

time was the leader of the Conservative party in the House of Commons. "But most of them," continued Mr

Fitzgibbon, "prefer the other game, and if you don't care about money, upon my word it's the pleasanter game

"As to that, it's six of one and half a dozen of the other. I never knew a government yet that wanted to do

anything. Give a government a real strong majority, as the Tories used to have half a century since, and as a

matter of course it will do nothing. Why should it? Doing things, as you call it, is only bidding for power

"The country gets quite as much service as it pays for and perhaps a little more. The clerks in the offices

work for the country. And the Ministers work too, if they've got anything to manage. There is plenty of work

done but of work in Parliament, the less the better, according to my ideas. It's very little that ever is done,

"Come down and have a glass of brandy and water, and leave the people alone for the present. The people

can take care of themselves a great deal better than we can take care of them." Mr Fitzgibbon's doctrine as to

the commonwealth was very different from that of Barrington Erle, and was still less to the taste of the new

member. Barrington Erle considered that his leader, Mr Mildmay, should be entrusted to make all necessary

changes in the laws, and that an obedient House of Commons should implicitly obey that leader in

authorising all changes proposed by him but, according to Barrington Erle, such changes should be

numerous and of great importance, and would, if duly passed into law at his lord's behest, gradually produce

such a Whig Utopia in England as has never yet been seen on the face of the earth. Now, according to Mr

Fitzgibbon, the present Utopia would be good enough if only he himself might be once more put into

possession of a certain semipolitical place about `the Court, from which he had heretofore drawn �1,000 per

annum, without any work, much to his comfort. He made no secret of his ambition, and was chagrined simply

at the prospect of having to return to his electors before he could enjoy those good things which he expected

to receive from the undoubted majority of seventeen, which had been, or would be, achieved.

"I hate all change as a rule," said Fitzgibbon; but, upon my word, we ought to alter that. When a fellow has

got a crumb of comfort, after waiting for it years and years, and perhaps spending thousands in elections, he

has to go back and try his hand again at the last moment, merely in obedience to some antiquated prejudice.

Look at poor Jack Bond the best friend I ever had in the world. He was wrecked upon that rock for ever.

He spent every shilling he had in contesting Romford three times running and three times running he got

in. Then they made him ViceComptroller of the Granaries, and I'm shot if he didn't get spilt at Romford on

"God knows. I think I heard that he married an old woman and settled down somewhere. I know he never

came up again. Now, I call that a confounded shame. I suppose I'm safe down in Mayo, but there's no

As they parted at Euston Square, Phineas asked his friend some little nervous question as to the best mode of

making a first entrance into the House. Would Laurence Fitzgibbon see him through the difficulties of the

oathtaking? But Laurence Fitzgibbon made very little of the difficulty. "Oh you just come down, and

there'll be a rush of fellows, and you'll know everybody. You'll have to hang about for an hour or so, and then

you'll get pushed through. There isn't time for much ceremony after a general election."

Phineas reached London early in the morning, and went home to bed for an hour or so. The House was to

meet on that very day, and he intended to begin his parliamentary duties at once if he should find it possible

to get someone to accompany him. He felt that he should lack courage to go down to Westminster Hall alone,

and explain to the policeman and doorkeepers that he was the man who had just been elected member for

Loughshane. So about noon he went into the Reform Club, and there he found a great crowd of men, among

whom there was a plentiful sprinkling of members. Erle saw him in a moment, and came to him with

"I never heard of a fellow with such a run of luck," said Erle. "It's just one of those flukes that occur once in a

dozen elections. Any one on earth might have got in without spending a shilling."

Phineas didn't at all like this. "I don't think any one could have got in," said he, "without knowing Lord Tulla.

"Lord Tulla was nowhere, my dear boy, and could have nothing to say to it. But never mind that. You meet

me in the lobby at two. There'll be a lot of us there, and we'll go in together. Have you seen Fitzgibbon?"

Then Barrington Erle went off to other business, and Finn was congratulated by other men. But it seemed to

him that the congratulations of his friends were not hearty. He spoke to some men, of whom he thought that

he knew they would have given their eyes to be in Parliament and yet they spoke of his success as being a

very ordinary thing. "Well, my boy, I hope you like it," said one middleaged gentleman whom he had

known ever since he came up to London, "The difference is between working for nothing and working for

"They say the House is a comfortable club," said the middleaged friend, "but I confess that I shouldn't like

being rung away from my dinner myself." At two punctually Phineas was in the lobby at Westminster, and

then he found himself taken into the House with a crowd of other men. The old and young, and they who

were neither old nor young, were mingled together, and there seemed to be very little respect of persons. On

three or four occasions there was some cheering when a popular man or a great leader came in; but the work

of the day left but little clear impression on the mind of the young member. He was confused, half elated, half

disappointed, and had not his wits about him. He found himself constantly regretting that he was there; and as

constantly telling himself that he, hardly yet twentyfive, without a shilling of his own, had achieved an

entrance into that assembly which by the consent of all men is the greatest in the world, and which many of

the rich magnates of the country had in vain spent heaps of treasure in their endeavours to open to their own

footsteps. He tried hard to realise what he had gained, but the dust and the noise and the crowds and the want

of something august to the eye were almost too strong for him. He managed, however, to take the oath early

among those who took it, and heard the Queen's speech read and the Address moved and seconded. He was

seated very uncomfortably, high up on a back seat, between two men whom he did not know; and he found

the speeches to be very long. He had been in the habit of seeing such speeches reported in about a column,

and he thought that these speeches must take at least four columns each. He sat out the debate on the Address

till the House was adjourned, and then he went away to dine at his club. He did go into the diningroom of

the House, but there was a crowd there, and he found himself alone and to tell the truth, he was afraid to

The nearest approach to a triumph which he had in London came to him from the glory which his election

reflected upon his landlady. She was a kindly good motherly soul, whose husband was a journeyman

lawstationer, and who kept a very decent house in Great Marlborough Street. Here Phineas had lodged since

he had been in London, and was a great favourite. "God bless my soul, Mr Phineas," said she, "only think of

"And you'll go on with the rooms the same as ever? Well, I never thought to have a member of Parliament in

Mrs Bunce really had realised the magnitude of the step which her lodger had taken, and Phineas was grateful

Phineas, in describing Lady Laura Standish to Mary Flood Jones at Killaloe, had not painted her in very

glowing colours. Nevertheless he admired Lady Laura very much, and she was worthy of admiration. It was

probably the greatest pride of our hero's life that Lady Laura Standish was his friend, and that she had

instigated him to undertake the risk of parliamentary life. Lady Laura was intimate also with Barrington Erle,

who was, in some distant degree, her cousin; and Phineas was not without a suspicion that his selection for

Loughshane, from out of all the young liberal candidates, may have been in some degree owing to Lady

Laura's influence with Barrington Erle. He was not unwilling that it should be so; for though, as he had

repeatedly told himself, he was by no means in love with Lady Laura who was, as he imagined, somewhat

older than himself nevertheless, he would feel gratified at accepting anything from her hands, and he felt a

keen desire for some increase to those ties of friendship which bound them together. No he was not in

love with Lady Laura Standish. He had not the remotest idea of asking her to be his wife. So he told himself,

both before he went over for his election, and after his return. When he had found himself in a corner with

poor little Mary Flood Jones, he had kissed her as a matter of course; but he did not think that he could, in

any circumstances, be tempted to kiss Lady Laura. He supposed that he was in love with his darling little

Mary after a fashion. Of course, it could never come to anything, because of the circumstances of his life,

which were so imperious to him. He was not in love with Lady Laura, and yet he hoped that his intimacy

with her might come to much. He had more than once asked himself how he would feel when somebody else

came to be really in love with Lady Laura for she was by no means a woman to lack lovers when

someone else should be in love with her, and be received by her as a lover; but this question he had never

been able to answer. There were many questions about himself which he usually answered by telling himself

that it was his fate to walk over volcanoes. "Of course, I shall be blown into atoms some fine day," he would

The House had met on a Friday, again on the Saturday morning, and the debate on the Address had been

adjourned till the Monday. On the Sunday, Phineas determined that he would see Lady Laura. She professed

to be always at home on Sunday, and from three to four in the afternoon her drawingroom would probably

be half full of people. There would, at any rate, be comers and goers, who would prevent anything like real

conversation between himself and her. But for a few minutes before that he might probably find her alone,

and he was most anxious to see whether her reception of him, as a member of Parliament, would be in any

degree warmer than that of his other friends. Hitherto he had found no such warmth since he came to London,

Lady Laura Standish was the daughter of the Earl of Brentford, and was the only remaining lady of the Earl's

family. The Countess had been long dead; and Lady Emily, the younger daughter, who had been the great

beauty of her day, was now the wife of a Russian nobleman whom she had persisted in preferring to any of

her English suitors, and lived at St Petersburg. There was an aunt, old Lady Laura, who came up to town

about the middle of May; but she was always in the country except for some six weeks in the season. There

was a certain Lord Chiltern, the Earl's son and heir, who did indeed live at the family town house in Portman

Square; but Lord Chiltern was a man of whom Lady Laura's set did not often speak, and Phineas, frequently

as he had been at the house, had never seen Lord Chiltern there. He was a young nobleman of whom various

accounts were given by various people; but I fear that the account most readily accepted in London attributed

to him a great intimacy with the affairs at Newmarket, and a partiality for convivial pleasures. Respecting

Lord Chiltern Phineas had never as yet exchanged a word with Lady Laura. With her father he was

acquainted, as he had dined perhaps half a dozen times at the house. The point in Lord Brentford's character

which had more than any other struck our hero, was the unlimited confidence which he seemed to place in his

daughter. Lady Laura seemed to have perfect power of doing what she pleased. She was much more mistress

of herself than if she had been the wife instead of the daughter of the Earl of Brentford and she seemed to

Phineas had declared at Killaloe that Lady Laura was six feet high, that she had red hair, that her figure was

straggling, and that her hands and feet were large. She was in fact about five feet seven in height, and she

carried her height well. There was something of nobility in her gait, and she seemed thus to be taller than her

inches. Her hair was in truth red of a deep thorough redness. Her brother's hair was the same; and so had

been that of her father, before it had become sandy with age. Her sister's had been of a soft auburn hue, and

hers had been said to be the prettiest head of hair in Europe at the time of her marriage. But in these days we

have got to like red hair, and Lady Laura's was not supposed to stand in the way of her being considered a

beauty. Her face was very fair, though it lacked that softness which we all love in women. Her eyes, which

were large and bright, and very clear, never seemed to quail, never rose and sunk or showed themselves to be

afraid of their own power. Indeed, Lady Laura Standish had nothing of fear about her. Her nose was perfectly

cut, but was rather large, having the slightest possible tendency to be aquiline. Her mouth also was large, but

was full of expression, and her teeth were perfect. Her complexion was very bright, but in spite of its

brightness she never blushed. The shades of her complexion were set and steady. Those who knew her said

that her heart was so fully under command that nothing could stir her blood to any sudden motion. As to that

accusation of straggling which had been made against her, it had sprung from illnatured observation of her

modes of sitting. She never straggled when she stood or walked; but she would lean forward when sitting, as

a man does, and would use her arms in talking, and would put her hand over her face, and pass her fingers

through her hair after the fashion of men rather than of women and she seemed to despise that soft

quiescence of her sex in which are generally found so many charms. Her hands and feet were large as was

her whole frame. Such was Lady Laura Standish; and Phineas Finn had been untrue to himself and to his own

appreciation of the lady when he had described her in disparaging terms to Mary Flood Jones. But, though he

had spoken of Lady Laura in disparaging terms, he had so spoken of her as to make Miss Flood Jones quite

And now, early on the Sunday, he made his way to Portman Square in order that he might learn whether there

might be any sympathy for him there. Hitherto he had found none. Everything had been terribly dry and hard,

and he had gathered as yet none of the fruit which he had expected that his good fortune would bear for him.

It is true that he had not as yet gone among any friends, except those of his club, and men who were in the

House along with him and at the club it might be that there were some who envied him his good fortune,

and others who thought nothing of it because it had been theirs for years. Now he would try a friend who, he

hoped, could sympathise; and therefore he called in Portman Square at about half past two on the Sunday

morning. Yes Lady Laura was in the drawingroom. The hall porter admitted as much, but evidently

seemed to think that he had been disturbed from his dinner before his time. Phineas did not care a straw for

the hall porter. If Lady Laura were not kind to him, he would never trouble that hall porter again. He was

especially sore at this moment because a valued friend, the barrister with whom he had been reading for the

last three years, had spent the best part of an hour that Sunday morning in proving to him that he had as good

as ruined himself. "When I first heard it, of course I thought you had inherited a fortune," said Mr Low. "I

have inherited nothing," Phineas replied "not a penny; and I never shall." Then Mr Low had opened his

"I am so glad you have come, Mr Finn," said Lady Laura, meeting Phineas halfway across the large room.

"I thought that perhaps you would manage to see me before any one else was here."

"I can tell you why, Mr Finn. But never mind come and sit down. I am so very glad that you have been

successful so very glad. You know I told you that I should never think much of you if you did not at least

"And have succeeded. Faint heart, you know, never did any good. I think it is a man's duty to make his way

into the House that is, if he ever means to be anybody. Of course it is not every man who can get there by

"No I don't say so," said Lady Laura. "And you are worth all the others put together. It is such a comfort

"You shall hear nothing but cheery words here. Papa shall say cheery words to you that shall be better than

mine, because they shall be weighted with the wisdom of age. I have heard him say twenty times that the

"Not at all of younger brothers, and barristers, and of men who have their way to make, as you have. Let

me see can you dine here on Wednesday? There will be no party, of course, but papa will want to shake

hands with you; and you legislators of the Lower House are more easily reached on Wednesdays than on any

"I shall be delighted," said Phineas, feeling, however, that he did not expect much sympathy from Lord

"Mr Kennedy dines here you know Mr Kennedy, of Loughlinter; and we will ask your friend Mr

Fitzgibbon. There will be nobody else. As for catching Barrington Erle, that is out of the question at such a

"You must not suppose that I am afraid of it. I was going to say that there are worse things than ruin or, at

any rate, than the chance of ruin. Supposing that I have to emigrate and skin sheep, what does it matter? I

myself, being unencumbered, have myself as my own property to do what I like with. With Nelson it was

Westminster Abbey or a peerage. With me it is parliamentary success or sheepskinning."

At that moment the door of the room was opened, and a man entered with quick steps, came a few yards in,

and then retreated, slamming the door after him. He was a man with thick short red hair, and an abundance of

very red beard. And his face was red and as it seemed to Phineas, his very eyes. There was something in

the countenance of the man which struck him almost with dread something approaching to ferocity.

There was a pause a moment after the door was closed, and then Lady Laura spoke. "It was my brother

That terrible apparition of the red Lord Chiltern had disturbed Phineas in the moment of his happiness as he

sat listening to the kind flatteries of Lady Laura; and though Lord Chiltern had vanished as quickly as he had

appeared, there had come no return of his joy. Lady Laura had said some word about her brother, and Phineas

had replied that he had never chanced to see Lord Chiltern. Then there had been an awkward silence, and

almost immediately other persons had come in. After greeting one or two old acquaintances, among whom an

elder sister of Laurence Fitzgibbon was one, he took his leave and escaped out into the square. "Miss

Fitzgibbon is going to dine with us on Wednesday," said Lady Laura. "She says she won't answer for her

"And you're a member of Parliament now too, they tell me," said Miss Fitzgibbon, holding up her hands. "I

think everybody will be in Parliament before long. I wish I knew some man who wasn't, that I might think of

But Phineas cared very little what Miss Fitzgibbon said to him. Everybody knew Aspasia Fitzgibbon, and all

who knew her were accustomed to put up with the violence of her jokes and the bitterness of her remarks.

She was an old maid, over forty, very plain, who, having reconciled herself to the fact that she was an old

maid, chose to take advantage of such poor privileges as the position gave her. Within the last few years a

considerable fortune had fallen into her hands, some twentyfive thousand pounds, which had come to her

unexpectedly a wonderful windfall. And now she was the only one of her family who had money at

command. She lived in a small house by herself, in one of the smallest streets of Mayfair, and walked about

sturdily by herself, and spoke her mind about everything. She was greatly devoted to her brother Laurence

so devoted that there was nothing she would not do for him, short of lending him money. But Phineas when

he found himself out in the square thought nothing of Aspasia Fitzgibbon. He had gone to Lady Laura

Standish for sympathy, and she had given it to him in full measure. She understood him and his aspirations if

no one else did so on the face of the earth. She rejoiced in his triumph, and was not too hard to tell him that

she looked forward to his success. And in what delightful language she had done so! "Faint heart never won

fair lady." It was thus, or almost thus, that she had encouraged him. He knew well that she had in truth meant

nothing more than her words had seemed to signify. He did not for a moment attribute to her aught else. But

might not he get another lesson from them? He had often told himself that he was not in love with Laura

Standish but why should he not now tell himself that he was in love with her? Of course there would be

difficulty. But was it not the business of his life to overcome difficulties? Had he not already overcome one

difficulty almost as great; and why should he be afraid of this other? Faint heart never won fair lady! And this

fair lady for at this moment he was ready to swear that she was very fair was already half won. She

could not have taken him by the hand so warmly, and looked into his face so keenly, had she not felt for him

He had turned down Baker Street from the square, and was now walking towards the Regent's Park. He

would go and see the beasts in the Zoological Gardens; and make up his mind as to his future mode of life in

that delightful Sunday solitude. There was very much as to which it was necessary that he should make up his

mind. If he resolved that he would ask Lady Laura Standish to be his wife, when should he ask her, and in

what manner might he propose to her that they should live? It would hardly suit him to postpone his courtship

indefinitely, knowing, as he did know, that he would be one among many suitors. He could not expect her to

wait for him if he did not declare himself. And yet he could hardly ask her to come and share with him the

allowance made to him by his father! Whether she had much fortune of her own, or little, or none at all, he

did not in the least know. He did know that the Earl had been distressed by his son's extravagance, and that

But his great desire would be to support his own wife by his own labour. At present he was hardly in a fair

way to do that, unless he could get paid for his parliamentary work. Those fortunate gentlemen who form

"The Government" are so paid. Yes there was the Treasury Bench open to him, and he must resolve that

he would seat himself there. He would make Lady Laura understand this, and then he would ask his question.

It was true that at present his political opponents had possession of the Treasury Bench but all

governments are mortal, and Conservative governments in this country are especially prone to die. It was true

that he could not hold even a Treasury lordship with a poor thousand a year for his salary without having to

face the electors of Loughshane again before he entered upon the enjoyment of his place but if he could

only do something to give a grace to his name, to show that he was a rising man, the electors of Loughshane,

who had once been so easy with him, would surely not be cruel to him when he showed himself a second

time among them. Lord Tulla was his friend, and he had those points of law in his favour which possession

bestows. And then he remembered that Lady Laura was related to almost everybody who was anybody

among the high Whigs. She was, he knew, second cousin to Mr Mildmay, who for years had been the leader

of the Whigs, and was third cousin to Barrington Erle. The late President of the Council, the Duke of St

Bungay, and Lord Brentford had married sisters, and the St Bungay people, and the Mildmay people, and the

Brentford people had all some sort of connection with the Palliser people, of whom the heir and coming

chief, Plantagenet Palliser, would certainly be Chancellor of the Exchequer in the next Government. Simply

as an introduction into official life nothing could be more conducive to chances of success than a matrimonial

alliance with Lady Laura. Not that he would have thought of such a thing on that account! No he thought

of it because he loved her; honestly because he loved her. He swore to that half a dozen times, for his own

satisfaction. But, loving her as he did, and resolving that in spite of all difficulties she should become his

wife, there could be no reason why he should not on her account as well as on his own take advantage

As he wandered among the unsavoury beasts, elbowed on every side by the Sunday visitors to the garden, he

made up his mind that he would first let Lady Laura understand what were his intentions with regard to his

future career, and then he would ask her to join her lot to his. At every turn the chances would of course be

very much against him ten to one against him, perhaps, on every point; but it was his lot in life to have to

face such odds. Twelve months since it had been much more than ten to one against his getting into

Parliament; and yet he was there. He expected to be blown into fragments to sheepskinning in Australia,

or packing preserved meats on the plains of Paraguay; but when the blowing into atoms should come, he was

resolved that courage to bear the ruin should not be wanting. Then he quoted a line or two of a Latin poet,

"I fancied you members of Parliament had something else to do besides looking at wild beasts. I thought you

always spent Sunday in arranging how you might most effectually badger each other on Monday."

"We got through all that early this morning, Miss Fitzgibbon, while you were saying your prayers."

"Here is Mr Kennedy too you know him I daresay. He also is a member; but then he can afford to be idle."

But it so happened that Phineas did not know Mr Kennedy, and consequently there was some slight form of

"I believe I am to meet you at dinner on Wednesday," said Phineas "at Lord Brentford's."

Mr Kennedy, who seemed to be afflicted with some difficulty in speaking, and whose bow to our hero had

hardly done more than produce the slightest possible motion to the top of his hat, hereupon muttered

something which was taken to mean an assent to the proposition as to Wednesday's dinner. Then he stood

perfectly still, with his two hands fixed on the top of his umbrella, and gazed at the great monkeys' cage. But

it was clear that he was not looking at any special monkey, for his eyes never wandered.

"Did you ever see such a contrast in your life?" said Miss Fitzgibbon to Phineas hardly in a whisper.

"Between Mr Kennedy and a monkey. The monkey has so much to say for himself, and is so delightfully

Mr Kennedy was a man who had very little temptation to do anything wrong. He was possessed of over a

million and a half of money, which he was mistaken enough to suppose he had made himself; whereas it may

be doubted whether he had ever earned a penny. His father and his uncle had created a business in Glasgow,

and that business now belonged to him. But his father and his uncle, who had toiled through their long lives,

had left behind them servants who understood the work, and the business now went on prospering almost by

its own momentum. The Mr Kennedy of the present day, the sole owner of the business, though he did

occasionally go to Glasgow, certainly did nothing towards maintaining it. He had a magnificent place in

Perthshire, called Loughlinter, and he sat for a Scotch group of boroughs, and he had a house in London, and

a stud of horses in Leicestershire, which he rarely visited, and was unmarried. He never spoke much to any

one, although he was constantly in society. He rarely did anything, although he had the means of doing

everything. He had very seldom been on his legs in the House of Commons, though he had sat there for ten

years. He was seen about everywhere, sometimes with one acquaintance and sometimes with another but

it may be doubted whether he had any friend. It may be doubted whether he had ever talked enough to any

man to make that man his friend. Laurence Fitzgibbon tried him for one season, and after a month or two

asked for a loan of a few hundred pounds. "I never lend money to any one under any circumstances," said Mr

Kennedy, and it was the longest speech which had ever fallen from his mouth in the hearing of Laurence

Fitzgibbon. But though he would not lend money, he gave a great deal and he would give it for almost

every object. "Mr Robert Kennedy, M.P., Loughlinter, �105," appeared on almost every charitable list that

was advertised. No one ever spoke to him as to this expenditure, nor did he ever speak to any one. Circulars

came to him and the cheques were returned. The duty was a very easy one to him, and he performed it

willingly. Had any amount of inquiry been necessary, it is possible that the labour would have been too much

for him. Such was Mr Robert Kennedy, as to whom Phineas had heard that he had during the last winter

entertained Lord Brentford and Lady Laura, with very many other people of note, at his place in Perthshire.

"I thought you would," said she. Like to like, you know. You have both of you the same aptitude for

Phineas, knowing that he could gain nothing by sparring with Miss Fitzgibbon, raised his hat and took his

leave. Going out of a narrow gate he found himself again brought into contact with Mr Kennedy. "What a

crowd there is here," he said, finding himself bound to say something. Mr Kennedy, who was behind him,

answered him not a word. Then Phineas made up his mind that Mr Kennedy was insolent with the insolence

He was engaged to dine on this Sunday with Mr Low, the barrister, with whom he had been reading for the

last three years. Mr Low had taken a strong liking to Phineas, as had also Mrs Low, and the tutor had more

than once told his pupil that success in his profession was certainly open to him if he would only stick to his

work. Mr Low was himself an ambitious man, looking forward to entering Parliament at some future time,

when the exigencies of his life of labour might enable him to do so; but he was prudent, given to close

calculation, and resolved to make the ground sure beneath his feet in every step that he took forward. When

he first heard that Finn intended to stand for Loughshane he was stricken with dismay, and strongly dissuaded

him. "The electors may probably reject him. That's his only chance now," Mr Low had said to his wife, when

he found that Phineas was, as he thought, foolhardy. But the electors of Loughshane had not rejected Mr

Low's pupil, and Mr Low was now called upon to advise what Phineas should do in his present

circumstances. There is nothing to prevent the work of a Chancery barrister being done by a member of

Parliament. Indeed, the most successful barristers are members of Parliament. But Phineas Finn was

"It took us so much by surprise!" said Mrs Low. As a rule one never hears of a barrister going into Parliament

"And I'm only twentyfive. I do feel that I've disgraced myself. I do, indeed, Mrs Low."

"No you've not disgraced yourself, Mr Finn. The only question is, whether it's prudent. I hope it will all

turn out for the best, most heartily." Mrs Low was a very matteroffact lady, four or five years older than

her husband, who had had a little money of her own, and was possessed of every virtue under the sun.

Nevertheless she did not quite like the idea of her husband's pupil having got into Parliament. If her husband

and Phineas Finn were dining anywhere together, Phineas, who had come to them quite a boy, would walk

out of the room before her husband. This could hardly be right! Nevertheless she helped Phineas to the nicest

bit of fish she could find, and had he been ill, would dive nursed him with the greatest care.

After dinner, when Mrs Low had gone upstairs, there came the great discussion between the tutor and the

pupil, for the sake of which this little dinner had been given. When Phineas had last been with Mr Low on

the occasion of his showing himself at his tutor's chambers after his return from Ireland he had not made

up his mind so thoroughly on certain points as he had done since he had seen Lady Laura. The discussion

"Well, Phineas, and what do you mean to do?" said Mr Low. Everybody who knew our hero, or nearly

everybody, called him by his Christian name. There are men who seem to be so treated by general consent in

all societies. Even Mrs Low, who was very prosaic, and unlikely to be familiar in her mode of address, had

fallen into the way of doing it before the election. But she had dropped it, when the Phineas whom she used

"Giving it up," said Mr Low, raising his hands in surprise. "If you give it up, how do you intend to live? Men

"Not exactly. But, as I said before, I am not thinking of giving it up permanently."

"You mustn't give it up at all not for a day; that is, if you ever mean to do any good."

"How can I be wrong? Did a period of idleness ever help a man in any profession? And is it not

acknowledged by all who know anything about it, that continuous labour is more necessary in our profession

"I don't doubt the fact." "And if it be a misfortune, we must make the best of it. Even you wouldn't advise me

"I would tomorrow. My dear fellow, though I do not like to give you pain, if you come to me I can only

tell you what I think. My advice to you is to give it up tomorrow. Men would laugh at you for a few weeks,

"Very well then let us go on," said Mr Low. If you won't give up your seat, the next best thing will be to

take care that it shall interfere as little as possible with your work. I suppose you must sit upon some

"My idea is this that I will give up one year to learning the practices of the House."

"Nothing but that. Why, the thing is a study in itself. As for learning it in a year, that is out of the question.

But I am convinced that if a man intends to be a useful member of Parliament, he should make a study of it."

"And how do you mean to live in the meantime?" Mr Low, who was an energetic man, had assumed almost

an angry tone of voice. Phineas for awhile sat silent not that he felt himself to be without words for a

reply, but that he was thinking in what fewest words he might best convey his ideas. "You have a very

modest allowance from your father, on which you have never been able to keep yourself free from debt,"

"And will it satisfy you to live here, in what will turn out to be parliamentary club idleness, on the savings of

his industrious life? I think you will find yourself unhappy if you do that. Phineas, my dear fellow, as far as I

have as yet been able to see the world, men don't begin either very good or very bad. They have generally

good aspirations with infirm purposes or, as we may say, strong bodies with weak legs to carry them.

Then, because their legs are weak, they drift into idleness and ruin. During all this drifting they are wretched,

and when they have thoroughly drifted they are still wretched. The agony of their old disappointment still

clings to them. In nine cases out of ten it is someone small unfortunate event that puts a man astray at first.

He sees some woman and loses himself with her or he is taken to a racecourse and unluckily wins money

or some devil in the shape of a friend lures him to tobacco and brandy. Your temptation has come in the

shape of this accursed seat in Parliament." Mr Low had never said a soft word in his life to any woman but

the wife of his bosom, had never seen a racehorse, always confined himself to two glasses of port after

"I have made up my mind that your time will be wholly unprofitable if you do as you say you intend to

"But you do not know my plan; just listen to me." Then Mr Low did listen, and Phineas explained his plan

saying, of course, nothing of his love for Lady Laura, but giving Mr Low to understand that he intended to

assist in turning out the existing Government and to mount up to some seat a humble seat at first on

the Treasury bench, by the help of his exalted friends and by the use of his own gifts of eloquence. Mr Low

heard him without a word. "Of course," said Phineas, after the first year my time will not be fully employed,

"If you are resolved to turn yourself against me, I must not say another word," said Phineas, with anger.

"Turn myself against you! I would turn myself any way so that I might save you from the sort of life which

you are preparing for yourself. I see nothing in it that can satisfy any manly heart. Even if you are successful,

what are you to become? You will be the creature of some minister, not his colleague. You are to make your

way up the ladder by pretending to agree whenever agreement is demanded from you, and by voting whether

you agree or do not. And what is to be your reward? Some few precarious hundreds a year, lasting just so

long as a party may remain in power and you can retain a seat in Parliament! It is at the best slavery and

"You yourself hope to go into Parliament and join a ministry some day," said Phineas.

Mr Low was not quick to answer, but he did answer at last. "That is true, though I have never told you so.

Indeed, it is hardly true to say that I hope it. I have my dreams, and sometimes dare to tell myself that they

may possibly become waking facts. But if ever I sit on a Treasury bench I shall sit there by special invitation,

having been summoned to take a high place because of my professional success. It is but a dream after all,

and I would not have you repeat what I have said to anyone. I had no intention to talk about myself." "I am

"Yes I shall succeed. I am succeeding. I live upon what I earn, like a gentleman, and can already afford to

be indifferent to work that I dislike. After all, the other part of it that of which I dream is but an

unnecessary adjunct; the gilding on the gingerbread. I am inclined to think that the cake is more wholesome

Phineas did not go upstairs into Mrs Low's drawingroom on that evening, nor did he stay very late with Mr

Low. He had heard enough of counsel to make him very unhappy to shake from him much of the audacity

which he had acquired for himself during his morning's walk and to make him almost doubt whether, after

all, the Chiltern Hundreds would not be for him the safest escape from his difficulties. But in that case he

No in such case as that should he resolve upon taking the advice of his old friend Mr Low, Phineas

Finn must make up his mind never to see Lady Laura Standish again! And he was in love with Lady Laura

Standish and, for aught he knew, Lady Laura Standish might be in love with him. As he walked home

from Mr Low's house in Bedford Square, he was by no means a triumphant man. There had been much more

said between him and Mr Low than could be laid before the reader in the last chapter. Mr Low had urged him

again and again, and had prevailed so far that Phineas, before he left the house, had promised to consider that

suicidal expedient of the Chiltern Hundreds. What a byword he would become if he were to give up

Parliament, having sat there for about a week. But such immediate giving up was one of the necessities of Mr

Low's programme. According to Mr Low's teaching, a single year passed amidst the miasma of the House of

Commons would be altogether fatal to any chance of professional success. And Mr Low had at any rate

succeeded in making Phineas believe that he was right in this lesson. There was his profession, as to which

Mr Low assured him that success was within his reach; and there was Parliament on the other side, as to

which he knew that the chances were all against him, in spite of his advantage of a seat. That he could not

combine the two, beginning with Parliament, he did believe. Which should it be? That was the question

which he tried to decide as he walked home from Bedford Square to Great Marlborough Street. He could not

He must at any rate go to Lord Brentford's dinner on Wednesday, and, to enable him to join in the

conversation there, must attend the debates on Monday and Tuesday. The reader may perhaps be best made to

understand how terrible was our hero's state of doubt by being told that for awhile he thought of absenting

himself from these debates, as being likely to weaken his purpose of withdrawing altogether from the House.

It is not very often that so strong a fury rages between party and party at the commencement of the session

that a division is taken upon the Address. It is customary for the leader of the opposition on such occasions to

express his opinion in the most courteous language, that his right honourable friend, sitting opposite to him

on the Treasury bench, has been, is, and will be wrong in everything that he thinks, says, or does in public

life; but that, as anything like factious opposition is never adopted on that side of the House, the Address to

the Queen, in answer to that most fatuous speech which has been put into Her Majesty's gracious mouth, shall

be allowed to pass unquestioned. Then the leader of the House thanks his adversary for his consideration,

explains to all men how happy the country ought to be that the Government has not fallen into the

disgracefully incapable hands of his right honourable friend opposite; and after that the Address is carried

amidst universal serenity. But such was not the order of the day on the present occasion. Mr Mildmay, the

veteran leader of the liberal side of the House, had moved an amendment to the Address, and had urged upon

the House, in very strong language, the expediency of showing, at the very commencement of the session,

that the country had returned to Parliament a strong majority determined not to put up with Conservative

inactivity. "I conceive it to be my duty," Mr Mildmay had said, "at once to assume that the country is

unwilling that the right honourable gentlemen opposite should keep their seats on the bench upon which they

sit, and in the performance of that duty I am called upon to divide the House upon the Address to Her

Majesty." And if Mr Mildmay used strong language, the reader may be sure that Mr Mildmay's followers

used language much stronger. And Mr Daubeny, who was the present leader of the House, and representative

there of the Ministry Lord de Terrier, the Premier, sitting in the House of Lords was not the man to

allow these amenities to pass by without adequate replies. He and his friends were very strong in sarcasm, if

they failed in argument, and lacked nothing for words, though it might perhaps be proved that they were short

in numbers. It was considered that the speech in which Mr Daubeny reviewed the long political life of Mr

Mildmay, and showed that Mr Mildmay had been at one time a bugbear, and then a nightmare, and latterly

simply a fungus, was one of the severest attacks, if not the most severe, that had been heard in that House

since the Reform Bill. Mr Mildmay, the while, was sitting with his hat low down over his eyes, and many

men said that he did not like it. But this speech was not made till after that dinner at Lord Brentford's, of

Had it not been for the overwhelming interest of the doings in Parliament at the commencement of the

session, Phineas might have perhaps abstained from attending, in spite of the charm of novelty. For, in truth,

Mr Low's words had moved him much. But if it was to be his fate to be a member of Parliament only for ten

days, surely it would be well that he should take advantage of the time to hear such a debate as this. It would

be a thing to talk of to his children in twenty years' time, or to his grandchildren in fifty and it would be

essentially necessary that he should be able to talk of it to Lady Laura Standish. He did, therefore, sit in the

House till one on the Monday night, and till two on the Tuesday night, and heard the debate adjourned till the

Thursday. On the Thursday Mr Daubeny was to make his great speech, and then the division would come.

When Phineas entered Lady Laura's drawingroom on the Wednesday before dinner, he found the other

guests all assembled. Why men should have been earlier in keeping their dinner engagements on that day

than on any other he did not understand; but it was the fact, probably, that the great anxiety of the time made

those who were at all concerned in the matter very keen to hear and to be heard. During these days everybody

was in a hurry everybody was eager; and there was a common feeling that not a minute was to be lost.

There were three ladies in the room Lady Laura, Miss Fitzgibbon, and Mrs Bonteen. The latter was the

wife of a gentleman who had been a junior Lord of the Admiralty in the late Government, and who lived in

the expectation of filling, perhaps, some higher office in the Government which, as he hoped, was soon to be

called into existence. There were five gentlemen besides Phineas Finn himself Mr Bonteen, Mr Kennedy,

Mr Fitzgibbon, Barrington Erle, who had been caught in spite of all that Lady Laura had said as to the

difficulty of such an operation, and Lord Brentford. Phineas was quick to observe that every male guest was

in Parliament, and to tell himself that he would not have been there unless he also had had a seat.

"Not at all," said Lady Laura. I do not know why we are in such a hurry. And how many do you say it will be,

"More likely twentytwo," said Mr Bonteen. There is Colcleugh so ill they can't possibly bring him up, and

young Rochester is at Vienna, and Gunning is sulking about something, and Moody has lost his eldest son.

By George! they pressed him to come up, although Frank Moody won't be buried till Friday."

"If I'd lost every relation I had in the world," said Fitzgibbon, "I'd vote on such a question as this. Staying

"But there's a decency in these matters, is there not, Mr Fitzgibbon?" said Lady Laura.

"I thought they had thrown all that kind of thing overboard long ago," said Miss Fitzgibbon. "It would be

Then dinner was announced. The Earl walked off with Miss Fitzgibbon, Barrington Erle took Mrs Bonteen,

"I'll bet four pounds to two it's over nineteen," said Mr Bonteen, as he passed through the drawingroom

door. The remark seemed to have been addressed to Mr Kennedy, and Phineas therefore made no reply.

"I think he is the most odious man that ever I set my eyes on," said Phineas to himself as he followed Mr

Kennedy into the diningroom. He had observed that Mr Kennedy had been standing very near to Lady

Laura in the drawingroom, and that Lady Laura had said a few words to him. He was more determined than

ever that he would hate Mr Kennedy, and would probably have been moody and unhappy throughout the

whole dinner had not Lady Laura called him to a chair at her left hand. It was very generous of her; and the

more so, as Mr Kennedy had, in a halfhesitating manner, prepared to seat himself in that very place. As it

was, Phineas and Mr Kennedy were neighbours, but Phineas had the place of honour.

"Who? I? Certainly not. In the first place, I could not get a hearing, and, in the next place, I should not think

of commencing on such an occasion. I do not know that I shall ever speak at all."

"Indeed you will. You are just the sort of man who will succeed with the House. What I doubt is, whether you

"Of course you can have the chance if you try for it. Beginning so early, and being on the right side and, if

you will allow me to say so, among the right set there can be no doubt that you may take office if you

will. But I am not sure that you will be tractable. You cannot begin, you know, by being Prime Minister."

"If you will only keep that little fact steadily before your eyes, there is nothing you may not reach in official

life. But Pitt was Prime Minister at fourandtwenty, and that precedent has ruined half our young

"As far as I can see, there is no great difficulty in government. A man must learn to have words at command

when he is on his legs in the House of Commons, in the same way as he would if he were talking to his own

servants. He must keep his temper; and he must be very patient. As far as I have seen Cabinet Ministers, they

"Yes, of fair ability. Mr Mildmay is a good specimen. There is not, and never was, anything brilliant in him.

He is not eloquent, nor, as far as I am aware, did he ever create anything. But he has always been a steady,

honest, persevering man, and circumstances have made politics come easy to him."

"Think of the momentous questions which he has been called upon to decide," said Phineas.

"Every question so handled by him has been decided rightly according to his own party, and wrongly

according to the Party opposite. A political leader is so sure of support and so sure of attack, that it is hardly

necessary for him to be even anxious to be right. For the country's sake, he should have officials under him

"No; I think of them very highly. It must be better to deal with the repeal of laws than the defending of

criminals. But all this is papa's wisdom, not mine. Papa has never been in the Cabinet yet, and therefore of

course he is a little caustic." "I think he was quite right," said Barrington Erle stoutly. He spoke so stoutly that

"I don't exactly see the necessity for such internecine war just at present," said Lord Brentford.

"I must say I do," said the other. Lord de Terrier took office knowing that he was in a minority. We had a fair

"Not in the least soft," continued Barrington Erle. We could not command our men, and were bound to go

out. For aught we knew, some score of them might have chosen to support Lord de Terrier, and then we

"A Prime Minister is quite right to dissolve in such a position," said Lord Brentford. "He must do so for the

"Just so. It is, as you say, his only chance, and it is his right. His very possession of power will give him near

a score of votes, and if he thinks that he has a chance, let him try it. We maintain that he had no chance, and

that he must have known that he had none that if he could not get on with the late House, he certainly

could not get on with a new House. We let him have his own way as far as we could in February. We had

failed last summer, and if he could get along he was welcome. But he could not get along."

"And we are right to force the consequences upon him as quickly as we can. He practically lost nine seats by

"Yes; look at Loughshane," said Miss Fitzgibbon. The country at any rate has gained something there."

"What on earth is to become of poor George?" said Mr Fitzgibbon. "I wonder whether anyone knows where

"Roby used to think that he was a very bad fellow," said Mr Bonteen. "Roby used to swear that it was

hopeless trying to catch him." It may be as well to explain that Mr Roby was a Conservative gentleman of

great fame who had for years acted as Whip under Mr Daubeny, and who now filled the high office of

Patronage Secretary to the Treasury. "I believe in my heart," continued Mr Bonteen, "that Roby is rejoiced

"If seats were halveable, he should share mine, for the sake of auld lang syne," said Laurence Fitzgibbon.

"But not tomorrow night," said Barrington Erle; the division tomorrow will be a thing not to be joked with.

Upon my word I think they're right about old Moody. All private considerations should give way. And as for

"I'm not going to boast, but I don't know of one for whom we need blush. Sir Everard Powell is so bad with

gout that he can't even bear anyone to look at him, but Ratler says that he'll bring him up." Mr Ratler was in

"Undoubtedly," said Barrington Erle. Why not? He has no business with a seat if he can't vote. But Sir

Everard is a good man, and he'll be there if laudanum and bathchair make it possible."

The same kind of conversation went on during the whole of dinner, and became, if anything, more animated

when the three ladies had left the room. Mr Kennedy made but one remark, and then he observed that as far

as he could see a majority of nineteen would be as serviceable as a majority of twenty. This he said in a very

mild voice, and in a tone that was intended to be expressive of doubt; but in spite of his humility Barrington

Erle flew at him almost savagely as though a liberal member of the House of Commons was disgraced by

so mean a spirit; and Phineas found himself despising the man for his want of zeal.

"Poor Sir Everard!" said Lord Brentford. It will kill him, no doubt, but I suppose the seat is safe."

"Oh, yes; Llanwrwsth is quite safe," said Barrington, in his eagerness omitting to catch Lord Brentford's grim

joke. Phineas went up into the drawingroom for a few minutes after dinner, and was eagerly desirous of

saying a few more words he knew not what words to Lady Laura. Mr Kennedy and Mr Bonteen had

left the diningroom first, and Phineas again found Mr Kennedy standing close to Lady Laura's shoulder.

Could it be possible that there was anything in it? Mr Kennedy was an unmarried man, with an immense

fortune, a magnificent place, a seat in Parliament, and was not perhaps above forty years of age. There could

be no reason why he should not ask Lady Laura to be his wife except, indeed, that he did not seem to have

sufficient words at command to ask anybody for anything. But could it be that such a woman as Lady Laura

could accept such a man as Mr Kennedy because of his wealth, and because of his fine place a man who

had not a word to throw to a dog, who did not seem to be possessed of an idea, who hardly looked like a

gentleman so Phineas told himself. But in truth Mr Kennedy, though he was a plain, unattractive man,

with nothing in his personal appearance to call for remark, was not unlike a gentleman in his usual

demeanour. Phineas himself, it may be here said, was six feet high, and very handsome, with bright blue

eyes, and brown wavy hair, and light silken beard. Mrs Low had told her husband more than once that he was

much too handsome to do any good. Mr Low, however, had replied that young Finn had never shown himself

to be conscious of his own personal advantages. "He'll learn it soon enough," said Mrs Low. "Some woman

will tell him, and then he'll be spoilt." I do not think that Phineas depended much as yet on his own good

looks, but he felt that Mr Kennedy ought to be despised by such a one as Lady Laura Standish, because his

looks were not good. And she must despise him! It could not be that a woman so full of life should be willing

to put up with a man who absolutely seemed to have no life within him. And yet why was he there, and why

was he allowed to hang about just over her shoulders? Phineas Finn began to feel himself to be an injured

But Lady Laura had the power of dispelling instantly this sense of injury. She had done it effectually in the

diningroom by calling him to the seat by her side, to the express exclusion of the millionaire, and she did it

again now by walking away from Mr Kennedy to the spot on which Phineas had placed himself somewhat

"Of course you'll be at the club on Friday morning after the division," she said.

"No doubt." "When you leave it, come and tell me what are your impressions, and what you think of Mr

Daubeny's speech. There'll be nothing done in the House before four, and you'll be able to run up to me."

"I have asked Mr Kennedy to come, and Mr Fitzgibbon. I am so anxious about it, that I want to hear what

different people say. You know, perhaps, that papa is to be in the Cabinet if there's a change."

"Yes, I do. You don't quite know Mr Kennedy yet. And you must remember that he will say more to me than

he will to you. He's not quick, you know, as you are, and he has no enthusiasm on any subject but he has

opinions, and sound opinions too." Phineas felt that Lady Laura was in a slight degree scolding him for the

disrespectful manner in which he had spoken of Mr Kennedy; and he felt also that he had committed himself

that he had shown himself to be sore, and that she had seen and understood his soreness.

"No not as yet. But I hope that you may some day, as he is one of those men who are both useful and

"I do not know that I can use him," said Phineas; but if you wish it, I will endeavour to esteem him."

"I wish you to do both but that will all come in due time. I think it probable that in the early autumn there

will be a great gathering of the real Whig Liberals at Loughlinter of those, I mean, who have their heart in

it, and are at the same time gentlemen. If it is so, I should be sorry that you should not be there. You need not

mention it, but Mr Kennedy has just said a word about it to papa, and a word from him always means so

much! Well goodnight; and mind you come up on Friday. You are going to the club, now, of course, I

envy you men your clubs more than I do the House though I feel that a woman's life is only half a life, as

Then Phineas went away, and walked down to Pall Mall with Laurence Fitzgibbon. He would have preferred

to take his walk alone, but he could not get rid of his affectionate countryman. He wanted to think over what

had taken place during the evening; and, indeed, he did so in spite of his friend"s conversation. Lady Laura,

when she first saw him after his return to London, had told him how anxious her father was to congratulate

him on his seat, but the Earl had not spoken a word to him on the subject. The Earl had been courteous, as

hosts customarily are, but had been in no way specially kind to him. And then Mr Kennedy! As to going to

Loughlinter, he would not do such a thing not though the success of the liberal party were to depend on it.

He declared to himself that there were some things which a man could not do. But although he was not

altogether satisfied with what had occurred in Portman Square, he felt as he walked down arminarm with

Fitzgibbon that Mr Low and Mr Low's counsels must be scattered to the winds. He had thrown the die in

"Bedad, Phin, my boy, I don't think you're listening to me at all," said Laurence Fitzgibbon.

"And if I have to go down to the ould country again this session, you'll go with me?"

"That's my boy! And it's I that hope you'll have the chance. What's the good of turning these fellows out if

It was three o'clock on the Thursday night before Mr Daubeny's speech was finished. I do not think that there

was any truth in the allegation made at the time, that he continued on his legs an hour longer than the

necessities of his speech required, in order that five or six very ancient Whigs might be wearied out and

shrink to their beds. Let a Whig have been ever so ancient and ever so weary, he would not have been

allowed to depart from Westminster Hall that night. Sir Everard Powell was there in his bathchair at twelve,

with a doctor on one side of him and a friend on the other, in some purlieu of the House, and did his duty like

a fine old Briton as he was. That speech of Mr Daubeny's will never be forgotten by anyone who heard it. Its

studied bitterness had perhaps never been equalled, and yet not a word was uttered for the saying of which he

could be accused of going beyond the limits of parliamentary antagonism. It is true that personalities could

not have been closer, that accusations of political dishonesty and of almost worse than political cowardice

and falsehood could not have been clearer, that no words in the language could have attributed meaner

motives or more unscrupulous conduct. But, nevertheless, Mr Daubeny in all that he said was parliamentary,

and showed himself to be a gladiator thoroughly well trained for the arena in which he had descended to the

combat. His arrows were poisoned, and his lance was barbed, and his shot was heated red because such

things are allowed. He did not poison his enemies' wells or use Greek fire, because those things are not

allowed. He knew exactly the rules of the combat. Mr Mildmay sat and heard him without once raising his

hat from his brow, or speaking a word to his neighbour. Men on both sides of the House said that Mr

Mildmay suffered terribly; but as Mr Mildmay uttered no word of complaint to anyone, and was quite ready

to take Mr Daubeny by the hand the next time they met in company, I do not know that anyone was able to

form a true idea of Mr Mildmay's feelings. Mr Mildmay was an impassive man who rarely spoke of his own

feelings, and no doubt sat with his hat low down over his eyes in order that no man might judge of them on

that occasion by the impression on his features. "If he could have left off half an hour earlier it would have

been perfect as an attack," said Barrington Erle in criticising Mr Daubeny's speech, "but he allowed himself

to sink into comparative weakness, and the glory of it was over before the end." Then came the division.

The Liberals had 333 votes to 314 for the Conservatives, and therefore counted a majority of 19. It was said

"I thought there would be twenty," said Mr Ratler. I never went beyond that. I knew they would have old

"Of course they must," said Mr Ratler. Lord de Terrier wants nothing better, but it is rather hard upon poor

"He gets a good drop of real water now and again, and I don't pity him in the least. He's clever of course, and

has made his own way, but I've always a feeling that he has no business where he is. I suppose we shall know

Phineas, though it had been past five before he went to bed for there had been much triumphant talking to

be done among liberal members after the division was up at his breakfast at Mrs Bunce's lodgings by nine.

There was a matter which he was called upon to settle immediately in which Mrs Bunce herself was much

interested, and respecting which he had promised to give an answer on this very morning. A set of very dingy

chambers up two pairs of stairs at No. 9, Old Square, Lincoln's Inn, to which Mr Low had recommended him

to transfer himself and all his belongings, were waiting his occupation, should he resolve upon occupying

them. If he intended to commence operations as a barrister, it would be necessary that he should have

chambers and a clerk; and before he had left Mr Low's house on Sunday evening he had almost given that

gentleman authority to secure for him these rooms at No. 9. "Whether you remain in Parliament or no, you

must make a beginning," Mr Low had said; "and how are you even to pretend to begin if you don't have

chambers?" Mr Low hoped that he might be able to wean Phineas away from his Parliament bauble that

he might induce the young barrister to give up his madness, if not this session or the next, at any rate before a

third year had commenced. Mr Low was a persistent man, liking very much when he did like, and loving very

strongly when he did love. He would have many a tug for Phineas Finn before he would allow that false

Westminster Satan to carry off the prey as altogether his own. If he could only get Phineas into the dingy

But Phineas had now become so imbued with the atmosphere of politics, had been so breathed upon by Lady

Laura and Barrington Erle, that he could no longer endure the thought of any other life than that of a life

spent among the lobbies. A desire to help to beat the Conservatives had fastened on his very soul, and almost

made Mr Low odious in his eyes. He was afraid of Mr Low, and for the nonce would not go to him any more

but he must see the porter at Lincoln's Inn, he must write a line to Mr Low, and he must tell Mrs Bunce

that for the present he would still keep on her rooms. His letter to Mr Low was as follows:

"I have made up my mind against taking the chambers, and am now off to the Inn to say that I shall not want

them. Of course, I know what you will think of me, and it is very grievous to me to have to bear the hard

judgment of a man whose opinion I value so highly; but, in the teeth of your terribly strong arguments, I think

that there is something to be said on my side of the question. This seat in Parliament has come in my way by

chance, and I think it would be pusillanimous in me to reject it, feeling, as I do, that a seat in Parliament

confers very great honour. I am, too, very fond of politics, and regard legislation as the finest profession

going. Had I any one dependent on me, I probably might not be justified in following the bent of my

inclination. But I am all alone in the world, and therefore have a right to make the attempt. If, after a trial of

one or two sessions, I should fail in that which I am attempting, it will not even then be too late to go back to

the better way. I can assure you that at any rate it is not my intention to be idle.

"I know very well how you will fret and fume over what I say, and how utterly I shall fail in bringing you

round to my way of thinking; but as I must write to tell you of my decision, I cannot refrain from defending

Mr Low received this letter at his chambers, and when he had read it, he simply pressed his lips closely

together, placed the sheet of paper back in its envelope, and put it into a drawer at his left hand. Having done

this, he went on with what work he had before him, as though his friend's decision were a matter of no

consequence to him. As far as he was concerned the thing was done, and there should be an end of it. So he

told himself; but nevertheless his mind was full of it all day; and, though he wrote not a word of answer to

Phineas, he made a reply within his own mind to every one of the arguments used in the letter. "Great

honour! How can there be honour in what comes, as he says, by chance? He hasn't sense enough to

understand that the honour comes from the mode of winning it, and from the mode of wearing it; and that the

very fact of his being member for Loughshane at this instant simply proves that Loughshane should have had

no privilege to return a member! No one dependent on him! Are not his father and his mother and his sisters

dependent on him as long as he must eat their bread till he can earn bread of his own? He will never earn

bread of his own. He will always be eating bread that others have earned." In this way, before the day was

over, Mr Low became very angry, and swore to himself that he would have nothing more to say to Phineas

Finn. But yet he found himself creating plans for encountering and conquering the parliamentary fiend who

was at present so cruelly potent with his pupil. It was not till the third evening that he told his wife that Finn

had made up his mind not to take chambers. "Then I would have nothing more to say to him," said Mrs Low,

savagely. "For the present I can have nothing more to say to him." "But neither now nor ever, said Mrs Low,

with great asis; "he has been false to you." No, said Mr Low, who was a man thoroughly and thoughtfully just

at all points; "he has not been false to me. He has always meant what he has said, when he was saying it. But

he is weak and blind, and flies like a moth to the candle; one pities the poor moth, and would save him a

Phineas, when he had written his letter to Mr Low, started off for Lincoln's Inn, making his way through the

wellknown dreary streets of Soho, and through St Giles's, to Long Acre. He knew every corner well, for he

had walked the same road almost daily for the last three years. He had conceived a liking for the route, which

he might easily have changed without much addition to the distance, by passing through Oxford Street and

Holborn; but there was an air of business on which he prided himself in going by the most direct passage, and

he declared to himself very often that things dreary and dingy to the eye might be good in themselves.

Lincoln's Inn itself is dingy, and the Law Courts therein are perhaps the meanest in which Equity ever

disclosed herself. Mr Low's three rooms in the Old Square, each of them brown with the binding of law

books and with the dust collected on law papers, and with furniture that had been brown always, and had

become browner with years, were perhaps as unattractive to the eye of a young pupil as any rooms which

were ever entered. And the study of the Chancery law itself is not an alluring pursuit till the mind has come to

have some insight into the beauty of its ultimate object. Phineas, during his three years' course of reasoning

on these things, had taught himself to believe that things ugly on the outside might be very beautiful within;

and had therefore come to prefer crossing Poland Street and Soho Square, and so continuing his travels by the

Seven Dials and Long Acre. His morning walk was of a piece with his morning studies, and he took pleasure

in the gloom of both. But now the taste of his palate had been already changed by the glare of the lamps in

and about palatial Westminster, and he found that St Giles's was disagreeable. The ways about Pall Mall and

across the Park to Parliament Street, or to the Treasury, were much pleasanter, and the new offices in

Downing Street; already half built, absorbed all that interest which he had hitherto been able to take in the

suggested but uncommenced erection of new Law Courts in the neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn. As he made

his way to the porter's lodge under the great gateway of Lincoln's Inn, he told himself that he was glad that he

had escaped, at any rate for a while, from a life so dull and dreary. If he could only sit in chambers at the

Treasury instead of chambers in that old court, how much pleasanter it would be! After all, as regarded that

question of income, it might well be that the Treasury chambers should be the more remunerative, and the

more quickly remunerative, of the two. And, as he thought, Lady Laura might be compatible with the

Treasury chambers and Parliament, but could not possibly be made compatible with Old Square, Lincoln's

Inn. But nevertheless there came upon him a feeling of sorrow when the old man at the lodge seemed to be

rather glad than otherwise that he did not want the chambers. "Then Mr Green can have them," said the

porter; "that'll be good news for Mr Green. I don't know what the gen'lemen 'll do for chambers if things goes

on as they're going." Mr Green was welcome to the chambers as far as Phineas was concerned; but Phineas

felt nevertheless a certain amount of regret that he should have been compelled to abandon a thing which was

regarded both by the porter and by Mr Green as being so desirable. He had however written his letter to Mr

Low, and made his promise to Barrington Erle, and was bound to Lady Laura Standish; and he walked out

through the old gateway into Chancery Lane, resolving that he would not even visit Lincoln's Inn again for a

year. There were certain books law books which he would read at such intervals of leisure as politics

might give him; but within the precincts of the Inns of Court he would not again put his foot for twelve

months, let learned pundits of the law such for instance as Mr and Mrs Low say what they might.

He had told Mrs Bunce, before he left his home after breakfast, that he should for the present remain under

her roof. She had been much gratified, not simply because lodgings in Great Marlborough Street are less

readily let than chambers in Lincoln's Inn, but also because it was a great honour to her to have a member of

Parliament in her house. Members of Parliament are not so common about Oxford Street as they are in the

neighbourhood of Pall Mall and St James's Square. But Mr Bunce, when he came home to his dinner, did not

join as heartily as he should have done in his wife's rejoicing. Mr Bunce was in the employment of certain

copying lawstationers in Carey Street, and had a strong belief in the law as a profession but he had none

whatever in the House of Commons. "And he's given up going into chambers?" said Mr Bunce to his wife.

"There ain't no clerks wanted for that, and what's worse, there ain't no fees to pay 'em. I'll tell you what it is,

"There ain't no salary for being in Parliament. There are scores of them Parliament gents ain't got so much

as'll pay their dinners for 'em. And then if anybody does trust 'em, there's no getting at 'em to make 'em pay as

"That's gammon, Jane. That's the way as women gets themselves took in always. Our Mr Phineas! Why

"There was one time he could not pay his lodgings for wellnigh nine months, till his governor come down

with the money. I don't know whether that was handsome. It knocked me about terrible, I know."

"I don't know that I care much for a man's meaning when he runs short of money. How is he going to see his

way, with his seat in Parliament, and this giving up of his profession? He owes us near a quarter now."

"Very well so much the better for us. I shall just have a few words with Mr Low, and see what he says to

it. For myself I don't think half so much of Parliament folk as some do. They're for promising everything

before they's elected; but not one in twenty of 'em is as good as his word when he gets there."

Mr Bunce was a copying journeyman, who spent ten hours a day in Carey Street with a pen between his

fingers; and after that he would often spend two or three hours of the night with a pen between his fingers in

Marlborough Street. He was a thoroughly hardworking man, doing pretty well in the world, for he had a

good house over his head, and always could find raiment and bread for his wife and eight children; but,

nevertheless, he was an unhappy man because he suffered from political grievances, or, I should more

correctly say, that his grievances were semipolitical and semisocial. He had no vote, not being himself the

tenant of the house in Great Marlborough Street. The tenant was a tailor who occupied the shop, whereas

Bunce occupied the whole of the remainder of the premises. He was a lodger, and lodgers were not as yet

trusted with the franchise. And he had ideas, which he himself admitted to be very raw, as to the injustice of

the manner in which he was paid for his work. So much a folio, without reference to the way in which his

work was done, without regard to the success of his work, with no questions asked of himself, was, as he

thought, no proper way of remunerating a man for his labours. He had long since joined a Trade Union, and

for two years past had paid a subscription of a shilling a week towards its funds. He longed to be doing some

battle against his superiors, and to be putting himself in opposition to his employers not that he objected

personally to Messrs Foolscap, Margin, and Vellum, who always made much of him as a useful man but

because some such antagonism would be manly, and the fighting of some battle would be the right thing to

do. "If Labour don't mean to go to the wall himself," Bunce would say to his wife, "Labour must look alive,

Mrs Bunce was a comfortable motherly woman, who loved her husband but hated politics. As he had an

aversion to his superiors in the world because they were superiors, so had she a liking for them for the same

reason. She despised people poorer than herself, and thought it a fair subject for boasting that her children

always had meat for dinner. If it was ever so small a morsel, she took care that they had it, in order that the

boast might be maintained. The world had once or twice been almost too much for her when, for instance,

her husband had been ill; and again, to tell the truth, for the last three months of that long period in which

Phineas had omitted to pay his bills; but she had kept a fine brave heart during those troubles, and could

honestly swear that the children always had a bit of meat, though she herself had been occasionally without it

for days together. At such times she would be more than ordinarily meek to Mr Margin, and especially

courteous to the old lady who lodged in her firstfloor drawingroom for Phineas lived up two pairs of

stairs and she would excuse such servility by declaring that there was no knowing how soon she might

want assistance. But her husband, in such emergencies, would become furious and quarrelsome, and would

declare that Labour was going to the wall, and that something very strong must be done at once. That shilling

which Bunce paid weekly to the Union she regarded as being absolutely thrown away as much so as

though he cast it weekly into the Thames. And she had told him so, over and over again, making

heartpiercing allusions to the eight children and to the bit of meat. He would always endeavour to explain to

her that there was no other way under the sun for keeping Labour from being sent to the wall but he would

do so hopelessly and altogether ineffectually, and she had come to regard him as a lunatic to the extent of that

She had a woman's instinctive partiality for comeliness in a man, and was very fond of Phineas Finn because

he was handsome. And now she was very proud of him because he was a member of Parliament. She had

heard from her husband, who had told her the fact with much disgust that the sons of Dukes and Earls

go into Parliament, and she liked to think that the fine young man to whom she talked more or less every day

should sit with the sons of Dukes and Earls. When Phineas had really brought distress upon her by owing her

some thirty or forty pounds, she could never bring herself to be angry with him because he was handsome

and because he dined out with Lords. And she had triumphed greatly over her husband, who had desired to be

severe upon his aristocratic debtor, when the money had all been paid in a lump.

"I don't know that he's any great catch," Bunce had said, when the prospect of their lodger's departure had

"Jacob," said his wife, I don't think you feel it when you've got people respectable about you."

"The only respectable man I know," said Jacob, is the man as earns his bread; and Mr Finn, as I take it, is a

Phineas returned to his lodgings before he went down to his club, and again told Mrs Bunce that he had

altogether made up his mind about the chambers. "If you'll keep me I shall stay here for the first session I

"Of course we shall be only too proud, Mr Finn; and though it mayn't perhaps be quite the place for a

"It's very good of you to say so, Mr Finn, and we'll do our very best to make you comfortable. Respectable

"But he is rough and silly, too, with his radical nonsense, paying a shilling a week to a nasty Union just

for nothing. Still he means well, and there ain't a man who works harder for his wife and children that I

"For a gentleman in Parliament of course it's proper; but I never could see what good it could do to a

lawstationer; and when he talks of Labour going to the wall, I always ask him whether he didn't get his

wages regular last Saturday. But, Lord love you, Mr Finn, when a man as is a journeyman has took up

politics and joined a Trade Union, he ain't no better than a milestone for his wife to take and talk to him."

After that Phineas went down to the Reform Club, and made one of those who were buzzing there in little

crowds and uttering their prophecies as to future events. Lord de Terrier was to go out. That was certain.

Whether Mr Mildmay was to come in was uncertain. That he would go to Windsor tomorrow morning was

not to be doubted; but it was thought very probable that he might plead his age, and decline to undertake the

"Why, then there will be a choice out of three. There is the Duke, who is the most incompetent man in

England; there is Monk, who is the most unfit; and there is Gresham, who is the most unpopular. I can't

conceive it possible to find a worse Prime Minister than either of the three but the country affords no

"All of them one after the other, so as to make the embarrassment the greater." That was Mr Fitzgibbon's

description of the crisis; but then it was understood that Mr Fitzgibbon was given to romancing.

Fitzgibbon and Phineas started together from Pall Mall for Portman Square as both of them had promised

to call on Lady Laura but Fitzgibbon turned in at Brooks's as they walked up St James's Square, and

Phineas went on by himself in a cab. "You should belong here," said Fitzgibbon as his friend entered the cab,

and Phineas immediately began to feel that he would have done nothing till he could get into Brooks's. It

might be very well to begin by talking Politics at the Reform Club. Such talking had procured for him his seat

at Loughshane. But that was done now, and something more than talking was wanted for any further

progress. Nothing, as he told himself, of political import was managed at the Reform Club. No influence

from thence was ever brought to bear upon the adjustment of places under the Government, or upon the

arrangement of cabinets. It might be very well to count votes at the Reform Club; but after the votes had been

counted had been counted successfully Brooks's was the place, as Phineas believed, to learn at the

earliest moment what would be the exact result of the success. He must get into Brooks's, if it might be

possible for him. Fitzgibbon was not exactly the man to propose him. Perhaps the Earl of Brentford would do

Lady Laura was at home, and with her was sitting Mr Kennedy. Phineas had intended to be triumphant as

he entered Lady Laura's room. He was there with the express purpose of triumphing in the success of their

great party, and of singing a pleasant paean in conjunction with Lady Laura. But his trumpet was put out of

tune at once when he saw Mr Kennedy. He said hardly a word as he gave his hand to Lady Laura and then

afterwards to Mr Kennedy, who chose to greet him with this show of cordiality. "I hope you are satisfied, Mr

"A bottle of sodawater, though it is a very lively thing when opened, won't maintain its vivacity beyond a

"Well yes; at any rate, the sputtering part of it. Nineteen is very well, but the question is whether we might

"Mr Kennedy has just been saying that not a single available vote has been missed on our side. He has just

So Mr Kennedy also was a member of Brooks's! At the Reform Club there certainly had been an idea that the

number might have been swelled to twentyone; but then, as Phineas began to understand, nothing was

correctly known at the Reform Club. For an accurate appreciation of the Political balance of the day, you

"Mr Kennedy must of course be right," said Phineas. I don't belong to Brooks's myself. But I was only joking,

Lady Laura. There is, I suppose, no doubt that Lord de Terrier is out, and that is everything."

"Not exactly," said Lady Laura. Should there be any difficulty about Mr Mildmay, he might, at the Queen's

"With a majority of nineteen against him!" said Phineas. "Surely Mr Mildmay is not the only man in the

country. There is the Duke, and there is Mr Gresham and there is Mr Monk." Phineas had at his tongue's

"Nothing venture, nothing have," said Phineas. It is all very well to say that the Duke is incompetent, but I do

not know that anything very wonderful is required in the way of genius. The Duke has held his own in both

Houses successfully, and he is both honest and popular. I quite agree that a Prime Minister at the present day

should be commonly honest, and more than commonly popular." "So you are all for the Duke, are you?" said

"I don't find it quite so easy to make up my mind as you do. I am inclined to think that Mr Mildmay will form

a government; and as long as there is that prospect, I need hardly commit myself to an opinion as to his

probable successor." Then the objectionable Mr Kennedy took his leave, and Phineas was left alone with

"It is glorious is it not?" he began, as soon as he found the field to be open for himself and his own

manoeuvering. But he was very young, and had not as yet learned the manner in which he might best advance

his cause with such a woman as Lady Laura Standish. He was telling her too clearly that he could have no

gratification in talking with her unless he could be allowed to have her all to himself. That might be very well

if Lady Laura were in love with him, but would hardly be the way to reduce her to that condition.

"Mr Finn," said she, smiling as she spoke, I am sure that you did not mean it, but you were uncourteous to my

"If I had thought you had intended it, of course I could not tell you of it. And now I take the liberty for it

"Because I feel so anxious that you should do nothing to mar your chances as a rising man."

"I know how clever you are, and how excellent are all your instincts; but I see that you are a little impetuous.

"Nothing you could say would make me angry though you might make me very unhappy."

"I will not do that if I can help it. A mentor ought to be very old, you know, and I am infinitely older than you

"I should have thought it was the reverse indeed, I may say that I know that it is," said Phineas.

"I am not talking of years. Years have very little to do with the comparative ages of men and women. A

woman at forty is quite old, whereas a man at forty is young." Phineas, remembering that he had put down

Mr Kennedy's age as forty in his own mind, frowned when he heard this, and walked about the room in

displeasure. "And therefore," continued Lady Laura, "I talk to you as though I were a kind of grandmother."

"You shall be my greatgrandmother if you will only be kind enough to me to say what you really think."

"You must not then be so impetuous, and you must be a little more careful to be civil to persons to whom you

may not take any particular fancy. Now Mr Kennedy is a man who may be very useful to you."

"That is what I call being impetuous being young being a boy. Why should not Mr Kennedy be of use

to you as well as any one else? You do not mean to conquer the world all by yourself."

"No but there is something mean to me in the expressed idea that I should make use of any man and

"You don't like him simply because he does not talk much. That may be a good reason why you should not

make of him an intimate companion because you like talkative people; but it should be no ground for

Phineas paused for a moment before he answered her, thinking whether or not it would be well to ask her

some question which might produce from her a truth which he would not like to hear. Then he did ask it.

She too paused, but only for a second. "Yes I think I may say that I do like him."

"I wonder what you would say if any one asked you whether you liked me," said Phineas, looking away from

"Just the same but without the doubt, if the person who questioned me had any right to ask the question.

"And I was wrong, of course, to ask it about Mr Kennedy," said Phineas, looking out into the Square.

"But I see you think it." "You see nothing of the kind. I was quite willing to be asked the question by you,

"Wait a moment, you impetuous Irish boy, and hear me out." Phineas liked being called an impetuous Irish

boy, and came close to her, sitting where he could look up into her face; and there came a smile upon his

own, and he was very handsome. "I say that he is a man of great wealth," continued Lady Laura; "and as

wealth gives influence, he is of great use politically to the party to which he belongs."

"Am I to suppose you care nothing for politics? To such men, to men who think as you think, who are to sit

on the same benches with yourself, and go into the same lobby, and be seen at the same club, it is your duty

to be civil both for your own sake and for that of the cause. It is for the hermits of society to indulge in

personal dislikings for men who have never been active and never mean to be active. I had been telling

"Yes, you did. You knocked down my little house, and I must build it all up again."

"I shall. It will be a great deal of trouble a great deal, indeed; but I shall take it. I mean you to be very

intimate with Mr Kennedy, and to shoot his grouse, and to stalk his deer, and to help to keep him in progress

as a liberal member of Parliament. I am quite prepared to admit, as a friend, that he would go back without

"I do not believe that you do understand at all, but I must endeavour to make you do so by degrees. If you are

to be my political pupil, you must at any rate be obedient. The next time you meet Mr Kennedy, ask him his

opinion instead of telling him your own. He has been in Parliament twelve years, and he was a good deal

older than you when he began." At this moment a side door was opened, and the redhaired, redbearded

man whom Phineas had seen before entered the room. He hesitated a moment, as though he were going to

retreat again, and then began to pull about the books and toys which lay on one of the distant tables, as

though he were in quest of some article. And he would have retreated had not Lady Laura called to him.

"Oswald," she said, let me introduce you to Mr Finn. Mr Finn, I do not think you have ever met my brother,

Lord Chiltern." Then the two young men bowed, and each of them muttered something. "Do not be in a

hurry, Oswald. You have nothing special to take you away. Here is Mr Finn come to tell us who are all the

"I never did and I never shall, for all your wishing. It's the meanest trade going I think, and I'm sure it's the

most dishonest. They talk of legs on the turf, and of course there are legs; but what are they to the legs in the

"I beg your pardon. Of course there are honest men there, and no doubt you are one of them."

"I was speaking of men who go into Parliament to look after Government places," said Lord Chiltern.

"That is just what I'm doing," said Phineas. Why should not a man serve the Crown? He has to work very

"I don't believe that the most of them work at all. However, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean you in

"Mr Finn is such a thorough politician that he will never forgive you," said Lady Laura.

"Yes, I will," said Phineas, and I'll convert him some day. If he does come into the House, Lady Laura, I

"I'll never go into the House, as you call it," said Lord Chiltern. "But, I'll tell you what; I shall be very happy

if you'll dine with me tomorrow at Moroni's. They give you a capital little dinner at Moroni's, and they've the

Phineas was engaged to dine with one of the ViceChancellors on the day named. He had never before dined

at the house of this great law luminary, whose acquaintance he had made through Mr Low, and he had

thought a great deal of the occasion. Mrs Freemantle had sent him the invitation nearly a fortnight ago, and he

understood there was to be an elaborate dinner party. He did not know it for a fact, but he was in hopes of

meeting the expiring Lord Chancellor. He considered it to be his duty never to throw away such a chance. He

would in all respects have preferred Mr Freemantle's dinner in Eaton Place, dull and heavy though it might

probably be, to the chance of Lord Chiltern's companions at Moroni's. Whatever might be the faults of our

hero, he was not given to what is generally called dissipation by the world at large by which the world

means selfindulgence. He cared not a brass farthing for Moroni's Chateau Yquem, nor for the wondrously

studied repast which he would doubtless find prepared for him at that celebrated establishment in St James's

Street not a farthing as compared with the chance of meeting so great a man as Lord Moles. And Lord

Chiltern's friends might probably be just the men whom he would not desire to know. But Lady Laura's

request overrode everything with him. She had asked him to oblige her, and of course he would do so. Had he

been going to dine with the incoming Prime Minister, he would have put off his engagement at her request.

He was not quick enough to make an answer without hesitation; but after a moment's pause he said he should

"That's right; 7.30 sharp only I can tell you you won't meet any other members." Then the servant

announced more visitors, and Lord Chiltern escaped out of the room before he was seen by the new comers.

These were Mrs Bonteen and Laurence Fitzgibbon, and then Mr Bonteen and after them Mr Ratler, the

Whip, who was in a violent hurry, and did not stay there a moment, and then Barrington Erle and young Lord

James FitzHoward, the youngest son of the Duke of St Bungay. In twenty or thirty minutes there was a

gathering of liberal political notabilities in Lady Laura's drawingroom. There were two great pieces of news

by which they were all enthralled. Mr Mildmay would not be Prime Minister, and Sir Everard Powell was

dead. Of course nothing quite positive could be known about Mr Mildmay. He was to be with the Queen at

Windsor on the morrow at eleven o'clock, and it was improbable that he would tell his mind to any one

before he told it to Her Majesty. But there was no doubt that he had engaged "the Duke," so he was called

by Lord James to go down to Windsor with him, that he might be in readiness if wanted. "I have learned

that at home," said Lord James, who had just heard the news from his sister, who had heard it from the

Duchess. Lord James was delighted with the importance given to him by his father's coming journey. From

this, and from other equally wellknown circumstances, it was surmised that Mr Mildmay would decline the

task proposed to him. This, nevertheless, was only a surmise whereas the fact with reference to Sir

Everard was fully substantiated. The gout had flown to his stomach, and he was dead. "By yes; as dead as

a herring," said Mr Ratler, who at that moment, however, was not within hearing of either of the ladies

present. And then he rubbed his hands, and looked as though he were delighted. And he was delighted not

because his old friend Sir Everard was dead, but by the excitement of the tragedy. "Having done so good a

deed in his last moments," said Laurence Fitzgibbon, "we may take it for granted that he will go straight to

heaven." "I hope there will be no crowner's quest, Ratler," said Mr Bonteen; "if there is I don't know how

you'll get out of it." "I don't see anything in it so horrible, said Mr Ratler. "If a fellow dies leading his

regiment we don't think anything of it. Sir Everard's vote was of more service to his country than anything

that a colonel or a captain can do." But nevertheless I think that Mr Ratler was somewhat in dread of future

newspaper paragraphs, should it be found necessary to summon a coroner's inquisition to sit upon poor Sir

While this was going on Lady Laura took Phineas apart for a moment. "I am so much obliged to you; I am

"Never mind whether it's nonsense or not but I am. I can't explain it all now, but I do so want you to know

my brother. You may be of the greatest service to him of the very greatest. He is not half so bad as people

"Just so do not believe evil of him not more evil than you see. I am so anxious so very anxious to

try to put him on his legs, and I find it so difficult to get any connecting link with him. Papa will not speak

"Yes; I think he loves me. I saw how distasteful it was to you to go to him and probably you were

"One can always get off those sort of things if there is an object." "Yes just so. And the object was to

"Of course it was. But I must go now. We are to hear Daubeny's statement at four, and I would not miss it for

"I wonder whether you would go abroad with my brother in the autumn? But I have no right to think of such

a thing have I? At any rate I will not think of it yet. Goodbye I shall see you perhaps on Sunday if you

Phineas walked down to Westminster with his mind very full of Lady Laura and Lord Chiltern. What did she

mean by her affectionate manner to himself, and what did she mean by the continual praises which she

lavished upon Mr Kennedy? Of whom was she thinking most, of Mr Kennedy, or of him? She had called

herself his mentor. Was the description of her feelings towards himself, as conveyed in that name, of a kind

to be gratifying to him? No he thought not. But then might it not be within his power to change the nature

of those feelings? She was not in love with him at present. He could not make any boast to himself on that

head. But it might be within his power to compel her to love him. The female mentor might be softened. That

she could not love Mr Kennedy, he thought that he was quite sure. There was nothing like love in her manner

to Mr Kennedy. As to Lord Chiltern, Phineas would do whatever might be in his power. All that he really

In the House of Lords that night, and in the House of Commons, the outgoing Ministers made their

explanations. As our business at the present moment is with the Commons, we will confine ourselves to their

chamber, and will do so the more willingly because the upshot of what was said in the two places was the

same. The outgoing ministers were very grave, very selflaudatory, and very courteous. In regard to courtesy

it may be declared that no stranger to the ways of the place could have understood how such soft words could

be spoken by Mr Daubeny, beaten, so quickly after the very sharp words which he had uttered when he only

expected to be beaten. He announced to his fellowcommoners that his right honourable friend and colleague

Lord de Terrier had thought it right to retire from the Treasury. Lord de Terrier, in constitutional obedience to

the vote of the Lower House, had resigned, and the Queen had been graciously pleased to accept Lord de

Terrier's resignation, Mr Daubeny could only inform the House that Her Majesty had signified her pleasure

that Mr Mildmay should wait upon her tomorrow at eleven o'clock. Mr Mildmay so Mr Daubeny

understood would be with Her Majesty tomorrow at that hour. Lord de Terrier had found it to be his duty

to recommend Her Majesty to send for Mr Mildmay. Such was the real import of Mr Daubeny's speech. That

further portion of it in which he explained with blandest, most beneficent, honeyflowing words that his

party would have done everything that the country could require of any party, had the House allowed it to

remain on the Treasury benches for a month or two and explained also that his party would never

recriminate, would never return evil for evil, would in no wise copy the factious opposition of their

adversaries; that his party would now, as it ever had done, carry itself with the meekness of the dove, and the

wisdom of the serpent all this, I say, was so generally felt by gentlemen on both sides of the House to be

"leather and prunella", that very little attention was paid to it. The great point was that Lord de Terrier had

The Queen had sent for Mr Mildmay in compliance with advice given to her by Lord de Terrier. And yet

Lord de Terrier and his first lieutenant had used all the most practised efforts of their eloquence for the last

three days in endeavouring to make their countrymen believe that no more unfitting Minister than Mr

Mildmay ever attempted to hold the reins of office! Nothing had been too bad for them to say of Mr Mildmay

and yet, in the very first moment in which they found themselves unable to carry on the Government

themselves, they advised the Queen to send for that most incompetent and baneful statesman! We who are

conversant with our own methods of politics, see nothing odd in this, because we are used to it; but surely in

the eyes of strangers our practice must be very singular. There is nothing like it in any other country

nothing as yet. Nowhere else is there the same good humoured, affectionate, prizefighting ferocity in

politics. The leaders of our two great parties are to each other exactly as are the two champions of the ring

who knock each other about for the belt and for five hundred pounds a side once in every two years. How

they fly at each other, striking as though each blow should carry death if it were but possible! And yet there is

no one whom the Birmingham Bantam respects so highly as he does Bill Burns the Brighton Bully, or with

whom he has so much delight in discussing the merits of a pot of halfandhalf. And so it was with Mr

Daubeny and Mr Mildmay. In private life Mr Daubeny almost adulated his elder rival and Mr Mildmay

never omitted an opportunity of taking Mr Daubeny warmly by the hand. It is not so in the United States.

There the same political enmity exists, but the political enmity produces private hatred. The leaders of parties

there really mean what they say when they abuse each other, and are in earnest when they talk as though they

were about to tear each other limb from limb. I doubt whether Mr Daubeny would have injured a hair of Mr

Mildmay's venerable head, even for an assurance of six continued months in office.

When Mr Daubeny had completed his statement, Mr Mildmay simply told the House that he had received and

would obey Her Majesty's commands. The House would of course understand that he by no means meant to

aver that the Queen would even commission him to form a Ministry. But if he took no such command from

Her Majesty it would become his duty to recommend Her Majesty to impose the task upon some other

person. Then everything was said that had to be said, and members returned to their clubs. A certain damp

was thrown over the joy of some excitable Liberals by tidings which reached the House during Mr Daubeny's

speech. Sir Everard Powell was no more dead than was Mr Daubeny himself. Now it is very unpleasant to

find that your news is untrue, when you have been at great pains to disseminate it. "Oh, but he is dead," said

Mr Ratler. "Lady Powell assured me half an hour ago," said Mr Ratler's opponent, "that he was at that

moment a great deal better than he had been for the last three months. The journey down to the House did

him a world of good." "Then we'll have him down for every division," said Mr Ratler.

The political portion of London was in a ferment for the next five days. On the Sunday morning it was known

that Mr Mildmay had declined to put himself at the head of a liberal Government. He and the Duke of St

Bungay, and Mr Plantagenet Palliser, had been in conference so often, and so long, that it may almost be said

they lived together in conference. Then Mr Gresham had been with Mr Mildmay and Mr Monk also. At

the clubs it was said by many that Mr Monk had been with Mr Mildmay; but it was also said very vehemently

by others that no such interview had taken place, Mr Monk was a Radical, much admired by the people,

sitting in Parliament for that most Radical of all constituencies, the Pottery Hamlets, who had never as yet

been in power. It was the great question of the day whether Mr Mildmay would or would not ask Mr Monk to

join him; and it was said by those who habitually think at every period of change that the time has now come

in which the difficulties to forming a government will at last be found to be insuperable, that Mr Mildmay

could not succeed either with Mr Monk or without him. There were at the present moment two sections of

these gentlemen the section which declared that Mr Mildmay had sent for Mr Monk, and the section

which declared that he had not. But there were others, who perhaps knew better what they were saying, by

whom it was asserted that the whole difficulty lay with Mr Gresham. Mr Gresham was willing to serve with

Mr Mildmay with certain stipulations as to the special seat in the Cabinet which he himself was to occupy,

and as to the introduction of certain friends of his own; but so said these gentlemen who were supposed

really to understand the matter Mr Gresham was not willing to serve with the Duke and with Mr Palliser.

Now, everybody who knew anything knew that the Duke and Mr Palliser were indispensable to Mr Mildmay.

And a liberal Government, with Mr Gresham in the opposition, could not live half through a session! All

Sunday and Monday these things were discussed; and on the Monday Lord de Terrier absolutely stated to the

Upper House that he had received Her Majesty's commands to form another government, Mr Daubeny, in

half a dozen most modest words in words hardly audible, and most unlike himself made his statement

in the Lower House to the same effect. Then Mr Ratler, and Mr Bonteen, and Mr Barrington Erle, and Mr

Laurence Fitzgibbon aroused themselves and swore that such things could not be. Should the prey which they

had won for themselves, the spoil of their bows and arrows, be snatched from out of their very mouths by

treachery? Lord de Terrier and Mr Daubeny could not venture even to make another attempt unless they did

so in combination with Mr Gresham. Such a combination, said Mr Barrington Erle, would be disgraceful to

both parties, but would prove Mr Gresham to be as false as Satan himself. Early on the Tuesday morning,

when it was known that Mr Gresham had been at Lord de Terrier's house, Barrington Erle was free to confess

that he had always been afraid of Mr Gresham. "I have felt for years," said he, "that if anybody could break

On that Tuesday morning Mr Gresham certainly was with Lord de Terrier, but nothing came of it. Mr

Gresham was either not enough like Satan for the occasion, or else he was too closely like him. Lord de

Terrier did not bid high enough, or else Mr Gresham did not like biddings from that quarter. Nothing then

came from this attempt, and on the Tuesday afternoon the Queen again sent for Mr Mildmay. On the

Wednesday morning the gentlemen who thought that the insuperable difficulties had at length arrived, began

to wear their longest faces, and to be triumphant with melancholy forebodings. Now at last there was a

deadlock. Nobody could form a government. It was asserted that Mr Mildmay had fallen at her Majesty's feet

dissolved in tears, and had implored to be relieved from further responsibility. It was well known to many at

the clubs that the Queen had on that morning telegraphed to Germany for advice. There were men so gloomy

as to declare that the Queen must throw herself into the arms of Mr Monk, unless Mr Mildmay would consent

to rise from his knees and once more buckle on his ancient armour. "Even that would be better than

Gresham," said Barrington Erle, in his anger. "I'll tell you what it is," said Ratler, "we shall have Gresham

and Monk together, and you and I shall have to do their biddings." Mr Barrington Erle's reply to that

On the Wednesday night, however, it was known that everything had been arranged, and before the Houses

met on the Thursday every place had been bestowed, either in reality or in imagination. The Times, in its

second edition on the Thursday, gave a list of the Cabinet, in which four places out of fourteen were rightly

filled. On the Friday it named ten places aright, and indicated the law officers, with only one mistake in

reference to Ireland; and on the Saturday it gave a list of the Under Secretaries of State, and Secretaries and

VicePresidents generally, with wonderful correctness as to the individuals, though the offices were a little

jumbled. The Government was at last formed in a manner which everybody had seen to be the only possible

way in which a government could be formed. Nobody was surprised, and the week's work was regarded as

though the regular routine of government making had simply been followed. Mr Mildmay was Prime

Minister; Mr Gresham was at the Foreign Office; Mr Monk was at the Board of Trade; the Duke was

President of the Council; the Earl of Brentford was Privy Seal; and Mr Palliser was Chancellor of the

Exchequer. Barrington Erle made a step up in the world, and went to the Admiralty as Secretary; Mr Bonteen

was sent again to the Admiralty; and Laurence Fitzgibbon became a junior Lord of the Treasury. Mr Ratler

was, of course, installed as Patronage Secretary to the same Board. Mr Ratler was perhaps the only man in

the party as to whose destination there could not possibly be a doubt. Mr Ratler had really qualified himself

for a position in such a way as to make all men feel that he would, as a matter of course, be called upon to fill

it. I do not know whether as much could be said on behalf of any other man in the new Government.

During all this excitement, and through all these movements, Phineas Finn felt himself to be left more and

more out in the cold. He had not been such a fool as to suppose that any office would be offered to him. He

had never hinted at such a thing to his one dearly intimate friend, Lady Laura. He had not hitherto opened his

mouth in Parliament. Indeed, when the new Government was formed he had not been sitting for above a

fortnight. Of course nothing could be done for him as yet. But, nevertheless, he felt himself to be out in the

cold. The very men who had discussed with him the question of the division who had discussed it with

him because his vote was then as good as that of any other member did not care to talk to him about the

distribution of places. He, at any rate, could not be one of them. He, at any rate, could not be a rival. He could

neither mar nor assist. He could not be either a successful or a disappointed sympathiser because he could

not himself be a candidate. The affair which perhaps disgusted him more than anything else was the offer of

an office not in the Cabinet, indeed, but one supposed to confer high dignity to Mr Kennedy. Mr

Kennedy refused the offer, and this somewhat lessened Finn's disgust, but the offer itself made him unhappy.

"I don't believe that," said Fitzgibbon. People seem to think that he has got a head on his shoulders, though he

has got no tongue in it. I wonder at his refusing it because of the Right Honourable."

"And why? He would have been the Right Hon. Robert Kennedy for ever and ever." Phineas when he said

this did not as yet know exactly how it would have come to pass that such honour the honour of the

enduring prefix to his name would have come in the way of Mr Kennedy had Mr Kennedy accepted the

office in question; but he was very quick to learn all these things, and, in the meantime, he rarely made any

"What would that have been to him with his wealth?" said Lady Laura. "He has a position of his own and

need not care for such things. There are men who should not attempt what is called independence in

Parliament. By doing so they simply decline to make themselves useful. But there are a few whose special

The dinner at Moroni's had been eaten, and Phineas had given an account of the entertainment to Lord

Chiltern's sister. There had been only two other guests, and both of them had been men on the turf. "I was the

first there," said Phineas, and he surprised me ever so much by telling me that you had spoken to him of me

"Yes; I did so. I wish him to know you. I want him to know some men who think of something besides

horses. He is very well educated, you know, and would certainly have taken honours if he had not quarrelled

"No they sent him down. It is best always to have the truth among friends. Of course you will hear it some

day. They expelled him because he was drunk." Then Lady Laura burst out into tears, and Phineas sat near

her, and consoled her, and swore that if in any way he could befriend her brother he would do so.

Mr Fitzgibbon at this time claimed a promise which he said that Phineas had made to him that Phineas

would go over with him to Mayo to assist at his reelection. And Phineas did go. The whole affair occupied

but a week, and was chiefly memorable as being the means of cementing the friendship which existed

"A thousand a year!" said Laurence Fitzgibbon, speaking of the salary of his office. "It isn't much; is it? And

every fellow to whom I owe a shilling will be down upon me. If I had studied my own comfort, I should have

It was now the middle of May, and a month had elapsed since the terrible difficulty about the Queen's

Government had been solved. A month had elapsed, and things had shaken themselves into their places with

more of ease and apparent fitness than men had given them credit for possessing. Mr Mildmay, Mr Gresham,

and Mr Monk were the best friends in the world, swearing by each other in their own house, and supported in

the other by as gallant a phalanx of Whig peers as ever were got together to fight against the instincts of their

own order in compliance with the instincts of those below them. Lady Laura's father was in the Cabinet, to

Lady Laura's infinite delight. It was her ambition to be brought as near to political action as was possible for

a woman without surrendering any of the privileges of feminine inaction. That women should even wish to

have votes at parliamentary elections was to her abominable, and the cause of the Rights of Women generally

was odious to her; but, nevertheless, for herself, she delighted in hoping that she too might be useful in

thinking that she too was perhaps, in some degree, politically powerful; and she had received considerable

increase to such hopes when her father accepted the Privy Seal. The Earl himself was not an ambitious man,

and, but for his daughter, would have severed himself altogether from political life before this time. He was

an unhappy man being an obstinate man, and having in his obstinacy quarrelled with his only son. In his

unhappiness he would have kept himself alone, living in the country, brooding over his wretchedness, were it

not for his daughter. On her behalf, and in obedience to her requirements, he came yearly up to London, and,

perhaps in compliance with her persuasion, had taken some part in the debates of the House of Lords. It is

easy for a peer to be a statesman, if the trouble of the life be not too much for him. Lord Brentford was now a

statesman, if a seat in the Cabinet be proof of statesmanship. At this time, in May, there was staying with

Lady Laura in Portman Square a very dear friend of hers, by name Violet Effingham. Violet Effingham was

an orphan, an heiress, and a beauty; with a terrible aunt, one Lady Baldock, who was supposed to be the

dragon who had Violet, as a captive maiden, in charge. But as Miss Effingham was of age, and was mistress

of her own fortune, Lady Baldock was, in truth, not omnipotent as a dragon should be. The dragon, at any

rate, was not now staying in Portman Square, and the captivity of the maiden was therefore not severe at the

present moment. Violet Effingham was very pretty, but could hardly be said to be beautiful. She was small,

with light crispy hair, which seemed to be ever on the flutter round her brows, and which yet was never a hair

astray. She had sweet, soft grey eyes, which never looked at you long, hardly for a moment but which yet,

in that half moment, nearly killed you by the power of their sweetness. Her cheek was the softest thing in

nature, and the colour of it, when its colour was fixed enough to be told, was a shade of pink so faint and

creamy that you would hardly dare to call it by its name. Her mouth was perfect, not small enough to give

that expression of silliness which is so common, but almost divine, with the temptation of its full, rich, ruby

lips. Her teeth, which she but seldom showed, were very even and very white, and there rested on her chin the

dearest dimple that ever acted as a loadstar to men's eyes. The fault of her face, if it had a fault, was in her

nose which was a little too sharp, and perhaps too small. A woman who wanted to depreciate Violet

Effingham had once called her a pugnosed puppet; but I, as her chronicler, deny that she was pugnosed

and all the world who knew her soon came to understand that she was no puppet. In figure she was small, but

not so small as she looked to be. Her feet and hands were delicately fine, and there was a softness about her

whole person, an apparent compressibility, which seemed to indicate that she might go into very small

compass. Into what compass and how compressed, there were very many men who held very different

opinions. Violet Effingham was certainly no puppet. She was great at dancing as perhaps might be a

puppet but she was great also at archery, great at skating and great, too, at hunting. With reference to

that last accomplishment, she and Lady Baldock had had more than one terrible tussle, not always with

advantage to the dragon. "My dear aunt," she had said once during the last winter, "I am going to the meet

with George," George was her cousin, Lord Baldock, and was the dragon's son "and there, let there be

an end of it." "And you will promise me that you will not go further," said the dragon. "I will promise nothing

today to any man or to any woman," said Violet. What was to be said to a young lady who spoke in this way,

and who had become of age only a fortnight since? She rode that day the famous run from Bagnall's Gorse to

Foulsham Common, and was in at the death. Violet Effingham was now sitting in conference with her friend

Lady Laura, and they were discussing matters of high import of very high import, indeed to the

"I know or fancy that I know that so many men love me! But, after all, what sort of love is it? It is just

as when you and I, when we see something nice in a shop, call it a dear duck of a thing, and tell somebody to

go and buy it, let the price be ever so extravagant. I know my own position, Laura. I'm a dear duck of a

"But you, Laura, will some day inspire a grand passion or I daresay have already, for you are a great deal

too close to tell and then there will be cutting of throats, and a mighty hubbub, and a real tragedy. I shall

never go beyond genteel comedy unless I run away with somebody beneath me, or do something awfully

"I should like to, because of my aunt. I should indeed. If it were possible, without compromising myself, I

"It would serve her right, and her countenance would be so awfully comic. Mind, if it is ever to come off I

must be there to see it. I know what she would say as well as possible. She would turn to poor Gussy.

"Augusta," she would say, 'I always expected it. I always did.' Then I should come out and curtsey to her, and

say so prettily, 'Dear aunt, it was only our little joke.' That's my line. But for you you, if you planned it,

"There is nothing settled or any beginning of anything that ever can be settled. But I am not talking about

myself. He has told me that if you will accept him, he will do anything that you and I may ask him."

"Do not pretend to be ignorant and meek, Violet. You do know him much better than most girls know the

"I do not love him," said Violet, with slow, atic words, and a little forward motion of her face, as though she

were specially eager to convince her friend that she was quite in earnest in what she said.

"I am not at all near to loving any man. I doubt whether I ever shall be. It does not seem to me to be possible

to myself to be what girls call in love. I can like a man, I do like, perhaps, half a dozen. I like them so much

that if I go to a house or to a party it is quite a matter of importance to me whether this man or that will or

will not be there. And then I suppose I flirt with them. At least Augusta tells me that my aunt says that I do.

But as for caring about any one of them in the way of loving him wanting to marry him, and have him all

"Certainly I do. And I don't intend to wait very much longer. I am heartily tired of Lady Baldock, and though

I can generally escape among my friends, that is not sufficient. I am beginning to think that it would be

pleasant to have a house of my own. A girl becomes such a Bohemian when she is always going about, and

Then there was a silence between them for a few minutes. Violet Effingham was doubled up in a corner of a

sofa, with her feet tucked under her, and her face reclining upon one of her shoulders. And as she talked she

was playing with a little toy which was constructed to take various shapes as it was flung this way or that. A

bystander looking at her would have thought that the toy was much more to her than the conversation. Lady

Laura was sitting upright, in a common chair, at a table not far from her companion, and was manifestly

devoting herself altogether to the subject that was being discussed between them. She had taken no lounging,

easy attitude, she had found no employment for her fingers, and she looked steadily at Violet as she talked

whereas Violet was looking only at the little manikin which she tossed. And now Laura got up and came to

the sofa, and sat close to her friend. Violet, though she somewhat moved one foot, so as to seem to make

"Well I will be in earnest. I shall take the first that comes after I have quite made up my mind. You'll think

it very horrible, but that is really what I shall do. After all, a husband is very much like a house or a horse.

You don't take your house because it's the best house in the world, but because just then you want a house.

You go and see a house, and if it's very nasty you don't take it. But if you think it will suit pretty well, and if

you are tired of looking about for houses, you do take it. That's the way one buys one's horses and one's

"Not quite. Lady Baldock was a little more decent than usual just before I left Baddingham. When I told her

that I meant to have a pair of ponies, she merely threw up her hands and grunted. She didn't gnash her teeth,

"She told me once that if I bought a certain little dog, it would lead to my being everlastingly you know

"I bought the little dog, and it bit my aunt's heel. I was very sorry then, and gave the creature to Mary Rivers.

He was such a beauty! I hope the perdition has gone with him, for I don't like Mary Rivers at all. I had to give

the poor beasty to somebody, and Mary Rivers happened to be there. I told her that Puck was connected with

Apollyon, but she didn't mind that. Puck was worth twenty guineas, and I daresay she has sold him."

"Oswald may have an equal chance then among the other favourites?" said Lady Laura, after another pause.

"There are no favourites, and I will not say that any man may have a chance. Why do you press me about

"Because I am so anxious. Because it would save him, Because you are the only woman for whom he has

ever cared, and because he loves you with all his heart; and because his father would be reconciled to him

"It seems to me that all your reasons are reasons why he should marry me not reasons why I should marry

"No," said Violet, pausing and speaking the word in the lowest possible whisper. "If he did not love me,

that, if known to me, should be a reason why I should not marry him. Ten men may love me I don't say

"I don't know that I have any special mission for saving young men. I sometimes think that I shall have quite

enough to do to save myself. It is strange what a propensity I feel for the wrong side of the post.

"Thank you, my dear. I mean to try, but I'm quite sure that the jockey who takes me in hand ought to be very

"He does not bear the best reputation in this world as a steady man. Is he altogether the sort of man that

mammas of the best kind are seeking for their daughters? I like a rou myself and a prig who sits all night

in the House, and talks about nothing but church rates and suffrage, is to me intolerable. I prefer men who are

improper, and all that sort of thing. If I were a man myself I should go in for everything I ought to leave

alone. I know I should. But you see I'm not a man, and I must take care of myself. The wrong side of a

post for a woman is so very much the wrong side. I like a fast man, but I know that I must not dare to marry

"You mean that to be Lady Chiltern in the present tense, and Lady Brentford in the future, would be

"Fancy that it should come to this that you should call me hard, Laura. I should like to be your sister. I

should like well enough to be your father's daughter. I should like well enough to be Chiltern's friend. I am

his friend. Nothing that any one has ever said of him has estranged me from him. I have fought for him till I

have been black in the face. Yes, I have with my aunt. But I am afraid to be his wife. The risk would be so

great. Suppose that I did not save him, but that he brought me to shipwreck instead?"

"Could it not? I think it might be so very well. When I was a child they used to be always telling me to mind

myself. It seems to me that a child and a man need not mind themselves. Let them do what they may, they

can be set right again. Let them fall as they will, you can put them on their feet. But a woman has to mind

herself and very hard work it is when she has a dragon of her own driving her ever the wrong way."

"I did not mean to he uncomplimentary. Take any of the dangerous wild beasts you please. I merely intend to

point out that he is a dangerous wild beast. I daresay he is nobleminded, and I will call him a lion if you like

"Of course there will be risk. There is risk with every man unless you will be contented with the prig you

described. Of course there would be risk with my brother. He has been a gambler." "They say he is one still."

"He is but not deeply. Every shilling that he owes would be paid every shilling. Mind, I know all his

circumstances, and I give you my word that every shilling should be paid. He has never lied and he has

told me everything. His father could not leave an acre away from him if he would, and would not if he

"I did not ask as fearing that. I spoke only of a dangerous habit. A paroxysm of spending money is apt to

"I do not say so. People say so. The dragon says so. And as I always find her sayings to be untrue, I suppose

"Do not laugh at me, Violet, when I am taking his part, or I shall be offended."

"Dear Laura, you know I do not ridicule you. You know I love you for what you are doing. Would not I do

"And therefore I want you to be Oswald's wife because I know that you would fight for him. It is not true

that he is a drunkard. Look at his hand, which is as steady as yours. Look at his eye. Is there a sign of it?

"You never knew a man with a softer heart or with a finer spirit. I believe as I sit here that if he were married

"You will admit, Laura, that there will be some risk for the wife." "Of course there will be a risk. Is there not

"The men in the city would call this doubledangerous, I think," said Violet. Then the door was opened, and

The reader has been told that Lord Chiltern was a red man, and that peculiarity of his personal appearance

was certainly the first to strike a stranger. It imparted a certain look of ferocity to him, which was apt to make

men afraid of him at first sight. Women are not actuated in the same way, and are accustomed to look deeper

into men at the first sight than other men will trouble themselves to do. His beard was red, and was clipped,

so as to have none of the softness of waving hair. The hair on his head also was kept short, and was very red

and the colour of his face was red. Nevertheless he was a handsome man, with wellcut features, not tall,

but very strongly built, and with a certain curl in the corner of his eyelids which gave to him a look of

resolution which perhaps he did not possess. He was known to be a clever man, and when very young had

had the reputation of being a scholar. When he was threeandtwenty greyhaired votaries of the turf

declared that he would make his fortune on the racecourse so clearheaded was he as to odds, so

excellent a judge of a horse's performances, and so gifted with a memory of events. When he was

fiveandtwenty he had lost every shilling of a fortune of his own, had squeezed from his father more than

his father ever chose to name in speaking of his affairs to anyone, and was known to be in debt. But he had

sacrificed himself on one or two memorable occasions in conformity with turf laws of honour, and men said

of him, either that he was very honest or very chivalric in accordance with the special views on the subject

of the man who was speaking. It was reported now that he no longer owned horses on the turf but this was

doubted by some who could name the animals which they said that he owned, and which he ran in the name

of Mr Macnab said some; of Mr Pardoe said others; of Mr Chickerwick said a third set of

informants. The fact was that Lord Chiltern at this moment had no interest of his own in any horse upon the

turf. But all the world knew that he drank. He had taken by the throat a proctor's bulldog when he had been

drunk at Oxford, had nearly strangled the man, and had been expelled. He had fallen through his violence into

some terrible misfortune at Paris, had been brought before a public judge, and his name and his infamy had

been made notorious in every newspaper in the two capitals. After that he had fought a ruffian at Newmarket,

and had really killed him with his fists. In reference to this latter affray it had been proved that the attack had

been made on him, that he had not been to blame, and that he had not been drunk. After a prolonged

investigation he had come forth from that affair without disgrace. He would have done so, at least, if he had

not been heretofore disgraced. But we all know how the man well spoken of may steal a horse, while he who

is of evil repute may not look over a hedge. It was asserted widely by many who were supposed to know all

about everything that Lord Chiltern was in a fit of delirium tremens when he killed the ruffian at Newmarket.

The worst of that latter affair was that it produced the total estrangement which now existed between Lord

Brentford and his son, Lord Brentford would not believe that his son was in that matter more sinned against

than sinning. "Such things do not happen to other men's sons," he said, when Lady Laura pleaded for her

brother. Lady Laura could not induce her father to see his son, but so far prevailed that no sentence of

banishment was pronounced against Lord Chiltern. There was nothing to prevent the son sitting at his father's

table if he so pleased. He never did so please but nevertheless he continued to live in the house in Portman

Square; and when he met the Earl, in the hall, perhaps, or on the staircase, would simply bow to him. Then

the Earl would bow again, and shuffle on and look very wretched, as no doubt he was. A grownup son

must be the greatest comfort a man can have if he be his father's best friend; but otherwise he can hardly

be a comfort. As it was in this house, the son was a constant thorn in his father's side.

"What does he do when we leave London?" Lord Brentford once said to his daughter.

"Yes, he hunts and he has a room somewhere at an inn down in Northamptonshire. But he is mostly in

"What a life for my son!" said the Earl. What a life! Of course no decent person will let him into his house."

Lady Laura did not know what to say to this, for in truth Lord Chiltern was not fond of staying at the houses

General Effingham, the father of Violet, and Lord Brentford had been the closest and dearest of friends. They

had been young men in the same regiment, and through life each had confided in the other. When the

General's only son, then a youth of seventeen, was killed in one of our grand New Zealand wars, the bereaved

father and the Earl had been together for a month in their sorrow. At that time Lord Chiltern's career had still

been open to hope and the one man had contrasted his lot with the other. General Effingham lived long

enough to hear the Earl declare that his lot was the happier of the two. Now the General was dead, and Violet,

the daughter of a second wife, was all that was left of the Effinghams. This second wife had been a Miss

Plummer, a lady from the city with much money, whose sister had married Lord Baldock. Violet in this way

had fallen to the care of the Baldock people, and not into the hands of her father's friends. But, as the reader

will have surmised, she had ideas of her own of emancipating herself from Baldock thraldom.

Twice before that last terrible affair at Newmarket, before the quarrel between the father and the son had been

complete, Lord Brentford had said a word to his daughter merely a word of his son in connection with

"If he thinks of it I shall be glad to see him on the subject. You may tell him so." That had been the first

word. He had just then resolved that the affair in Paris should be regarded as condoned as among the

things to be forgotten. "She is too good for him; but if he asks her let him tell her everything." That had been

the second word, and had been spoken immediately subsequent to a payment of twelve thousand pounds

made by the Earl towards the settlement of certain Doncaster accounts. Lady Laura in negotiating for the

money had been very eloquent in describing some honest or shall we say chivalric sacrifice which had

brought her brother into this special difficulty. Since that the Earl had declined to interest himself in his son's

matrimonial affairs; and when Lady Laura had once again mentioned the matter, declaring her belief that it

would be the means of saving her brother Oswald, the Earl had desired her to be silent. "Would you wish to

destroy the poor child?" he had said. Nevertheless Lady Laura felt sure that if she were to go to her father

with a positive statement that Oswald and Violet were engaged, he would relent and would accept Violet as

his daughter. As for the payment of Lord Chiltern's present debts she had a little scheme of her own about

Miss Effingham, who had been already two days in Portman Square, had not as yet seen Lord Chiltern. She

knew that he lived in the house, that is, that he slept there, and probably ate his breakfast in some apartment

of his own; but she knew also that the habits of the house would not by any means make it necessary that they

should meet. Laura and her brother probably saw each other daily but they never went into society

together, and did not know the same sets of people. When she had announced to Lady Baldock her intention

of spending the first fortnight of her London season with her friend Lady Laura, Lady Baldock had as a

"You are going to the house of the worst reprobate in all England," said Lady Baldock.

"There is worse than that much worse. He is always tipsy, and always gambling, and always But it

is quite unfit that I should speak a word more to you about such a man as Lord Chiltern. His name ought

Lady Baldock's process of jumping upon her niece in which I think the aunt had generally the worst of the

"If she marries him there will be an end of everything," said Lady Baldock to her daughter Augusta.

"I don't think she has any sense at all," said Lady Baldock "not in the least. I do wish my poor sister had

Lord Chiltern was now in the room with Violet immediately upon that conversation between Violet and

his sister as to the expediency of Violet becoming his wife. Indeed his entrance had interrupted the

conversation before it was over. "I am so glad to see you, Miss Effingham," he said. "I came in thinking that I

"Here I am, as large as life," she said, getting up from her corner on the sofa and giving him her hand. "Laura

and I have been discussing the affairs of the nation for the last two days, and have nearly brought our

discussion to an end." She could not help looking, first at his eye and then at his hand, not as wanting

evidence to the truth of the statement which his sister had made, but because the idea of a drunkard's eye and

a drunkard's hand had been brought before her mind. Lord Chiltern's hand was like the hand of any other

man, but there was something in his eye that almost frightened her. It looked as though he would not hesitate

to wring his wife's neck round, if ever he should be brought to threaten to do so. And then his eye, like the

rest of him, was red. No she did not think that she could ever bring herself to marry him. Why take a

venture that was doubledangerous, when there were so many ventures open to her, apparently with very

little of danger attached to them? "If it should ever be said that I loved him, I would do it all the same," she

"If I did not come and see you here, I suppose that I should never see you," said he, seating himself. "I do not

"We might make our little arrangements for meeting," said she, laughing, "My aunt, Lady Baldock, is going

"I don't think that Oswald and Lady Baldock are great friends," said Lady Laura.

"Or he might come and take you and me to the Zoo on Sunday. That's the proper sort of thing for a brother

"When I came home once from Eton. But I won't go again till I can come home from Eton again." Then he

altered his tone as he continued to speak. "People would look at me as if I were the wildest beast in the whole

"Then," said Violet, if you won't go to Lady Baldock's or to the Zoo, we must confine ourselves to Laura's

"I say that you are a foolish girl," said Lady Laura, "and that I will have nothing to do with such a scheme."

"Then there is nothing for it but that you should come here; and as you live in the house, and as I am sure to

be here every morning, and as you have no possible occupation for your time, and as we have nothing

particular to do with ours I daresay I shan't see you again before I go to my aunt's in Berkeley Square."

He passed his hand over his face before he answered her. "Because she and I run in different grooves now,

and are not such meet playfellows as we used to be once. Do you remember my taking you away right

through Saulsby Wood once on the old pony, and not bringing you back till teatime, and Miss Blink going

"Do I remember it? I think it was the happiest day in my life. His pockets were crammed full of gingerbread

and Everton toffee, and we had three bottles of lemonade slung on to the pony's saddlebows. I thought it was

"No not as yet. These disagreeable realities of life grow upon one; do they not? You took off my shoes

and dried them for me at a woodman's cottage. I am obliged to put up with my maid's doing those things now.

And Miss Blink the mild is changed for Lady Baldock the martinet. And if I rode about with you in a wood

all day I should be sent to Coventry instead of to bed. And so you see everything is changed as well as my

"Everything is not changed," said Lord Chiltern, getting up from his seat. "I am not changed at least not in

this, that as I loved you better than any being in the world better even than Laura there so do I love you

now infinitely the best of all. Do not look so surprised at me. You knew it before as well as you do now

and Laura knows it. There is no secret to be kept in the matter among us three."

"But, Lord Chiltern " said Miss Effingham, rising also to her feet, and then pausing, not knowing how to

answer him. There had been a suddenness in his mode of addressing her which had, so to say, almost taken

away her breath; and then to be told by a man of his love before his sister was in itself, to her, a matter so

surprising, that none of those words came at her command which will come, as though by instinct, to young

ladies on such occasions. "You have known it always," said he, as though he were angry with her.

"Lord Chiltern," she replied, you must excuse me if I say that you are, at the least, very abrupt. I did not think

when I was going back so joyfully to our childish days that you would turn the tables on me in this way."

"Only because he has driven me to say that which will make me appear to be uncivil to himself. Lord

Chiltern, I do not love you with that love of which you are speaking now. As an old friend I have always

regarded you, and I hope that I may always do so." Then she got up and left the room.

"Why were you so sudden with her so abrupt so loud?" said his sister, coming up to him and taking

"It makes all the difference in the world," said Lady Laura, "Such a woman as Violet cannot be had after that

"That is nonsense. Of course you will persist. It was madness to speak in that way today. You may be sure of

this, however, that there is no one she likes better than you. You must remember that you have done much to

"Do something now to make her fear you no longer. Speak to her softly. Tell her of the sort of life which you

would live with her. Tell her that all is changed. As she comes to love you, she will believe you when she

"Am I to tell her a lie?" said Lord Chiltern, looking his sister full in the face. Then he turned upon his heel

The session went on very calmly after the opening battle which ousted Lord de Terrier and sent Mr Mildmay

back to the Treasury so calmly that Phineas Finn was unconsciously disappointed, as lacking that

excitement of contest to which he had been introduced in the first days of his parliamentary career. From time

to time certain waspish attacks were made by Mr Daubeny, now on this Secretary of State and now on that;

but they were felt by both parties to mean nothing; and as no great measure was brought forward, nothing

which would serve by the magnitude of its interests to divide the liberal side of the House into fractions, Mr

Mildmay's Cabinet was allowed to hold its own in comparative peace and quiet. It was now July the

middle of July and the member for Loughshane had not yet addressed the House. How often had he

meditated doing so; how he had composed his speeches walking round the Park on his way down to the

House; how he got his subjects up only to find on hearing them discussed that he really knew little or

nothing about them; how he had his arguments and almost his very words taken out of his mouth by some

other member; and lastly, how he had actually been deterred from getting upon his legs by a certain tremor of

blood round his heart when the moment for rising had come of all this he never said a word to any man.

Since that last journey to county Mayo, Laurence Fitzgibbon had been his most intimate friend, but he said

nothing of all this even to Laurence Fitzgibbon. To his other friend, Lady Laura Standish, he did explain

something of his feelings, not absolutely describing to her the extent of hindrance to which his modesty had

subjected him, but letting her know that he had his qualms as well as his aspirations. But as Lady Laura

always recommended patience, and more than once expressed her opinion that a young member would be

better to sit in silence at least for one session, he was not driven to the mortification of feeling that he was

incurring her contempt by his bashfulness. As regarded the men among whom he lived, I think he was almost

annoyed at finding that no one seemed to expect that he should speak. Barrington Erle, when he had first

talked of sending Phineas down to Loughshane, had predicted for him all manner of parliamentary successes,

and had expressed the warmest admiration of the manner in which Phineas had discussed this or that subject

at the Union. "We have not above one or two men in the House who can do that kind of thing," Barrington

Erle had once said. But now no allusions whatever were made to his powers of speech, and Phineas in his

modest moments began to be more amazed than ever that he should find himself seated in that chamber.

To the forms and technicalities of parliamentary business he did give close attention, and was unremitting in

his attendance. On one or two occasions he ventured to ask a question of the Speaker, and as the words of

experience fell into his ears, he would tell himself that he was going through his education that he was

learning to be a working member, and perhaps to be a statesman. But his regrets with reference to Mr Low

and the dingy chambers in Old Square were very frequent; and had it been possible for him to undo all that he

had done, he would often have abandoned to someone else the honour of representing the electors of

But he was supported in all his difficulties by the kindness of his friend, Lady Laura Standish. He was often

in the house in Portman Square, and was always received with cordiality, and, as he thought, almost with

affection. She would sit and talk to him, sometimes saying a word about her brother and sometimes about her

father, as though there were more between them than the casual intimacy of London acquaintance. And in

Portman Square he had been introduced to Miss Effingham, and had found Miss Effingham to be very

nice. Miss Effingham had quite taken to him, and he had danced with her at two or three parties, talking

"I declare, Laura, I think your friend Mr Finn is in love with you," said Violet to Lady Laura one night.

"I don't think that. He is fond of me, and so am I of him. He is so honest, and so naive without being

"Mr Finn certainly looks like a gentleman," said Lady Laura. "And no doubt is one," said Violet, I wonder

"How does such a man manage to live? There are so many men like that, and they are always mysteries to

Phineas during the summer had very often met Mr Kennedy. They sat on the same side of the House, they

belonged to the same club, they dined together more than once in Portman Square, and on one occasion

Phineas had accepted an invitation to dinner sent to him by Mr Kennedy himself. "A slower affair I never saw

in my life," he said afterwards to Laurence Fitzgibbon. "Though there were two or three men there who talk

everywhere else, they could not talk at his table." "He gave you good wine, I should say, said Fitzgibbon,

"and let me tell you that that covers a multitude of sins." In spite, however, of all these opportunities for

intimacy, now, nearly at the end of the session, Phineas had hardly spoken a dozen words to Mr Kennedy,

and really knew nothing whatsoever of the man, as one friend or even as one acquaintance knows another.

Lady Laura had desired him to be on good terms with Mr Kennedy, and for that reason he had dined with

him. Nevertheless he disliked Mr Kennedy, and felt quite sure that Mr Kennedy disliked him. He was

"I shall have some friends at Loughlinter next month, and should be very glad if you will join us. I will name

What was he to do? He had already begun to feel rather uncomfortable at the prospect of being separated

from all his new friends as soon as the session should be over. Laurence Fitzgibbon had asked him to make

another visit to county Mayo, but that he had declined. Lady Laura had said something to him about going

abroad with her brother, and since that there had sprung up a sort of intimacy between him and Lord Chiltern;

but nothing had been fixed about this foreign trip, and there were pecuniary objections to it which put it

almost out of his power. The Christmas holidays he would of course pass with his family at Killaloe, but he

hardly liked the idea of hurrying off to Killaloe immediately the session should be over. Everybody around

him seemed to be looking forward to pleasant leisure doings in the country. Men talked about grouse, and of

the ladies at the houses to which they were going and of the people whom they were to meet. Lady Laura had

said nothing of her own movements for the early autumn, and no invitation had come to him to go to the

Earl's country house. He had already felt that everyone would depart and that he would be left and this

had made him uncomfortable. What was he to do with the invitation from Mr Kennedy? He disliked the man,

and had told himself half a dozen times that he despised him. Of course he must refuse it. Even for the sake

of the scenery, and the grouse, and the pleasant party, and the feeling that going to Loughlinter in August

would be the proper sort of thing to do, he must refuse it! But it occurred to him at last that he would call in

"In the first place it is civil in him to ask you, and why should you be uncivil in return?"

"We are going," said Lady Laura, and I can only say that I shall be disappointed if you do not go too. Both

Mr Gresham and Mr Monk will be there, and I believe they have never stayed together in the same house

before. I have no doubt there are a dozen men on your side of the House who would give their eyes to be

Of course he did go. The note accepting Mr Kennedy's invitation was written at the Reform Club within a

quarter of an hour of his leaving Portman Square. He was very careful in writing to be not more familiar or

more civil than Mr Kennedy had been to himself, and then he signed himself "Yours truly, Phineas Finn." But

another proposition was made to him, and a most charming proposition, during the few minutes that he

remained in Portman Square. "I am so glad," said Lady Laura, "because I can now ask you to run down to us

at Saulsby for a couple of days on your way to Loughlinter. Till this was fixed I couldn't ask you to come all

the way to Saulsby for two days; and there won't be room for more between our leaving London and starting

to Loughlinter." Phineas swore that he would have gone if it had been but for one hour, and if Saulsby had

been twice the distance. "Very well; come on the 13th and go on the 15th. You must go on the 15th, unless

you choose to stay with the housekeeper. And remember, Mr Finn, we have got no grouse at Saulsby."

There was another little occurrence which happened before Phineas left London, and which was not

altogether so charming as his prospects at Saulsby and Loughlinter. Early in August, when the session was

still incomplete, he dined with Laurence Fitzgibbon at the Reform Club. Laurence had specially invited him

to do so, and made very much of him on the occasion. "By George, my dear fellow," Laurence said to him

that morning, "nothing has happened to me this session that has given me so much pleasure as your being in

the House. Of course there are fellows with whom one is very intimate and of whom one is very fond and

all that sort of thing. But most of these Englishmen on our side are such cold fellows; or else they are like

Ratler and Barrington Erle, thinking of nothing but politics. And then as to our own men, there are so many

of them one can hardly trust! That's the truth of it. Your being in the House has been such a comfort to me!"

Phineas, who really liked his friend Laurence, expressed himself very warmly in answer to this, and became

affectionate, and made sundry protestations of friendship which were perfectly sincere. Their sincerity was

tested after dinner, when Fitzgibbon, as they two were seated on a sofa in the corner of the smokingroom,

asked Phineas to put his name to the back of a bill for two hundred and fifty pounds at six months' date.

"But, my dear Laurence," said Phineas, two hundred and fifty pounds is a sum of money utterly beyond my

"Exactly, my dear boy, and that's why I've come to you, D'ye think I'd have asked anybody who by any

"All the use in the world. It's for me to judge of the use, you know. Why, d'ye think I'd ask it if it wasn't any

use? I'll make it of use, my boy. And take my word, you'll never hear about it again. It's just a forestalling of

my salary; that's all. I wouldn't do it till I saw that we were at least safe for six months to come." Then

Phineas Finn with many misgivings, with much inward hatred of himself for his own weakness, did put his

name on the back of the bill which Laurence Fitzgibbon had prepared for his signature.

"I believe I am. Kennedy asked me, and people seem to think that everybody is to do what he bids them."

"I should think so too. I wish he had asked me. I should have thought it as good as a promise of an

undersecretaryship. All the Cabinet are to be there, I don't suppose he ever had an Irishman in his house

"The devil you will. Upon my word, Phineas, my boy, you're the luckiest fellow I know. This is your first

year, and you're asked to the two most difficult houses in England. You have only to look out for an heiress

now. There is little Vi Effingham she is sure to be at Saulsby. Goodbye, old fellow. Don't you be in the

Phineas was rather unhappy about the bill; but there was so much that was pleasant in his cup at the present

moment, that he resolved, as far as possible, to ignore the bitter of that one ingredient. He was a little in the

dark as to two or three matters respecting these coming visits. He would have liked to have taken a servant

with him; but he had no servant, and felt ashamed to hire one for the occasion. And then he was in trouble

about a gun, and the paraphernalia of shooting. He was not a bad shot at snipe in the bogs of county Clare,

but he had never even seen a gun used in England. However, he bought himself a gun with other

paraphernalia, and took a license for himself, and then groaned over the expense to which he found that his

journey would subject him. And at last he hired a servant for the occasion. He was intensely ashamed of

himself when he had done so, hating himself, and telling himself that he was going to the devil headlong.

And why had he done it? Not that Lady Laura would like him the better, or that she would care whether he

had a servant or not. She probably would know nothing of his servant. But the people about her would know,

and he was foolishly anxious that the people about her should think that he was worthy of her.

Then he called on Mr Low before he started. "I did not like to leave London without seeing you," he said;

"I shall say nothing unpleasant certainly. I see your name in the divisions, and I feel a sort of envy myself."

"To tell you the truth, I have been gratified to see that you have had the patience to abstain from speaking till

you had looked about you. It was more than I expected from your hot Irish blood. Going to meet Mr Gresham

and Mr Monk are you? Well, I hope you may meet them in the Cabinet some day. Mind you come and see

Mrs Bunce was delighted when she found that Phineas had hired a servant; but Mr Bunce predicted nothing

but evil from so vain an expense. "Don't tell me; where is it to come from? He ain't no richer because he's in

Parliament. There ain't no wages. M.P. and M.T.," whereby Mr Bunce, I fear, meant empty "are pretty

much alike when a man hasn't a fortune at his back." "But he's going to stay with all the lords in the Cabinet,"

said Mrs Bunce, to whom Phineas, in his pride, had confided perhaps more than was necessary. "Cabinet,

indeed," said Bunce; "if he'd stick to chambers, and let alone cabinets, he'd do a deal better. Given up his

rooms, has he till February? He don't expect we're going to keep them empty for him!"

Phineas found that the house was full at Saulsby, although the sojourn of the visitors would necessarily be so

short. There were three or four there on their way on to Loughlinter, like himself Mr Bonteen and Mr

Ratler, with Mr Palliser, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and his wife and there was Violet Effingham,

who, however, was not going to Loughlinter. "No, indeed," she said to our hero, who on the first evening had

the pleasure of taking her in to dinner, "unfortunately I haven't a seat in Parliament, and therefore I am not

"Yes but Lady Laura has a Cabinet Minister in her keeping. I've only one comfort you'll be awfully

"If you want to know my real mind," said Violet, I would give one of my little fingers to go. There will be

four Cabinet Ministers in the house, and four unCabinet Ministers, and half a dozen other members of

Parliament, and there will be Lady Glencora Palliser, who is the best fun in the world; and, in point of fact,

it's the thing of the year. But I am not asked. You see I belong to the Baldock faction, and we don't sit on your

Why on earth had Mr Kennedy invited him, Phineas Finn, to meet four Cabinet Ministers and Lady Glencora

Palliser? He could only have done so at the instance of Lady Laura Standish. It was delightful for Phineas to

think that Lady Laura cared for him so deeply; but it was not equally delightful when he remembered how

very close must be the alliance between Mr Kennedy and Lady Laura, when she was thus powerful with him.

At Saulsby Phineas did not see much of his hostess. When they were making their plans for the one entire day

of this visit, she said a soft word of apology to him. "I am so busy with all these people, that I hardly know

what I am doing. But we shall be able to find a quiet minute or two at Loughlinter unless, indeed, you

intend to be on the mountains all day. I suppose you have brought a gun like everybody else?"

On that one day there was a great riding party made up, and Phineas found himself mounted, after luncheon,

with some dozen other equestrians. Among them were Miss Effingham and Lady Glencora, Mr Ratler and the

Earl of Brentford himself. Lady Glencora, whose husband was, as has been said, Chancellor of the

Exchequer, and who was still a young woman, and a very pretty woman, had taken lately very strongly to

politics, which she discussed among men and women of both parties with something more than ordinary

audacity. "What a nice, happy, lazy time you've had of it since you've been in," said she to the Earl.

"I hope we have been more happy than lazy," said the Earl. "But you've done nothing. Mr Palliser has twenty

schemes of reform, all mature; but among you you've not let him bring in one of them. The Duke and Mr

"The truth is, if you don't take care he and Mr Monk and Mr Gresham will arise and shake themselves, and

"Let me tell you, Lady Glencora, that a fain ant government is not the worst government that England can

have, It has been the great fault of our politicians that they have all wanted to do something."

They were now riding through a vast wood, and Phineas found himself delightfully established by the side of

Violet Effingham. "Mr Ratler has been explaining to me that he must have nineteen next session. Now, if I

were you, Mr Finn, I would decline to be counted up in that way as one of Mr Ratler's sheep."

"Do something on your own hook. You men in Parliament are so much like sheep! If one jumps at a gap, all

go after him and then you are penned into lobbies, and then you are fed, and then you are fleeced. I wish I

were in Parliament. I'd get up in the middle and make such a speech. You all seem to me to be so much afraid

of one another that you don't quite dare to speak out. Do you see that cottage there?"

"Yes is it not? Twelve years ago I took off my shoes and stockings and had them dried in that cottage, and

when I got back to the house I was put to bed for having been out all day in the wood."

"No, I wasn't alone. Oswald Standish was with me. We were children then. Do you know him?"

"Very clever. That is, he talks very well if you will let him talk after his own fashion. You would always

"Not now not particularly. I hardly ever see him. But his sister is the best friend I have, and I used to like

him so much when he was a boy! I have not seen that cottage since that day, and I remember it as though it

"I think he is changed. But Chiltern is at heart a Bohemian. It is impossible not to see that at once. He hates

"I suppose he does," said Violet. He ought to marry. If he were married, that would all be cured don't you

"I cannot fancy him with a wife," said Phineas. There is a savagery about him which would make him an

"Yes, as he does his horses. And he would treat her well as he does his horses. But he expects every horse

he has to do anything that any horse can do; and he would expect the same of his wife."

Phineas had no idea how deep an injury he might be doing his friend by this description, nor did it once occur

to him that his companion was thinking of herself as the possible wife of this Red Indian. Miss Effingham

rode on in silence for some distance, and then she said but one word more about Lord Chiltern. "He was so

On the following day the party at Saulsby was broken up, and there was a regular pilgrimage towards

Loughlinter. Phineas resolved upon sleeping a night at Edinburgh on his way, and he found himself joined in

the bands of close companionship with Mr Ratler for the occasion. The evening was by no means thrown

away, for he learned much of his trade from Mr Ratler. And Mr Ratler was heard to declare afterwards at

Loughlinter that Mr Finn was a pleasant young man. It soon came to be admitted by all who knew Phineas

Finn that he had a peculiar power of making himself agreeable which no one knew how to analyse or define.

"I think it is because he listens so well," said one man. "But the women would not like him for that," said

another. "He has studied when to listen and when to talk," said a third, The truth, however, was, that Phineas

Finn had made no study in the matter at all. It was simply his nature to be pleasant.

Phineas Finn reached Loughlinter together with Mr Ratler in a postchaise from the neighbouring town. Mr

Ratler, who had done this kind of thing very often before, travelled without impediments, but the new servant

of our hero's was stuck outside with the driver, and was in the way. "I never bring a man with me," said Mr

Ratler to his young friend. "The servants of the house like it much better, because they get fee'd; you are just

as well waited on, and it don't cost half as much." Phineas blushed as he heard all this; but there was the

impediment, not to be got rid of for the nonce, and Phineas made the best of his attendant. "It's one of those

points," said he, "as to which a man never quite makes up his mind. If you bring a fellow, you wish you

hadn't brought him; and if you don't, you wish you had." "I'm a great deal more decided in my ways that

Loughlinter, as they approached it, seemed to Phineas to be a much finer place than Saulsby. And so it was,

except that Loughlinter wanted that graceful beauty of age which Saulsby possessed. Loughlinter was all of

cut stone, but the stones had been cut only yesterday. It stood on a gentle slope, with a greensward falling

from the front entrance down to a mountain lake. And on the other side of the Lough there rose a mighty

mountain to the skies, Ben Linter. At the foot of it, and all round to the left, there ran the woods of Linter,

stretching for miles through crags and bogs and mountain lands. No better ground for deer than the side of

Ben Linter was there in all those highlands. And the Linter, rushing down into the Lough through rocks

which, in some places, almost met together above its waters, ran so near to the house that the pleasant noise

of its cataracts could be heard from the hall door. Behind the house the expanse of drained park land seemed

to be interminable; and then, again, came the mountains. There were Ben Linn and Ben Lody and the

whole territory belonging to Mr Kennedy. He was laird of Linn and laird of Linter, as his people used to say.

And yet his father had walked into Glasgow as a little boy no doubt with the normal halfcrown in his

"Magnificent is it not?" said Phineas to the Treasury Secretary, as they were being driven up to the door.

"Very grand but the young trees show the new man. A new man may buy a forest; but he can't get park

Phineas, at the moment, was thinking how far all these things which he saw, the mountains stretching

everywhere around him, the castle, the lake, the river, the wealth of it all, and, more than the wealth, the

nobility of the beauty, might act as temptations to Lady Laura Standish. If a woman were asked to have the

half of all this, would it be possible that she should prefer to take the half of his nothing? He thought it might

be possible for a girl who would confess, or seem to confess, that love should be everything. But it could

hardly be possible for a woman who looked at the world almost as a man looked at it as an oyster to be

opened with such weapon as she could find ready to her hand. Lady Laura professed to have a care for all the

affairs of the world. She loved politics, and could talk of social science, and had broad ideas about religion,

and was devoted to certain educational views. Such a woman would feel that wealth was necessary to her,

and would be willing, for the sake of wealth, to put up with a husband without romance. Nay; might it not be

that she would prefer a husband without romance? Thus Phineas was arguing to himself as he was driven up

to the door of Loughlinter Castle, while Mr Ratler was eloquent on the beauty of old park trees. "After all, a

There was nobody in the house at least, they found nobody; and within half an hour Phineas was walking

about the grounds by himself. Mr Ratler had declared himself to be delighted at having an opportunity of

writing letters and no doubt was writing them by the dozen, all dated from Loughlinter, and all detailing

the facts that Mr Gresham, and Mr Monk, and Plantagenet Palliser, and Lord Brentford were in the same

house with him. Phineas had no letters to write, and therefore rushed down across the broad lawn to the river,

of which he heard the noisy tumbling waters. There was something in the air which immediately filled him

with high spirits; and, in his desire to investigate the glories of the place, he forgot that he was going to dine

with four Cabinet Ministers in a row. He soon reached the stream, and began to make his way up it through

the ravine. There was waterfall over waterfall, and there were little bridges here and there which looked to be

half natural and half artificial, and a path which required that you should climb, but which was yet a path, and

all was so arranged that not a pleasant splashing rush of the waters was lost to the visitor. He went on and on,

up the stream, till there was a sharp turn in the ravine, and then, looking upwards, he saw above his head a

man and a woman standing together on one of the little halfmade wooden bridges. His eyes were sharp, and

he saw at a glance that the woman was Lady Laura Standish. He had not recognised the man, but he had very

little doubt that it was Mr Kennedy. Of course it was Mr Kennedy, because he would prefer that it should be

any other man under the sun. He would have turned back at once if he had thought that he could have done so

without being observed; but he felt sure that, standing as they were, they must have observed him. He did not

like to join them. He would not intrude himself. So he remained still, and began to throw stones into the river.

But he had not thrown above a stone or two when he was called from above. He looked up, and then he

perceived that the man who called him was his host. Of course it was Mr Kennedy. Thereupon he ceased to

throw stones, and went up the path, and joined them upon the bridge. Mr Kennedy stepped forward, and bade

him welcome to Loughlinter. His manner was less cold, and he seemed to have more words at command than

was usual with him. "You have not been long," he said, in finding out the most beautiful spot about the

"Is it not lovely?" said Laura, We have not been here an hour yet, and Mr Kennedy insisted on bringing me

"It is this very spot where we now stand that made me build the house where it is," said Mr Kennedy, "and I

was only eighteen when I stood here and made up my mind. That is just twentyfive years ago." "So he is

fortythree, said Phineas to himself, thinking how glorious it was to be only twentyfive. "And within twelve

months," continued Mr Kennedy, "the foundations were being dug and the stonecutters were at work."

"He had nothing else to do with his money but to pour it over my head, as it were. I don't think he had any

other enjoyment of it himself. Will you go a little higher, Lady Laura? We shall get a fine view over to Ben

Linn just now." Lady Laura declared that she would go as much higher as he chose to take her, and Phineas

was rather in doubt as to what it would become him to do. He would stay where he was, or go down, or make

himself to vanish after any most acceptable fashion; but if he were to do so abruptly it would seem as though

he were attributing something special to the companionship of the other two. Mr Kennedy saw his doubt, and

asked him to join them. "You may as well come on, Mr Finn. We don't dine till eight, and it is not much past

six yet. The men of business are all writing letters, and the ladies who have been travelling are in bed, I

"Not all of them, Mr Kennedy," said Lady Laura. Then they went on with their walk very pleasantly, and the

lord of all that they surveyed took them from one point of vantage to another, till they both swore that of all

spots upon the earth Loughlinter was surely the most lovely. "I do delight in it, I own," said the lord. "When I

come up here alone, and feel that in the midst of this little bit of a crowded island I have all this to myself

all this with which no other man's wealth can interfere I grow proud of my own, till I become thoroughly

ashamed of myself. After all, I believe it is better to dwell in cities than in the country better, at any rate,

for a rich man." Mr Kennedy had now spoken more words than Phineas had heard to fall from his lips during

"I believe so too," said Laura, if one were obliged to choose between the two. For myself, I think that a little

He took them up out of the ravine on to the side of the mountain, and then down by another path through the

woods to the back of the house. As they went he relapsed into his usual silence, and the conversation was

kept up between the other two. At a point not very far from the castle just so far that one could see by the

break of the ground where the castle stood, Kennedy left them. "Mr Finn will take you back in safety, I am

sure," said he, "and, as I am here, I'll go up to the farm for a moment. If I don't show myself now and again

"Now, Mr Kennedy," said Lady Laura, you are going to pretend to understand all about sheep and oxen." Mr

Kennedy, owning that it was so, went away to his farm, and Phineas with Lady Laura returned towards the

house. "I think, upon the whole," said Lady Laura, "that that is as good a man as I know."

"I doubt that. He is, perhaps, neither zealous nor active. But he is thoughtful and highprincipled, and has a

method and a purpose in the use which he makes of his money. And you see that he has poetry in his nature

too, if you get him upon the right string. How fond he is of the scenery of this place!"

"Any man would be fond of that. I'm ashamed to say that it almost makes me envy him. I certainly never

have wished to be Mr Robert Kennedy in London, but I should like to be the Laird of Loughlinter."

""Laird of Linn and Laird of Linter Here in summer, gone in winter." There is some ballad about the old

lairds; but that belongs to a time when Mr Kennedy had not been heard of, when some branch of the

Mackenzies lived down at that wretched old tower which you see as you first come upon the lake. When old

Mr Kennedy bought it there were hardly a hundred acres on the property under cultivation."

"Yes to the Mackenzie of Linn, as he was called. It was Mr Kennedy, the old man, who was first called

Loughlinter. That is Linn Castle, and they lived there for hundreds of years. But these Highlanders, with all

that is said of their family pride, have forgotten the Mackenzies already, and are quite proud of their rich

"Yes but then poetry is so usually false. I doubt whether Scotland would not have been as prosaic a

country as any under the sun but for Walter Scott and I have no doubt that Henry V owes the romance of

"When it is false I do. The difficulty is to know when it is false and when it is true. Tom Moore was always

"Much more so, my friend. But we will not discuss that now. Have you seen Mr Monk since you have been

"Chance brought us together. But Mr Ratler is a man of sense, Lady Laura, and is not to be despised." "It

always seems to me," said Lady Laura, that nothing is to be gained in politics by sitting at the feet of the little

"Then sit at no man's feet. Is it not astonishing that the price generally put upon any article by the world is

that which the owner puts on it? and that this is specially true of a man's own self? If you herd with Ratler,

men will take it for granted that you are a Ratlerite, and no more. If you consort with Greshams and Pallisers,

"I never knew a Mentor," said Phineas, so apt as you are to fill his Telemachus with pride."

"It is because I do not think your fault lies that way. If it did, or if I thought so, my Telemachus, you may be

sure that I should resign my position as Mentor. Here are Mr Kennedy and Lady Glencora and Mrs Gresham

on the steps." Then they went up through the Ionic columns on to the broad stone terrace before the door, and

there they found a crowd of men and women. For the legislators and statesmen had written their letters, and

Phineas, as he was dressing, considered deeply all that Lady Laura had said to him not so much with

reference to the advice which she had given him, though that also was of importance, as to the fact that it had

been given by her. She had first called herself his Mentor; but he had accepted the name and had addressed

her as her Telemachus. And yet he believed himself to be older than she if, indeed, there was any

difference in their ages. And was it possible that a female Mentor should love her Telemachus should love

him as Phineas desired to be loved by Lady Laura? He would not say that it was impossible. Perhaps there

had been mistakes between them a mistake in his manner of addressing her, and another in hers of

addressing him. Perhaps the old bachelor of fortythree was not thinking of a wife. Had this old bachelor of

fortythree been really in love with Lady Laura, would he have allowed her to walk home alone with

Phineas, leaving her with some flimsy pretext of having to look at his sheep? Phineas resolved that he must at

any rate play out his game whether he were to lose it or to win it; and in playing it he must, if possible,

drop something of that Mentor and Telemachus style of conversation. As to the advice given him of herding

with Greshams and Pallisers, instead of with Ratlers and Fitzgibbons he must use that as circumstances

might direct. To him, himself, as he thought of it all, it was sufficiently astonishing that even the Ratlers and

Fitzgibbons should admit him among them as one of themselves. "When I think of my father and of the old

house at Killaloe, and remember that hitherto I have done nothing myself, I cannot understand how it is that I

should be at Loughlinter." There was only one way of understanding it. If Lady Laura really loved him, the

The rooms at Loughlinter were splendid, much larger and very much more richly furnished than those at

Saulsby. But there was a certain stiffness in the movement of things, and perhaps in the manner of some of

those present, which was not felt at Saulsby. Phineas at once missed the grace and prettiness and cheery

audacity of Violet Effingham, and felt at the same time that Violet Effingham would be out of her element at

Loughlinter. At Loughlinter they were met for business. It was at least a semipolitical, or perhaps rather a

semiofficial gathering, and he became aware that he ought not to look simply for amusement. When he

entered the drawingroom before dinner, Mr Monk and Mr Palliser, and Mr Kennedy and Mr Gresham, with

sundry others, were standing in a wide group before the fireplace, and among them were Lady Glencora

Palliser and Lady Laura and Mrs Bonteen. As he approached them it seemed as though a sort of opening was

made for himself; but he could see, though others did not, that the movement came from Lady Laura.

"I believe, Mr Monk," said Lady Glencora, that you and I are the only two in the whole party who really

"If I must be divided from so many of my friends," said Mr Monk, "I am happy to go astray in the company

"And might I ask," said Mr Gresham, with a peculiar smile for which he was famous, "what it is that you and

"Making men and women all equal," said Lady Glencora. "That I take to be the gist of our political theory."

"Yes no doubt. If I were in the Cabinet myself I should not admit so much. There are reticences of

"But you don't mean to say, Lady Glencora, that you would really advocate equality?" said Mrs Bonteen.

"I do mean to say so, Mrs Bonteen. And I mean to go further, and to tell you that you are no Liberal at heart

unless you do so likewise; unless that is the basis of your political aspirations."

"By no means not when you are criticising me and my politics. Do you not wish to make the lower orders

"And I'm sure you wish to make yourself as good and as comfortable as anybody else as those above you,

"Then you have admitted everything, and are an advocate for general equality, just as Mr Monk is, and as I

am. There is no getting out of it is there, Mr Kennedy?" Then dinner was announced, and Mr Kennedy

walked off with the French Republican on his arm. As she went, she whispered into Mr Kennedy's ear, "You

will understand me. I am not saying that people are equal; but that the tendency of all lawmaking and of all

governing should be to reduce the inequalities." In answer to which Mr Kennedy said not a word. Lady

A week passed by at Loughlinter, at the end of which Phineas found himself on terms of friendly intercourse

with all the political magnates assembled in the house, but especially with Mr Monk. He had determined that

he would not follow Lady Laura's advice as to his selection of companions, if in doing so he should be driven

even to a seeming of intrusion. He made no attempt to sit at the feet of anybody, and would stand aloof when

bigger men than himself were talking, and was content to be less as indeed he was less than Mr

Bonteen or Mr Ratler. But at the end of a week he found that, without any effort on his part almost in

opposition to efforts on his part he had fallen into an easy pleasant way with these men which was very

delightful to him. He had killed a stag in company with Mr Palliser, and had stopped beneath a crag to

discuss with him a question as to the duty on Irish malt. He had played chess with Mr Gresham, and had been

told that gentleman's opinion on the trial of Mr Jefferson Davis. Lord Brentford had at last called him

Finn, and had proved to him that nothing was known in Ireland about sheep. But with Mr Monk he had had

long discussions on abstract questions in politics and before the week was over was almost disposed to

call himself a disciple, or, at least, a follower of Mr Monk. Why not of Mr Monk as well as of any one else?

Mr Monk was in the Cabinet, and of all the members of the Cabinet was the most advanced Liberal. "Lady

Glencora was not so far wrong the other night," Mr Monk said to him. "Equality is an ugly word and

shouldn't be used. It misleads, and frightens, and is a bugbear. And she, in using it, had not perhaps a clearly

defined meaning for it in her own mind. But the wish of every honest man should be to assist in lifting up

those below him, till they be something nearer his own level than he finds them." To this Phineas assented

and by degrees he found himself assenting to a great many things that Mr Monk said to him.

Mr Monk was a thin, tall, gaunt man, who had devoted his whole life to politics, hitherto without any

personal reward beyond that which came to him from the reputation of his name, and from the honour of a

seat in Parliament. He was one of four or five brothers and all besides him were in trade. They had

prospered in trade, whereas he had prospered solely in politics; and men said that he was dependent

altogether on what his relatives supplied for his support. He had now been in Parliament for more than twenty

years, and had been known not only as a Radical but as a Democrat. Ten years since, when he had risen to

fame, but not to repute, among the men who then governed England, nobody dreamed that Joshua Monk

would ever be a paid servant of the Crown. He had inveighed against one minister after another as though

they all deserved impeachment. He had advocated political doctrines which at that time seemed to be

altogether at variance with any possibility of governing according to English rules of government. He had

been regarded as a pestilent thorn in the sides of all ministers. But now he was a member of the Cabinet, and

those whom he had terrified in the old days began to find that he was not so much unlike other men. There

are but few horses which you cannot put into harness, and those of the highest spirit will generally do your

Phineas, who had his eyes about him, thought that he could perceive that Mr Palliser did not shoot a deer with

Mr Ratler, and that Mr Gresham played no chess with Mr Bonteen. Bonteen, indeed, was a noisy pushing

man whom nobody seemed to like, and Phineas wondered why he should be at Loughlinter, and why he

should be in office. His friend Laurence Fitzgibbon had indeed once endeavoured to explain this. "A man

who can vote hard, as I call it; and who will speak a few words now and then as they're wanted, without any

ambition that way, may always have his price. And if he has a pretty wife into the bargain, he ought to have a

pleasant time of it." Mr Ratler no doubt was a very useful man, who thoroughly knew his business; but yet, as

it seemed to Phineas, no very great distinction was shown to Mr Ratler at Loughlinter. "If I got as high as

that," he said to himself, "I should think myself a miracle of luck. And yet nobody seems to think anything of

"I believe I did right to accept office," Mr Monk said to him one day, as they sat together on a rock close by

one of the little bridges over the Linter. "Indeed, unless a man does so when the bonds of the office tendered

to him are made compatible with his own views, he declines to proceed on the open path towards the

prosecution of those views. A man who is combating one ministry after another, and striving to imbue those

ministers with his convictions, can hardly decline to become a minister himself when he finds that those

convictions of his own are henceforth or at least for some time to come to be the ministerial

"Very clearly," said Phineas. You would have denied your own children had you refused."

"Unless indeed a man were to feel that he was in some way unfitted for office work. I very nearly provided

for myself an escape on that plea but when I came to sift it, I thought that it would be false. But let me tell

you that the delight of political life is altogether in opposition. Why, it is freedom against slavery, fire against

clay, movement against stagnation! The very inaccuracy which is permitted to opposition is in itself a charm

worth more than all the patronage and all the prestige of ministerial power. You'll try them both, and then say

if you do not agree with me. Give me the full swing of the benches below the gangway, where I needed to

care for no one, and could always enjoy myself on my legs as long as I felt that I was true to those who sent

me there! That is all over now. They have got me into harness, and my shoulders are sore. The oats, however,

Phineas liked being told that the pleasures of opposition and the pleasures of office were both open to him,

and he liked also to be the chosen receptacle of Mr Monk's confidence. He had come to understand that he

was expected to remain ten days at Loughlinter, and that then there was to be a general movement. Since the

first day he had seen but little of Mr Kennedy, but he had found himself very frequently with Lady Laura.

And then had come up the question of his projected trip to Paris with Lord Chiltern. He had received a letter

There had been not a word beyond this, and before he answered it he made up his mind to tell Lady Laura the

"How like Oswald. He writes to me perhaps three times in the year, and his letters are just the same. You will

"Nay I cannot answer that; but unless it be some political secret between you and Mr Monk, I should think

"I cannot afford to go to Paris this autumn. It seems to be a shocking admission to make though I don't

"Nor I but Mr Finn, I like you all the better for making it. I am very sorry, for Oswald's sake. It's so hard

to find any companion for him whom he would like and whom we that is I should think altogether

"Your wish that I should go with him is a great compliment, and I thoroughly wish that I could do it. As it is,

I must go to Killaloe and retrieve my finances. I daresay, Lady Laura, you can hardly conceive how very poor

a man I am." There was a melancholy tone about his voice as he said this, which made her think for the

moment whether or no he had been right in going into Parliament, and whether she had been right in

"You must climb into office early, and forego those pleasures of opposition which are so dear to Mr Monk,"

she said, smiling. "After all, money is an accident which does not count nearly so high as do some other

things. You and Mr Kennedy have the same enjoyment of everything around you here."

"And Lady Glencora and I stand pretty much on the same footing, in spite of all her wealth except that she

is a married woman. I do not know what she is worth something not to be counted; and I am worth just

what papa chooses to give me. A tenpound note at the present moment I should look upon as great riches."

This was the first time she had ever spoken to him of her own position as regards money; but he had heard, or

thought that he had heard, that she had been left a fortune altogether independent of her father.

The last of the ten days had now come, and Phineas was discontented and almost unhappy. The more he saw

of Lady Laura the more he feared that it was impossible that she should become his wife. And yet from day

to day his intimacy with her became more close. He had never made love to her, nor could he discover that it

was possible for him to do so. She seemed to be a woman for whom all the ordinary stages of lovemaking

were quite unsuitable. Of course he could declare his love and ask her to be his wife on any occasion on

which he might find himself to be alone with her. And on this morning he had made up his mind that he

would do so before the day was over. It might be possible that she would never speak to him again that all

the pleasures and ambitious hopes to which she had introduced him might be over as soon as that rash word

On this day there was to be a grouseshooting party, and the shooters were to be out early. It had been talked

of for some day or two past, and Phineas knew that he could not escape it. There had been some rivalry

between him and Mr Bonteen, and there was to be a sort of match as to which of the two would kill most

birds before lunch. But there had also been some half promise on Lady Laura's part that she would walk with

him up the Linter and come down upon the lake, taking an opposite direction from that by which they had

"But you will be shooting all day," she said, when he proposed it to her as they were starting for the moor.

The waggonet that was to take them was at the door, and she was there to see them start. Her father was one

"I will undertake to be back in time, if you will not think it too hot. I shall not see you again till we meet in

"Then I certainly will go with you that is to say, if you are here. But you cannot return without the rest of

"I'll get back somehow," said Phineas, who was resolved that a few miles more or less of mountain should not

detain him from the prosecution of a task so vitally important to him. "If we start at five that will be early

Phineas went off to the mountains, and shot his grouse, and won his match, and ate his luncheon. Mr

Bonteen, however, was not beaten by much, and was in consequence somewhat illhumoured.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr Bonteen, I'll back myself for the rest of the day for a tenpound note."

Now there had been no money staked on the match at all but it had been simply a trial of skill, as to which

would kill the most birds in a given time. And the proposition for that trial had come from Mr Bonteen

"Partly because I'm sure I shouldn't hit a bird," said Phineas, "and partly because I haven't got any money to

"I hate bets," said Mr Kennedy to him afterwards. I was annoyed when Bonteen offered the wager. I felt sure,

"I don't think men ought to propose them unless they are quite sure of their company. Maybe I'm wrong, and

I often feel that I am straitlaced about such things. It is so odd to me that men cannot amuse themselves

without pitting themselves against each other. When a man tells me that he can shoot better than I, I tell him

"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr Kennedy. A man who can kill more salmon than anybody else, can rarely do

Phineas looked at his watch, and found that it was now two o'clock. It was a broiling day in August, and the

way back to Loughlinter, for six or seven out of the nine miles, would be along a high road. "I must do it all

the same," said he, preparing for a start. "I have an engagement with Lady Laura Standish; and as this is the

"An engagement with Lady Laura," said Mr Kennedy. Why did you not tell me, that I might have a pony

ready? But come along. Donald Bean has a pony. He's not much bigger than a dog, but he'll carry you to

"Yes; and think of the state in which you'd reach Loughlinter! Come along with me."

So Mr Kennedy led the way down to Donald Bean's cottage, and before three o'clock Phineas found himself

mounted on a shaggy steed, which, in sober truth, was not much bigger than a large dog. "If Mr Kennedy is

really my rival," said Phineas to himself, as he trotted along, "I almost think that I am doing an unhandsome

At five o'clock he was under the portico before the front door, and there he found Lady Laura waiting for him

waiting for him, or at least ready for him. She had on her hat and gloves and light shawl, and her parasol

was in her hand. He thought that he had never seen her look so young, so pretty, and so fit to receive a lover's

vows. But at the same moment it occurred to him that she was Lady Laura Standish, the daughter of an Earl,

the descendant of a line of Earls and that he was the son of a simple country doctor in Ireland. Was it

fitting that he should ask such a woman to be his wife? But then Mr Kennedy was the son of a man who had

walked into Glasgow with halfacrown in his pocket. Mr Kennedy's grandfather had been Phineas

thought that he had heard that Mr Kennedy's grandfather had been a Scotch drover; whereas his own

grandfather had been a little squire near Ennistimon, in county Clare, and his own first cousin once removed

still held the paternal acres at Finn Grove. His family was supposed to be descended from kings in that part of

Ireland. It certainly did not become him to fear Lady Laura on the score of rank, if it was to be allowed to Mr

Kennedy to proceed without fear on that head. As to wealth, Lady Laura had already told him that her fortune

was no greater than his. Her statement to himself on that head made him feel that he should not hesitate on

the score of money. They neither had any, and he was willing to work for both. If she feared the risk, let her

It was thus that he argued with himself; but yet he knew knew as well as the reader will know that he

was going to do that which he had no right to do. It might be very well for him to wait presuming him to

be successful in his love for the opening of that oyster with his political sword, that oyster on which he

proposed that they should both live; but such waiting could not well be to the taste of Lady Laura Standish. It

could hardly be pleasant to her to look forward to his being made a junior lord or an assistant secretary before

she could establish herself in her home. So he told himself. And yet he told himself at the same time that it

"But there are things as to which a man may be very positive, and yet may be allowed to fail. In the first

"Yes; I told him why I was coming, and that I must be here. Then he took the trouble to come all the way off

the mountain to persuade Donald to lend me his pony. I must acknowledge that Mr Kennedy has conquered

"I am so glad of that," said Lady Laura. I knew he would unless it were your own fault."

They went up the path by the brook, from bridge to bridge, till they found themselves out upon the open

mountain at the top. Phineas had resolved that he would not speak out his mind till he found himself on that

spot; that then he would ask her to sit down, and that while she was so seated he would tell her everything. At

the present moment he had on his head a Scotch cap with a grouse's feather in it, and he was dressed in a

velvet shootingjacket and dark knickerbockers; and was certainly, in this costume, as handsome a man as

any woman would wish to see. And there was, too, a look of breeding about him which had come to him, no

doubt, from the royal Finns of old, which ever served him in great stead. He was, indeed, only Phineas Finn,

and was known by the world to be no more; but he looked as though he might have been anybody a royal

Finn himself. And then he had that special grace of appearing to be altogether unconscious of his own

personal advantages. And I think that in truth he was barely conscious of them; that he depended on them

very little, if at all; that there was nothing of personal vanity in his composition. He had never indulged in any

"After all that climbing," he said, will you not sit down for a moment?" As he spoke to her she looked at him

and told herself that he was as handsome as a god. "Do sit down for one moment," he said. "I have something

"I will," she said; but I also have something to tell you, and will say it while I am yet standing. Yesterday I

"Then I am too late," said Phineas, and putting his hands into the pockets of his coat, he turned his back upon

What a fool he had been to let her know his secret when her knowledge of it could be of no service to him

when her knowledge of it could only make him appear foolish in her eyes! But for his life he could not have

kept his secret to himself. Nor now could he bring himself to utter a word of even decent civility. But he went

on walking as though he could thus leave her there, and never see her again. What an ass he had been in

supposing that she cared for him! What a fool to imagine that his poverty could stand a chance against the

wealth of Loughlinter! But why had she lured him on? How he wished that he were now grinding, hard at

work in Mr Low's chambers, or sitting at home at Killaloe with the hand of that pretty little Irish girl within

his own! Presently he heard a voice behind him calling him gently. Then he turned and found that she was

very near him. He himself had then been standing still for some moments, and she had followed him. "Mr

"Will you not wish me joy, or say a word of congratulation? Had I not thought much of your friendship, I

should not have been so quick to tell you of my destiny. No one else has been told, except papa."

"Of course I hope you will be happy. Of course I do. No wonder he lent me the pony!"

"Well nothing. You need forget nothing," said Lady Laura, "for nothing has been said that need be

"Lady Laura, I do wish you joy, with all my heart but that will not make all things pleasant. I came up

"But I have said it, and will say it again. I, poor, penniless, plain simple fool that I am, have been ass enough

to love you, Lady Laura Standish; and I brought you up here today to ask you to share with me my

nothingness. And this I have done on soil that is to be all your own. Tell me that you regard me as a conceited

"I wish to regard you as a dear friend both of my own and of my husband," said she, offering him her

"How can I answer such a question, Mr Finn? Or, rather, I will answer it fully. It is not a week since we told

each other, you to me and I to you, that we were both poor both without other means than those which

come to us from our fathers. You will make your way will make it surely; but how at present could you

marry any woman unless she had money of her own? For me like so many other girls, it was necessary

that I should stay at home or marry someone rich enough to dispense with fortune in a wife. The man whom

in all the world I think the best has asked me to share everything with him and I have thought it wise to

"And I was fool enough to think that you loved me," said Phineas. To this she made no immediate answer.

"Yes, I was, I feel that I owe it you to tell you what a fool I have been. I did. I thought you loved me. At least

I thought that perhaps you loved me. It was like a child wanting the moon was it not?"

"And why should I not have loved you?" she said slowly, laying her hand gently upon his arm.

"Stop, Mr Finn; stop. Do not say to me any unkind word that I have not deserved, and that would make a

breach between us. I have accepted the owner of Loughlinter as my husband, because I verily believe that I

shall thus do my duty in that sphere of life to which it has pleased God to call me. I have always liked him,

"For you, then, I will say also that I have always liked you since I knew you; that I have loved you as a friend

and could have loved you otherwise had not circumstances showed me so plainly that it would be

"Listen a moment. And pray remember that what I say to you now must never be repeated to any ears. No

one knows it but my father, my brother, and Mr Kennedy. Early in the spring I paid my brother's debts. His

affection to me is more than a return for what I have done for him. But when I did this when I made up

my mind to do it, I made up my mind also that I could not allow myself the same freedom of choice which

"How can I answer you, Lady Laura? Sufficient! And you are not angry with me for what I have said?"

"No, I am not angry. But it is understood, of course, that nothing of this shall ever be repeated even

"I have wished you joy, Lady Laura. And I will do so again. May you have every blessing which the world

can give you. You cannot expect me to be very jovial for a while myself; but there will be nobody to see my

melancholy moods. I shall be hiding myself away in Ireland. When is the marriage to be?"

"Nothing has been said of that. I shall be guided by him but there must, of course, be delay. There will be

settlements and I know not what. It may probably be in the spring or perhaps the summer. I shall do just

Phineas had now seated himself on the exact stone on which he had wished her to sit when he proposed to tell

his own story, and was looking forth upon the lake. It seemed to him that everything had been changed for

him while he had been up there upon the mountain, and that the change had been marvellous in its nature.

When he had been coming up, there had been apparently two alternatives before him: the glory of successful

love which, indeed, had seemed to him to be a most improbable result of the coming interview and the

despair and utter banishment attendant on disdainful rejection. But his position was far removed from either

of these alternatives, She had almost told him that she would have loved him had she not been poor that

she was beginning to love him and had quenched her love, because it had become impossible to her to marry

a poor man. In such circumstances he could not be angry with her he could not quarrel with her; he could

not do other than swear to himself that he would be her friend. And yet he loved her better than ever and

she was the promised wife of his rival! Why had not Donald Bean's pony broken his neck?

"What is the use? It is all the same now. You will want to be back to receive him in from shooting."

"Not that, I think. He is above those little cares. But it will be as well we should go the nearest way, as we

have spent so much of our time here. I shall tell Mr Kennedy that I have told you if you do not mind."

"But I won't have it taken in that way, Mr Finn. Your brusque want of courtesy to me I have forgiven, but I

shall expect you to make up for it by the alacrity of your congratulations to him. I will not have you

"You need not do that. We are old friends, and may take the liberty of speaking plainly to each other but

They walked back to the house together, and as they went down the path very little was said. Just as they

were about to come out upon the open lawn, while they were still under cover of the rocks and shrubs,

Phineas stopped his companion by standing before her, and then he made his farewell speech to her.

"Give me your hand," said he. And she gave him her hand. "I don't suppose you know what it is to love

"But to be in love! I believe you do not. And to miss your love! I think I am bound to think that you have

never been so tormented. It is very sore but I will do my best, like a man, to get over it."

"Do, my friend, do. So small a trouble will never weigh heavily on shoulders such as yours."

"It will weigh very heavily, but I will struggle hard that it may not crush me. I have loved you so dearly! As

we are parting give me one kiss, that I may think of it and treasure it in my memory!" What murmuring

words she spoke to express her refusal of such a request, I will not quote; but the kiss had been taken before

the denial was completed, and then they walked on in silence together and in peace, towards the house.

On the next morning six or seven men were going away, and there was an early breakfast. There were none

of the ladies there, but Mr Kennedy, the host, was among his friends. A large drag with four horses was there

to take the travellers and their luggage to the station, and there was naturally a good deal of noise at the front

door as the preparations for the departure were made. In the middle of them Mr Kennedy took our hero aside.

"Laura has told me," said Mr Kennedy, "that she has acquainted you with my good fortune."

"And I congratulate you most heartily," said Phineas, grasping the other's hand. "You are indeed a lucky

"I feel myself to be so," said Mr Kennedy. Such a wife was all that was wanting to me, and such a wife is

very hard to find. Will you remember, Finn, that Loughlinter will never be so full but what there will be a

room for you, or so empty but what you will be made welcome? I say this on Lady Laura's part and on my

Phineas, as he was being carried away to the railway station, could not keep himself from speculating as to

how much Kennedy knew of what had taken place during the walk up the Linter. Of one small circumstance

Phineas Finn's first session of Parliament was over his first session with all its adventures. When he got

back to Mrs Bunce's house for Mrs Bunce received him for a night in spite of her husband's advice to the

contrary I am afraid he almost felt that Mrs Bunce and her rooms were beneath him. Of course he was

very unhappy as wretched as a man can be; there were moments in which he thought that it would hardly

become him to live unless he could do something to prevent the marriage of Lady Laura and Mr Kennedy.

But, nevertheless, he had his consolations. These were reflections which had in them much of melancholy

satisfaction. He had not been despised by the woman to whom he had told his love. She had not shown him

that she thought him to be unworthy of her. She had not regarded his love as an offence. Indeed, she had

almost told him that prudence alone had forbidden her to return his passion. And he had kissed her, and had

afterwards parted from her as a dear friend. I do not know why there should have been a flavour of exquisite

joy in the midst of his agony as he thought of this but it was so. He would never kiss her again. All future

delights of that kind would belong to Mr Kennedy, and he had no real idea of interfering with that gentleman

in the fruition of his privileges. But still there was the kiss an eternal fact. And then, in all respects except

that of his love, his visit to Loughlinter had been preeminently successful, Mr Monk had become his friend,

and had encouraged him to speak during the next session setting before him various models, and

prescribing for him a course of reading. Lord Brentford had become intimate with him. He was on pleasant

terms with Mr Palliser and Mr Gresham. And as for Mr Kennedy he and Mr Kennedy were almost bosom

friends. It seemed to him that he had quite surpassed the Ratlers, Fitzgibbons, and Bonteens in that

politicosocial success which goes so far towards downright political success, and which in itself is so

pleasant. He had surpassed these men in spite of their offices and their acquired positions, and could not but

think that even Mr Low, if he knew it all, would confess that he had been right.

As to his bosom friendship with Mr Kennedy, that of course troubled him. Ought he not to be driving a

poniard into Mr Kennedy's heart? The conventions of life forbade that; and therefore the bosom friendship

was to be excused. If not an enemy to the death, then there could be no reason why he should not be a bosom

He went over to Ireland, staying but one night with Mrs Bunce, and came down upon them at Killaloe like a

god out of the heavens. Even his father was wellnigh overwhelmed by admiration, and his mother and

sisters thought themselves only fit to minister to his pleasures. He had learned, if he had learned nothing else,

to look as though he were master of the circumstances around him, and was entirely free from internal

embarrassment. When his father spoke to him about his legal studies, he did not exactly laugh at his father's

ignorance, but he recapitulated to his father so much of Mr Monk's wisdom at second hand showing

plainly that it was his business to study the arts of speech and the technicalities of the House, and not to study

law that his father had nothing further to say. He had become a man of such dimensions that an ordinary

father could hardly dare to inquire into his proceedings; and as for an ordinary mother such as Mrs Finn

Mary Flood Jones the reader I hope will not quite have forgotten Mary Flood Jones was in a great

tremor when first she met the hero of Loughshane after returning from the honours of his first session. She

had been somewhat disappointed because the newspapers had not been full of the speeches he had made in

Parliament. And indeed the ladies of the Finn household had all been ill at ease on this head. They could not

imagine why Phineas had restrained himself with so much philosophy. But Miss Flood Jones in discussing

the matter with the Miss Finns had never expressed the slightest doubt of his capacity or his judgment. And

when tidings came the tidings came in a letter from Phineas to his father that he did not intend to speak

that session, because speeches from a young member on his first session were thought to be inexpedient, Miss

Flood Jones and the Miss Finns were quite willing to accept the wisdom of this decision, much as they might

regret the effect of it. Mary, when she met her hero, hardly dared to look him in the face, but she remembered

accurately all the circumstances of her last interview with him. Could it be that he wore that ringlet near his

heart? Mary had received from Barbara Finn certain hairs supposed to have come from the head of Phineas,

and these she always wore near her own. And moreover, since she had seen Phineas she had refused an offer

of marriage from Mr Elias Bodkin had refused it almost ignominiously and when doing so had told

"No, indeed, Mary. It did happen by accident that I had to go to the house of a man whom perhaps you would

call a grandee, and to meet grandees there. But it was only for a few days, and I am very glad to be taken in

"Very glad. Why should I not be glad, and Barbara the dearest friend I have in the world? Of course she talks

"If you knew, Mary, how often I think about you." Then Mary, who was very happy at hearing such words,

and who was walking in to dinner with him at the moment, could not refrain herself from pressing his arm

with her little fingers. She knew that Phineas in his position could not marry at once; but she would wait for

him oh, for ever, if he would only ask her. He of course was a wicked traitor to tell her that he was wont

to think of her. But Jove smiles at lovers' perjuries and it is well that he should do so, as such perjuries can

hardly be avoided altogether in the difficult circumstances of a successful gentleman's life. Phineas was a

traitor, of course, but he was almost forced to be a traitor, by the simple fact that Lady Laura Standish was in

He remained for nearly five months at Killaloe, and I doubt whether his time was altogether well spent. Some

of the books recommended to him by Mr Monk he probably did read, and was often to be found encompassed

by blue books. I fear that there was a grain of pretence about his blue books and parliamentary papers, and

that in these days he was, in a gentle way, something of an impostor. "You must not be angry with me for not

going to you," he said once to Mary's mother when he had declined an invitation to drink tea; "but the fact is

that my time is not my own." "Pray don't make any apologies. We are quite aware that we have very little to

offer," said Mrs Flood Jones, who was not altogether happy about Mary, and who perhaps knew more about

members of Parliament and blue books than Phineas Finn had supposed. "Mary, you are a fool to think of that

man," the mother said to her daughter the next morning. "I don't think of him, mamma; not particularly." "He

is no better than anybody else that I can see, and he is beginning to give himself airs," said Mrs Flood Jones.

Mary made no answer; but she went up into her room and swore before a figure of the Virgin that she would

be true to Phineas for ever and ever, in spite of her mother, in spite of all the world in spite, should it be

About Christmas time there came a discussion between Phineas and his father about money. "I hope you find

"It's a tight fit," said Phineas who was less afraid of his father than he had been when he last discussed

"Don't think for a moment, sir, that I am complaining," said Phineas, "I know it is much more than I have a

The doctor began to make an inquiry within his own breast as to whether his son had a right to expect

anything whether the time had not come in which his son should be earning his own bread. "I suppose,"

he said, after a pause, "there is no chance of your doing anything at the bar now?"

"Not immediately. It is almost impossible to combine the two studies together." Mr Low himself was aware

"By no means, sir. And all that I am doing now will, I trust, be of assistance to me when I shall come back to

work at the law. Of course it is on the cards that I may go into office and if so, public business will

"Yes; that is true, sir. I must run my chance. If the worst comes to the worst, I hope I might be able to secure

some permanent place. I should think that I can hardly fail to do so. But I trust I may never be driven to want

it. I thought, however, that we had settled all this before." Then Phineas assumed a look of injured innocence,

"And in the mean time your money has been enough?" said the doctor, after a pause. "I had intended to ask

you to advance me a hundred pounds," said Phineas. "There were expenses to which I was driven on first

"If it be inconvenient, sir, I can do without it." He had not as yet paid for his gun, or for that velvet coat in

which he had been shooting, or, most probably, for the knickerbockers. He knew he wanted the hundred

pounds badly; but he felt ashamed of himself in asking for it. If he were once in office though the office

"You shall have it, of course," said the doctor; but do not let the necessity for asking for more hundreds come

oftener than you can help." Phineas said that he would not, and then there was no further discourse about

money. It need hardly be said that he told his father nothing of that bill which he had endorsed for Laurence

At last came the time which called him again to London and the glories of London life to lobbies, and the

clubs, and the gossip of men in office, and the chance of promotion for himself; to the glare of the gaslamps,

the mock anger of rival debaters, and the prospect of the Speaker's wig. During the idleness of the recess he

had resolved at any rate upon this that a month of the session should not have passed by before he had

been seen upon his legs in the House had been seen and heard. And many a time as he had wandered

alone, with his gun, across the bogs which lie on the other side of the Shannon from Killaloe, he had practised

the sort of address which he would make to the House. He would be short always short; and he would

eschew all action and gesticulation; Mr Monk had been very urgent in his instructions to him on that head;

but he would be especially careful that no words should escape him which had not in them some purpose. He

might be wrong in his purpose, but purpose there should be. He had been twitted more than once at Killaloe

with his silence for it had been conceived by his fellowtownsmen that he had been sent to Parliament on

the special ground of his eloquence. They should twit him no more on his next return. He would speak and

So he packed up his things, and started again for London in the beginning of February. "Goodbye, Mary," he

said with his sweetest smile. But on this occasion there was no kiss, and no culling of locks. "I know he

cannot help it," said Mary to herself. " It is his position. But whether it be for good or evil, I will be true to

"No; I am not unhappy not at all. I have a deal to make me happy and proud. I don't mean to be a bit

unhappy." Then she turned away and cried heartily, and Barbara Finn cried with her for company.

Phineas had received two letters during his recess at Killaloe from two women who admired him much,

which, as they were both short, shall be submitted to the reader. The first was as follows:

"I write a line to tell you that our marriage is to be hurried on as quickly as possible. Mr Kennedy does not

like to be absent from Parliament; nor will he be content to postpone the ceremony till the session be over.

The day fixed is the 3rd of December, and we then go at once to Rome, and intend to be back in London by

To this he wrote an answer as short, expressing his ardent wishes that those winter hymeneals might produce

nothing but happiness, and saying that he would not be in town many days before he knocked at the door of

"Bunce is getting ever so anxious about the rooms, and says as how he has a young Equity draftsman and

wife and baby as would take the whole house, and all because Miss Pouncefoot said a word about her port

wine, which any lady of her age might say in her tantrums, and mean nothing after all. Me and Miss

Pouncefoot's knowed each other for seven years, and what's a word or two as isn't meant after that? But,

honoured sir, it's not about that as I write to trouble you, but to ask if I may say for certain that you'll take the

rooms again in February. It's easy to let them for the month after Christmas, because of the pantomimes. Only

say at once, because Bunce is nagging me day after day. I don't want nobody's wife and baby to have to do

To this he replied that he would certainly come back to the rooms in Great Marlborough Street, should he be

lucky enough to find them vacant, and he expressed his willingness to take them on and from the 1st of

February. And on the 3rd of February he found himself in the old quarters, Mrs Bunce having contrived, with

much conjugal adroitness, both to keep Miss Pouncefoot and to stave off the Equity draftsman's wife and

baby. Bunce, however, received Phineas very coldly, and told his wife the same evening that as far as he

could see their lodger would never turn up to be a trump in the matter of the ballot: "If he means well, why

did he go and stay with them lords down in Scotland? I knows all about it. I knows a man when I sees him.

Mr Low, who's looking out to be a Tory judge some of these days, is a deal better because he knows what

Immediately on his return to town, Phineas found himself summoned to a political meeting at Mr Mildmay's

house in St James's Square. "We're going to begin in earnest this time," Barrington Erle said to him at the

Now, in truth, Phineas had heard very little of any settled plan down at Loughlinter. He had played a game of

chess with Mr Gresham, and had shot a stag with Mr Palliser, and had discussed sheep with Lord Brentford,

but had hardly heard a word about politics from any one of those influential gentlemen. From Mr Monk he

had heard much of a coming Reform Bill; but his communications with Mr Monk had rather been private

discussions in which he had learned Mr Monk's own views on certain points than revelations on the

intention of the party to which Mr Monk belonged. "I heard of nothing settled," said Phineas; "but I suppose

"That is a matter of course." "And I suppose we are not to touch the question of ballot."

"That's the difficulty," said Barrington Erle. But of course we shan't touch it as long as Mr Mildmay is in the

"Nor would Gresham, or Palliser," said Phineas, who did not choose to bring forward his greatest gun at first.

"I don't know about Gresham. It is impossible to say what Gresham might bring himself to do. Gresham is a

man who may go any lengths before he has done. Planty Pall," for such was the name by which Mr

Plantagenet Palliser was ordinarily known among his friends "would of course go with Mr Mildmay and

"Ah, that's the question. No doubt he has assented to the proposition of a measure without the ballot; but if

there should come a row, and men like Turnbull demand it, and the London mob kick up a shindy, I don't

"I don't know that I have a leader. Mr Mildmay leads our side; and if anybody leads me, he does. But I have

"There's one who would go for the ballot tomorrow, if it were brought forward stoutly," said Barrington Erle

Mr Bonteen and Mr Ratler had put their heads together during that last evening at Loughlinter, and had

agreed that they did not think much of Phineas Finn. Why did Mr Kennedy go down off the mountain to get

him a pony? And why did Mr Gresham play chess with him? Mr Ratler and Mr Bonteen may have been right

in making up their minds to think but little of Phineas Finn, but Barrington Erle had been quite wrong when

he had said that Phineas would "go for the ballot" tomorrow. Phineas had made up his mind very strongly

that he would always oppose the ballot. That he would hold the same opinion throughout his life, no one

should pretend to say; but in his present mood, and under the tuition which he had received from Mr Monk,

he was prepared to demonstrate, out of the House and in it, that the ballot was, as a political measure,

unmanly, ineffective, and enervating. Enervating had been a great word with Mr Monk, and Phineas had

clung to it with admiration. The meeting took place at Mr Mildmay's on the third day of the session. Phineas

had of course heard of such meetings before, but had never attended one. Indeed, there had been no such

gathering when Mr Mildmay's party came into power early in the last session. Mr Mildmay and his men had

then made their effort in turning out their opponents, and had been well pleased to rest awhile upon their oars.

Now, however, they must go again to work, and therefore the liberal party was collected at Mr Mildmay's

house, in order that the liberal party might be told what it was that Mr Mildmay and his Cabinet intended to

Phineas Finn was quite in the dark as to what would be the nature of the performance on this occasion, and

entertained some idea that every gentleman present would be called upon to express individually his assent or

dissent in regard to the measure proposed. He walked to St James's Square with Laurence Fitzgibbon; but

even with Fitzgibbon was ashamed to show his ignorance by asking questions. "After all," said Fitzgibbon,

"this kind of thing means nothing. I know as well as possible, and so do you, what Mr Mildmay will say

and then Gresham will say a few words; and then Turnbull will make a murmur, and then we shall all assent

to anything or to nothing and then it will be over." Still Phineas did not understand whether the assent

required would or would not be an individual personal assent. When the affair was over he found that he was

disappointed, and that he might almost as well have stayed away from the meeting except that he had

attended at Mr Mildmay's bidding, and had given a silent adhesion to Mr Mildmay's plan of reform for that

session. Laurence Fitzgibbon had been very nearly correct in his description of what would occur. Mr

Mildmay made a long speech. Mr Turnbull; the great Radical of the day he man who was supposed to

represent what many called the Manchester school of politics asked half a dozen questions. In answer to

these Mr Gresham made a short speech. Then Mr Mildmay made another speech, and then all was over. The

gist of the whole thing was, that there should be a Reform Bill very generous in its enlargement of the

franchise but no ballot. Mr Turnbull expressed his doubt whether this would be satisfactory to the country;

but even Mr Turnbull was soft in his tone and complaisant in his manner. As there was no reporter present

that plan of turning private meetings at gentlemen's houses into public assemblies not having been as yet

adopted there could be no need for energy or violence. They went to Mr Mildmay's house to hear Mr

Two days after this Phineas was to dine with Mr Monk. Mr Monk had asked him in the lobby of the House. "I

don't give dinner parties," he said, "but I should like you to come and meet Mr Turnbull." Phineas accepted

the invitation as a matter of course. There were many who said that Mr Turnbull was the greatest man in the

nation, and that the nation could be saved only by a direct obedience to Mr Turnbull's instructions. Others

said that Mr Turnbull was a demagogue and at heart a rebel; that he was unEnglish, false and very

dangerous. Phineas was rather inclined to believe the latter statement; and as danger and dangerous men are

always more attractive than safety and safe men, he was glad to have an opportunity of meeting Mr Turnbull

In the meantime he went to call on Lady Laura, whom he had not seen since the last evening which he spent

in her company at Loughlinter whom, when he was last speaking to her, he had kissed close beneath the

falls of the Linter. He found her at home, and with her was her husband. "Here is a Darby and Joan meeting,

is it not?" she said, getting up to welcome him. He had seen Mr Kennedy before, and had been standing close

"But Robert is going away this instant," said Lady Laura. "Has he told you of our adventures at Rome?"

"Then I must tell you but not now. The dear old Pope was so civil to us. I came to think it quite a pity that

"I must be off," said the husband, getting up. But I shall meet you at dinner, I believe."

"Yes, and am asked expressly to hear Turnbull make a convert of you. There are only to be us four. Au

revoir." Then Mr Kennedy went, and Phineas found himself alone with Lady Laura. He hardly knew how to

address her, and remained silent. He had not prepared himself for the interview as he ought to have done, and

felt himself to be awkward. She evidently expected him to speak, and for a few seconds sat waiting for what

At last she found that it was incumbent on her to begin. "Were you surprised at our suddenness when you got

"I had never imagined that he would have been impetuous. And he seems to think that even the business of

getting himself married would not justify him staying away from Parliament. He is a rigid martinet in all

"I told you that I should do just what the wise people told me. I asked papa, and he said that it would be

better. So the lawyers were driven out of their minds, and the milliners out of their bodies, and the thing was

"Oswald was not there. That I know is what you mean to ask, Papa said that he might come if he pleased.

Oswald stipulated that he should be received as a son. Then my father spoke the hardest word that ever fell

"I will not repeat it not altogether. But he said that Oswald was not entitled to a son's treatment. He was

very sore about my money, because Robert was so generous as to his settlement. So the breach between them

"Down in Northamptonshire, staying at some inn from whence he hunts. He tells me that he is quite alone

that he never dines out, never has any one to dine with him, that he hunts five or six days a week and

"Not if the reading is any good. But I cannot bear that he should be so solitary. And if he breaks down in it,

"I wish you would go down to him and see him. He would be delighted to have you."

Phineas thought over the proposition before he answered it, and then made the reply that he had made once

before. "I would do so, Lady Laura but that I have no money for hunting in England."

"He could mount you, I have no doubt. He has no other expense now, and keeps a stable full of horses. I think

he has seven or eight. And now tell me, Mr Finn; when are you going to charm the House? Or is it your first

He blushed he knew that he blushed as he answered. "Oh, I suppose I shall make some sort of attempt

"I do not know about that, but I certainly mean to try. There will be lots of opportunities about the new

Reform Bill. Of course you know that Mr Mildmay is going to bring it in at once. You hear all that from Mr

"And papa has told me, I still see papa almost every day. You must call upon him. Mind you do." Phineas

said that he certainly would. "Papa is very lonely now, and I sometimes feel that I have been almost cruel in

deserting him. And I think that he has a horror of the house especially later in the year always fancying

"Why doesn't your brother marry?" said Phineas, knowing nothing as yet of Lord Chiltern and Violet

Lady Laura paused before she answered; and then she told the whole story. "He is violently in love, and the

"Is it with Miss Effingham?" asked Phineas, guessing the truth at once, and remembering what Miss

"Yes with Violet Effingham; my father's pet, his favourite, whom he loves next to myself almost as

well as myself; whom he would really welcome as a daughter. He would gladly make her mistress of his

"I believe she loves him in her heart; but she is afraid of him. As she says herself, a girl is bound to be so

careful of herself. With all her seeming frolic, Violet Effingham is very wise."

Phineas, though not conscious of anything akin to jealousy, was annoyed at the revelation made to him. Since

he had heard that Lord Chiltern was in love with Miss Effingham, he did not like Lord Chiltern quite as well

as he had done before. He himself had simply admired Miss Effingham, and had taken pleasure in her

society; but, though this had been all, he did not like to hear of another man wanting to marry her, and he was

almost angry with Lady Laura for saying that she believed Miss Effingham loved her brother. If Miss

Effingham had twice refused Lord Chiltern, that ought to have been sufficient. It was not that Phineas was in

love with Miss Effingham himself. As he was still violently in love with Lady Laura, any other love was of

course impossible; but, nevertheless, there was something offensive to him in the story as it had been told. "If

it be wisdom on her part," said he, answering Lady Laura's last words, "you cannot find fault with her for her

Lady Laura, when she was left alone, at once reverted to the tone in which Phineas Finn had answered her

remarks about Miss Effingham. Phineas was very ill able to conceal his thoughts, and wore his heart almost

upon his sleeve. "Can it be possible that he cares for her himself?" That was the nature of Lady Laura's first

question to herself upon the matter. And in asking herself that question, she thought nothing of the disparity

in rank or fortune between Phineas Finn and Violet Effingham. Nor did it occur to her as at all improbable

that Violet might accept the love of him who had so lately been her own lover. But the idea grated against her

wishes on two sides. She was most anxious that Violet should ultimately become her brother's wife and

I must beg my readers not to be carried away by those last words into any erroneous conclusion. They must

not suppose that Lady Laura Kennedy, the lately married bride, indulged a guilty passion for the young man

who had loved her. Though she had probably thought often of Phineas Finn since her marriage, her thoughts

had never been of a nature to disturb her rest. It had never occurred to her even to think that she regarded him

with any feeling that was an offence to her husband. She would have hated herself had any such idea

presented itself to her mind. She prided herself on being a pure highprincipled woman, who had kept so

strong a guard upon herself as to be nearly free from the dangers of those rocks upon which other women

made shipwreck of their happiness. She took pride in this, and would then blame herself for her own pride.

But though she so blamed herself, it never occurred to her to think that to her there might be danger of such

shipwreck. She had put away from herself the idea of love when she had first perceived that Phineas had

regarded her with more than friendship, and had accepted Mr Kennedy's offer with an assured conviction that

by doing so she was acting best for her own happiness and for that of all those concerned. She had felt the

romance of the position to be sweet when Phineas had stood with her at the top of the falls of the Linter, and

had told her of the hopes which he had dared to indulge. And when at the bottom of the falls he had presumed

to take her in his arms, she had forgiven him without difficulty to herself, telling herself that that would be

the alpha and the omega of the romance of her life. She had not felt herself bound to tell Mr Kennedy of what

had occurred but she had felt that he could hardly have been angry even had he been told. And she had

often thought of her lover since, and of his love telling herself that she too had once had a lover, never

regarding her husband in that light; but her thoughts had not frightened her as guilty thoughts will do. There

had come a romance which had been pleasant, and it was gone. It had been soon banished but it had left to

her a sweet flavour, of which she loved to taste the sweetness though she knew that it was gone. And the man

should be her friend, but especially her husband's friend. It should be her care to see that his life was

successful and especially her husband's care. It was a great delight to her to know that her husband liked

the man. And the man would marry, and the man's wife should be her friend. All this had been very pure and

very pleasant. Now an idea had flitted across her brain that the man was in love with someone else and

But she did not therefore become afraid of herself, or in the least realise at once the danger of her own

position. Her immediate glance at the matter did not go beyond the falseness of men. If it were so, as she

suspected if Phineas had in truth transferred his affections to Violet Effingham, of how little value was the

love of such a man! It did not occur to her at this moment that she also had transferred hers to Robert

Kennedy, or that, if not, she had done worse. But she did remember that in the autumn this young Phoebus

among men had turned his back upon her out upon the mountain that he might hide from her the agony of his

heart when he learned that she was to be the wife of another man; and that now, before the winter was over,

he could not hide from her the fact that his heart was elsewhere! And then she speculated, and counted up

facts, and satisfied herself that Phineas could not even have seen Violet Effingham since they two had stood

together upon the mountain. How false are men! how false and how weak of heart! "Chiltern and Violet

Effingham!" said Phineas to himself, as he walked away from Grosvenor Place. "Is it fair that she should be

sacrificed because she is rich, and because she is so winning and so fascinating that Lord Brentford would

receive even his son for the sake of receiving also such a daughterinlaw?" Phineas also liked Lord

Chiltern; had seen or fancied that he had seen fine things in him; had looked forward to his regeneration,

hoping, perhaps, that he might have some hand in the good work. But he did not recognise the propriety of

sacrificing Violet Effingham even for work so good as this, If Miss Effingham had refused Lord Chiltern

twice, surely that ought to be sufficient. It did not occur to him that the love of such a girl as Violet would be

a great treasure to himself. As regarded himself, he was still in love hopelessly in love, with Lady

It was a Wednesday evening and there was no House and at seven o'clock Phineas was at Mr Monk's hall

door. He was the first of the guests, and he found Mr Monk alone in the diningroom. "I am doing butler,"

said Mr Monk, who had a brace of decanters in his hands, which he proceeded to put down in the

neighbourhood of the fire. "But I have finished, and now we will go upstairs to receive the two great men

"Not a minute too early. Seven is seven, and it is I who am too late. But, Lord bless you, you don't think I'm

ashamed of being found in the act of decanting my own wine! I remember Lord Palmerston saying before

some committee about salaries, five or six years ago now, I daresay, that it wouldn't do for an English

Minister to have his hall door opened by a maidservant. Now, I'm an English Minister, and I've got nobody

but a maidservant to open my hall door, and I'm obliged to look after my own wine. I wonder whether it's

improper? I shouldn't like to be the means of injuring the British Constitution."

"Perhaps if you resign soon, and if nobody follows your example, grave evil results may be avoided."

"I sincerely hope so, for I do love the British Constitution; and I love also the respect in which members of

the English Cabinet are held. Now Turnbull, who will be here in a moment, hates it all; but he is a rich man,

and has more powdered footmen hanging about his house than ever Lord Palmerston had himself."

"Oh yes and makes his thirty thousand a year. Here he is. How are you, Turnbull? We were talking about

"Certainly as far as I perceived," said Mr Turnbull, who was better at a speech than a joke. "A very

"There is not one more so in all London," said Mr Monk; "but Finn seems to think that I ought to have a man

"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me," said Mr Turnbull. "I am one of those who never think of such

"Nor I either," said Mr Monk. Then the laird of Loughlinter was announced, and they all went down to

Mr Turnbull was a goodlooking robust man about sixty, with long grey hair and a red complexion, with

hard eyes, a wellcut nose, and full lips. He was nearly six feet high, stood quite upright, and always wore a

black swallowtail coat, black trousers, and a black silk waistcoat. In the House, at least, he was always so

dressed, and at dinner tables. What difference there might be in his costume when at home at Staleybridge

few of those who saw him in London had the means of knowing. There was nothing in his face to indicate

special talent. No one looking at him would take him to be a fool; but there was none of the fire of genius in

his eye, nor was there in the lines of his mouth any of that play of thought or fancy which is generally to be

found in the faces of men and women who have made themselves great. Mr Turnbull had certainly made

himself great, and could hardly have done so without force of intellect. He was one of the most popular, if not

the most popular politician in the country. Poor men believed in him, thinking that he was their most honest

public friend; and men who were not poor believed in his power, thinking that his counsels must surely

prevail. He had obtained the ear of the House and the favour of the reporters, and opened his voice at no

public dinner, on no public platform, without a conviction that the words spoken by him would be read by

thousands. The first necessity for good speaking is a large audience; and of this advantage Mr Turnbull had

made himself sure. And yet it could hardly be said that he was a great orator. He was gifted with a powerful

voice, with strong, and I may, perhaps, call them broad convictions, with perfect selfreliance, with almost

unlimited powers of endurance, with hot ambition, with no keen scruples, and with a moral skin of great

thickness. Nothing said against him pained him, no attacks wounded him, no raillery touched him in the least.

There was not a sore spot about him, and probably his first thoughts on waking every morning told him that

he, at least, was totus teres atque rotundus. He was, of course, a thorough Radical and so was Mr Monk.

But Mr Monk's first waking thoughts were probably exactly the reverse of those of his friend. Mr Monk was

a much hotter man in debate than Mr Turnbull but Mr Monk was ever doubting of himself, and never

doubted of himself so much as when he had been most violent, and also most effective, in debate. When Mr

Monk jeered at himself for being a Cabinet Minister and keeping no attendant grander than a parlourmaid,

Mr Turnbull was certainly a great Radical, and as such enjoyed a great reputation. I do not think that high

office in the State had ever been offered to him; but things had been said which justified him, or seemed to

himself to justify him, in declaring that in no possible circumstances would he serve the Crown. "I serve the

people," he had said, "and much as I respect the servants of the Crown, I think that my own office is the

higher." He had been greatly called to task for this speech; and Mr Mildmay, the present Premier, had asked

him whether he did not recognise the socalled servants of the Crown as the most hardworked and truest

servants of the people. The House and the press had supported Mr Mildmay, but to all that Mr Turnbull was

quite indifferent; and when an assertion made by him before three or four thousand persons at Manchester, to

the effect that he he specially was the friend and servant of the people, was received with acclamation,

he felt quite satisfied that he had gained his point. Progressive reform in the franchise, of which manhood

suffrage should be the acknowledged and not far distant end, equal electoral districts, ballot, tenant right for

England as well as Ireland, reduction of the standing army till there should be no standing army to reduce,

utter disregard of all political movements in Europe, an almost idolatrous admiration for all political

movements in America, free trade in everything except malt, and an absolute extinction of a State Church

these were among the principal articles in Mr Turnbull's political catalogue. And I think that when once he

had learned the art of arranging his words as he stood upon his legs, and had so mastered his voice as to have

obtained the ear of the House, the work of his life was not difficult. Having nothing to construct, he could

always deal with generalities. Being free from responsibility, he was not called upon either to study details or

to master even great facts. It was his business to inveigh against existing evils, and perhaps there is no easier

business when once the privilege of an audience has been attained. It was his work to cut down foresttrees,

and he had nothing to do with the subsequent cultivation of the land. Mr Monk had once told Phineas Finn

how great were the charms of that inaccuracy which was permitted to the opposition. Mr Turnbull no doubt

enjoyed these charms to the full, though he would sooner have put a padlock on his mouth for a month than

have owned as much. Upon the whole, Mr Turnbull was no doubt right in resolving that he would not take

office, though some reticence on that subject might have been more becoming to him.

The conversation at dinner, though it was altogether on political subjects, had in it nothing of special interest

as long as the girl was there to change the plates; but when she was gone, and the door was closed, it

gradually opened out, and there came on to be a pleasant sparring match between the two great Radicals

the Radical who had joined himself to the governing powers, and the Radical who stood aloof. Mr Kennedy

barely said a word now and then, and Phineas was almost as silent as Mr Kennedy. He had come there to hear

some such discussion, and was quite willing to listen while guns of such great calibre were being fired off for

"I did not believe that he would ever live to go so far. It will hardly suffice even for this year; but still coming

from him, it is a great deal. It only shows how far a man may be made to go, if only the proper force be

"Very little indeed. We don't mind whether it be Lord de Terrier, or Mr Mildmay, or Mr Gresham, or you

"I should have thought you had. If I went in for that kind of thing myself, I should like to go to the top of the

ladder. I should feel that if I could do any good at all by becoming a Minister, I could only do it by becoming

"I mean it on every ground," said Mr Turnbull, rising on his legs and standing with his back to the fire. "Of

course I am not fit to have diplomatic intercourse with men who would come to me simply with the desire of

deceiving me. Of course I am unfit to deal with members of Parliament who would flock around me because

they wanted places. Of course I am unfit to answer every man's question so as to give no information to any

But Mr Turnbull was so intent on his speech that it may be doubted whether he heard this interruption. He

took no notice of it as he went on. "Of course I am unfit to maintain the proprieties of a seeming confidence

between a Crown allpowerless and a people allpowerful. No man recognises his own unfitness for such

work more clearly than I do, Mr Monk. But if I took in hand such work at all, I should like to be the leader,

and not the led. Tell us fairly, now, what are your convictions worth in Mr Mildmay's Cabinet?"

"It is a question which a man should at least answer for himself before he consents to sit there," said Mr

"And what reason have you for supposing that I have omitted that duty?" said Mr Monk.

"Simply this that I cannot reconcile your known opinions with the practices of your colleagues."

"I will not tell you what my convictions may be worth in Mr Mildmay's Cabinet. I will not take upon myself

to say that they are worth the chair on which I sit when I am there. But I will tell you what my aspirations

were when I consented to fill that chair, and you shall judge of their worth. I thought that they might possibly

leaven the batch of bread which we have to bake giving to the whole batch more of the flavour of reform

than it would have possessed had I absented myself. I thought that when I was asked to join Mr Mildmay and

Mr Gresham, the very fact of that request indicated liberal progress, and that if I refused the request I should

"You could have supported them, if anything were proposed worthy of support," said Mr Turnbull.

"Yes; but I could not have been so effective in taking care that some measure be proposed worthy of support

as I may possibly be now. I thought a good deal about it, and I believe that my decision was right."

"I am sure you were right," said Mr Kennedy. "There can be no juster object of ambition than a seat in the

"Sir, I must dispute that," said Mr Turnbull, turning round upon our hero. "I regard the position of our high

"Thank you for so much," said Mr Monk. But the orator went on again, regardless of the interruption:

"The position of gentlemen in inferior offices of gentlemen who attend rather to the nods and winks of

their superiors in Downing Street than to the interest of their constituents I do not regard as being highly

"Our friend Mr Monk has begun at what you are pleased to call the top," said Mr Turnbull. "But I will not

profess to think that even he has raised himself by going into office. To be an independent representative of a

really popular commercial constituency is, in my estimation, the highest object of an Englishman's ambition."

"Because the commercial constituencies really do elect their own members in accordance with their own

judgments, whereas the counties and the small towns are coerced either by individuals or by a combination of

"And yet," said Mr Kennedy, there are not half a dozen Conservatives returned by all the counties in

Mr Kennedy was the first to take his departure, and Mr Turnbull followed him very quickly. Phineas got up

to go at the same time, but stayed at his host's request, and sat for a while smoking a cigar.

"His fault is not arrogance, so much as ignorance that there is, or should be, a difference between public and

private life. In the House of Commons a man in Mr Turnbull's position must speak with dictatorial assurance.

He is always addressing, not the House only, but the country at large, and the country will not believe in him

unless he believe in himself. But he forgets that he is not always addressing the country at large. I wonder

Phineas, as he went home, made up his mind that Mrs Turnbull and the little Turnbulls must probably have a

It was known that whatever might be the details of Mr Mildmay's bill, the ballot would not form a part of it;

and as there was a strong party in the House of Commons, and a very numerous party out of it, who were

desirous that voting by ballot should be made a part of the electoral law, it was decided that an independent

motion should be brought on in anticipation of Mr Mildmay's bill. The arrangement was probably one of Mr

Mildmay's own making; so that he might be hampered by no opposition on that subject by his own followers

if as he did not doubt the motion should be lost. It was expected that the debate would not last over

one night, and Phineas resolved that he would make his maiden speech on this occasion. He had very strong

opinions as to the inefficacy of the ballot for any good purposes, and thought that he might be able to strike

out from his convictions some sparks of that fire which used to be so plentiful with him at the old debating

clubs. But even at breakfast that morning his heart began to beat quickly at the idea of having to stand on his

He knew that it would be well that he should if possible get the subject off his mind during the day, and

therefore went out among the people who certainly would not talk to him about the ballot. He sat for nearly

an hour in the morning with Mr Low, and did not even tell Mr Low that it was his intention to speak on that

day. Then he made one or two other calls, and at about three went up to Portman Square to look for Lord

Chiltern. It was now nearly the end of February, and Phineas had often seen Lady Laura. He had not seen her

brother, but had learned from his sister that he had been driven up to London by the frost. He was told by the

porter at Lord Brentford's that Lord Chiltern was in the house, and as he was passing through the hall he met

Lord Brentford himself. He was thus driven to speak, and felt himself called upon to explain why he was

"You will find him upstairs, I suppose," said the Earl. "For myself I know nothing of him." He spoke in an

angry tone, as though he resented the fact that any one should come to his house to call upon his son; and

turned his back quickly upon Phineas. But he thought better of it before he reached the front door, and turned

"Do," said the Earl. Do. If you see Lord Chiltern will you tell him from me that I should be glad to see him

before he leaves London. I shall be at home till noon tomorrow." Phineas, much astonished at the commission

given to him, of course said that he would do as he was desired, and then passed on to Lord Chiltern's

He found his friend standing in the middle of the room, without coat and waistcoat, with a pair of dumbbells

in his hands. "When there's no hunting I'm driven to this kind of thing," said Lord Chiltern.

"And it gives me something to do. When I'm in London I feel like a gipsy in church, till the time comes for

prowling out at night. I've no occupation for my days whatever, and no place to which I can take myself. I

can't stand in a club window as some men do, and I should disgrace any decent club if I did stand there. I

"I think you pique yourself on being more of an outer Bohemian than you are," said Phineas.

"I pique myself on this, that whether Bohemian or not, I will go nowhere that I am not wanted. Though

for the matter of that, I suppose I'm not wanted here." Then Phineas gave him the message from his father.

"He wishes to see me tomorrow morning?" continued Lord Chiltern. "Let him send me word what it is he has

"I would certainly go, if I were you." "I doubt it very much, if all the circumstances were the same. Let him

"I know what he wants very well. Laura has been interfering and doing no good. You know Violet

"I did not say that. But do you think that such a girl as Miss Effingham would marry such a man as I am? She

would be much more likely to take you. By George, she would! Do you know that she has three thousand a

"That's about the tune of it. I would take her without a shilling tomorrow, if she would have me because I

like her. She is the only girl I ever did like. But what is the use of my liking her? They have painted me so

black among them, especially my father, that no decent girl would think of marrying me."

"Your father can't be angry with you if you do your best to comply with his wishes."

"I don't care a straw whether he be angry or not. He allows me eight hundred a year, and he knows that if he

stopped it I should go to the Jews the next day. I could not help myself. He can't leave an acre away from me,

and yet he won't join me in raising money for the sake of paying Laura her fortune."

"That detestable prig whom she has chosen to marry, and whom I hate with all my heart, is richer than ever

Croesus was; but nevertheless Laura ought to have her own money. She shall have it some day."

"I will think about it. Now tell me about coming down to Willingford. Laura says you will come some day in

March. I can mount you for a couple of days and should be delighted to have you. My horses all pull like the

mischief, and rush like devils, and want a deal of riding; but an Irishman likes that."

"I like it. I prefer to have something to do on horseback. When a man tells me that a horse is an armchair, I

always tell him to put the brute into his bedroom. Mind you come. The house I stay at is called the

Willingford Bull, and it's just four miles from Peterborough." Phineas swore that he would go down and ride

the pulling horses, and then took his leave, earnestly advising Lord Chiltern, as he went, to keep the

When the morning came, at half past eleven, the son, who had been standing for half an hour with his back to

the fire in the large gloomy diningroom, suddenly rang the bell. "Tell the Earl," he said to the servant, "that I

am here and will go to him if he wishes it." The servant came back, and said that the Earl was waiting. Then

"Oswald," said the father, I have sent for you because I think it may be as well to speak to you on some

business. Will you sit down?" Lord Chiltern sat down, but did not answer a word. "I feel very unhappy about

"So do I very unhappy. We can raise the money between us, and pay her tomorrow, if you please it."

"I told her that I would not pay them, and were I to give her back tomorrow, as you say, the money that she

has so used, I should be stultifying myself. But I will do so on one condition. I will join with you in raising

"Laura tells me indeed she has told me often that you are attached to Violet Effingham."

"I do not know how that may be. Of course I cannot say. I have never taken the liberty of interrogating her

"I simply mean that even you could hardly have asked Miss Effingham such a question. I have asked her, and

"But girls often do that, and yet accept afterwards the men whom they have refused. Laura tells me that she

"There you are probably wrong. Laura and Violet are very close friends, and have no doubt discussed this

matter between them. At any rate, it may be as well that you should hear what I have to say. Of course I shall

The Earl became very angry, and nearly broke down in his anger. He paused for a moment, feeling disposed

to tell his son to go and never to see him again. But he gulped down his wrath, and went on with his speech.

"My meaning, sir, is this that I have so great faith in Violet Effingham, that I would receive her

acceptance of your hand as the only proof which would be convincing to me of amendment in your mode of

life. If she were to do so, I would join with you in raising money to pay your sister, would make some further

sacrifice with reference to an income for you and your wife, and would make you both welcome to

Saulsby if you chose to come." The Earl's voice hesitated much and became almost tremulous as he made

the last proposition. And his eyes had fallen away from his son's gaze, and he had bent a little over the table,

and was moved. But he recovered himself at once, and added, with all proper dignity, "If you have anything

"But as to Miss Effingham, it happens that our wishes jump together. I have asked her, and she has refused

me. I don't even know where to find her to ask her again. If I went to Lady Baldock's house the servants

"Yours partly, my lord. You have told everybody that I am the devil, and now all the old women believe it."

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I will go down to Lady Baldock's today. I suppose she is at Baddingham. And if I

"Miss Effingham is not at Baddingham. Miss Effingham is staying with your sister in Grosvenor Place. I saw

"Very well, my lord. Then I will do the best I can. Laura will tell you of the result."

The father would have given the son some advice as to the mode in which he should put forward his claim

upon Violet's hand, but the son would not wait to hear it. Choosing to presume that the conference was over,

he went back to the room in which he had kept his dumbbells; and for a minute or two went to work at his

favourite exercise. But he soon put the dumbbells down, and began to prepare himself for his work. If this

thing was to be done, it might as well be done at once. He looked out of his window, and saw that the streets

were in a mess of slush. White snow was becoming black mud, as it will do in London; and the violence of

frost was giving way to the horrors of thaw. All would be soft and comparatively pleasant in

Northamptonshire on the following morning, and if everything went right he would breakfast at the

Willingford Bull. He would go down by the hunting train, and be at the inn by ten. The meet was only six

miles distant, and all would be pleasant. He would do this whatever might be the result of his work today

but in the meantime he would go and do his work. He had a cab called, and within half an hour of the time at

which he had left his father, he was at the door of his sister's house in Grosvenor Place. The servants told him

that the ladies were at lunch. "I can't eat lunch," he said. "Tell them that I am in the drawingroom."

"He has come to see you," said Lady Laura, as soon as the servant had left the room.

"But I do say it. I hope he has not come to see me that is, not to see me specially. Of course I cannot

"He may think it civil to call if he has heard that you are in town," said Lady Laura, after a pause.

"If it be only that, I will be civil in return as sweet as May to him. If it be really only that, and if I were

sure of it, I should be really glad to see him." Then they finished their lunch, and Lady Laura got up and led

"I do not believe in girls being saviours to men. It is the man who should be the saviour to the girl. If I marry

at all, I have the right to expect that protection shall be given to me not that I shall have to give it."

Lord Chiltern was walking about the room, and did not sit down when they entered. The ordinary greetings

took place, and Miss Effingham made some remark about the frost. "But it seems to be going," she said, "and

"And the next day, and the next, and the next," said Violet, "till about the middle of April and then your

"Exactly," said Lord Chiltern. I have nothing but hunting that I can call an occupation."

"I mean to do so, if it be possible. Laura, would you mind leaving me and Miss Effingham alone for a few

Lady Laura got up, and so also did Miss Effingham. "For what purpose?" said the latter. "It cannot be for any

"At any rate I wish it, and I will not harm you." Lady Laura was now going, but paused before she reached

the door. "Laura, will you do as I ask you?" said the brother. Then Lady Laura went.

"No I know it was not. But what I say is always said awkwardly. An hour ago I did not know that you

"I have not spoken to him for months before, and probably may not speak to him for months again. But there

"It is possible but I fear not probable. Look here, Violet," and he looked at her with all his eyes, till it

seemed to her that he was all eyes, so great was the intensity of his gaze "I should scorn myself were I to

permit myself to come before you with a plea for your favour founded on my father's whims. My father is

unreasonable, and has been very unjust to me. He has ever believed evil of me, and has believed it often when

all the world knew that he was wrong. I care little for being reconciled to a father who has been so cruel to

"He loves me dearly, and is my friend. I would rather that you should not speak against him to me."

"You will understand, at least, that I am asking nothing from you because he wishes it, Laura probably has

told you that you may make things straight by becoming my wife." "She has certainly, Lord Chiltern."

"It is an argument that she should never have used. It is an argument to which you should not listen for a

moment. Make things straight indeed! Who can tell? There would be very little made straight by such a

marriage, if it were not that I loved you. Violet, that is my plea, and my only one. I love you so well that I do

believe that if you took me I should return to the old ways, and become as other men are, and be in time as

"You know she says worse things of me than that. Now, dearest, you have heard all that I have to say to you."

As he spoke he came close to her, and put out his hand but she did not touch it. "I have no other argument

to use not a word more to say. As I came here in the cab I was turning it over in my mind that I might find

what best I should say. But, after all, there is nothing more to be said than that."

"Not unless they be so uttered as to force a belief. I do love you. I know no other reason but that why you

should be my wife. I have no other excuse to offer for coming to you again. You are the one thing in the

world that to me has any charm. Can you be surprised that I should be persistent in asking for it?" He was

looking at her still with the same gaze, and there seemed to be a power in his eye from which she could not

escape. He was still standing with his right hand out, as though expecting, or at least hoping, that her hand

"With your love, if you can give it to me. Do you remember how you swore once that you would love me for

"You should not remind me of that. I was a child then a naughty child," she added, smiling; "and was put

"Of course I must answer you. You are entitled to an answer. Lord Chiltern, I am sorry that I cannot give you

"Never." "Is it myself personally, or what you have heard of me, that is so hateful to you?"

"Nothing is hateful to me. I have never spoken of hate. I shall always feel the strongest regard for my old

friend and playfellow. But there are many things which a woman is bound to consider before she allows

There was now a pause, and the man's hand was at last allowed to drop, as there came no response to the

proffered grasp. He walked once or twice across the room before he spoke again, and then he stopped himself

"There is something to me unmanly in a man's persecuting a girl. Just tell Laura, will you, that it is all over;

She then tendered her hand to him, but he did not take it probably did not see it, and at once left the room

"And yet I believe you love him," Lady Laura said to her friend in her anger, when they discussed the matter

"I have a right to my belief, and I do believe it. I think you love him, and that you lack the courage to risk

"Yes, she is," replied Lady Laura impetuously, without thinking of what she was saying; "that is, if she be

"Whatever be the man's character whatever be the circumstances? Must she do so, whatever friends may

"That is true. There is certainly too much prudence if a woman marries prudently, but without love." Violet

intended by this no attack upon her friend had not had present in her mind at the moment any idea of Lady

Laura's special prudence in marrying Mr Kennedy; but Lady Laura felt it keenly, and knew at once that an

arrow had been shot which had wounded her. "We shall get nothing," she said, by descending to personalities

"I suppose it is always hard," said Lady Laura, for any one person to judge altogether of the mind of another.

If I have said anything severe of your refusal of my brother, I retract it. I only wish that it could have been

Lord Chiltern, when he left his sister's house, walked through the slush and dirt to a haunt of his in the

neighbourhood of Covent Garden, and there he remained through the whole afternoon and evening. A certain

Captain Clutterbuck joined him, and dined with him. He told nothing to Captain Clutterbuck of his sorrow,

"Let's have another bottle of "cham,"" said Captain Clutterbuck, when their dinner was nearly over. ""Cham"

"You can have what you like," said Lord Chiltern; but I shall have some brandy and water."

"The worst of brandy and water is, that one gets tired of it before the night is over," said Captain Clutterbuck.

Nevertheless, Lord Chiltern did go down to Peterborough the next day by the hunting train, and rode his

horse Bonebreaker so well in that famous run from Sutton springs to Gidding that after the run young Piles

of the house of Piles, Sarsnet, and Gingham offered him three hundred pounds for the animal.

"Oh, couldn't I!" said Piles. But Mr Piles did not continue the conversation, contenting himself with telling

Phineas took his seat in the House with a consciousness of much inward trepidation of heart on that night of

the ballot debate. After leaving Lord Chiltern he went down to his club and dined alone. Three or four men

came and spoke to him; but he could not talk to them at his ease, nor did he quite know what they were

saying to him. He was going to do something which he longed to achieve, but the very idea of which, now

that it was so near to him, was a terror to him. To be in the House and not to speak would, to his thinking, be

a disgraceful failure. Indeed, he could not continue to keep his seat unless he spoke. He had been put there

that he might speak. He would speak. Of course he would speak. Had he not already been conspicuous almost

as a boy orator? And yet, at this moment he did not know whether he was eating mutton or beef, or who was

standing opposite to him and talking to him, so much was he in dread of the ordeal which he had prepared for

himself. As he went down to the House after dinner, he almost made up his mind that it would be a good

thing to leave London by one of the night mail trains. He felt himself to be stiff and stilted as he walked, and

that his clothes were uneasy to him. When he turned into Westminster Hall he regretted more keenly than

ever he had done that he had seceded from the keeping of Mr Low. He could, he thought, have spoken very

well in court, and would there have learned that selfconfidence which now failed him so terribly. It was,

He went in and took his seat, and the chamber seemed to him to be mysteriously large, as though benches

were crowded over benches, and galleries over galleries. He had been long enough in the House to have lost

the original awe inspired by the Speaker and the clerks of the House, by the row of Ministers, and by the

unequalled importance of the place. On ordinary occasions he could saunter in and out, and whisper at his

ease to a neighbour. But on this occasion he went direct to the bench on which he ordinarily sat, and began at

once to rehearse to himself his speech. He had in truth been doing this all day, in spite of the effort that he

had made to rid himself of all memory of the occasion. He had been collecting the heads of his speech while

Mr Low had been talking to him, and refreshing his quotations in the presence of Lord Chiltern and the

dumbbells. He had taxed his memory and his intellect with various tasks, which, as he feared, would not

adjust themselves one with another. He had learned the headings of his speech so that one heading might

follow the other, and nothing be forgotten. And he had learned verbatim the words which he intended to utter

under each heading with a hope that if any one compact part should be destroyed or injured in its

compactness by treachery of memory, or by the course of the debate, each other compact part might be there

in its entirety, ready for use or at least so many of the compact parts as treachery of memory and the

accidents of the debate might leave to him; so that his speech might be like a vessel, watertight in its various

compartments, that would float by the buoyancy of its stern and bow, even though the hold should be

waterlogged. But this use of his composed words, even though he should be able to carry it through, would

not complete his work for it would be his duty to answer in some sort those who had gone before him, and

in order to do this he must be able to insert, without any prearrangement of words or ideas, little intercalatory

parts between those compact masses of argument with which he had been occupying himself for many

laborious hours. As he looked round upon the House and perceived that everything was dim before him, that

all his original awe of the House had returned, and with it a present quaking fear that made him feel the

pulsations of his own heart, he became painfully aware that the task he had prepared for himself was too

great. He should, on this the occasion of his rising to his maiden legs, have either prepared for himself a short

general speech, which could indeed have done little for his credit in the House, but which might have served

to carry off the novelty of the thing, and have introduced him to the sound of his own voice within those

walls or he should have trusted to what his wit and spirit would produce for him on the spur of the

moment, and not have burdened himself with a huge exercise of memory. During the presentation of a few

petitions he tried to repeat to himself the first of his compact parts a compact part on which, as it might

certainly be brought into use let the debate have gone as it might, he had expended great care. He had

flattered himself that there was something of real strength in his words as he repeated them to himself in the

comfortable seclusion of his own room, and he had made them so ready to his tongue that he thought it to be

impossible that he should forget even an intonation. Now he found that he could not remember the first

phrases without unloosing and looking at a small roll of paper which he held furtively in his hand. What was

the good of looking at it? He would forget it again in the next moment. He had intended to satisfy the most

eager of his friends, and to astound his opponents. As it was, no one would be satisfied and none

The debate began, and if the leisure afforded by a long and tedious speech could have served him, he might

have had leisure enough. He tried at first to follow all that this advocate for the ballot might say, hoping

thence to acquire the impetus of strong interest; but he soon wearied of the work, and began to long that the

speech might be ended, although the period of his own martyrdom would thereby be brought nearer to him.

At half past seven so many members had deserted their seats, that Phineas began to think that he might be

saved all further pains by a "count out." He reckoned the members present and found that they were below

the mystic forty first by two, then by four, by five, by seven, and at one time by eleven. It was not for him

to ask the Speaker to count the House, but he wondered that noone else should do so. And yet, as the idea of

this termination to the night's work came upon him, and as he thought of his lost labour, he almost took

courage again almost dreaded rather than wished for the interference of some malicious member. But

there was no malicious member then present, or else it was known that Lords of the Treasury and Lords of

the Admiralty would flock in during the Speaker's ponderous counting and thus the slow length of the

ballotlover's verbosity was permitted to evolve itself without interruption. At eight o'clock he had completed

his catalogue of illustrations, and immediately Mr Monk rose from the Treasury bench to explain the grounds

Phineas was aware that Mr Monk intended to speak, and was aware also that his speech would be very short.

"My idea is", he had said to Phineas, "that every man possessed of the franchise should dare to have and to

express a political opinion of his own; that otherwise the franchise is not worth having; and that men will

learn that when all so dare, no evil can come from such daring. As the ballot would make any courage of that

kind unnecessary, I dislike the ballot. I shall confine myself to that, and leave the illustration to younger

debaters." Phineas also had been informed that Mr Turnbull would reply to Mr Monk, with the purpose of

crushing Mr Monk into dust, and Phineas had prepared his speech with something of an intention of

subsequently crushing Mr Turnbull. He knew, however, that he could not command his opportunity. There

was the chapter of accidents to which he must accommodate himself; but such had been his programme for

Mr Monk made his speech and though he was short, he was very fiery and energetic. Quick as lightning

words of wrath and scorn flew from him, in which he painted the cowardice, the meanness, the falsehood of

the ballot. "The ballot box", he said, was the grave of all true political opinion." Though he spoke hardly for

ten minutes, he seemed to say more than enough, ten times enough, to slaughter the argument of the former

speaker. At every hot word is it fell Phineas was driven to regret that a paragraph of his own was taken away

from him, and that his choicest morsels of standing ground were being cut from under his feet. When Mr

Monk sat down, Phineas felt that Mr Monk had said all that he, Phineas Finn, had intended to say.

Then Mr Turnbull rose slowly from the bench below the gangway. With a speaker so frequent and so famous

as Mr Turnbull no hurry is necessary. He is sure to have his opportunity. The Speaker's eye is ever travelling

to the accustomed spots. Mr Turnbull rose slowly and began his oration very mildly. "There was nothing", he

said, "that he admired so much as the poetic imagery and the highflown sentiment of his right honourable

friend the member for West Bromwich," Mr Monk sat for West Bromwich "unless it were the

stubborn facts and unanswered arguments of his honourable friend who had brought forward this motion."

Then Mr Turnbull proceeded after his fashion to crush Mr Monk. He was very prosaic, very clear both in

voice and language, very harsh, and very unscrupulous. He and Mr Monk had been joined together in politics

for over twenty years but one would have thought, from Mr Turnbull's words, that they had been the

bitterest of enemies. Mr Monk was taunted with his office, taunted with his desertion of the liberal party,

taunted with his ambition and taunted with his lack of ambition. "I once thought," said Mr Turnbull

nay, not long ago I thought, that he and I would have fought this battle for the people, shoulder to shoulder,

and knee to knee but he has preferred that the knee next to his own shall wear a garter, and that the

shoulder which supports him shall be decked with a blue ribbon as shoulders, I presume, are decked in

Just after this, while Mr Turnbull was still going on with a variety of illustrations drawn from the United

States, Barrington Erle stepped across the benches up to the place where Phineas was sitting, and whispered a

few words into his ear. "Bonteen is prepared to answer Turnbull, and wishes to do it. I told him that I thought

you should have the opportunity, if you wish it." Phineas was not ready with a reply to Erle at the spur of the

moment. "Somebody told me," continued Erle, "that you had said that you would like to speak tonight."

The chamber seemed to swim round before our hero's eyes. Mr Turnbull was still going on with his clear,

loud, unpleasant voice, but there was no knowing how long he might go on. Upon Phineas, if he should now

consent, might devolve the duty, within ten minutes, within three minutes, of rising there before a full House

to defend his great friend, Mr Monk, from a gross personal attack. Was it fit that such a novice as he should

undertake such a work as that? Were he to do so, all that speech which he had prepared, with its various

selffloating parts, must go for nothing. The task was exactly that which, of all tasks, he would best like to

have accomplished, and to have accomplished well. But if he should fail! And he felt that he would fail. For

such work a man should have all his senses about him his full courage, perfect confidence, something

almost approaching to contempt for listening opponents, and nothing of fear in regard to listening friends. He

should be as a cock in his own farmyard, master of all the circumstances around him. But Phineas Finn had

not even as yet heard the sound of his own voice in that room. At this moment, so confused was he, that he

did not know where sat Mr Mildmay, and where Mr Daubeny. All was confused, and there arose as it were a

sound of waters in his ears, and a feeling as of a great hell around him. "I had rather wait," he said at last.

Bonteen had better reply." Barrington Erle looked into his face, and then stepping back across the benches,

Mr Turnbull continued speaking quite long enough to give poor Phineas time for repentance; but repentance

was of no use. He had decided against himself, and his decision could not be reversed. He would have left the

House, only it seemed to him that had he done so every one would look at him. He drew his hat down over

his eyes, and remained in his place, hating Mr Bonteen, hating Barrington Erle, hating Mr Turnbull but

hating no one so much as he hated himself. He had disgraced himself for ever, and could never recover the

Mr Bonteen's speech was in no way remarkable. Mr Monk, he said, had done the State good service by

adding his wisdom and patriotism to the Cabinet. The sort of argument which Mr Bonteen used to prove that

a man who has gained credit as a legislator should in process of time become a member of the executive, is

trite and common, and was not used by Mr Bonteen with any special force. Mr Bonteen was glib of tongue,

and possessed that familiarity with the place which poor Phineas had lacked so sorely. There was one

moment, however, which was terrible to Phineas. As soon as Mr Bonteen had shown the purpose for which

he was on his legs, Mr Monk looked round at Phineas, as though in reproach. He had expected that this work

should fall into the hands of one who would perform it with more warmth of heart than could be expected

from Mr Bonteen. When Mr Bonteen ceased, two or three other short speeches were made and members fired

off their little guns. Phineas having lost so great an opportunity, would not now consent to accept one that

should be comparatively valueless. Then there came a division. The motion was lost by a large majority

by any number you might choose to name, as Phineas had said to Lord Brentford; but in that there was no

triumph to the poor wretch who had failed through fear, and who was now a coward in his own esteem.

He left the House alone, carefully avoiding all speech with any one. As he came out he had seen Laurence

Fitzgibbon in the lobby, but he had gone on without pausing a moment, so that he might avoid his friend.

And when he was out in Palace Yard, where was he to go next? He looked at his watch, and found that it was

just ten. He did not dare to go to his club, and it was impossible for him to go home and to bed. He was very

miserable, and nothing would comfort him but sympathy. Was there any one who would listen to his abuse of

himself, and would then answer him with kindly apologies for his own weakness? Mrs Bunce would do it if

she knew how, but sympathy from Mrs Bunce would hardly avail. There was but one person in the world to

whom he could tell his own humiliation with any hope of comfort, and that person was Lady Laura Kennedy.

Sympathy from any man would have been distasteful to him. He had thought for a moment of flinging

himself at Mr Monk's feet and telling all his weakness but he could not have endured pity even from Mr

He thought that Lady Laura Kennedy would be at home, and probably alone. He knew, at any rate, that he

might be allowed to knock at her door, even at that hour. He had left Mr Kennedy in the House, and there he

would probably remain for the next hour. There was no man more constant than Mr Kennedy in seeing the

work of the day or of the night to its end. So Phineas walked up Victoria Street, and from thence into

Grosvenor Place, and knocked at Lady Laura's door. "Yes; Lady Laura was at home; and alone." He was

shown up into the drawingroom, and there he found Lady Laura waiting for her husband.

"So the great debate is over," she said, with as much of irony as she knew how to throw into the epithet.

"Is there anything the matter with you, Mr Finn?" she said, looking at him suddenly. "Are you not well?"

"I have simply been the greatest idiot, the greatest coward, the most awkward ass that ever lived!"

"I do not know why I should come to tell you of it at this hour at night, but I have come that I might tell you.

Probably because there is no one else in the whole world who would not laugh at me."

"You cannot help it. I despise myself. For years I have placed before myself the ambition of speaking in the

House of Commons for years I have been thinking whether there would ever come to me an opportunity

of making myself heard in that assembly, which I consider to be the first in the world. Today the opportunity

has been offered to me and, though the motion was nothing, the opportunity was great. The subject was

one on which I was thoroughly prepared. The manner in which I was summoned was most flattering to me. I

was especially called on to perform a task which was most congenial to my feelings and I declined

"Too much or too little, what does it matter?" replied Phineas, in despair. "There is the fact. I could not do it.

Do you remember the story of Conachar in the "Fair Maid of Perth;" how his heart refused to give him

blood enough to fight? He had been suckled with the milk of a timid creature, and, though he could die, there

was none of the strength of manhood in him. It is about the same thing with me, I take it."

"I am equally disgraced, and I must perish after the same fashion. I shall apply for the Chiltern Hundreds in a

"You will do nothing of the kind," said Lady Laura, getting up from her chair and coming towards him. "You

shall not leave this room till you have promised me that you will do nothing of the kind. I do not know as yet

what has occurred tonight; but I do know that that modesty which has kept you silent is more often a grace

This was the kind of sympathy which he wanted. She drew her chair nearer to him, and then he explained to

her as accurately as he could what had taken place in the House on this evening how he had prepared his

speech, how he had felt that his preparation was vain, how he perceived from the course of the debate that if

he spoke at all his speech must be very different from what he had first intended; how he had declined to take

upon himself a task which seemed to require so close a knowledge of the ways of the House and of the

temper of the men, as the defence of such a man as Mr Monk. In accusing himself he, unconsciously, excused

himself, and his excuse, in Lady Laura's ears, was more valid than his accusation.

"I have very little doubt but that you were right in allowing Mr Bonteen to undertake such a task. I should

simply explain to Mr Monk that you felt too keen an interest in his welfare to stand up as an untried member

in his defence. It is not, I think, the work for a man who is not at home in the House. I am sure Mr Monk will

feel this, and I am quite certain that Mr Kennedy will think that you have been right."

"Simply because I care so much what Mr Kennedy's wife may think. Your opinion is all in all to me only

"He would not be too kind to you. He is never too kind to any one. He is justice itself."

Phineas, as he heard the tones of her voice, could not but feel that there was in Lady Laura's words something

"I hate justice," said Phineas. I know that justice would condemn me. But love and friendship know nothing

of justice. The value of love is that it overlooks faults, and forgives even crimes."

"I, at any rate," said Lady Laura, will forgive the crime of your silence in the House. My strong belief in your

success will not be in the least affected by what you tell me of your failure tonight. You must await another

opportunity; and, if possible, you should be less anxious as to your own performance. There is Violet." As

Lady Laura spoke the last words, there was a sound of a carriage stopping in the street, and the front door was

immediately opened. "She is staying here, but has been dining with her uncle, Admiral Effingham." Then

Violet Effingham entered the room, rolled up in pretty white furs, and silk cloaks, and lace shawls. "Here is

"I don't care twopence about the ballot," said Violet, as she put out her hand to Phineas. "Are we going to

"There is no political question of any importance except the question of the iron fleet," said Violet. "I am

quite sure of that, and so, if Mr Finn can tell me nothing about the iron fleet, I'll go to bed."

"Oh, Mr Kennedy! Mr Kennedy never tells one anything. I doubt whether Mr Kennedy thinks that any

"To be sure I do. It is liberty to growl about the iron fleet, or the ballot, or the taxes, or the peers, or the

bishops or anything else, except the House of Commons. That's the British Constitution. Goodnight, Mr

"And full of wit and grace and pleasantness. I do not wonder at your brother's choice."

It will be remembered that this was said on the day before Lord Chiltern had made his offer for the third time.

After that Phineas went, not wishing to await the return of Mr Kennedy. He had felt that Violet Effingham

had come into the room just in time to remedy a great difficulty. He did not wish to speak of his love to a

married woman to the wife of the man who called him friend to a woman who he felt sure would have

rebuked him. But he could hardly have restrained himself had not Miss Effingham been there.

But as he went home he thought more of Miss Effingham than he did of Lady Laura; and I think that the

voice of Miss Effingham had done almost as much towards comforting him as had the kindness of the other.

On the very morning after his failure in the House of Commons, when Phineas was reading in the Telegraph

he took the Telegraph not from choice but for economy the words of that debate which he had heard

and in which he should have taken a part, a most unwelcome visit was paid to him. It was near eleven, and

the breakfast things were still on the table. He was at this time on a Committee of the House with reference to

the use of potted peas in the army and navy, at which he had sat once at a preliminary meeting and in

reference to which he had already resolved that as he had failed so frightfully in debate, he would certainly do

his duty to the utmost in the more easy but infinitely more tedious work of the Committee Room. The

Committee met at twelve, and he intended to walk down to the Reform Club, and then to the House. He had

just completed his reading of the debate and of the leaders in the Telegraph on the subject. He had told

himself how little the writer of the article knew about Mr Turnbull, how little about Mr Monk, and how little

about the people such being his own ideas as to the qualifications of the writer of that leading article

and was about to start. But Mrs Bunce arrested him by telling him that there was a man below who wanted to

"He did not, sir; but I know it's about money. I know the ways of them so well. I've seen this one's face before

"You had better show him up," said Phineas. He knew well the business on which the man was come. The

man wanted money for that bill which Laurence Fitzgibbon had sent afloat, and which Phineas had endorsed.

Phineas had never as yet fallen so deeply into troubles of money as to make it necessary that he need refuse

himself to any callers on that score, and he did not choose to do so now. Nevertheless he most heartily wished

that he had left his lodgings for the club before the man had come. This was not the first he had heard of the

bill being overdue and unpaid. The bill had been brought to him noted a month since, and then he had simply

told the youth who brought it that he would see Mr Fitzgibbon and have the matter settled. He had spoken to

his friend Laurence, and Laurence had simply assured him that all should be made right in two days or, at

furthest, by the end of a week. Since that time he had observed that his friend had been somewhat shy of

speaking to him when no others were with them. Phineas would not have alluded to the bill had he and

Laurence been alone together; but he had been quick enough to guess from his friend's manner that the matter

The visitor was a little man with grey hair and a white cravat, some sixty years of age, dressed in black, with

a very decent hat which, on entering the room, he at once put down on the nearest chair with reference

to whom, any judge on the subject would have concurred at first sight in the decision pronounced by Mrs

Bunce, though none but a judge very well used to sift the causes of his own conclusions could have given the

reasons for that early decision. "He ain't a gentleman," Mrs Bunce had said. And the man certainly was not a

gentleman. The old man in the white cravat was very neatly dressed, and carried himself without any of that

humility which betrays one class of uncertified aspirants to gentility, or of that assumed arrogance which is at

once fatal to another class. But, nevertheless, Mrs Bunce had seen at a glance that he was not a gentleman

had seen, moreover, that such a man could have come only upon one mission. She was right there too. This

"About this bill, Mr Finn," said the visitor, proceeding to take out of his breast coatpocket a rather large

leathern case, as he advanced up towards the fire. "My name is Clarkson, Mr Finn. If I may venture so far, I'll

"Thankye, Mr Finn, thankye. We shall be more comfortable doing business sitting, shan't we?" Whereupon

the horrid little man drew himself close in to the fire, and spreading out his leathern case upon his knees,

began to turn over one suspicious bit of paper after another, as though he were uncertain in what part of his

portfolio lay this identical bit which he was seeking. He seemed to be quite at home, and to feel that there was

no ground whatever for hurry in such comfortable quarters. Phineas hated him at once with a hatred

altogether unconnected with the difficulty which his friend Fitzgibbon had brought upon him.

"Here it is," said Mr Clarkson at last. Oh, dear me, dear me! the third of November, and here we are in

March! I didn't think it was so bad as this I didn't indeed. This is very bad very bad! And for

Parliament gents, too, who should be more punctual than anybody, because of the privilege. Shouldn't they

"Of course they should; of course they should. I always say to my gents, "Be punctual, and I'll do anything

for you." But, perhaps, Mr Finn, you can hand me a cheque for this amount, and then you and I will begin

"That's very bad; very bad indeed. Then I suppose I must take the half, and renew for the remainder,

"Pay no part of it!" and Mr Clarkson, in order that he might the better express his surprise, arrested his hand

"If you'll allow me, I'll manage the fire," said Phineas, putting out his hand for the poker.

But Mr Clarkson was fond of poking fires, and would not surrender the poker. "Pay no part of it!" he said

again, holding the poker away from Phineas in his left hand. "Don't say that, Mr Finn. Pray don't say that.

Don't drive me to be severe. I don't like to be severe with my gents. I'll do anything, Mr Finn, if you'll only be

"The fact is, Mr Clarkson, I have never had one penny of consideration for that bill, and "

"I never had one penny of consideration for that bill," continued Phineas. "Of course, I don't deny my

"No, Mr Finn; you can't deny that. Here it is Phineas Finn and everybody knows you, because you're a

Parliament gent." "I don't deny it. But I had no reason to suppose that I should be called upon for the money

when I accommodated my friend, Mr Fitzgibbon, and I have not got it. That is the long and the short of it. I

"As to Mr Fitzgibbon, he's the pleasantest gent that ever lived. Isn't he now? I've know'd him these ten years.

I don't suppose that for ten years I've been without his name in my pocket. But, bless you, Mr Finn, there's an

end to everything. I shouldn't have looked at this bit of paper if it hadn't been for your signature. Of course

not. You're just beginning, and it's natural you should want a little help. You'll find me always ready, if you'll

"I tell you again, sir, that I never had a shilling out of that for myself, and do not want any such help." Here

"I like you Irish gents because you do hang together so close," said Mr Clarkson.

"Simply to oblige him," continued Phineas. As I said before, I know that I am responsible; but, as I said

before also, I have not the means of taking up that bill. I will see Mr Fitzgibbon, and let you know what we

propose to do." Then Phineas got up from his seat and took his hat. It was full time that he should go down to

his Committee. But Mr Clarkson did not get up from his seat. "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave me now, Mr

"Business at the House never presses, Mr Finn," said Mr Clarkson. "That's the best of Parliament. I've known

Parliament gents this thirty years and more. Would you believe it I've had a Prime Minister's name in that

portfolio; that I have; and a Lord Chancellor's; that I have and an Archbishop's too. I know what

There he sat before the fire with his pouch open before him, and Phineas had no power of moving him. Could

Phineas have paid him the money which was manifestly due to him on the bill, the man would of course have

gone; but failing in that, Phineas could not turn him out. There was a black cloud on the young member's

brow, and great anger at his heart against Fitzgibbon rather than against the man who was sitting there

before him. "Sir," he said, it is really imperative that I should go. I am pledged to an appointment at the

House at twelve, and it wants now only a quarter. I regret that your interview with me should be so

"Oh dear, no," said Mr Clarkson. I should much prefer to look in. Looking in is always best. We can get to

understand one another in that way. Let me see. I daresay you're not particular. Suppose I say Sunday

"Parliament gents ain't generally particular 'specially not among the Catholics," pleaded Mr Clarkson.

"Suppose we say Monday or Tuesday. Tuesday morning at eleven. And do be punctual, Mr Finn. At

Tuesday morning I'll come, and then no doubt I shall find you ready." Whereupon Mr Clarkson slowly put up

his bills within his portfolio, and then, before Phineas knew where he was, had warmly shaken that poor

dismayed member of Parliament by the hand. "Only do be punctual, Mr Finn," he said, as he made his way

It was now twelve, and Phineas rushed off to a cab. He was in such a fervour of rage and misery that he could

hardly think of his position, or what he had better do, till he got into the Committee Room; and when there he

could think of nothing else. He intended to go deeply into the question of potted peas, holding an equal

balance between the assailed Government offices on the one hand, and the advocates of the potted peas on the

other. The potters of the peas, who wanted to sell their article to the Crown, declared that an extensive

perhaps we may say, an unlimited use of the article would save the whole army and navy from the

scourges of scurvy, dyspepsia, and rheumatism, would be the best safeguard against typhus and other fevers,

and would be an invaluable aid in all other maladies to which soldiers and sailors are peculiarly subject. The

peas in question were grown on a large scale in Holstein, and their growth had been fostered with the special

object of doing good to the British army and navy. The peas were so cheap that there would be a great saving

in money and it really had seemed to many that the officials of the Horse Guards and the Admiralty had

been actuated by some fiendish desire to deprive their men of salutary fresh vegetables, simply because they

were of foreign growth. But the officials of the War Office and the Admiralty declared that the potted peas in

question were hardly fit for swine. The motion for the Committee had been made by a gentleman of the

opposition, and Phineas had been put upon it as an independent member. He had resolved to give it all his

mind, and, as far as he was concerned, to reach a just decision, in which there should be no favour shown to

the Government side. New brooms are proverbial for thorough work, and in this Committee work Phineas

was as yet a new broom. But, unfortunately, on this day his mind was so harassed that he could hardly

understand what was going on. It did not, perhaps, much signify, as the witnesses examined were altogether

agricultural. They only proved the production of peas in Holstein a fact as to which Phineas had no doubt.

The proof was naturally slow, as the evidence was given in German, and had to be translated into English.

And the work of the day was much impeded by a certain member who unfortunately spoke German, who

seemed to be fond of speaking German before his brethren of the Committee, and who was curious as to

agriculture in Holstein generally. The chairman did not understand German, and there was a difficulty in

checking this gentleman, and in making him understand that his questions were not relevant to the issue.

Phineas could not keep his mind during the whole afternoon from the subject of his misfortune. What should

he do if this horrid man came to him once or twice a week? He certainly did owe the man the money. He

must admit that to himself. The man no doubt was a dishonest knave who had discounted the bill probably at

fifty per cent; but, nevertheless, Phineas had made himself legally responsible for the amount. The privilege

of the House prohibited him from arrest. He thought of that very often, but the thought only made him the

more unhappy. Would it not be said, and might it not be said truly, that he had incurred this responsibility

a responsibility which he was altogether unequal to answer because he was so protected? He did feel that

a certain consciousness of his privilege had been present to him when he had put his name across the paper,

and there had been dishonesty in that very consciousness. And of what service would his privilege be to him,

if this man could harass every hour of his life? The man was to be with him again in a day or two, and when

the appointment had been proposed, he, Phineas, had not dared to negative it. And how was he to escape? As

for paying the bill, that with him was altogether impossible. The man had told him and he had believed

the man that payment by Fitzgibbon was out of the question. And yet Fitzgibbon was the son of a peer,

whereas he was only the son of a country doctor! Of course Fitzgibbon must make some effort some great

effort and have the thing settled. Alas, alas! He knew enough of the world already to feel that the hope

He went down from the Committee room into the House, and he dined at the House, and remained there until

eight or nine at night; but Fitzgibbon did not come. He then went to the Reform Club, but he was not there.

Both at the club and in the House many men spoke to him about the debate of the previous night, expressing

surprise that he had not spoken making him more and more wretched. He saw Mr Monk, but Mr Monk

was walking arm in arm with his colleague, Mr Palliser, and Phineas could do no more than just speak to

them. He thought that Mr Monk's nod of recognition was very cold. That might be fancy, but it certainly was

a fact that Mr Monk only nodded to him. He would tell Mr Monk the truth, and then, if Mr Monk chose to

From the Reform Club he went to the Shakspeare, a smaller club to which Fitzgibbon belonged and of

which Phineas much wished to become a member and to which he knew that his friend resorted when he

wished to enjoy himself thoroughly, and to be at ease in his inn. Men at the Shakspeare could do as they

pleased. There were no politics there, no fashion, no stiffness, and no rules so men said; but that was

hardly true. Everybody called everybody by his Christian name, and members smoked all over the house.

They who did not belong to the Shakspeare thought it an Elysium upon earth; and they who did, believed it to

be among Pandemoniums the most pleasant. Phineas called at the Shakspeare, and was told by the porter that

Mr Fitzgibbon was upstairs. He was shown into the strangers' room, and in five minutes his friend came

"That's nonsense. How am I to help minding him? I must mind him. He is coming to me again on Tuesday

"He has made an appointment. He has told me that he'll never leave me alone. He'll be the death of me if this

"It shall be settled, my dear fellow. I'll see about it. I'll see about it and write you a line. You must excuse me

Again as Phineas went home he thoroughly wished that he had not seceded from Mr Low.

About the middle of March Lady Baldock came up from Baddingham to London, coerced into doing so, as

Violet Effingham declared, in thorough opposition to all her own tastes, by the known wishes of her friends

and relatives. Her friends and relatives, so Miss Effingham insinuated, were unanimous in wishing that Lady

Baldock should remain at Baddingham Park, and therefore that wish having been indiscreetly expressed

she had put herself to great inconvenience, and had come to London in March. "Gustavus will go mad,"

said Violet to Lady Laura. The Gustavus in question was the Lord Baldock of the present generation, Miss

Effingham's Lady Baldock being the peer's mother. "Why does not Lord Baldock take a house himself?"

asked Lady Laura. "Don't you know, my dear, Violet answered, "how much we Baddingham people think of

money? We don't like being vexed and driven mad, but even that is better than keeping up two households."

As regarded Violet, the injury arising from Lady Baldock's early migration was very great, for she was thus

compelled to move from Grosvenor Place to Lady Baldock's house in Berkeley Square. "As you are so fond

of being in London, Augusta and I have made up our minds to come up before Easter," Lady Baldock had

"I shall go to her now", Violet had said to her friend, "because I have not quite made up my mind as to what I

"I mean to be my own mistress without marrying Oswald, though I don't see my way quite clearly as yet. I

think I shall set up a little house of my own, and let the world say what it pleases. I suppose they couldn't

"They could not prevent me in any other way. But I am in the dark as yet, and so I shall be obedient and go to

my aunt." Miss Effingham went to Berkeley Square, and Phineas Finn was introduced to Lady Baldock. He

had been often in Grosvenor Place, and had seen Violet frequently. Mr Kennedy gave periodical dinners

once a week to which everybody went who could get an invitation; and Phineas had been a guest more

than once. Indeed, in spite of his miseries he had taken to dining out a good deal, and was popular as an eater

of dinners. He could talk when wanted, and did not talk too much, was pleasant in manners and appearance,

and had already achieved a certain recognised position in London life. Of those who knew him intimately, not

one in twenty were aware from whence he came, what was his parentage, or what his means of living. He was

a member of Parliament, a friend of Mr Kennedy's, was intimate with Mr Monk, though an Irishman did not

as a rule herd with other Irishmen, and was the right sort of person to have at your house. Some people said

he was a cousin of Lord Brentford's, and others declared that he was Lord Chiltern's earliest friend. There he

was, however, with a position gained, and even Lady Baldock asked him to her house.

Lady Baldock had evenings. People went to her house, and stood about the room and on the stairs, talked to

each other for half an hour, and went away. In these March days there was no crowding, but still there were

always enough of people there to show that Lady Baldock was successful. Why people should have gone to

Lady Baldock's I cannot explain but there are houses to which people go without any reason. Phineas

"I think you like my friend, Mr Finn," Lady Laura said to Miss Effingham, after the first of these evenings.

"So do I. I should hardly have thought that you would have taken a fancy to him."

"I hardly know what you call taking a fancy," said Violet. "I am not quite sure I like to be told that I have

"Of course you don't. But, to speak truth, I think I have rather taken a fancy to him. There is just enough of

him, but not too much. I don't mean materially in regard to his inches; but as to his mental belongings. I

hate a stupid man who can't talk to me, and I hate a clever man who talks me down. I don't like a man who is

too lazy to make any effort to shine; but I particularly dislike the man who is always striving for effect. I

abominate a humble man, but yet I love to perceive that a man acknowledges the superiority of my sex, and

"Of course I do. A man who would tell me that I am pretty, unless he is over seventy, ought to be kicked out

of the room. But a man who can't show me that he thinks me so without saying a word about it, is a lout. Now

in all those matters, your friend, Mr Finn, seems to know what he is about. In other words, he makes himself

I fear that there was more of earnestness in Lady Laura's last question than Miss Effingham had supposed.

She had declared to herself over and over again that she had never been in love with Phineas Finn. She had

acknowledged to herself, before Mr Kennedy had asked her hand in marriage, that there had been danger

that she could have learned to love the man if such love would not have been ruinous to her that the

romance of such a passion would have been pleasant to her. She had gone farther than this, and had said to

herself that she would have given way to that romance, and would have been ready to accept such love if

offered to her, had she not put it out of her own power to marry a poor man by her generosity to her brother.

Then she had thrust the thing aside, and had clearly understood she thought that she had clearly

understood that life for her must be a matter of business. Was it not the case with nine out of every ten

among mankind, with nine hundred and ninetynine out of every thousand, that life must be a matter of

business and not of romance? Of course she could not marry Mr Finn, knowing, as she did, that neither of

them had a shilling. Of all men in the world she esteemed Mr Kennedy the most, and when these thoughts

were passing through her mind, she was well aware that he would ask her to be his wife. Had she not resolved

that she would accept the offer, she would not have gone to Loughlinter. Having put aside all romance as

unfitted to her life, she could, she thought, do her duty as Mr Kennedy's wife. She would teach herself to love

him. Nay she had taught herself to love him. She was at any rate so sure of her own heart that she would

never give her husband cause to rue the confidence he placed in her. And yet there was something sore within

her when she thought that Phineas Finn was fond of Violet Effingham. It was Lady Baldock's second

evening, and Phineas came to the house at about eleven o'clock. At this time he had encountered a second and

a third interview with Mr Clarkson, and had already failed in obtaining any word of comfort from Laurence

Fitzgibbon about the bill. It was clear enough now that Laurence felt that they were both made safe by their

privilege, and that Mr Clarkson should be treated as you treat the organgrinders. They are a nuisance and

must be endured. But the nuisance is not so great but what you can live in comfort if only you are not too

sore as to the annoyance. "My dear fellow," Laurence had said to him, I have had Clarkson almost living in

my rooms. He used to drink nearly a pint of sherry a day for me. All I looked to was that I didn't live there at

the same time. If you wish it, I'll send in the sherry." This was very bad, and Phineas tried to quarrel with his

But though on this side Phineas was very miserable, on another side he had obtained great comfort. Mr Monk

and he were better friends than ever. "As to what Turnbull says about me in the House," Mr Monk had said,

laughing; "he and I understand each other perfectly. I should like to see you on your legs, but it is just as well,

perhaps, that you have deferred it. We shall have the real question on immediately after Easter, and then

you'll have plenty of opportunities." Phineas had explained how he had attempted, how he had failed, and

how he had suffered and Mr Monk had been generous in his sympathy. "I know all about it," said he, "and

have gone through it all myself. The more respect you feel for the House, the more satisfaction you will have

The first person who spoke to Phineas at Lady Baldock's was Miss Fitzgibbon, Laurence's sister. Aspasia

Fitzgibbon was a warm woman as regarded money, and as she was moreover a most discreet spinster, she

was made welcome by Lady Baldock, in spite of the wellknown iniquities of her male relatives. "Mr Finn,"

said she, "how d'ye do? I want to say a word to ye. Just come here into the corner." Phineas, not knowing

how to escape, did retreat into the corner with Miss Fitzgibbon. "Tell me now, Mr Finn have ye been

"Don't. That's my advice to ye. Don't. On any other matter Larrence is the best creature in the world but

"Then you are in a hobble? Dear, dear! I never saw such a man as Larrence never. Goodbye. I wouldn't do

it again, if I were you that's all." Then Miss Fitzgibbon came out of the corner and made her way

Phineas immediately afterwards came across Miss Effingham. "I did not know", said she, "that you and the

"We are the dearest friends in the world, but she has taken my breath away now."

"Well, no; I'm afraid not, even though the body be Miss Effingham. It was a profound secret really a

secret concerning a third person, and she began about it just as though she were speaking about the weather!"

"How charming! I do so like her. You haven't heard, have you, that Mr Ratler proposed to her the other day?"

"But he did at least, so she tells everybody. She said she'd take him if he would promise to get her

"No; not me. And of course I don't believe a word of it. I suppose Barrington Erle made up the story. Are you

going out of town next week, Mr Finn?" The week next to this was Easter Week. "I heard you were going

"I intend to spend three days with Lord Chiltern at Willingford. It is an old promise. I am going to ride his

"I know that Lord Chiltern rides anything he can sit, so long as it is some animal that nobody else will ride. It

Phineas knew, of course, that Lord Chiltern had more than once asked Violet Effingham to be his wife

and he believed that she, from her intimacy with Lady Laura, must know that he knew it. He had also heard

Lady Laura express a very strong wish that, in spite of these refusals, Violet might even yet become her

brother's wife. And Phineas also knew that Violet Effingham was becoming, in his own estimation, the most

charming woman of his acquaintance. How was he to talk to her about Lord Chiltern?

"He is odd," said Phineas; but he is an excellent fellow whom his father altogether misunderstands."

"Exactly just so; I am so glad to hear you say that you who have never had the misfortune to have

anything to do with a bad set. Why don't you tell Lord Brentford? Lord Brentford would listen to you."

"Yes of course he would for you are just the link that is wanting. You are Chiltern's intimate friend,

"I am sure he would not. You are too big to be put down, and no man can really dislike to hear his son well

spoken of by those who are well spoken of themselves. Won't you try, Mr Finn?" Phineas said that he would

think of it that he would try if any fit opportunity could be found. "Of course you know how intimate I

have been with the Standishes," said Violet; "that Laura is to me a sister, and that Oswald used to be almost a

"There are reasons, Mr Finn. Besides, how can any girl come forward and say that she knows the disposition

of any man? You can live with Lord Chiltern, and see what he is made of, and know his thoughts, and learn

what is good in him, and also what is bad. After all, how is any girl really to know anything of a man's life?"

"And then we shall all of us be so grateful to you," said Violet, with her sweetest smile.

Phineas, retreating from this conversation, stood for a while alone, thinking of it. Had she spoken thus of

Lord Chiltern because she did love him or because she did not? And the sweet commendations which had

fallen from her lips upon him him, Phineas Finn were they compatible with anything like a growing

partiality for himself, or were they incompatible with any such feeling? Had he most reason to be comforted

or to be discomfited by what had taken place? It seemed hardly possible to his imagination that Violet

Effingham should love such a nobody as he. And yet he had had fair evidence that one standing as high in the

world as Violet Effingham would fain have loved him could she have followed the dictates of her heart. He

had trembled when he had first resolved to declare his passion to Lady Laura fearing that she would scorn

him as being presumptuous. But there had been no cause for such fear as that. He had declared his love, and

she had not thought him to be presumptuous. That now was ages ago eight months since; and Lady Laura

had become a married woman. Since he had become so warmly alive to the charms of Violet Effingham he

had determined, with stern propriety, that a passion for a married woman was disgraceful. Such love was in

itself a sin, even though it was accompanied by the severest forbearance and the most rigid propriety of

conduct. No Lady Laura had done wisely to check the growing feeling of partiality which she had

admitted; and now that she was married, he would be as wise as she. It was clear to him that, as regarded his

own heart, the way was open to him for a new enterprise. But what if he were to fail again, and be told by

Violet, when he declared his love, that she had just engaged herself to Lord Chiltern!

"What were you and Violet talking about so eagerly?" said Lady Laura to him, with a smile that, in its

"How can I say? In such a matter you can judge better than I can do. One woman with reference to another

"Oh, I believe she loves him. I do indeed. But she fears him. She does not quite understand how much there is

of tenderness with that assumed ferocity. And Oswald is so strange, so unwise, so impolitic, that though he

loves her better than all the world beside, he will not sacrifice even a turn of a word to win her. When he asks

her to marry him, he almost flies at her throat, as an angry debtor who applies for instant payment. Tell him,

Mr Finn, never to give it over and teach him that he should be soft with her. Tell him, also, that in her

heart she likes him. One woman, as you say, knows another woman; and I am certain he would win her if he

would only be gentle with her." Then, again, before they parted, Lady Laura told him that this marriage was

the dearest wish of her heart, and that there would be no end to her gratitude if Phineas could do anything to

Mr Kennedy, though he was a most scrupulously attentive member of Parliament, was a man very punctual to

hours and rules in his own house and liked that his wife should be as punctual as himself. Lady Laura,

who in marrying him had firmly resolved that she would do her duty to him in all ways, even though the

ways might sometimes be painful and had been perhaps more punctilious in this respect than she might

have been had she loved him heartily was not perhaps quite so fond of accurate regularity as her husband;

and thus, by this time, certain habits of his had become rather bonds than habits to her. He always had prayers

at nine, and breakfasted at a quarter past nine, let the hours on the night before have been as late as they

might before the time for rest had come. After breakfast he would open his letters in his study, but he liked

her to be with him, and desired to discuss with her every application he got from a constituent. He had his

private secretary in a room apart, but he thought that everything should be filtered to his private secretary

through his wife. He was very anxious that she herself should superintend the accounts of their own private

expenditure, and had taken some trouble to teach her an excellent mode of bookkeeping. He had

recommended to her a certain course of reading which was pleasant enough; ladies like to receive such

recommendations; but Mr Kennedy, having drawn out the course, seemed to expect that his wife should read

the books he had named, and, worse still, that she should read them in the time he had allocated for the work.

This, I think, was tyranny. Then the Sundays became very wearisome to Lady Laura. Going to church twice,

she had learnt, would be a part of her duty; and though in her father's household attendance at church had

never been very strict, she had made up her mind to this cheerfully. But Mr Kennedy expected also that he

and she should always dine together on Sundays, that there should be no guests, and that there should be no

evening company. After all, the demand was not very severe, but yet she found that it operated injuriously

upon her comfort. The Sundays were very wearisome to her, and made her feel that her lord and master was

her lord and master. She made an effort or two to escape, but the efforts were all in vain. He never spoke a

cross word to her. He never gave a stern command. But yet he had his way. "I won't say that reading a novel

on a Sunday is a sin," he said; "but we must at any rate admit that it is a matter on which men disagree, that

many of the best of men are against such occupation on Sunday, and that to abstain is to be on the safe side."

So the novels were put away, and Sunday afternoon with the long evening became rather a stumblingblock

Those two hours, moreover, with her husband in the morning became very wearisome to her. At first she had

declared that it would be her greatest ambition to help her husband in his work, and she had read all the

letters from the MacNabs and MacFies, asking to be made gaugers and landingwaiters; with an assumed

interest. But the work palled upon her very quickly. Her quick intellect discovered soon that there was

nothing in it which she really did. It was all form and verbiage, and pretence at business. Her husband went

through it all with the utmost patience, reading every word, giving orders as to every detail, and

conscientiously doing that which he conceived he had undertaken to do. But Lady Laura wanted to meddle

with high politics, to discuss reform bills, to assist in putting up Mr This and putting down my Lord That.

Why should she waste her time in doing that which the lad in the next room, who was called a private

Still she would obey. Let the task be as hard as it might, she would obey. If he counselled her to do this or

that, she would follow his counsel because she owed him so much. If she had accepted the half of all his

wealth without loving him, she owed him the more on that account. But she knew she could not but know

that her intellect was brighter than his; and might it not be possible for her to lead him? Then she made

efforts to lead her husband, and found that he was as stiffnecked as an ox. Mr Kennedy was not, perhaps, a

"I have got a headache, Robert," she said to him one Sunday after luncheon. "I think I will not go to church

"Oh dear no. Don't you know how one feels sometimes that one has got a head? And when that is the case

"The fresh air would do you more good than anything else, and we could walk across the park."

"Thank you I won't go out again today." This she said with something almost of crossness in her manner,

Lady Laura when she was left alone began to think of her position. She was not more than four or five

months married, and she was becoming very tired of her life. Was it not also true that she was becoming tired

of her husband? She had twice told Phineas Finn that of all men in the world she esteemed Mr Kennedy the

most. She did not esteem him less now. She knew no point or particle in which he did not do his duty with

accuracy. But no person can live happily with another not even with a brother or a sister or a friend

simply upon esteem. All the virtues in the calendar, though they exist on each side, will not make a man and

woman happy together, unless there be sympathy. Lady Laura was beginning to find out that there was a lack

She thought of this till she was tired of thinking of it, and then, wishing to divert her mind, she took up the

book that was lying nearest to her hand. It was a volume of a new novel which she had been reading on the

previous day, and now, without much thought about it, she went on with her reading. There came to her, no

doubt, some dim, halfformed idea that, as she was freed from going to church by the plea of a headache, she

was also absolved by the same plea from other Sunday hindrances. A child, when it is ill, has buttered toast

and a picturebook instead of bread and milk and lessons. In this way, Lady Laura conceived herself to be

While she was reading it, there came a knock at the door, and Barrington Erle was shown upstairs. Mr

Kennedy had given no orders against Sunday visitors, but had simply said that Sunday visiting was not to his

taste. Barrington, however, was Lady Laura's cousin, and people must be very strict if they can't see their

cousins on Sunday. Lady Laura soon lost her headache altogether in the animation of discussing the chances

of the new Reform Bill with the Prime Minister's private secretary; and had left her chair, and was standing

by the table with the novel in her hand, protesting this and denying that, expressing infinite confidence in Mr

Monk, and violently denouncing Mr Turnbull, when her husband returned from church and came up into the

drawingroom. Lady Laura had forgotten her headache altogether, and had in her composition none of that

thoughtfulness of hypocrisy which would have taught her to moderate her political feeling at her husband's

"I do declare", she said, that if Mr Turnbull opposes the Government measure now, because he can't have his

own way in everything, I will never again put my trust in any man who calls himself a popular leader."

"That's all very well for you, Barrington, who are an aristocratic Whig of the old official school, and who call

yourself a Liberal simply because Fox was a Liberal a hundred years ago. My heart's in it."

"Heart should never have anything to do with politics; should it?" said Erle, turning round to Mr Kennedy.

Mr Kennedy did not wish to discuss the matter on a Sunday, nor yet did he wish to say before Barrington Erle

that he thought it wrong to do so. And he was desirous of treating his wife in some way as though she were

an invalid that she thereby might be, as it were, punished; but he did not wish to do this in such a way that

"Well, well; we won't mind all that now," said Mr Kennedy, turning away. Then he took up the novel which

Lady Laura had just laid down from her hand, and, having looked at it, carried it aside, and placed it on a

book shelf which was remote from them. Lady Laura watched him as he did this, and the whole course of her

husband's thoughts on the subject was open to her at once. She regretted the novel, and she regretted also the

political discussion. Soon afterwards Barrington Erle went away, and the husband and wife were alone

"I am glad that your head is so much better," said he. He did not intend to be severe, but he spoke with a

"No; I do not think that I do, exactly." "I suppose your head is stronger. You do not get that feeling of dazed,

helpless imbecility of brain, which hardly amounts to headache, but which yet is almost as bad."

"Imbecility of brain may be worse than headache, but I don't think it can produce it."

"Headache comes, I think, always from the stomach, even when produced by nervous affections. But

"I won't deny that it may be a prejudice," he said, "but I confess that the use of novels in my own house on

Sundays is a pain to me. My mother's ideas on the subject are very strict, and I cannot think that it is bad for a

son to hang on to the teaching of his mother." This he said in the most serious tone which he could command.

"I don't know why I took it up," said Lady Laura. "Simply, I believe, because it was there. I will avoid doing

"Do, my dear," said the husband. I shall be obliged and grateful if you will remember what I have said." Then

he left her, and she sat alone, first in the dusk and then in the dark, for two hours, doing nothing. Was this to

be the life which she had procured for herself by marrying Mr Kennedy of Loughlinter? If it was harsh and

Phineas left London by a night mail train on Easter Sunday, and found himself at the Willingford Bull

about half an hour after midnight. Lord Chiltern was up and waiting for him, and supper was on the table.

The Willingford Bull was an English inn of the old stamp, which had now, in these latter years of railway

travelling, ceased to have a road business for there were no travellers on the road, and but little posting

but had acquired a new trade as a d p�t for hunters and hunting men. The landlord let out horses and kept

hunting stables, and the house was generally filled from the beginning of November till the middle of April.

Then it became a desert in the summer, and no guests were seen there, till the pink coats flocked down again

"How many days do you mean to give us?" said Lord Chiltern, as he helped his friend to a devilled leg of

"That means Wednesday night. I'll tell you what we'll do. We've the Cottesmore tomorrow. We'll get into

Tailby's country on Tuesday, and Fitzwilliam will be only twelve miles off on Wednesday. We shall be rather

"You won't put me out at all. There'll be three between us each day, and we'll run our luck. The horses have

gone on to Empingham for tomorrow. Tailby is rather a way off at Somerby; but we'll manage it. If the

worst comes to the worst, we can get back to Stamford by rail. On Wednesday we shall have everything very

comfortable. They're out beyond Stilton and will draw home our way. I've planned it all out. I've a trap with a

fast stepper, and if we start tomorrow at half past nine, we shall be in plenty of time. You shall ride Meg

"Is she one of the pulling ones?" "She is heavy in hand if you are heavy at her, but leave her mouth alone and

she'll go like flowing water. You'd better not ride more in a crowd than you can help. Now what'll you

They sat up half the night smoking and talking, and Phineas learned more about Lord Chiltern then than ever

he had learned before. There was brandy and water before them, but neither of them drank. Lord Chiltern,

indeed, had a pint of beer by his side from which he sipped occasionally. "I've taken to beer," he said, as

being the best drink going. When a man hunts six days a week he can afford to drink beer. I'm on an

"Nothing when I'm alone except a little cherrybrandy when I'm out. I never cared for drink never in

my life. I do like excitement, and have been less careful than I ought to have been as to what it has come

from. I could give up drink tomorrow, without a struggle if it were worth my while to make up my mind

to do it. And it's the same with gambling. I never do gamble now, because I've got no money; but I own I like

it better than anything in the world. While you are at it, there is life in it."

"And I would have done so, but my father would not help me. Never mind, we will not talk about him. How

"I don't believe it," said Lord Chiltern. Her temper is too much like mine to allow her to be happy with such a

log of wood as Robert Kennedy. It is such men as he who drive me out of the pale of decent life. If that is

decency, I'd sooner be indecent. You mark my words. They'll come to grief. She'll never be able to stand it."

"No, no. Though he's a prig, he's a man; and she will not find it easy to drive him."

"Not an inch that is if I understand his character. I suppose you see a good deal of them?"

"Only occasionally. He is always very civil when I do see him." "He is the very pink of civility when he

"Yes, he is," said the Earl's son, and all from lack of judgment to discern the truth. He makes up his mind to a

thing on insufficient proof, and then nothing will turn him. He thinks well of you would probably believe

your word on any indifferent subject without thought of a doubt; but if you were to tell him that I didn't get

drunk every night of my life and spend most of my time in thrashing policemen, he would not believe you.

"He has been too hard on me, I know. Is Violet Effingham still in Grosvenor Place?"

"That old grandmother of evil has come to town has she? Poor Violet! When we were young together we

"I have asked that girl to marry me three times, and I shall never ask her again. There is a point beyond which

a man shouldn't go. There are many reasons why it would be a good marriage. In the first place, her money

would be serviceable. Then it would heal matters in our family, for my father is as prejudiced in her favour as

he is against me. And I love her dearly. I've loved her all my life since I used to buy cakes for her. But I

"I would if I were you," said Phineas hardly knowing what it might be best for him to say.

"No; I never will. But I'll tell you what. I shall get into some desperate scrape about her. Of course she'll

marry, and that soon. Then I shall make a fool of myself. When I hear that she is engaged I shall go and

quarrel with the man, and kick him or get kicked. All the world will turn against me, and I shall be called

"Exactly but how is a man to help it? If you loved a girl, could you see another man take her?" Phineas

remembered of course that he had lately come through this ordeal. "It is as though he were to come and put

his hand upon me, and wanted my own heart out of me. Though I have no property in her at all, no right to

her though she never gave me a word of encouragement, it is as though she were the most private thing in

the world to me. I should be half mad, and in my madness I could not master the idea that I was being robbed.

"It is no question of giving up. Of course I cannot make her marry me. Light another cigar, old fellow."

Phineas, as he lit the other cigar, remembered that he owed a certain duty in this matter to Lady Laura. She

had commissioned him to persuade her brother that his suit with Violet Effingham would not be hopeless, if

he could only restrain himself in his mode of conducting it. Phineas was disposed to do his duty, although he

felt it to be very hard that he should be called upon to be eloquent against his own interest. He had been

thinking for the last quarter of an hour how he must bear himself if it might turn out that he should be the

man whom Lord Chiltern was resolved to kick. He looked at his friend and host, and became aware that a

kickingmatch with such a one would not be pleasant pastime. Nevertheless, he would be happy enough to

be subject to Lord Chiltern's wrath for such a reason. He would do his duty by Lord Chiltern; and then, when

that had been adequately done, he would, if occasion served, fight a battle for himself.

"You frighten her by being so impetuous. You rush at her as though you wanted to conquer her by a single

"You should be more gentle with her. You should give her time to find out whether she likes you or not."

"She has known me all her life, and has found that out long ago. Not but what you are right. I know you are

right. If I were you, and had your skill in pleasing, I should drop soft words into her ear till I had caught her.

But I have no gifts in that way. I am as awkward as a pig at what is called flirting. And I have an accursed

pride which stands in my own light. If she were in this house this moment, and if I knew she were to be had

for asking, I don't think I could bring myself to ask again. But we'll go to bed. It's half past two, and we must

Phineas, as he went upstairs, assured himself that he had done his duty. If there ever should come to be

anything between him and Violet Effingham, Lord Chiltern might quarrel with him might probably

attempt that kicking encounter to which allusion had been made but nobody could justly say that he had

On the next morning there was a bustle and a scurry, as there always is on such occasions, and the two men

got off about ten minutes after time. But Lord Chiltern drove hard, and they reached the meet before the

master had moved off. They had a fair day's sport with the Cottesmore; and Phineas, though he found that

Meg Merrilies did require a good deal of riding, went through his day's work with credit. He had been riding

since he was a child, as is the custom with all boys in Munster, and had an Irishman's natural aptitude for

jumping. When they got back to the Willingford Bull he felt pleased with the day and rather proud of himself.

"It wasn't fast, you know," said Chiltern, "and I don't call that a stiff country. Besides, Meg is very handy

when you've got her out of the crowd. You shall ride Bonebreaker tomorrow at Somerby, and you'll find that

"Well, he does rush. But, by George! you want a horse to rush in that country. When you have to go right

through four or five feet of stiff green wood, like a bullet through a target, you want a little force, or you're

"A brute I never put my leg on yet. He was sent down to Wilcox here, out of Lincolnshire, because they

couldn't get anybody to ride him there. They say he goes with his head up in the air, and won't look at a fence

that isn't as high as his breast. But I think he'll do here. I never saw a better made beast, or one with more

power. Do you look at his shoulders, He's to be had for seventy pounds, and these are the sort of horses I like

Again they dined alone, and Lord Chiltern explained to Phineas that he rarely associated with the men of

either of the hunts in which he rode. "There is a set of fellows down here who are poison to me, and there is

another set, and I am poison to them. Everybody is very civil, as you see, but I have no associates. And

gradually I am getting to have a reputation as though I were the devil himself. I think I shall come out next

"What the deuce am I to do? I can't make civil little speeches. When once a man gets a reputation as an ogre,

it is the most difficult thing in the world to drop it. I could have a score of men here every day if I liked it

my title would do that for me but they would be men I should loathe, and I should be sure to tell them so,

even though I did not mean it. Bonebreaker, and the new horse, and another, went on at twelve today. You

The next day's meet was in Leicestershire, not far from Melton, and they started early. Phineas, to tell the

truth of him, was rather afraid of Bonebreaker, and looked forward to the probability of an accident. He had

neither wife nor child, and nobody had a better right to risk his neck. "We'll put a gag on 'im," said the groom,

"and you'll ride 'im in a ring so that you may wellnigh break his jaw; but he is a rum un, sir." "I'll do my

best," said Phineas. "He'll take all that, said the groom. "Just let him have his own way at everything," said

Lord Chiltern, as they moved away from the meet to Pickwell Gorse; "and if you'll only sit on his back, he'll

carry you through as safe as a church." Phineas could not help thinking that the counsels of the master and of

the groom were very different. "My idea is," continued Lord Chiltern, "that in hunting you should always

avoid a crowd. I don't think a horse is worth riding that will go in a crowd. It's just like yachting you

should have plenty of searoom. If you're to pull your horse up at every fence till somebody else is over, I

think you'd better come out on a donkey." And so they went away to Pickwell Gorse.

There were over two hundred men out, and Phineas began to think that it might not be so easy to get out of

the crowd. A crowd in a fast run no doubt quickly becomes small by degrees and beautifully less; but it is

very difficult, especially for a stranger, to free himself from the rush at the first start. Lord Chiltern's horse

plunged about so violently, as they stood on a little hillside looking down upon the cover, that he was obliged

to take him to a distance, and Phineas followed him. "If he breaks down wind," said Lord Chiltern, "we can't

be better than we are here. If he goes up wind, he must turn before long, and we shall be all right." As he

spoke an old hound opened true and sharp an old hound whom all the pack believed andin a moment

there was no doubt that the fox had been found. "There are not above eight or nine acres in it," said Lord

Chiltern, "and he can't hang long. Did you ever see such an uneasy brute as this in your life? But I feel certain

Phineas was too much occupied with his own horse to think much of that on which Lord Chiltern was

mounted. Bonebreaker, the very moment that he heard the old hound's note, stretched out his head, and put

his mouth upon the bit, and began to tremble in every muscle. "He's a great deal more anxious for it than you

and I are," said Lord Chiltern. "I see they've given you that gag. But don't you ride him on it till he wants it.

Give him lots of room, and he'll go in the snaffle." All which caution made Phineas think that any insurance

The fox took two rings of the gorse, and then he went up wind. "It's not a vixen, I'll swear," said Lord

Chiltern. "A vixen in cub never went away like that yet. Now then, Finn, my boy, keep to the right." And

Lord Chiltern, with the horse out of Lincolnshire, went away across the brow of the hill, leaving the hounds

to the left, and selected, as his point of exit into the next field, a stiff rail, which, had there been an accident,

must have put a very wide margin of ground between the rider and his horse. "Go hard at your fences, and

then you'll fall clear," he had said to Phineas. I don't think, however, that he would have ridden at the rail as

he did, but that there was no help for him. "The brute began in his own way, and carried on after in the same

fashion all through," he said afterwards. Phineas took the fence a little lower down, and what it was at which

he rode he never knew. Bonebreaker sailed over it, whatever it was, and he soon found himself by his friend's

The ruck of the men were lower down than our two heroes, and there were others far away to the left, and

others, again, who had been at the end of the gorse, and were now behind. Our friends were not near the

hounds, not within two fields of them, but the hounds were below them, and therefore could be seen. "Don't

be in a hurry, and they'll be round upon us," Lord Chiltern said. "How the deuce is one to help being in a

hurry?" said Phineas, who was doing his very best to ride Bonebreaker with the snaffle, but had already

began to feel that Bonebreaker cared nothing for that weak instrument. "By George, I should like to change

with you," said Lord Chiltern. The Lincolnshire horse was going along with his head very low, boring as he

galloped, but throwing his neck up at his fences, just when he ought to have kept himself steady. After this,

though Phineas kept near Lord Chiltern throughout the run, they were not again near enough to exchange

Lord Chiltern rode still a little in advance, and Phineas, knowing his friend's partiality for solitude when

taking his fences, kept a little to his left. He began to find that Bonebreaker knew pretty well what he was

about. As for not using the gag rein, that was impossible. When a horse puts out what strength he has against

a man's arm, a man must put out what strength he has against the horse's mouth. But Bonebreaker was

cunning, and had had a gag rein on before. He contracted his lip here, and bent out his jaw there, till he had

settled it to his mind, and then went away after his own fashion. He seemed to have a passion for smashing

through big, highgrown oxfences, and by degrees his rider came to feel that if there was nothing worse

The fox ran up wind for a couple of miles or so, as Lord Chiltern had prophesied, and then turned not to

the right, as would best have served him and Phineas, but to the left so that they were forced to make their

way through the ruck of horses before they could place themselves again. Phineas found himself crossing a

road, in and out of it, before he knew where he was, and for a while he lost sight of Lord Chiltern. But in

truth he was leading now, whereas Lord Chiltern had led before. The two horses having been together all the

morning, and on the previous day, were willing enough to remain in company, if they were allowed to do so.

They both crossed the road, not very far from each other, going in and out amidst a crowd of horses, and

before long were again placed well, now having the hunt on their right, whereas hitherto it had been on their

left. They went over large pasture fields, and Phineas began to think that as long as Bonebreaker would be

able to go through the thick grownup hedges, all would be right. Now and again he came to a cut fence, a

fence that had been cut and laid, and these were not so pleasant. Force was not sufficient for them, and they

admitted of a mistake. But the horse, though he would rush at them unpleasantly, took them when they came

without touching them. It might be all right yet unless the beast should tire with him; and then, Phineas

thought, a misfortune might probably occur. He remembered, as he flew over one such impediment, that he

rode a stone heavier than his friend. At the end of fortyfive minutes Bonebreaker also might become aware

of the fact. The hounds were running well in sight to their right, and Phineas began to feel some of that pride

which a man indulges when he becomes aware that he has taken his place comfortably, has left the squad

behind, and is going well. There were men nearer the hounds than he was, but he was near enough even for

ambition. There had already been enough of the run to make him sure that it would be a "good thing", and

enough to make him aware also that probably it might be too good. When a run is over, men are very apt to

regret the termination, who a minute or two before were anxiously longing that the hounds might pull down

their game. To finish well is everything in hunting. To have led for over an hour is nothing, let the pace and

country have been what they might, if you fall away during the last half mile. Therefore it is that those behind

hope that the fox may make this or that cover, while the forward men long to see him turned over in every

field. To ride to hounds is very glorious; but to have ridden to hounds is more glorious still. They had now

crossed another road, and a larger one, and had got into a somewhat closer country. The fields were not so

big, and the fences were not so high. Phineas got a moment to look about him, and saw Lord Chiltern riding

without his cap. He was very red in the face, and his eyes seemed to glare, and he was tugging at his horse

with all his might. But the animal seemed still to go with perfect command of strength, and Phineas had too

much work on his own hands to think of offering Quixotic assistance to any one else. He saw someone, a

farmer, as he thought, speak to Lord Chiltern as they rode close together; but Chiltern only shook his head

There were brooks in those parts. The river Eye forms itself thereabouts, or some of its tributaries do so; and

these tributaries, though small as rivers, are considerable to men on one side who are called by the exigencies

of the occasion to place themselves quickly on the other. Phineas knew nothing of these brooks; but

Bonebreaker had gone gallantly over two, and now that there came a third in the way, it was to be hoped that

he might go gallantly over that also. Phineas, at any rate, had no power to decide otherwise. As long as the

brute would go straight with him he could sit him; but he had long given up the idea of having a will of his

own. Indeed, till he was within twenty yards of the brook, he did not see that it was larger than the others. He

looked around, and there was Chiltern close to him, still fighting with his horse but the farmer had turned

away. He thought that Chiltern nodded to him, as much as to tell him to go on. On he went at any rate. The

brook, when he came to it, seemed to be a huge black hole, yawning beneath him. The banks were quite

steep, and just where he was to take off there was an ugly stump. It was too late to think of anything. He

stuck his knees against his saddle and in a moment was on the other side. The brute, who had taken off a

yard before the stump, knowing well the danger of striking it with his foot, came down with a grunt, and did,

I think, begin to feel the weight of that extra stone. Phineas, as soon as he was safe, looked back, and there

was Lord Chiltern's horse in the very act of his spring higher up the rivulet, where it was even broader. At

that distance Phineas could see that Lord Chiltern was wild with rage against the beast. But whether he

wished to take the leap or wished to avoid it, there was no choice left to him. The animal rushed at the brook,

and in a moment the horse and horseman were lost to sight. It was well then that that extra stone should tell,

The Lincolnshire horse had chested the further bank, and of course had fallen back into the stream. When

Phineas got down he found that Lord Chiltern was wedged in between the horse and the bank, which was

better, at any rate, than being under the horse in the water. "All right, old fellow," he said, with a smile, when

he saw Phineas. "You go on; it's too good to lose." But he was very pale, and seemed to be quite helpless

where he lay. The horse did not move and never did move again. He had smashed his shoulder to pieces

When Phineas got down he found that there was but little water where the horse lay. The depth of the stream

had been on the side from which they had taken off, and the thick black mud lay within a foot of the surface,

close to the bank against which Lord Chiltern was propped. "That's the worst one I ever was on," said Lord

"Well I fancy there is something amiss. I can't move my arms; and I catch my breath. My legs are all right

"I told you so," said the farmer, coming and looking down upon them from the bank. "I told you so, but you

wouldn't be said," Then he too got down, and between them both they extricated Lord Chiltern from his

position, and got him on to the bank. "That un's a dead un," said the farmer, pointing to the horse.

He had broken his collarbone and three of his ribs. They got a farmer's trap from Wissindine and took him

into Oakham. When there, he insisted on being taken on through Stamford to the Willingford Bull before he

would have his bones set picking up, however, a surgeon at Stamford. Phineas remained with him for a

couple of days, losing his run with the Fitzwilliams and a day at the potted peas, and became very fond of his

"That was a good run, though, wasn't it?" said Lord Chiltern as Phineas took his leave. "And, by George,

Phineas, you rode Bonebreaker so well, that you shall have him as often as you'll come down. I don't know

When Phineas got back to London, a day after his time, he found that there was already a great political

commotion in the metropolis. He had known that on Easter Monday and Tuesday there was to be a gathering

of the people in favour of the ballot, and that on Wednesday there was to be a procession with a petition

which Mr Turnbull was to receive from the hands of the people on Primrose Hill. It had been at first intended

that Mr Turnbull should receive the petition at the door of Westminster Hall on the Thursday; but he had been

requested by the Home Secretary to put aside this intention, and he had complied with the request made to

him. Mr Mildmay was to move the second reading of his Reform Bill on that day, the preliminary steps

having been taken without any special notice; but the bill of course included no clause in favour of the ballot;

and this petition was the consequence of that omission. Mr Turnbull had predicted evil consequences, both in

the House and out of it, and was now doing the best in his power to bring about the verification of his own

prophecies. Phineas, who reached his lodgings late on the Thursday, found that the town had been in a state

of ferment for three days, that on the Wednesday forty or fifty thousand persons had been collected at

Primrose Hill, and that the police had been forced to interfere and that worse was expected on the Friday.

Though Mr Turnbull had yielded to the Government as to receiving the petition, the crowd was resolved that

they would see the petition carried into the House. It was argued that the Government would have done better

to have refrained from interfering as to the previously intended arrangement. It would have been easier to

deal with a procession than with a mob of men gathered together without any semblance of form. Mr

Mildmay had been asked to postpone the second reading of his bill; but the request had come from his

opponents, and he would not yield to it. He said that it would be a bad expedient to close Parliament from

fear of the people, Phineas found at the Reform Club on the Thursday evening that members of the House of

Commons were requested to enter on the Friday by the door usually used by the peers, and to make their way

thence to their own House. He found that his landlord, Mr Bunce, had been out with the people during the

entire three days and Mrs Bunce, with a flood of tears, begged Phineas to interfere as to the Friday. "He's

that headstrong that he'll be took if anybody's took; and they say that all Westminster is to be lined with

soldiers." Phineas on the Friday morning did have some conversation with his landlord; but his first work on

reaching London was to see Lord Chiltern's friends, and tell them of the accident.

The potted peas Committee sat on the Thursday, and he ought to have been there. His absence, however, was

unavoidable, as he could not have left his friend's bedside so soon after the accident. On the Wednesday he

had written to Lady Laura, and on the Thursday evening he went first to Portman Square and then to

"Of course he will kill himself some day," said the Earl with a tear, however, in each eye.

"I hope not, my lord. He is a magnificent horseman; but accidents of course will happen."

"How many of his bones are there not broken, I wonder?" said the father. "It is useless to talk, of course. You

"The doctor says that there is none. He has been taking an enormous deal of exercise," said Phineas, "and

"Nothing. I rather think, my lord, you are mistaken a little about his habits. I don't fancy he ever drinks unless

"Provoked! Could anything provoke you to make a brute of yourself? But I am glad that he is in no danger. If

Lady Laura was of course full of concern. "I wanted to go down to him", she said, "but Mr Kennedy thought

that there was no occasion." "Nor is there any I mean in regard to danger. He is very solitary there."

"You must go to him again. Mr Kennedy will not let me go unless I can say that there is danger. He seems to

think that because Oswald has had accidents before, it is nothing. Of course I cannot leave London without

"Ah he would make little of anything. But if I were ill he would be in London by the first train."

"But he advises me not to go. He says my duty does not require it, unless Oswald be in danger. Don't you

know, Mr Finn, how hard it is for a wife not to take advice when it is so given?" This she said, within six

Phineas asked her whether Violet had heard the news, and learned that she was still ignorant of it. "I got your

letter only this morning, and I have not seen her," said Lady Laura. "Indeed, I am so angry with her that I

hardly wish to see her." Thursday was Lady Baldock's night, and Phineas went from Grosvenor Place to

Berkeley Square. There he saw Violet, and found that she had heard of the accident.

"I think Laura was so unkind not to send me word! I only heard it just now. Did you see it?"

"I was close to him, and helped him up. The horse jumped into a river with him, and crushed him up against

"Yes almost unintentionally, for my horse was rushing so that I could not hold him. Chiltern was riding a

"How very lucky that you should have been near him and, again, how lucky that you should not have been

"None whatever if I may believe the doctor. His hunting is done for this year, and he will be very

desolate. I shall go down again to him in a few days, and try to bring him up to town."

"Do do. If he is laid up in his father's house, his father must see him." Phineas had not looked at the matter

Early on the next morning he saw Mr Bunce, and used all his eloquence to keep that respectable member of

society at home but in vain. "What good do you expect to do, Mr Bunce?" he said, with perhaps some

"And you expect to carry that by going out into the streets with all the roughs of London, and putting yourself

in direct opposition to the authority of the magistrates? Do you really believe that the ballot will become the

"Look here, Mr Finn; I don't believe the sea will become any fuller because the Piddle runs into it out of the

Dorsetshire fields; but I do believe that the waters from all the countries is what makes the ocean. I shall help;

"It's your duty as a respectable citizen, with a wife and family, to stay at home."

"If everybody with a wife and family was to say so, there'd be none there but roughs, and then where should

we be? What would the Government people say to us then? If every man with a wife and family was to show

hisself in the streets tonight, we should have the ballot before Parliament breaks up, and if none of 'em don't

do it, we shall never have the ballot. Ain't that so?" Phineas, who intended to be honest, was not prepared to

dispute the assertion on the spur of the moment. "If that's so," said Bunce, triumphantly, a man's duty's clear

The petition was to be presented at six o'clock, but the crowd, who collected to see it carried into

Westminster Hall, began to form itself by noon. It was said afterwards that many of the houses in the

neighbourhood of Palace Yard and the Bridge were filled with soldiers; but if so, the men did not show

themselves. In the course of the evening three or four companies of the Guards in St James's Park did show

themselves, and had some rough work to do, for many of the people took themselves away from Westminster

by that route. The police, who were very numerous in Palace Yard, had a hard time of it all the afternoon, and

it was said afterwards that it would have been much better to have allowed the petition to have been brought

up by the procession on Wednesday. A procession, let it be who it will that proceeds, has in it, of its own

nature, something of order. But now there was no order. The petition, which was said to fill fifteen cabs

though the absolute sheets of signatures were carried into the House by four men was being dragged about

half the day, and it certainly would have been impossible for a member to have made his way into the House

through Westminster Hall between the hours of four and six. To effect an entrance at all they were obliged to

go round at the back of the Abbey, as all the spaces round St Margaret's Church and Canning's monument

were filled with the crowd. Parliament Street was quite impassable at five o'clock, and there was no traffic

across the bridge from that hour till after eight. As the evening went on, the mob extended itself to Downing

Street and the front of the Treasury Chambers, and before the night was over all the hoardings round the new

Government offices had been pulled down. The windows also of certain obnoxious members of Parliament

were broken, when those obnoxious members lived within reach. One gentleman who unfortunately held a

house in Richmond Terrace, and who was said to have said that the ballot was the resort of cowards, fared

very badly for his windows were not only broken, but his furniture and mirrors were destroyed by the

stones that were thrown. Mr Mildmay, I say, was much blamed. But after all, it may be a doubt whether the

procession on Wednesday might not have ended worse. Mr Turnbull was heard to say afterwards that the

Mr Mildmay moved the second reading of his bill, and made his speech. He made his speech with the

knowledge that the Houses of Parliament were surrounded by a mob, and I think that the fact added to its

efficacy. It certainly gave him an appropriate opportunity for a display which was not difficult. His voice

faltered on two or three occasions, and faltered through real feeling; but this sort of feeling, though it be real,

is at the command of orators on certain occasions, and does them yeoman's service. Mr Mildmay was an old

man, nearly worn out in the service of his country, who was known to have been true and honest, and to have

loved his country well though there were of course they who declared that his hand had been too weak for

power, and that his services had been naught and on this evening his virtues were remembered. Once

when his voice failed him the whole House got up and cheered. The nature of a Whig Prime Minister's speech

on such an occasion will be understood by most of my readers without further indication. The bill itself had

been read before, and it was understood that no objection would be made to the extent of the changes

provided in it by the liberal side of the House. The opposition coming from liberal members was to be

confined to the subject of the ballot. And even as yet it was not known whether Mr Turnbull and his followers

would vote against the second reading, or whether they would take what was given, and declare their

intention of obtaining the remainder on a separate motion. The opposition of a large party of Conservatives

was a matter of certainty; but to this party Mr Mildmay did not conceive himself bound to offer so large an

amount of argument as he would have given had there been at the moment no crowd in Palace Yard. And he

probably felt that that crowd would assist him with his old Tory enemies. When, in the last words of his

speech, he declared that under no circumstances would he disfigure the close of his political career by voting

for the ballot not though the people, on whose behalf he had been fighting battles all his life, should be

there in any number to coerce him there came another round of applause from the opposition benches, and

Mr Daubeny began to fear that some young horses in his team might get loose from their traces. With great

dignity Mr Daubeny had kept aloof from Mr Turnbull and from Mr Turnbull's tactics; but he was not the less

alive to the fact that Mr Turnbull, with his mob and his big petition, might be of considerable assistance to

him in this present duel between himself and Mr Mildmay. I think Mr Daubeny was in the habit of looking at

these contests as duels between himself and the leader on the other side of the House in which assistance

Mr Mildmay's speech did not occupy much over an hour, and at half past seven Mr Turnbull got up to reply.

It was presumed that he would do so, and not a member left his place, though that time of the day is an

interesting time, and though Mr Turnbull was accustomed to be long. There soon came to be but little ground

for doubting what would be the nature of Mr Turnbull's vote on the second reading. "How may I dare," said

he, "to accept so small a measure of reform as this with such a message from the country as is now conveyed

to me through the presence of fifty thousand of my countrymen, who are at this moment demanding their

measure of reform just beyond the frail walls of this chamber? The right honourable gentleman has told us

that he will never be intimidated by a concourse of people. I do not know that there was any need that he

should speak of intimidation. No one has accused the right honourable gentleman of political cowardice. But,

as he has so said, I will follow in his footsteps. Neither will I be intimidated by the large majority which this

House presented the other night against the wishes of the people. I will support no great measure of reform

which does not include the ballot among its clauses." And so Mr Turnbull threw down the gauntlet.

Mr Turnbull spoke for two hours, and then the debate was adjourned till the Monday. The adjournment was

moved by an independent member, who, as was known, would support the Government, and at once received

Mr Turnbull's assent. There was no great hurry with the bill, and it was felt that it would be well to let the

ferment subside. Enough had been done for glory when Mr Mildmay moved the second reading, and quite

enough in the way of debate with such an audience almost within hearing when Mr Turnbull's speech

had been made. Then the House emptied itself at once. The elderly, cautious members made their exit

through the peers' door. The younger men got out into the crowd through Westminster Hall, and were pushed

about among the roughs for an hour or so. Phineas, who made his way through the hall with Laurence

Fitzgibbon, found Mr Turnbull's carriage waiting at the entrance with a dozen policemen round it.

"He understands all about it," said Laurence. He had a good meal at three, before he left home, and you'd find

sandwiches and sherry in plenty if you were to search his carriage. He knows how to remedy the costs of mob

At that time poor Bunce was being hustled about in the crowd in the vicinity of Mr Turnbull's carriage.

Phineas and Fitzgibbon made their way out, and by degrees worked a passage for themselves into Parliament

Street. Mr Turnbull had been somewhat behind them in coming down the hall, and had not been without a

sense of enjoyment in the ovation which was being given to him. There can be no doubt that he was wrong in

what he was doing. That affair of the carriage was altogether wrong, and did Mr Turnbull much harm for

many a day afterwards. When he got outside the door, where were the twelve policemen guarding his

carriage, a great number of his admirers endeavoured to shake hands with him. Among them was the devoted

Bunce. But the policemen seemed to think that Mr Turnbull was to be guarded, even from the affection of his

friends, and were as careful that he should be ushered into his carriage untouched, as though he had been the

favourite object of political aversion for the moment. Mr Turnbull himself, when he began to perceive that

men were crowding close upon the gates, and to hear the noise, and to feel, as it were, the breath of the mob,

stepped on quickly into his carriage. He said a word or two in a loud voice. "Thank you, my friends. I trust

you may obtain all your just demands." But he did not pause to speak. Indeed, he could hardly have done so,

as the policemen were manifestly in a hurry. The carriage was got away at a snail's pace but there

remained in the spot where the carriage had stood the makings of a very pretty street row.

Bunce had striven hard to shake hands with his hero Bunce and some other reformers as ardent and as

decent as himself. The police were very determinate that there should be no such interruption to their

programme for getting Mr Turnbull off the scene. Mr Bunce, who had his own ideas as to his right to shake

hands with any gentleman at Westminster Hall who might choose to shake hands with him, became uneasy

under the impediments that were placed in his way, and expressed himself warmly as to his civil rights. Now

a London policeman in a political row is, I believe, the most forbearing of men. So long as he meets with no

special political opposition, ordinary illusage does not even put him out of temper. He is paid for rough

work among roughs, and takes his rubs gallantly. But he feels himself to be an instrument for the moment of

despotic power as opposed to civil rights, and he won't stand what he calls "jaw." Trip up a policeman in such

a scramble, and he will take it in good spirit; but mention the words "Habeas Corpus," and he'll lock you up if

he can. As a rule, his instincts are right; for the man who talks about "Habeas Corpus" in a political crowd

will generally do more harm than can be effected by the tripping up of any constable. But these instincts may

be the means of individual injustice. I think they were so when Mr Bunce was arrested and kept a fast

prisoner. His wife had shown her knowledge of his character when she declared that he'd be "took" if anyone

Bunce was taken into custody with some three or four others like himself decent men, who meant no

harm, but who thought that as men they were bound to show their political opinions, perhaps at the expense

of a little martyrdom and was carried into a temporary stronghold, which had been provided for the

"You was breaking the law when you was upsetting my men, as I saw you," said the sergeant.

"Very well," rejoined the sergeant; you can say it all before the magistrate, tomorrow."

Bunce, who was not by nature a very talkative man, said no more; but he swore in his heart that there should

be vengeance. Between eleven and twelve he was taken to the regular police station, and from thence he was

"Bunce has been taken," said she, with something of the tragic queen, and something also of the injured wife

in the tone of her voice, as soon as Phineas let himself in with the latchkey between twelve and one. And

then, mingled with, and at last dominant over, those severer tones, came the voice of the loving woman

whose beloved one was in trouble. "I knew how it'd be, Mr Finn. Didn't I? And what must we do? I don't

suppose he'd had a bit to eat from the moment he went out and as for a drop of beer, he never thinks of it,

except what I puts down for him at his meals. Them nasty police always take the best, That's why I was so

Phineas said all that he could to comfort her, and promised to go to the police office early in the morning and

look after Bunce. No serious evil would, he thought, probably come of it; but still Bunce had been wrong to

"But you might have been took yourself," argued Mrs Bunce, "just as well as he." Then Phineas explained

that he had gone forth in the execution of a public duty. "You might have been took, all the same," said Mrs

On the following morning, which was Saturday, Phineas was early at the police office at Westminster looking

after the interests of his landlord; but there had been a considerable number of men taken up during the row,

and our friend could hardly procure that attention for Mr Bunce's case to which he thought the decency of his

client and his own position as a member of Parliament were entitled. The men who had been taken up were

taken in batches before the magistrates; but as the soldiers in the park had been maltreated, and a considerable

injury had been done in the neighbourhood of Downing Street, there was a good deal of strong feeling against

the mob, and the magistrates were disposed to be severe. If decent men chose to go out among such

companions, and thereby get into trouble, decent men must take the consequences. During the Saturday and

Sunday a very strong feeling grew up against Mr Turnbull. The story of the carriage was told, and he was

declared to be a turbulent demagogue, only desirous of getting popularity. And together with this feeling

there arose a general verdict of "Serve them right" against all who had come into contact with the police in

the great Turnbull row; and thus it came to pass that Mr Bunce had not been liberated up to the Monday

morning. On the Sunday Mrs Bunce was in hysterics, and declared her conviction that Mr Bunce would be

imprisoned for life. Poor Phineas had an unquiet time with her on the morning of that day. In every ecstasy of

her grief she threw herself into his arms, either metaphorically or materially, according to the excess of her

agony at the moment, and expressed repeatedly an assured conviction that all her children would die of

starvation, and that she herself would be picked up under the arches of one of the bridges. Phineas, who was

softhearted, did what he could to comfort her, and allowed himself to be worked up to strong parliamentary

anger against the magistrates and police. "When they think that they have public opinion on their side, there

is nothing in the way or arbitrary excess which is too great for them." This he said to Barrington Erle, who

angered him and increased the warmth of his feeling by declaring that a little close confinement would be

good for the Bunces of the day. "If we don't keep the mob down, the mob will keep us down," said the Whig

private secretary. Phineas had no opportunity of answering this, but declared to himself that Barrington Erle

was no more a Liberal at heart than was Mr Daubeny. "He was born on that side of the question, and has been

On the Sunday afternoon Phineas went to Lord Brentford's in Portman Square, intending to say a word or two

about Lord Chiltern, and meaning also to induce, if possible, the Cabinet Minister to take part with him

against the magistrates having a hope also, in which he was not disappointed, that he might find Lady

Laura Kennedy with her father. He had come to understand that Lady Laura was not to be visited at her own

house on Sundays. So much indeed she had told him in so many words. But he had come to understand also,

without any plain telling, that she rebelled in heart against this Sabbath tyranny and that she would escape

from it when escape was possible. She had now come to talk to her father about her brother, and had brought

Violet Effingham with her. They had walked together across the park after church, and intended to walk back

again. Mr Kennedy did not like to have any carriage out on a Sunday, and to this arrangement his wife made

Phineas had received a letter from the Stamford surgeon, and was able to report favourably of Lord Chiltern.

"The man says that he had better not be moved for a month," said Phineas. "But that means nothing. They

"That is, of course, out of the question," said the Earl. "They know him at that inn, and it really seems to me

best that he should stay there. I do not think he would be so much at his ease here."

"It must be dreadful for a man to be confined to his room without a creature near him, except the servants,"

said Violet. The Earl frowned, but said nothing further. They all perceived that as soon as he had learned that

there was no real danger as to his son's life, he was determined that this accident should not work him up to

any show of tenderness, "I do so hope he will come up to London," continued Violet, who was not afraid of

After this Phineas found it very difficult to extract any sympathy from the Earl on behalf of the men who had

been locked up. He was moody and cross, and could not be induced to talk on the great subject of the day.

Violet Effingham declared that she did not care how many Bunces were locked up; nor for how long

adding, however, a wish that Mr Turnbull himself had been among the number of the prisoners. Lady Laura

was somewhat softer than this, and consented to express pity in the case of Mr Bunce himself; but Phineas

perceived that the pity was awarded to him and not to the sufferer. The feeling against Mr Turnbull was at the

present moment so strong among all the upper classes, that Mr Bunce and his brethren might have been kept

Phineas spent the remainder of that day alone, and came to a resolution that on the coming occasion he

certainly would speak in the House. The debate would be resumed on the Monday, and he would rise to his

legs on the very first moment that it became possible for him to do so. And he would do nothing towards

preparing a speech nothing whatever. On this occasion he would trust entirely to such words as might

come to him at the moment ay, and to such thoughts. He had before burdened his memory with

preparations, and the very weight of the burden had been too much for his mind. He had feared to trust

himself to speak, because he had felt that he was not capable of performing the double labour of saying his

lesson by heart, and of facing the House for the first time. There should be nothing now for him to remember.

His thoughts were full of his subject. He would support Mr Mildmay's bill with all his eloquence, but he

would implore Mr Mildmay, and the Home Secretary, and the Government generally, to abstain from

animosity against the populace of London, because they desired one special boon which Mr Mildmay did not

think that it was his duty to give them. He hoped that ideas and words would come to him. Ideas and words

had been free enough with him in the old days of the Dublin debating society. If they failed him now, he must

On the Monday morning Phineas was for two hours at the police court in Westminster, and at about one on

that day Mr Bunce was liberated. When he was brought up before the magistrate, Mr Bunce spoke his mind

very freely as to the usage he had received, and declared his intention of bringing an action against the

sergeant who had detained him. The magistrate, of course, took the part of the police, and declared that, from

the evidence of two men who were examined, Bunce had certainly used such violence in the crowd as had

"According to your own showing, you endeavoured to make your way up to Mr Turnbull's carriage," said the

"I used no force till a man had me by the collar to push me back; and I wasn't violent, not then. I told him I

"You were not doing what you had a right to do. You were assisting to create a riot," said the magistrate, with

Phineas, however, was allowed to give evidence as to his landlord's character, and then Bunce was liberated.

But before he went he again swore that that should not be the last of it, and he told the magistrate that he had

been illused. When liberated, he was joined by a dozen sympathising friends, who escorted him home, and

among them were one or two literary gentlemen, employed on those excellent penny papers, the People's

Banner and the Ballotbox. It was their intention that Mr Bunce's case should not be allowed to sleep. One of

these gentlemen made a distinct offer to Phineas Finn of unbounded popularity during life and of immortality

afterwards, if he, as a member of Parliament, would take up Bunce's case with vigour. Phineas, not quite

understanding the nature of the offer, and not as yet knowing the profession of the gentleman, gave some

"You come out strong, Mr Finn, and we'll see that you are properly reported. I'm on the Banner, sir, and I'll

answer for that." Phineas, who had been somewhat eager in expressing his sympathy with Bunce, and had not

given very close attention to the gentleman who was addressing him, was still in the dark. The nature of the

"We shall take it up strong," said the gentleman, and we shall be happy to have you among us. You'll find, Mr

Finn, that in public life there's nothing like having a horgan to back you. What is the most you can do in the

'Ouse? Nothing, if you're not reported. You're speaking to the country ain't you? And you can't do that

without a horgan, Mr Finn. You come among us on the Banner, Mr Finn. You can't do better."

Then Phineas understood the nature of the offer made to him. As they parted, the literary gentleman gave our

hero his card. "Mr Quintus Slide." So much was printed. Then, on the corner of the card was written, "Banner

Office, 137, Fetter Lane." Mr Quintus Slide was a young man, under thirty, not remarkable for clean linen,

and who always talked of the "'Ouse." But he was a wellknown and not undistinguished member of a

powerful class of men. He had been a reporter, and as such knew the "'Ouse" well, and was a writer for the

press. And, though he talked of "'Ouses" and "horgans", he wrote good English with great rapidity, and was

possessed of that special sort of political fervour which shows itself in a man's work rather than in his

conduct. It was Mr Slide's taste to be an advanced reformer, and in all his operations on behalf of the People's

Banner he was a reformer very much advanced. No man could do an article on the people's indefeasible

rights with more pronounced vigour than Mr Slide. But it had never occurred to him as yet that he ought to

care for anything else than the fight than the advantage of having a good subject on which to write

slashing articles. Mr Slide was an energetic but not a thoughtful man; but in his thoughts on politics, as far as

they went with him, he regarded the wrongs of the people as being of infinitely greater value than their rights.

It was not that he was insincere in all that he was daily saying but simply that he never thought about it.

Very early in life he had fallen among "people's friends," and an opening on the liberal press had come in his

way. To be a "people's friend" suited the turn of his ambition, and he was a "people's friend." It was his

business to abuse Government, and to express on all occasions an opinion that as a matter of course the ruling

powers were the "people's enemies." Had the ruling powers ceased to be the "people's enemies," Mr Slide's

ground would have been taken from under his feet. But such a catastrophe was out of the question. That

excellent old arrangement that had gone on since demagogues were first invented was in full vigour. There

were the ruling powers and there were the people devils on one side and angels on the other and as

Phineas, when he left the indignant Bunce to go among his friends, walked to the House thinking a good deal

of what Mr Slide had said to him. The potted peas Committee was again on, and he had intended to be in the

committee room by twelve punctually: but he had been unable to leave Mr Bunce in the lurch, and it was now

past one. Indeed, he had, from one unfortunate circumstance after another, failed hitherto in giving to the

potted peas that resolute attention which the subject demanded. On the present occasion his mind was full of

Mr Quintus Slide and the People's Banner. After all, was there not something in Mr Slide's proposition? He,

Phineas, had come into Parliament as it were under the wing of a Government pack, and his friendships,

which had been very successful, had been made with Ministers, and with the friends of Ministers. He had

made up his mind to be Whig Ministerial, and to look for his profession in that line. He had been specially

fortified in this resolution by his dislike to the ballot which dislike had been the result of Mr Monk's

teaching. Had Mr Turnbull become his friend instead, it may well be that he would have liked the ballot. On

such subjects men must think long, and be sure that they have thought in earnest, before they are justified in

saying that their opinions are the results of their own thoughts. But now he began to reflect how far this

ministerial profession would suit him. Would it be much to be a Lord of the Treasury, subject to the

dominion of Mr Ratler? Such lordship and such subjection would be the result of success. He told himself

that he was at heart a true Liberal. Would it not be better for him to abandon the idea of office trammels, and

go among them on the People's Banner? A glow of enthusiasm came over him as he thought of it. But what

would Violet Effingham say to the People's Banner and Mr Quintus Slide? And he would have liked the

From the committee room, in which, alas! he took no active part in reference to the potted peas, he went

down to the House, and was present when the debate was resumed. Not unnaturally, one speaker after another

made some allusion to the row in the streets, and the work which had fallen to the lot of the magistrates. Mr

Turnbull had declared that he would vote against the second reading of Mr Mildmay's bill, and had explained

that he would do so because he could consent to no Reform Bill which did not include the ballot as one of its

measures. The debate fashioned itself after this speech of Mr Turnbull's, and turned again very much upon

the ballot although it had been thought that the late debate had settled that question. One or two of Mr

Turnbull's followers declared that they also would vote against the bill of course, as not going far enough;

and one or two gentlemen from the Conservative benches extended a spoken welcome to these new

colleagues. Then Mr Palliser got up and addressed the House for an hour, struggling hard to bring back the

real subject, and to make the House understand that the ballot, whether good or bad, had been knocked on the

head, and that members had no right at the present moment to consider anything but the expediency or

inexpediency of so much Reform as Mr Mildmay presented to them in the present bill.

Phineas was determined to speak, and to speak on this evening if he could catch the Speaker's eye. Again the

scene before him was going round before him; again things became dim, and again he felt his blood beating

hard at his heart. But things were not so bad with him as they had been before, because he had nothing to

remember. He hardly knew, indeed, what he intended to say. He had an idea that he was desirous of joining

in earnest support of the measure, with a vehement protest against the injustice which had been done to the

people in general, and to Mr Bunce in particular. He had firmly resolved that no fear of losing favour with the

Government should induce him to hold his tongue as to the Buncean cruelties. Sooner than do so he would

He started up, wildly, when Mr Palliser had completed his speech; but the Speaker's eye, not unnaturally, had

travelled to the other side of the House, and there was a Tory of the old school upon his legs Mr Western,

the member for East Barsetshire, one of the gallant few who dared to vote against Sir Robert Peel's bill for

repealing the Corn Laws in 1846, Mr Western spoke with a slow, ponderous, unimpressive, but very audible

voice, for some twenty minutes, disdaining to make reference to Mr Turnbull and his politics, but pleading

against any Reform, with all the old arguments. Phineas did not hear a word that he said did not attempt to

hear. He was keen in his resolution to make another attempt at the Speaker's eye, and at the present moment

was thinking of that, and of that only. He did not even give himself a moment's reflection as to what his own

speech should be. He would dash at it and take his chance, resolved that at least he would not fail in courage.

Twice he was on his legs before Mr Western had finished his slow harangue, and twice he was compelled to

reseat himself thinking that he had subjected himself to ridicule. At last the member for East Barset sat

down, and Phineas was conscious that he had lost a moment or two in presenting himself again to the

He held his ground, however, though he saw that he had various rivals for the right of speech. He held his

ground, and was instantly aware that he had gained his point. There was a slight pause, and as some other

urgent member did not reseat himself, Phineas heard the president of that august assembly call upon himself

to address the House. The thing was now to be done. There he was with the House of Commons at his feet

a crowded House, bound to be his auditors as long as he should think fit to address them, and reporters by

tens and twenties in the gallery ready and eager to let the country know what the young member for

Phineas Finn had sundry gifts, a powerful and pleasant voice, which he had learned to modulate, a handsome

presence, and a certain natural mixture of modesty and selfreliance, which would certainly protect him from

the faults of arrogance and pomposity, and which, perhaps, might carry him through the perils of his new

position. And he had also the great advantage of friends in the House who were anxious that he should do

well. But he had not that gift of slow blood which on the former occasion would have enabled him to

remember his prepared speech, and which would now have placed all his own resources within his own

reach. He began with the expression of an opinion that every true reformer ought to accept Mr Mildmay's bill,

even if it were accepted only as an instalment but before he had got through these sentences, he became

He was cheered almost from the outset, and yet he knew as he went on that he was failing. He had certain

arguments at his fingers' ends points with which he was, in truth, so familiar that he need hardly have

troubled himself to arrange them for special use and he forgot even these. He found that he was going on

with one platitude after another as to the benefit of reform, in a manner that would have shamed him six or

seven years ago at a debating club. He pressed on, fearing that words would fail him altogether if he paused

but he did in truth speak very much too fast, knocking his words together so that no reporter could

properly catch them. But he had nothing to say for the bill except what hundreds had said before, and

hundreds would say again. Still he was cheered, and still he went on; and as he became more and more

conscious of his failure there grew upon him the idea the dangerous hope, that he might still save himself

He tried it, and succeeded thoroughly in making the House understand that he was very angry but he

succeeded in nothing else. He could not catch the words to express the thoughts of his mind. He could not

explain his idea that the people out of the House had as much right to express their opinion in favour of the

ballot as members in the House had to express theirs against it; and that animosity had been shown to the

people by the authorities because they had so expressed their opinion. Then he attempted to tell the story of

Mr Bunce in a light and airy way, failed, and sat down in the middle of it. Again he was cheered by all

around him cheered as a new member is usually cheered and in the midst of the cheer would have

That hour with him was very bad. He did not know how to get up and go away, or how to keep his place. For

some time he sat with his hat off, forgetful of his privilege of wearing it, and then put it on hurriedly, as

though the fact of his not wearing it must have been observed by everybody. At last, at about two, the debate

was adjourned, and then as he was slowly leaving the House, thinking how he might creep away without

"Then we may go together as far as Pall Mall. Come along." Phineas had no means of escape, and left the

House hanging on Mr Monk's arm, without a word. Nor did Mr Monk speak till they were out in Palace Yard.

"Mr Monk," said Phineas, I have made an ass of myself so thoroughly, that there will at any rate be this good

"Ah! I thought you had some such feeling as that, and therefore I was determined to speak to you. You

may be sure, Finn, that I do not care to flatter you, and I think you ought to know that, as far as I am able, I

will tell you the truth, Your speech, which was certainly nothing great, was about on a par with other maiden

speeches in the House of Commons. You have done yourself neither good nor harm, Nor was it desirable that

you should. My advice to you now is, never to avoid speaking on any subject that interests you, but never to

speak for above three minutes till you find yourself as much at home on your legs as you are when sitting.

But do not suppose that you have made an ass of yourself that is, in any special degree. Now, goodnight."

Lady Laura Kennedy heard two accounts of her friend's speech and both from men who had been present.

Her husband was in his place, in accordance with his constant practice, and Lord Brentford had been seated,

"It certainly was not a success. There was nothing particular about it. There was a good deal of it you could

After that she got the morning newspapers, and turned with great interest to the report. Phineas Finn had

been, as it were, adopted by her as her own political offspring or at any rate as her political godchild. She

had made promises on his behalf to various personages of high political standing to her father, to Mr

Monk, to the Duke of St Bungay, and even to Mr Mildmay himself. She had thoroughly intended that Phineas

Finn should be a political success from the first; and since her marriage, she had, I think, been more intent

upon it than before. Perhaps there was a feeling on her part that having wronged him in one way, she would

repay him in another. She had become so eager for his success for a while scorning to conceal her feeling

that her husband had unconsciously begun to entertain a dislike to her eagerness. We know how quickly

women arrive at an understanding of the feelings of those with whom they live; and now, on that very

occasion, Lady Laura perceived that her husband did not take in good part her anxiety on behalf of her friend.

She saw that it was so as she turned over the newspaper looking for the report of the speech. It was given in

six lines, and at the end of it there was an intimation expressed in the shape of advice that the young

orator had better speak more slowly if he wished to be efficacious either with the House or with the country.

"Very likely," said Mr Kennedy. Then he turned to his newspaper, and did not take his eyes off it as long as

Later in the day Lady Laura saw her father, and Miss Effingham was with her at the time, Lord Brentford

said something which indicated that he had heard the debate on the previous evening, and Lady Laura

"It was not very bad at first though indeed nobody could say it was very good. But he got himself into a

mess about the police and the magistrates before he had done, and nothing but the kindly feeling always

shown to a first effort saved him from being coughed down." Lady Laura had not a word more to say about

Phineas to her father; but, womanlike, she resolved that she would not abandon him. How many first failures

in the world had been the precursors of ultimate success! "Mildmay will lose his bill," said the Earl,

"What's the use? You can't have a more liberal House than you have now," said Lady Laura.

"We may have one less liberal or rather less radical with fewer men to support Mr Turnbull. I do not

see what else we can do. They say that there are no less than twentyseven men on our side of the House who

"But what can we do? How is the Queen's Government to be carried on?" We all know the sad earnestness

which impressed itself on the Earl's brow as he asked these momentous questions. "I don't suppose that Mr

The two women remained together for some quarter of an hour before they spoke again. Then Lady Laura

said something about her brother. "If there be a dissolution, I hope Oswald will stand for Loughton."

Loughton was a borough close to Saulsby, in which, as regarded its political interests, Lord Brentford was

supposed to have considerable influence. To this Violet said nothing. "It is quite time," continued Lady

Laura, "that old Mr Standish should give way. He has had the seat for twentyfive years, and has never done

"No; he is papa's cousin; but he is ever so much older than papa nearly eighty, I believe."

Then Lady Laura became very serious. "Oswald would of course have a better right to it than anybody else."

"But would Lord Chiltern go into Parliament? I have heard him declare that he would not."

"If we could get papa to ask him, I think he would change his mind," said Lady Laura.

There was again silence for a few moments, after which Violet returned to the original subject of their

"It would be a thousand pities that Mr Finn should be turned out into the cold. Don't you think so?"

"So should I and the more so from what Lord Brentford says about his not speaking well last night. I don't

think that it is very much of an accomplishment for a gentleman to speak well. Mr Turnbull, I suppose,

speaks well; and they say that that horrid man, Mr Bonteen, can talk by the hour together. I don't think that it

shows a man to be clever at all. But I believe Mr Finn would do it, if he set his mind to it, and I shall think it

"I don't know anything about Lord Tulla", said Violet; "but I'm quite sure that he might have Loughton, if we

manage it properly. Of course Lord Chiltern should have it if he wants it, but I don't think he will stand in Mr

"I'm afraid it's out of the question," said Lady Laura, gravely. "Papa thinks so much about the borough." The

reader will remember that both Lord Brentford and his daughter were thorough reformers! The use of a little

"Those difficult things have always to be talked of for a long while, and then they become easy," said Violet.

"I believe if you were to propose to Mr Kennedy to give all his property to the Church Missionaries and

"Because you don't want to go to New Zealand but you might try about Loughton for poor Mr Finn."

"Violet," said Lady Laura, after a moment's pause and she spoke sharply; "Violet, I believe you are in

"I never made such an accusation against you before, or against anybody else that I can remember. But I do

"And I doubt whether you have any reason for supposing that he is in love with you."

Lady Laura shrugged her shoulders. "Of course it is; and if you tell me to hold my tongue, of course I will do

so. If you ask me whether I think it a good match, of course I must say I do not."

"I don't tell you to hold your tongue, and I don't ask you what you think about the match. You are quite

welcome to talk as much about me as you please but as to Mr Phineas Finn, you have no business to think

"I am growing to be quite indifferent as to what people say. Lady Baldock asked me the other day whether I

"I told her that it was not quite settled; but that as I had only spoken to him once during the last two years,

and then for not more than half a minute, and as I wasn't sure whether I knew him by sight, and as I had

reason to suppose he didn't know my name, there might, perhaps, be a delay of a week or two before the thing

came off. Then she flounced out of the room." "But what made her ask about Mr Fitzgibbon?"

"Somebody had been hoaxing her. I am beginning to think that Augusta does it for her private amusement. If

so, I shall think more highly of my dear cousin than I have hitherto done. But, Laura, as you have made a

similar accusation against me, and as I cannot get out of it with you as I do with my aunt, I must ask you to

hear my protestation. I am not in love with Mr Phineas Finn. Heaven help me as far as I can tell, I am not

in love with anyone, and never shall be." Lady Laura looked pleased. "Do you know, continued Violet, "that I

think I could be in love with Mr Phineas Finn, if I could be in love with anybody?" Then Lady Laura looked

displeased. "In the first place, he is a gentleman," continued Violet. "Then he is a man of spirit. And then he

has not too much spirit not that kind of spirit which makes some men think that they are the finest things

going. His manners are perfect not Chesterfieldian, and yet never offensive. He never browbeats anyone,

and never toadies anyone. He knows how to live easily with men of all ranks, without any appearance of

claiming a special status for himself. If he were made Archbishop of Canterbury tomorrow, I believe he

would settle down into the place of the first subject in the land without arrogance, and without false shame."

"I am his eulogist; but I am not in love with him. If he were to ask me to be his wife tomorrow, I should be

distressed, and should refuse him. If he were to marry my dearest friend in the world, I should tell him to kiss

"Are they the same? I once thought, Laura, that you did love him that you meant to be his wife."

Lady Laura sat for a while without making any reply to this. She sat with her elbow on the table and with her

face leaning on her hand thinking how far it would tend to her comfort if she spoke in true confidence.

Violet during the time never took her eyes from her friend's face, but remained silent as though waiting for an

answer. She had been very explicit as to her feelings. Would Laura Kennedy be equally explicit? She was too

clever to forget that such plainness of speech would be, must be more difficult to Lady Laura than to herself.

Lady Laura was a married woman; but she felt that her friend would have been wrong to search for secrets,

unless she were ready to tell her own. It was probably some such feeling which made Lady Laura speak at

"So I did, nearly " said Lady Laura; very nearly. You told me just now that you had money, and could

"Not for that reason not if I know myself. On no! I would not be so selfish as that."

In the meantime Phineas was very wretched at home. When he reached his lodgings after leaving the House

after his short conversation with Mr Monk he tried to comfort himself with what that gentleman had

said to him. For a while, while he was walking, there had been some comfort in Mr Monk's words. Mr Monk

had much experience, and doubtless knew what he was saying and there might yet be hope. But all this

hope faded away when Phineas was in his own rooms. There came upon him, as he looked round them, an

idea that he had no business to be in Parliament, that he was an impostor, that he was going about the world

under false pretences, and that he would never set himself aright, even unto himself, till he had gone through

some terrible act of humiliation. He had been a cheat even to Mr Quintus Slide of the Banner, in accepting an

invitation to come among them. He had been a cheat to Lady Laura, in that he had induced her to think that

he was fit to live with her. He was a cheat to Violet Effingham, in assuming that he was capable of making

himself agreeable to her. He was a cheat to Lord Chiltern when riding his horses, and pretending to be a

proper associate for a man of fortune. Why what was his income? What his birth? What his proper

position? And now he had got the reward which all cheats deserve. Then he went to bed, and as he lay there,

he thought of Mary Flood Jones. Had he plighted his troth to Mary, and then worked like a slave under Mr

It seemed to him that he had hardly been asleep when the girl came into his room in the morning. "Sir," said

Then Phineas knew that Mr Clarkson was in his sittingroom, and that he would not leave it till he had seen

the owner of the room. Nay Phineas was pretty sure that Mr Clarkson would come into the bedroom, if he

were kept long waiting. "Damn the old gentleman," said Phineas in his wrath and the maidservant heard

In about twenty minutes he went out into the sittingroom, with his slippers on and in his dressinggown.

Suffering under the circumstances of such an emergency, how is any man to go through the work of dressing

and washing with proper exactness? As to the prayers which he said on that morning, I think that no question

should be asked. He came out with a black cloud on his brow, and with his mind half made up to kick Mr

Clarkson out of the room. Mr Clarkson, when he saw him, moved his chin round within his white cravat, as

was a custom with him, and put his thumb and forefinger on his lips, and then shook his head.

"You coming here in this way at all times in the day is very bad," said Phineas.

"And where would you have me go? Would you like to see me down in the lobby of the House?"

"Ah; yes; I daresay! And that's what you call honest, being a Parliament gent! You had my money, and then

"I have not had your money," said Phineas. "But let me tell you," continued Mr Clarkson, that I want to see

Mr Clarkson again twitched his chin about on the top of his cravat and smiled. "Mr Finn," said he, showing

"Do be punctual now. Why ain't you punctual? I'd do anything for you if you were punctual. I would indeed."

Mr Clarkson, as he said this, sat down in the chair which had been placed for our hero's breakfast, and cutting

"I'll just take a bit of bread and butter all the same," said Clarkson. "Where do you get your butter? Now I

could tell you a woman who'd give it you cheaper and a deal better than this. This is all lard. Shall I send her

"No," said Phineas. There was no tea ready, and therefore Mr Clarkson emptied the milk into a cup and drank

it. "After this," said Phineas, "I must beg, Mr Clarkson, that you will never come to my room any more. I

"The lobby of the House is the same thing to me," said Mr Clarkson. "They know me there well. I wish you'd

be punctual, and then we'd be the best of friends." After that Mr Clarkson, having finished his bread and

The debate on the bill was prolonged during the whole of that week. Lord Brentford, who loved his seat in

the Cabinet and the glory of being a Minister, better even than he loved his borough, had taken a gloomy

estimate when he spoke of twentyseven defaulters, and of the bill as certainly lost. Men who were better

able than he to make estimates the Bonteens and Fitzgibbons on each side of the House, and above all, the

Ratlers and Robys, produced lists from day to day which varied now by three names in one direction, then by

two in another, and which fluctuated at last by units only. They all concurred in declaring that it would be a

very near division. A great effort was made to close the debate on the Friday, but it failed, and the full tide of

speech was carried on till the following Monday. On that morning Phineas heard Mr Ratler declare at the club

that, as far as his judgment went, the division at that moment was a fair subject for a bet. "There are two men

doubtful in the House," said Ratler, "and if one votes on one side and one on the other, or if neither votes at

all, it will be a tie." Mr Roby, however, the whip on the other side, was quite sure that one at least of these

gentlemen would go into his lobby, and that the other would not go into Mr Ratler's lobby. I am inclined to

think that the town was generally inclined to put more confidence in the accuracy of Mr Roby than in that of

Mr Ratler; and among betting men there certainly was a point given by those who backed the Conservatives.

The odds, however, were lost, for on the division the numbers in the two lobbies were equal, and the Speaker

gave his casting vote in favour of the Government. The bill was read a second time, and was lost, as a matter

of course, in reference to any subsequent action. Mr Roby declared that even Mr Mildmay could not go on

with nothing but the Speaker's vote to support him. Mr Mildmay had no doubt felt that he could not go on

with his bill from the moment in which Mr Turnbull had declared his opposition; but he could not with

During the week Phineas had had his hands sufficiently full. Twice he had gone to the potted peas inquiry;

but he had been at the office of the People's Banner more often than that. Bunce had been very resolute in his

determination to bring an action against the police for false imprisonment, even though he spent every

shilling of his savings in doing so. And when his wife, in the presence of Phineas, begged that bygones might

be bygones, reminding him that spilt milk could not be recovered, he called her a meanspirited woman.

Then Mrs Bunce wept a flood of tears, and told her favourite lodger that for her all comfort in this world was

over. "Drat the reformers, I say. And I wish there was no Parliament; so I do. What's the use of all the voting,

when it means nothing but dry bread and cross words?" Phineas by no means encouraged his landlord in his

litigious spirit, advising him rather to keep his money in his pocket, and leave the fighting of the battle to the

columns of the Banner which would fight it, at any rate, with economy. But Bunce, though he delighted in

the Banner, and showed an unfortunate readiness to sit at the feet of Mr Quintus Slide, would have his action

at law in which resolution Mr Slide did, I fear, encourage him behind the back of his better friend, Phineas

Phineas went with Bunce to Mr Low's chambers for Mr Low had in some way become acquainted with

the lawstationer's journeyman and there some very good advice was given. "Have you asked yourself

what is your object, Mr Bunce?" said Mr Low. Mr Bunce declared he had asked himself that question, and

had answered it. His object was redress. "In the shape of compensation to yourself," suggested Mr Low. No;

Mr Bunce would not admit that he personally required any compensation. The redress wanted was

punishment to the man. "Is it for vengeance?" asked Mr Low. No; it was not for vengeance, Mr Bunce

declared. "It ought not to be," continued Mr Low; "because, though you think that the man exceeded in his

duty, you must feel that he was doing so through no personal illwill to yourself."

"What I want is, to have the fellows kept in their proper places," said Mr Bunce.

"Exactly and therefore these things, when they occur, are mentioned in the press and in Parliament and

the attention of a Secretary of State is called to them. Thank God, we don't have very much of that kind of

thing in England." "Maybe we shall have more if we don't look to it," said Bunce stoutly.

"We always are looking to it," said Mr Low "looking to it very carefully. But I don't think anything is to

be done in that way by indictment against a single man, whose conduct has been already approved by the

magistrates. If you want notoriety, Mr Bunce, and don't mind what you pay for it; or have got anybody else to

But Bunce was not to be counselled out of his intention. When he was out in the square with Phineas he

expressed great anger against Mr Low. "He don't know what patriotism means," said the law scrivener. "And

then he talks to me about notoriety! It has always been the same way with 'em. If a man shows a spark of

public feeling, it's all ambition. I don't want no notoriety. I wants to earn my bread peaceable, and to be let

alone when I'm about my own business. I pays rates for the police to look after rogues, not to haul folks about

and lock 'em up for days and nights, who is doing what they has a legal right to do." After that, Bunce went to

his attorney, to the great detriment of the business at the stationer's shop, and Phineas visited the office of the

People's Banner. There he wrote a leading article about Bunce's case, for which he was in due time to be paid

a guinea. After all, the People's Banner might do more for him in this way than ever would be done by

Parliament. Mr Slide, however, and another gentleman at the Banner office, much older than Mr Slide, who

announced himself as the actual editor, were anxious that Phineas should rid himself of his heterodox

political resolutions about the ballot. It was not that they cared much about his own opinions; and when

Phineas attempted to argue with the editor on the merits of the ballot, the editor put him down very shortly.

"We go in for it, Mr Finn," he said. If Mr Finn would go in for it too, the editor seemed to think that Mr Finn

might make himself very useful at the Banner Office. Phineas stoutly maintained that this was impossible

and was therefore driven to confine his articles in the service of the people to those open subjects on which

his opinions agreed with those of the People's Banner. This was his second article, and the editor seemed to

think that, backward as he was about the ballot, he was too useful an aid to be thrown aside. A member of

Parliament is not now all that he was once, but still there is a prestige in the letters affixed to his name which

makes him loom larger in the eyes of the world than other men. Get into Parliament, if it be but for the

borough of Loughshane, and the People's Banners all round will be glad of your assistance, as will also

companies limited and unlimited to a very marvellous extent. Phineas wrote his article and promised to look

in again, and so they went on. Mr Quintus Slide continued to assure him that a "horgan" was indispensable to

him, and Phineas began to accommodate his ears to the sound which had at first been so disagreeable. He

found that his acquaintance, Mr Slide, had ideas of his own as to getting into the 'Ouse at some future time. "I

always look upon the 'Ouse as my oyster, and 'ere 's my sword," said Mr Slide, brandishing an old quill pen.

"And I feel that if once there I could get along. I do indeed. What is it a man wants? It's only pluck that he

shouldn't funk because a 'undred other men are looking at him." Then Phineas asked him whether he had any

idea of a constituency, to which Mr Slide replied that he had no absolutely formed intention. Many boroughs,

however, would doubtless be set free from aristocratic influence by the redistribution of seats which must

take place, as Mr Slide declared, at any rate in the next session. Then he named the borough of Loughton; and

Phineas Finn, thinking of Saulsby, thinking of the Earl, thinking of Lady Laura, and thinking of Violet,

walked away disgusted. Would it not be better that the quiet town, clustering close round the walls of

Saulsby, should remain as it was, than that it should be polluted by the presence of Mr Quintus Slide?

On the last day of the debate, at a few moments before four o'clock, Phineas encountered another terrible

misfortune. He had been at the potted peas since twelve, and had on this occasion targed two or three

commissariat officers very tightly with questions respecting cabbages and potatoes, and had asked whether

the officers on board a certain ship did not always eat preserved asparagus while the men had not even a

bean. I fear that he had been put up to this business by Mr Quintus Slide, and that he made himself nasty.

There was, however, so much nastiness of the kind going, that his little effort made no great difference. The

conservative members of the Committee, on whose side of the House the inquiry had originated, did not

scruple to lay all manner of charges to officers whom, were they themselves in Power, they would be bound

to support and would support with all their energies. About a quarter before four the members of the

Committee had dismissed their last witness for the day, being desirous of not losing their chance of seats on

so important an occasion, and hurried down into the lobby so that they might enter the House before

prayers. Phineas here was buttonholed by Barrington Erle, who said something to him as to the approaching

division. They were standing in front of the door of the House, almost in the middle of the lobby, with a

crowd of members around them on a spot which, as frequenters know, is hallowed ground, and must not

be trodden by strangers. He was in the act of answering Erle, when he was touched on the arm, and on

turning round, saw Mr Clarkson. "About that little bill, Mr Finn," said the horrible man, turning his chin

round over his white cravat. "They always tell me at your lodgings that you ain't at home." By this time a

policeman was explaining to Mr Clarkson with gentle violence that he must not stand there that he must

go aside into one of the corners. "I know all that," said Mr Clarkson, retreating. "Of course I do. But what is a

man to do when a gent won't see him at home?" Mr Clarkson stood aside in his corner quietly, giving the

policeman no occasion for further action against him; but in retreating he spoke loud, and there was a lull of

voices around, and twenty members at least had heard what had been said. Phineas Finn no doubt had his

privilege, but Mr Clarkson was determined that the privilege should avail him as little as possible.

It was very hard. The real offender, the Lord of the Treasury, the peer's son, with a thousand a year paid by

the country was not treated with this cruel persecution. Phineas had in truth never taken a farthing from any

one but his father; and though doubtless he owed something at this moment, he had no creditor of his own

that was even angry with him. As the world goes he was a clear man but for this debt of his friend

Fitzgibbon. He left Barrington Erle in the lobby, and hurried into the House, blushing up to the eyes. He

looked for Fitzgibbon in his place, but the Lord of the Treasury was not as yet there. Doubtless he would be

there for the division, and Phineas resolved that he would speak a bit of his mind before he let his friend out

There were some great speeches made on that evening. Mr Gresham delivered an oration of which men said

that it would be known in England as long as there were any words remaining of English eloquence. In it he

taunted Mr Turnbull with being a recreant to the people, of whom he called himself so often the champion.

But Mr Turnbull was not in the least moved. Mr Gresham knew well enough that Mr Turnbull was not to be

moved by any words but the words were not the less telling to the House and to the country. Men, who

heard it, said that Mr Gresham forgot himself in that speech, forgot his party, forgot his strategy, forgot his

longdrawn schemes even his love of applause, and thought only of his cause. Mr Daubeny replied to him

with equal genius, and with equal skill if not with equal heart. Mr Gresham had asked for the approbation

of all present and of all future reformers. Mr Daubeny denied him both the one because he would not

succeed, and the other because he would not have deserved success. Then Mr Mildmay made his reply,

getting up at about three o'clock, and uttered a prayer a futile prayer that this his last work on behalf of

his countrymen might be successful. His bill was read a second time, as I have said before, in obedience to

the casting vote of the Speaker but a majority such as that was tantamount to a defeat.

There was, of course, on that night no declaration as to what ministers would do. Without a meeting of the

Cabinet, and without some further consideration, though each might know that the bill would be withdrawn,

they could not say in what way they would act. But late as was the hour, there were many words on the

subject before members were in their beds. Mr Turnbull and Mr Monk left the House together, and perhaps

no two gentlemen in it had in former sessions been more in the habit of walking home arminarm and

discussing what each had heard and what each had said in that assembly. Latterly these two men had gone

strangely asunder in their paths very strangely for men who had for years walked so closely together. And

this separation had been marked by violent words spoken against each other by violent words, at least,

spoken against him in office by the one who had never contaminated his hands by the Queen's shilling. And

yet, on such an occasion as this, they were able to walk away from the House arminarm, and did not fly at

"Singular enough, is it not," said Mr Turnbull, that the thing should have been so close?"

"Yes no doubt. The occasion was great, and he answered to the spur. But Gresham's was the speech of the

"Well yes; perhaps it was," said Mr Turnbull, who was thinking of his own flight the other night, and who

among his special friends had been much praised for what he had then done. But of course he made no

allusion to his own doings or to those of Mr Monk. In this way they conversed for some twenty minutes,

till they parted; but neither of them interrogated the other as to what either might be called upon to do in

consequence of the division which had just been effected. They might still be intimate friends, but the days of

Phineas had seen Laurence Fitzgibbon enter the House which he did quite late in the night, so as to be in

time for the division. No doubt he had dined in the House, and had been all the evening in the library or in

the smokingroom. When Mr Mildmay was on his legs making his reply, Fitzgibbon had sauntered in, not

choosing to wait till he might be rung up by the bell at the last moment. Phineas was near him as they passed

by the tellers, near him in the lobby, and near him again as they all passed back into the House. But at the last

moment he thought that he would miss his prey. In the crowd as they left the House he failed to get his hand

upon his friend's shoulder. But he hurried down the members' passage, and just at the gate leading out into

"Laurence," he said, taking hold of his countryman's arm with a decided grasp, "I want to speak to you for a

"Speak away," said Laurence. Then Phineas, looking up into his face, knew very well that he had been

Phineas remembered at the moment that Barrington Erle had been close to him when the odious

moneylender had touched his arm and made his inquiry about that "little bill." He much wished to make

Erle understand that the debt was not his own that he was not in the hands of usurers in reference to his

own concerns. But there was a feeling within him that he still even still owed something to his

friendship to Fitzgibbon. "Just give me your arm, and come on with me for a minute," said Phineas. "Erle will

"Oh, blazes!" said Laurence, what is it you're after? I ain't good at private conferences at three in the morning.

"I have been dreadfully annoyed tonight," said Phineas, "and I wished to speak to you about it." "Bedad,

Phineas perceived clearly that though Fitzgibbon had been dining, there was as much of cunning in all this as

of wine, and he was determined not to submit to such unlimited illusage. "My annoyance comes from your

friend, Mr Clarkson, who had the impudence to address me in the lobby of the House."

"And serve you right, too, Finn, my boy. Why the devil did you sport your oak to him? He has told me all

about it, There ain't such a patient little fellow as Clarkson anywhere, if you'll only let him have his own way.

He'll look in, as he calls it, three times a week for a whole season, and do nothing further. Of course he don't

"Is that the gentleman with whom the police interfered in the lobby?" Erle inquired.

"A confounded bill discounter to whom our friend here has introduced me for his own purposes," said

"A very gentlemanlike fellow," said Laurence. "Barrington knows him, I daresay. Look here, Finn, my boy,

take my advice. Ask him to breakfast, and let him understand that the house will always be open to him."

After this Laurence Fitzgibbon and Barrington Erle got into a cab together, and were driven away.

And now will the Muses assist me while I sing an altogether new song? On the Tuesday the Cabinet met at

the First Lord's official residence in Downing Street, and I will attempt to describe what, according to the

bewildered brain of a poor fictionist, was said or might have been said, what was done or might have been

The poor fictionist very frequently finds himself to have been wrong in his description of things in general,

and is told so, roughly by the critics, and tenderly by the friends of his bosom. He is moved to tell of things of

which he omits to learn the nature before he tells of them as should be done by a strictly honest fictionist.

He catches salmon in October; or shoots his partridges in March. His dahlias bloom in June, and his birds

sing in the autumn. He opens the operahouses before Easter, and makes Parliament sit on a Wednesday

evening. And then those terrible meshes of the Law! How is a fictionist, in these excited days, to create the

needed biting interest without legal difficulties; and how again is he to steer his little bark clear of so many

rocks when the rocks and the shoals have been purposely arranged to make the taking of a pilot on board a

necessity? As to those law meshes, a benevolent pilot will, indeed, now and again give a poor fictionist a

helping hand not used, however, generally, with much discretion. But from whom is any assistance to

come in the august matter of a Cabinet assembly? There can be no such assistance. No man can tell aught but

they who will tell nothing. But then, again, there is this safety, that let the story be ever so mistold let the

fiction be ever so far removed from the truth, no critic short of a Cabinet Minister himself can convict the

It was a large dingy room, covered with a Turkey carpet, and containing a dark polished mahogany

dinnertable, on very heavy carved legs, which an old messenger was preparing at two o'clock in the day for

the use of her Majesty's Ministers. The table would have been large enough for fourteen guests, and along the

side further from the fire, there were placed some six heavy chairs, good comfortable chairs, stuffed at the

back as well as the seat but on the side nearer to the fire the chairs were placed irregularly; and there were

four armchairs two on one side and two on the other. There were four windows to the room, which looked

on to St James's Park, and the curtains of the windows were dark and heavy as became the gravity of the

purposes to which that chamber was appropriated. In old days it had been the diningroom of one Prime

Minister after another. To Pitt it had been the abode of his own familiar prandial Penates, and Lord Liverpool

had been dull there among his dull friends for long year after year. The Ministers of the present day find it

more convenient to live in private homes, and, indeed, not unfrequently carry their Cabinets with them. But,

under Mr Mildmay's rule, the meetings were generally held in the old room at the official residence. Thrice

did the aged messenger move each armchair, now a little this way and now a little that, and then look at them

as though something of the tendency of the coming meeting might depend on the comfort of its leading

members. If Mr Mildmay should find himself to be quite comfortable, so that he could hear what was said

without a struggle to his ear, and see his colleagues' faces clearly, and feel the fire without burning his shins,

it might be possible that he would not insist upon resigning. If this were so, how important was the work now

confided to the hands of that aged messenger! When his anxious eyes had glanced round the room some half

a dozen times, when he had touched each curtain, laid his hand upon every chair, and dusted certain papers

which lay upon a sidetable and which had been lying there for two years, and at which no one ever

looked or would look he gently crept away and ensconced himself in an easy chair not far from the door

of the chamber. For it might be necessary to stop the attempt of a rash intruder on those secret counsels.

Very shortly there was heard the ring of various voices in the passages the voices of men speaking

pleasantly, the voices of men with whom it seemed, from their tone, that things were doing well in the world.

And then a cluster of four or five gentlemen entered the room. At first sight they seemed to be as ordinary

gentlemen as you shall meet anywhere about Pall Mall on an afternoon. There was nothing about their

outward appearance of the august wiggery of statecraft, nothing of the ponderous dignity of ministerial

position. That little man in the squarecut coat we may almost call it a shootingcoat swinging an

umbrella and wearing no gloves, is no less a person than the Lord Chancellor Lord Weazeling who

made a hundred thousand pounds as AttorneyGeneral, and is supposed to be the best lawyer of his age. He

is fifty, but he looks to be hardly over forty, and one might take him to be, from his appearance perhaps a

clerk in the War Office, welltodo, and popular among his brotherclerks. Immediately with him is Sir

Harry Coldfoot, also a lawyer by profession, though he has never practised. He has been in the House for

nearly thirty years, and is now at the Home Office. He is a stout, healthy, greyhaired gentleman, who

certainly does not wear the cares of office on his face. Perhaps, however, no minister gets more bullied than

he by the press, and men say that he will be very willing to give up to some political enemy the control of the

police, and the onerous duty of judging in all criminal appeals. Behind these come our friend Mr Monk,

young Lord Cantrip from the colonies next door, than whom no smarter young peer now does honour to our

hereditary legislature, and Sir Marmaduke Morecombe, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. Why Sir

Marmaduke has always been placed in Mr Mildmay's Cabinets nobody ever knew. As Chancellor of the

Duchy he has nothing to do and were there anything, he would not do it. He rarely speaks in the House,

and then does not speak well. He is a handsome man, or would be but for an assumption of grandeur in the

carriage of his eyes, giving to his face a character of pomposity which he himself well deserves. He was in

the Guards when young, and has been in Parliament since he ceased to be young. It must be supposed that Mr

Mildmay has found something in him, for he has been included in three successive liberal Cabinets. He has

probably the virtue of being true to Mr Mildmay, and of being duly submissive to one whom he recognises as

Within two minutes afterwards the Duke followed, with Plantagenet Palliser. The Duke, as all the world

knows, was the Duke of St Bungay, the very front and head of the aristocratic old Whigs of the country a

man who has been thrice spoken of as Prime Minister, and who really might have filled the office had he not

known himself to be unfit for it. The Duke has been consulted as to the making of Cabinets for the last

fiveandthirty years, and is even now not an old man in appearance a fussy, popular, clever,

conscientious man, whose digestion has been too good to make politics a burden to him, but who has thought

seriously about his country, and is one who will be sure to leave memoirs behind him. He was born in the

semipurple of ministerial influences, and men say of him that he is honester than his uncle, who was

Canning's friend, but not so great a man as his grandfather, with whom Fox once quarrelled, and whom Burke

loved. Plantagenet Palliser, himself the heir to a dukedom, was the young Chancellor of the Exchequer, of

whom some statesmen thought much as the rising star of the age. If industry, rectitude of purpose, and a

certain clearness of intellect may prevail, Planty Pall, as he is familiarly called, may become a great Minister.

Then came Viscount Thrift by himself the First Lord of the Admiralty, with the whole weight of a new

ironclad fleet upon his shoulders. He has undertaken the Herculean task of cleansing the dockyards and

with it the lesser work of keeping afloat a navy that may be esteemed by his countrymen to be the best in the

world. And he thinks that he will do both, if only Mr Mildmay will not resign an industrious, honest,

selfdenying nobleman, who works without ceasing from morn to night, and who hopes to rise in time to

high things to the translating of Homer, perhaps, and the wearing of the Garter.

Close behind him there was a ruck of Ministers, with the muchhonoured greyhaired old Premier in the

midst of them. There was Mr Gresham, the Foreign Minister, said to be the greatest orator in Europe, on

whose shoulders it was thought that the mantle of Mr Mildmay would fall to be worn, however, quite

otherwise than Mr Mildmay had worn it. For Mr Gresham is a man with no feelings for the past, void of

historical association, hardly with memories living altogether for the future which he is anxious to fashion

anew out of the vigour of his own brain. Whereas, with Mr Mildmay, even his love of reform is an inherited

passion for an oldworld Liberalism. And there was with them Mr Legge Wilson, the brother of a peer,

Secretary at War, a great scholar and a polished gentleman, very proud of his position as a Cabinet Minister,

but conscious that he has hardly earned it by political work. And Lord Plinlimmon is with them, the

Comptroller of India of all working lords the most jaunty, the most pleasant, and the most popular, very

good at taking chairs at dinners, and making becoming speeches at the shortest notice, a man apparently very

free and open in his ways of life but cautious enough in truth as to every step, knowing well how hard it is

to climb and how easy to fall. Mr Mildmay entered the room leaning on Lord Plinlimmon's arm, and when he

made his way up among the armchairs upon the rug before the fire, the others clustered around him with

cheering looks and kindly questions. Then came the Privy Seal, our old friend Lord Brentford, last and I

would say least, but that the words of no councillor could go for less in such an assemblage than will those of

Mr Mildmay was soon seated in one of the armchairs, while Lord Plinlimmon leaned against the table close

at his elbow. Mr Gresham stood upright at the corner of the chimneypiece furthest from Mr Mildmay, and

Mr Palliser at that nearest to him. The Duke took the armchair close at Mr Mildmay's left hand. Lord

Plinlimmon was, as I have said, leaning against the table, but the Lord Chancellor, who was next to him, sat

upon it. Viscount Thrift and Mr Monk occupied chairs on the further side of the table, near to Mr Mildmay's

end, and Mr Legge Wilson placed himself at the head of the table, thus joining them as it were into a body.

The Home Secretary stood before the Lord Chancellor screening him from the fire, and the Chancellor of the

Duchy, after waiting for a few minutes as though in doubt, took one of the vacant armchairs. The young lord

from the Colonies stood a little behind the shoulders of his great friend from the Foreign Office; and the

Privy Seal, after moving about for a while uneasily, took a chair behind the Chancellor of the Duchy. One

"It is not so bad as I thought it would be," said the Duke, speaking aloud, but nevertheless addressing himself

"And such a good bill lost," said Lord Plinlimmon. The worst of these failures is, that the same identical bill

"So that if the lost bill was best, the bill that will not be lost can only be second best," said the Lord

"I certainly did think that after the debate before Easter we should not have come to shipwreck about the

"It was brewing for us all along," said Mr Gresham, who then with a gesture of his hand and a pressure of his

lips withheld words which he was nearly uttering, and which would not, probably, have been complimentary

to Mr Turnbull. As it was, he turned half round and said something to Lord Cantrip which was not audible to

any one else in the room. It was worthy of note, however, that Mr Turnbull's name was not once mentioned

"Well, gentlemen, we must take it as we get it," said Mr Mildmay, still smiling. "And now we must consider

what we shall do at once." Then he paused as though expecting that counsel would come to him first from

one colleague and then from another. But no such counsel came, and probably Mr Mildmay did not in the

"We cannot stay where we are, of course," said the Duke. The Duke was privileged to say as much as that.

But though every man in the room knew that it must be so, no one but the Duke would have said it, before Mr

"No," said Mr Mildmay; I suppose that we can hardly stay where we are. Probably none of us wish it,

gentlemen." Then he looked round upon his colleagues, and there came a sort of an assent, though there were

no spoken words. The sound from Sir Marmaduke Morecombe was louder than that from the others but

yet from him it was no more than an attesting grunt. "We have two things to consider," continued Mr

Mildmay and though he spoke in a very low voice, every word was heard by all present "two things

chiefly, that is; the work of the country and the Queen's comfort. I propose to see Her Majesty this afternoon

at five that is, in something less than two hours' time, and I hope to be able to tell the House by seven

what has taken place between Her Majesty and me. My friend, His Grace, will do as much in the House of

Lords. If you agree with me, gentlemen, I will explain to the Queen that it is not for the welfare of the country

that we should retain our places, and I will place your resignations and my own in Her Majesty's hands."

"Or to her," said Mr Gresham. To this remark from the rising Minister of the day, no word of reply was

made; but of those present in the room three or four of the most experienced servants of the Crown felt that

Mr Gresham had been imprudent. The Duke, who had ever been afraid of Mr Gresham, told Mr Palliser

afterwards that such an observation should not have been made; and Sir Harry Coldfoot pondered upon it

uneasily, and Sir Marmaduke Morecombe asked Mr Mildmay what he thought about it. "Times change so

much, and with the times the feelings of men," said Mr Mildmay. But I doubt whether Sir Marmaduke quite

There was silence in the room for a moment or two after Mr Gresham had spoken, and then Mr Mildmay

again addressed his friends. "Of course it may be possible that my Lord de Terrier may foresee difficulties, or

may find difficulties which will oblige him, either at once, or after an attempt has been made, to decline the

task which her Majesty will probably commit to him. All of us, no doubt, know that the arrangement of a

government is not the most easy task in the world; and that it is not made the more easy by an absence of a

"I should say so," continued Mr Mildmay. But it may not improbably come to pass that her Majesty will feel

herself obliged to send again for some one or two of us, that we may tender to her Majesty the advice which

we owe to her for me, for instance, or for my friend the Duke. In such a matter she would be much guided

probably by what Lord de Terrier might have suggested to her. Should this be so, and should I be consulted,

my present feeling is that we should resume our offices so that the necessary business of the session should

be completed, and that we should then dissolve Parliament, and thus ascertain the opinion of the country. In

"I quite think that the course proposed by Mr Mildmay will be the best," said the Duke, who had no doubt

already discussed the matter with his friend the Prime Minister in private. No one else said a word either of

argument or disagreement, and the Cabinet Council was broken up. The old messenger, who had been asleep

in his chair, stood up and bowed as the Ministers walked by him, and then went in and rearranged the chairs.

"He has as much idea of giving up as you or I have," said Lord Cantrip to his friend Mr Gresham, as they

walked arminarm together from the Treasury Chambers across St James's Park towards the clubs.

"For his future fame. They who have abdicated and have clung to their abdication have always lost by it.

Cincinnatus was brought back again, and Charles V is felt to have been foolish. The peaches of retired

ministers of which we hear so often have generally been cultivated in a constrained seclusion or at least

the world so believes." They were talking probably of Mr Mildmay, as to whom some of his colleagues had

thought it probable, knowing that he would now resign, that he would have today declared his intention of

Mr Monk walked home alone, and as he went there was something of a feeling of disappointment at heart,

which made him ask himself whether Mr Turnbull might not have been right in rebuking him for joining the

Government. But this, I think, was in no way due to Mr Mildmay's resignation but rather to a conviction on

Mr Monk's part that that he had contributed but little to his country's welfare by sitting in Mr Mildmay's

After the holding of that Cabinet Council of which the author has dared to attempt a slight sketch in the last

chapter, there were various visits made to the Queen, first by Mr Mildmay, and then by Lord de Terrier,

afterwards by Mr Mildmay and the Duke together, and then again by Lord de Terrier; and there were various

explanations made to Parliament in each House, and rivals were very courteous to each other, promising

assistance and at the end of it the old men held their seats. The only change made was effected by the

retirement of Sir Marmaduke Morecombe, who was raised to the peerage, and by the selection of Mr

Kennedy to fill his place in the Cabinet. Mr Kennedy during the late debate had made one of those speeches,

few and far between, by which he had created for himself a Parliamentary reputation; but, nevertheless, all

men expressed their great surprise, and no one could quite understand why Mr Kennedy had been made a

"It is impossible to say whether he is pleased or not," said Lady Laura, speaking of him to Phineas. "I am

"It is hard to say. There are men who by no means wear their hearts upon their sleeves, and my husband is

one of them. He told me that it would be unbecoming in him to refuse, and that was all he said to me about

The old men held their seats, but they did so as it were only upon further trial. Mr Mildmay took the course

which he had indicated to his colleagues at the Cabinet meeting. Before all the explanations and journeyings

were completed, April was over, and the muchneeded Whitsuntide holidays were coming on. But little of

the routine work of the session had been done; and, as Mr Mildmay told the House more than once, the

country would suffer were the Queen to dissolve Parliament at this period of the year. The old Ministers

would go on with the business of the country, Lord de Terrier with his followers having declined to take

affairs into their hands; and at the close of the session, which should be made as short as possible, writs

should be issued for new elections. This was Mr Mildmay's programme, and it was one of which no one

Mr Turnbull, indeed, did speak a word of caution. He told Mr Mildmay that he had lost his bill, good in other

respects, because he had refused to introduce the ballot into his measure. Let him promise to be wiser for the

future, and to obey the manifested wishes of the country, and then all would be well with him. In answer to

this, Mr Mildmay declared that to the best of his power of reading the country, his countrymen had

manifested no such wish; and that if they did so, if by the fresh election it should be shown that the ballot was

in truth desired, he would at once leave the execution of their wishes to abler and younger hands. Mr Turnbull

expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the Minister's answers, and said that the coming election would

Many men, and among them some of his colleagues, thought that Mr Mildmay had been imprudent. "No man

ought ever to pledge himself to anything," said Sir Harry Coldfoot to the Duke "that is, to anything

unnecessary." The Duke, who was very true to Mr Mildmay, made no reply to this, but even he thought that

his old friend had been betrayed into a promise too rapidly. But the pledge was given, and some people

already began to make much of it. There appeared leader after leader in the People's Banner urging the

constituencies to take advantage of the Prime Minister's words, and to show clearly at the hustings that they

desired the ballot. "You had better come over to us, Mr Finn; you had indeed," said Mr Slide. "Now's the time

to do it, and show yourself a people's friend. You'll have to do it sooner or later whether or no. Come to us

But in those days Phineas was something less in love with Mr Quintus Slide than he had been at the time of

the great debate, for he was becoming more and more closely connected with people who in their ways of

living and modes of expression were very unlike Mr Slide. This advice was given to him about the end of

May, and at that time Lord Chiltern was living with him in the lodgings in Great Marlborough Street. Miss

Pouncefoot had temporarily vacated her rooms on the first floor, and the Lord with the broken bones had

condescended to occupy them. "I don't know that I like having a Lord," Bunce had said to his wife. "It'll soon

come to you not liking anybody decent anywhere," Mrs Bunce had replied; "but I shan't ask any questions

about it. When you're wasting so much time and money at your dirty law proceedings, it's well that somebody

There had been many discussions about the bringing of Lord Chiltern up to London, in all of which Phineas

had been concerned. Lord Brentford had thought that his son had better remain down at the Willingford Bull;

and although he said that the rooms were at his son's disposal should Lord Chiltern choose to come to

London, still he said it in such a way that Phineas, who went down to Willingford, could not tell his friend

that he would be made welcome in Portman Square. "I think I shall leave those diggings altogether," Lord

Chiltern said to him. "My father annoys me by everything he says and does, and I annoy him by saying and

doing nothing." Then there came an invitation to him from Lady Laura and Mr Kennedy. Would he come to

Grosvenor Place? Lady Laura pressed this very much, though in truth Mr Kennedy had hardly done more

than give a cold assent. But Lord Chiltern would not hear of it. "There is some reason for my going to my

father's house," said he, "though he and I are not the best friends in the world; but there can be no reason for

my going to the house of a man I dislike so much as I do Robert Kennedy." The matter was settled in the

manner told above. Miss Pouncefoot's rooms were prepared for him at Mr Bunce's house, and Phineas Finn

went down to Willingford and brought him up. "I've sold Bonebreaker", he said, "to a young fellow whose

neck will certainly be the sacrifice if he attempts to ride him. I'd have given him to you, Phineas, only you

Lord Chiltern when he came up to London was still in bandages, though, as the surgeon said, his bones

seemed to have been made to be broken and set again; and his bandages of course were a sufficient excuse

for his visiting the house neither of his father nor his brotherinlaw. But Lady Laura went to him frequently,

and thus became acquainted with our hero's home and with Mrs Bunce. And there were messages taken from

Violet to the man in bandages, some of which lost nothing in the carrying. Once Lady Laura tried to make

Violet think that it would be right, or rather not wrong, that they two should go together to Lord Chiltern's

rooms. "And would you have me tell my aunt, or would you have me not tell her?" Violet asked.

"So I shall," Violet replied, but I will do nothing that I should be ashamed to tell any one. Your brother

"He is in love with you," said Lady Laura. Even you do not pretend to doubt his faith."

"Very well. In those circumstances a girl should not go to a man's rooms unless she means to consider herself

as engaged to him, even with his sister not though he had broken every bone in his skin. I know what I

may do, Laura, and I know what I mayn't; and I won't be led either by you or by my aunt."

"No because you'll give it in a wrong spirit. He knows well enough that I wish him well but you may

tell him that from me, if you please. He has from me all those wishes which one friend owes to another."

But there were other messages sent from Violet through Phineas Finn which she worded with more show of

affection perhaps as much for the discomfort of Phineas as for the consolation of Lord Chiltern. "Tell him

to take care of himself," said Violet, and bid him not to have any more of those wild brutes that are not fit for

any Christian to ride. Tell him that I say so. It's a great thing to be brave; but what's the use of being

The session was to be closed at the end of June, to the great dismay of London tradesmen and of young ladies

who had not been entirely successful in the early season. But before the old Parliament was closed, and the

writs for the new election were despatched, there occurred an incident which was of very much importance to

Phineas Finn. Near the end of June, when the remaining days of the session were numbered by three or four,

he had been dining at Lord Brentford's house in Portman Square in company with Mr Kennedy. But Lady

Laura had not been there. At this time he saw Lord Brentford not unfrequently, and there was always a word

said about Lord Chiltern. The father would ask how the son occupied himself, and Phineas would hope

though hitherto he had hoped in vain that he would induce the Earl to come and see Lord Chiltern. Lord

Brentford could never be brought to that; but it was sufficiently evident that he would have done so, had he

not been afraid to descend so far from the altitude of his paternal wrath. On this evening, at about eleven, Mr

Kennedy and Phineas left the house together, and walked from the Square through Orchard Street into Oxford

Street. Here their ways parted, but Phineas crossed the road with Mr Kennedy, as he was making some reply

to a second invitation to Loughlinter. Phineas, considering what had been said before on the subject, thought

that the invitation came late, and that it was not warmly worded. He had, therefore, declined it, and was in the

act of declining it, when he crossed the road with Mr Kennedy. In walking down Orchard Street from the

Square he had seen two men standing in the shadow a few yards up a mews or small alley that was there, but

had thought nothing of them. It was just that period of the year when there is hardly any of the darkness of

night; but at this moment there were symptoms of coming rain, and heavy drops began to fall; and there were

big clouds coming and going before the young moon. Mr Kennedy had said that he would get a cab, but he

had seen none as he crossed Oxford Street, and had put up his umbrella as he made his way towards Park

Street. Phineas as he left him distinctly perceived the same two figures on the other side of Oxford Street, and

then turning into the shadow of a butcher's porch, he saw them cross the street in the wake of Mr Kennedy. It

was now raining in earnest, and the few passengers who were out were scudding away quickly, this way and

It hardly occurred to Phineas to think that any danger was imminent to Mr Kennedy from the men, but it did

occur to him that he might as well take some notice of the matter. Phineas knew that Mr Kennedy would

make his way down Park Street, that being his usual route from Portman Square towards his own home, and

knew also that he himself could again come across Mr Kennedy's track by going down North Audley Street

to the corner of Grosvenor Square, and thence by Brook Street into Park Street. Without much thought,

therefore, he went out of his own course down to the corner of the Square, hurrying his steps till he was

running, and then ran along Brook Street, thinking as he went of some special word that he might say to Mr

Kennedy as an excuse, should he again come across his late companion. He reached the corner of Park Street

before that gentleman could have been there unless he also had run; but just in time to see him as he was

coming on and also to see in the dark glimmering of the slight uncertain moonlight that the two men were

behind him. He retreated a step backwards in the corner, resolving that when Mr Kennedy came up, they two

would go on together; for now it was clear that Mr Kennedy was followed. But Mr Kennedy did not reach the

corner. When he was within two doors of it, one of the men had followed him up quickly, and had thrown

something round his throat from behind him. Phineas understood well now that his friend was in the act of

being garrotted, and that his instant assistance was needed. He rushed forward, and as the second ruffian had

been close upon the footsteps of the first, there was almost instantaneously a concourse of the four men. But

there was no fight. The man who had already nearly succeeded in putting Mr Kennedy on to his back, made

no attempt to seize his prey when he found that so unwelcome an addition had joined the party, but instantly

turned to fly. His companion was turning also, but Phineas was too quick for him, and having seized on to his

collar, held to him with all his power. "Dash it all," said the man, didn't yer see as how I was ahurrying up to

help the gen'leman myself?" Phineas, however, hadn't seen this, and held on gallantly, and in a couple of

minutes the first ruffian was back again upon the spot in the custody of a policeman. "You've done it

uncommon neat, sir," said the policeman, complimenting Phineas upon his performance. "If the gen'leman

ain't none the worst for it, it'll have been a very pretty evening's amusement." Mr Kennedy was now leaning

against the railings, and hitherto had been unable to declare whether he was really injured or not, and it was

not till a second policeman came up that the hero of the night was at liberty to attend closely to his friend.

Mr Kennedy, when he was able to speak, declared that for a minute or two he had thought that his neck had

been broken; and he was not quite convinced till he found himself in his own house, that nothing more

serious had really happened to him than certain bruises round his throat. The policeman was for a while

anxious that at any rate Phineas should go with him to the police office; but at last consented to take the

addresses of the two gentlemen. When he found that Mr Kennedy was a member of Parliament, and that he

was designated as Right Honourable, his respect for the garrotter became more great, and he began to feel

that the night was indeed a night of great importance. He expressed unbounded admiration at Mr Finn's

success in his own line, and made repeated promises that the men should be forthcoming on the morrow.

Could a cab be got? Of course a cab could be got. A cab was got, and within a quarter of an hour of the

making of the attack, the two members of Parliament were on their way to Grosvenor Place.

There was hardly a word spoken in the cab, for Mr Kennedy was in pain. When, however, they reached the

door in Grosvenor Place, Phineas wanted to go, and leave his friend with the servants, but this the Cabinet

Minister would not allow, "Of course you must see my wife," he said. So they went upstairs into the

drawingroom, and then upon the stairs, by the lights of the house, Phineas could perceive that his

"Simply that or should have been, if he had not been there. How he came there, God only knows."

The wife's anxiety, and then her gratitude, need hardly be described nor the astonishment of the husband,

which by no means decreased on reflection, at the opportune reappearance in the nick of time of the man

whom three minutes before the attack he had left in the act of going in the opposite direction.

"I had seen the men, and thought it best to run round by the corner of Grosvenor Square," said Phineas.

The Cabinet Minister said nothing more that night. He was never given to much talking, and the little

accident which had just occurred to him did not tend to make words easy to him. But he pressed our hero's

hand, and Lady Laura said that of course Phineas would come to them on the morrow. Phineas remarked that

his first business must be to go to the police office, but he promised that he would come down to Grosvenor

Place immediately afterwards. Then Lady Laura also pressed his hand, and looked she looked, I think, as

though she thought that Phineas would only have done right had he repeated the offence which he had

"Garrotted!" said Lord Chiltern, when Phineas told him the story before they went to bed that night. He had

been smoking, sipping brandy and water, and waiting for Finn's return. "Robert Kennedy garrotted!"

"You ought to be garrotted yourself. I should have lent the man a hand had I been there." "How can you say

anything so horrible? But you are drinking too much, old fellow, and I shall lock the bottle up."

"If there were no one in London drank more than I do, the wine merchants would have a bad time of it. And

so the new Cabinet Minister has been garrotted in the street. Of course I'm sorry for poor Laura's sake."

"I wonder whether it's on the cards he should be improved by it worse, except in the way of being

strangled, he could not be. However, as he's my brotherinlaw, I'm obliged to you for rescuing him. Come,

I'll go to bed. I must say, if he was to be garrotted I should like to have been there to see it." That was the

manner in which Lord Chiltern received the tidings of the terrible accident which had occurred to his near

By three o'clock in the day after the little accident which was told in the last chapter, all the world knew that

Mr Kennedy, the new Cabinet Minister, had been garrotted, or half garrotted, and that that child of fortune,

Phineas Finn, had dropped upon the scene out of heaven at the exact moment of time, had taken the two

garrotters prisoners, and saved the Cabinet Minister's neck and valuables if not his life. "Bedad," said

Laurence Fitzgibbon, when he came to hear this, "that fellow'll marry an heiress, and be Secretary for

Oireland yet." A good deal was said about it to Phineas at the clubs, but a word or two that was said to him by

Violet Effingham was worth all the rest. "Why, what a Paladin you are! But you succour men in distress

instead of maidens." "That's my bad luck, said Phineas. The other will come no doubt in time," Violet replied;

"and then you'll get your reward." He knew that such words from a girl mean nothing especially from

such a girl as Violet Effingham; but nevertheless they were very pleasant to him.

"Of course you will come to us at Loughlinter when Parliament is up?" Lady Laura said the same day.

"What has that to do with it? You are only making out excuses. We go down on the first of July, and the

English elections won't begin till the middle of the month. It will be August before the men of Loughshane

"To tell you the truth, Lady Laura," said Phineas, I doubt whether the men of Loughshane or rather the

"Lord Tulla. He was in a passion with his brother before, and I got the advantage of it. Since that he has paid

his brother's debts for the fifteenth time, and of course is ready to fight any battle for the forgiven prodigal.

Things are not as they were, and my father tells me that he thinks I shall be beaten."

Every word of information that had come to Phineas about Loughshane since Mr Mildmay had decided upon

a dissolution, had gone towards making him feel at first that there was a great doubt as to his reelection, and

at last that there was almost a certainty against him. And as these tidings reached him they made him very

unhappy. Since he had been in Parliament he had very frequently regretted that he had left the shades of the

Inns of Court for the glare of Westminster; and he had more than once made up his mind that he would desert

the glare and return to the shade. But now, when the moment came in which such desertion seemed to be

compulsory on him, when there would be no longer a choice, the seat in Parliament was dearer to him than

ever. If he had gone of his own free will so he told himself there would have been something of

nobility in such going. Mr Low would have respected him, and even Mrs Low might have taken him back to

the friendship of her severe bosom. But he would go back now as a cur with his tail between his legs

kicked out, as it were, from Parliament. Returning to Lincoln's Inn soiled with failure, having accomplished

nothing, having broken down on the only occasion on which he had dared to show himself on his legs, not

having opened a single useful book during the two years in which he had sat in Parliament, burdened with

Laurence Fitzgibbon's debt, and not quite free from debt of his own, how could he start himself in any way by

which he might even hope to win success? He must, he told himself, give up all thought of practising in

London and betake himself to Dublin. He could not dare to face his friends in London as a young briefless

On this evening, the evening subsequent to that on which Mr Kennedy had been attacked, the House was

sitting in Committee of Ways and Means, and there came on a discussion as to a certain vote for the army. It

had been known that there would be such discussion; and Mr Monk having heard from Phineas a word or two

now and again about the potted peas, had recommended him to be ready with a few remarks if he wished to

support the Government in the matter of that vote. Phineas did so wish, having learned quite enough in the

committee room upstairs to make him believe that a large importation of the potted peas from Holstein would

not be for the advantage of the army or navy or for that of the country at large. Mr Monk had made his

suggestion without the slightest allusion to the former failure just as though Phineas were a practised

speaker accustomed to be on his legs three or four times a week. "If I find a chance, I will," said Phineas,

Soon after prayers, a word was said in the House as to the illfortune which had befallen the new Cabinet

Minister. Mr Daubeny had asked Mr Mildmay whether violent hands had not been laid in the dead of night

on the sacred throat the throat that should have been sacred of the new Chancellor of the Duchy of

Lancaster; and had expressed regret that the Ministry which was, he feared, in other respects somewhat

infirm should now have been further weakened by this injury to that new bulwark with which it had

endeavoured to support itself. The Prime Minister, answering his old rival in the same strain, said that the

calamity might have been very severe, both to the country and to the Cabinet; but that fortunately for the

community at large, a gallant young member of that House and he was proud to say a supporter of the

Government had appeared upon the spot at the nick of time "As a god out of a machine," said Mr

Daubeny, interrupting him "By no means as a god out of a machine," continued Mr Mildmay, "but as a

real help in a very real trouble, and succeeded not only in saving my right honourable friend, the Chancellor

of the Duchy, but in arresting the two malefactors who attempted to rob him in the street." Then there was a

cry of "name'; and Mr Mildmay of course named the member for Loughshane. It so happened that Phineas

was not in the House, but he heard it all when he came down to attend the Committee of Ways and Means.

Then came on the discussion about provisions in the army, the subject being mooted by one of Mr Turnbull's

close allies. The gentleman on the other side of the House who had moved for the Potted Peas Committee

was silent on the occasion, having felt that the result of that committee had not been exactly what he had

expected. The evidence respecting such of the Holstein potted peas as had been used in this country was not

very favourable to them. But, nevertheless, the rebound from that committee the very fact that such a

committee had been made to sit gave ground for a hostile attack. To attack is so easy, when a complete

refutation barely suffices to save the Minister attacked does not suffice to save him from future dim

memories of something having been wrong and brings down no disgrace whatsoever on the promoter of

the false charge. The promoter of the false charge simply expresses his gratification at finding that he had

been misled by erroneous information. It is not customary for him to express gratification at the fact, that out

of all the mud which he has thrown, some will probably stick! Phineas, when the time came, did get on his

legs, and spoke perhaps two or three dozen words. The doing so seemed to come to him quite naturally. He

had thought very little about it beforehand having resolved not to think of it. And indeed the occasion was

one of no great importance. The Speaker was not in the chair, and the House was thin, and he intended to

make no speech merely to say something which he had to say. Till he had finished he hardly remembered

that he was doing that, in attempting to do which he had before failed so egregiously. It was not till he sat

down that he began to ask himself whether the scene was swimming before his eyes as it had done on former

occasions; as it had done even when he had so much as thought of making a speech. Now he was astonished

at the easiness of the thing, and as he left the House told himself that he had overcome the difficulty just

when the victory could be of no avail to him. Had he been more eager, more constant in his purpose, he might

at any rate have shown the world that he was fit for the place which he had presumed to take before he was

On the next morning he received a letter from his father. Dr Finn had seen Lord Tulla, having been sent for to

relieve his lordship in a fit of the gout, and had been informed by the Earl that he meant to fight the borough

to the last man had he said to the last shilling he would have spoken with perhaps more accuracy. "You

see, doctor, your son has had it for two years, as you may say for nothing, and I think he ought to give way.

He can't expect that he's to go on there as though it were his own." And then his lordship, upon whom this

touch of the gout had come somewhat sharply, expressed himself with considerable animation. The old

doctor behaved with much spirit. "I told the Earl," he said, that I could not undertake to say what you might

do; but that as you had come forward at first with my sanction, I could not withdraw it now. He asked me if I

should support you with money; I said that I should to a moderate extent. "By G ," said the Earl, "a

moderate extent will go a very little way, I can tell you." Since that he has had Duggin with him; so, I

suppose, I shall not see him any more. You can do as you please now; but, from what I hear, I fear you will

have no chance." Then with much bitterness of spirit Phineas resolved that he would not interfere with Lord

Tulla at Loughshane. He would go at once to the Reform Club and explain his reasons to Barrington Erle and

But he first went to Grosvenor Place. Here he was shown up into Mr Kennedy's room. Mr Kennedy was up

and seated in an armchair by an open window looking over into the Queen's garden; but he was in his

dressinggown, and was to be regarded as an invalid. And indeed as he could not turn his neck, or thought

that he could not do so, he was not very fit to go out about his work. Let us hope that the affairs of the Duchy

of Lancaster did not suffer materially by his absence. We may take it for granted that with a man so sedulous

as to all his duties there was no arrear of work when the accident took place. He put out his hand to Phineas,

and said some word in a whisper some word or two among which Phineas caught the sound of "potted

peas," and then continued to look out of the window. There are men who are utterly prostrated by any

bodily ailment, and it seemed that Mr Kennedy was one of them. Phineas, who was full of his own bad news,

had intended to tell his sad story at once. But he perceived that the neck of the Chancellor of the Duchy was

too stiff to allow of his taking any interest in external matters, and so he refrained. "What does the doctor say

about it?" said Phineas, perceiving that just for the present there could be only one possible subject for

remark. Mr Kennedy was beginning to describe in a long whisper what the doctor did think about it, when

Of course they began at first to talk about Mr Kennedy. It would not have been kind to him not to have done

so. And Lady Laura made much of the injury, as it behoves a wife to do in such circumstances for the sake

both of the sufferer and of the hero. She declared her conviction that had Phineas been a moment later her

"I don't think they ever do kill the people," said Phineas. "At any rate they don't mean to do so."

"Perhaps he was a beginner," said Phineas, and that may make a difference. If so, I'm afraid we have

Then, by degrees, the conversation got away to other things, and Lady Laura asked him after Loughshane.

"My father has behaved so well!" said Phineas. He has written to say he'll find the money, if I determine to

contest the borough. I mean to write to him by tonight's post to decline the offer. I have no right to spend the

money, and I shouldn't succeed if I did spend it. Of course it makes me a little down in the mouth." And then

"Or rather it isn't mine, but papa's. Old Mr Standish is going to give up Loughton, and papa wants you to

"It isn't quite a certainty, you know, but I suppose it's as near a certainty as anything left." And this came

"Lady Laura, I couldn't accept such a favour from your father." Then Mr Kennedy nodded his head very

slightly and whispered, "Yes, yes." I couldn't think of it, said Phineas Finn. "I have no right to such a favour."

"That is a matter entirely for papa's consideration," said Lady Laura, with an affectation of solemnity in her

voice. "I think it has always been felt that any politician may accept such an offer as that when it is made to

him, but that no politician should ask for it. My father feels that he has to do the best he can with his

"Of course private feelings have their weight," said Lady Laura. "It is not probable that papa would have

gone to a perfect stranger. And perhaps, Mr Finn, I may own that Mr Kennedy and I would both be very sorry

that you should not be in the House, and that that feeling on our part has had some weight with my father."

"Of course you'll stand?" whispered Mr Kennedy, still looking straight out of the window, as though the

slightest attempt to turn his neck would be fraught with danger to himself and the Duchy.

"Papa has desired me to ask you to call upon him," said Lady Laura. "I don't suppose there is very much to be

said, as each of you know so well the other's way of thinking. But you had better see him today or

Of course Phineas was persuaded before he left Mr Kennedy's room. Indeed, when he came to think of it,

there appeared to him to be no valid reason why he should not sit for Loughton. The favour was of a kind that

had prevailed from time out of mind in England, between the most respectable of the great land magnates,

and young rising liberal politicians. Burke, Fox, and Canning had all been placed in Parliament by similar

influence. Of course he, Phineas Finn, desired earnestly longed in his very heart of hearts to extinguish

all such Parliamentary influence, to root out for ever the last vestige of close borough nominations; but while

the thing remained it was better that the thing should contribute to the liberal than to the conservative strength

of the House and if to the liberal, how was this to be achieved but by the acceptance of such influence by

some liberal candidate? And if it were right that it should be accepted by any liberal candidate then, why

not by him? The logic of this argument seemed to him to be perfect. He felt something like a sting of

reproach as he told himself that in truth this great offer was made to him, not on account of the excellence of

his politics, but because he had been instrumental in saving Lord Brentford's soninlaw from the violence of

garrotters. But he crushed these qualms of conscience as being overscrupulous, and, as he told himself, not

practical. You must take the world as you find it, with a struggle to be something more honest than those

around you. Phineas, as he preached to himself this sermon, declared to himself that they who attempted

more than this flew too high in the clouds to be of service to men and women upon earth.

As he did not see Lord Brentford that day he postponed writing to his father for twentyfour hours. On the

following morning he found the Earl at home in Portman Square, having first discussed the matter fully with

Lord Chiltern. "Do not scruple about me," said Lord Chiltern; "you are quite welcome to the borough for

"But if I did not stand, would you do so? There are so many reasons which ought to induce you to accept a

"Whether that be true or not, Phineas, I shall not accept my father's interest at Loughton, unless it be offered

to me in a way in which it never will be offered. You know me well enough to be sure that I shall not change

my mind. Nor will he. And, therefore, you may go down to Loughton with a pure conscience as far as I am

Phineas had his interview with the Earl, and in ten minutes everything was settled. On his way to Portman

Square there had come across his mind the idea of a grand effort of friendship. What if he could persuade the

father so to conduct himself towards his son, that the son should consent to be a member for the borough?

And he did say a word or two to this effect, setting forth that Lord Chiltern would condescend to become a

legislator, if only his father would condescend to acknowledge his son's fitness for such work without any

comments on the son's past life. But the Earl simply waived the subject away with his hand. He could be as

obstinate as his son. Lady Laura had been the Mercury between them on this subject, and Lady Laura had

failed. He would not now consent to employ another Mercury. Very little hardly a word indeed was

said between the Earl and Phineas about politics. Phineas was to be the Saulsby candidate at Loughton for the

next election, and was to come to Saulsby with the Kennedys from Loughlinter either with the Kennedys

or somewhat in advance of them. "I do not say that there will be no opposition," said the Earl, "but I expect

none. He was very courteous nay, he was kind, feeling doubtless that his family owed a great debt of

gratitude to the young man with whom he was conversing; but, nevertheless, there was not absent on his part

a touch of that high condescension which, perhaps, might be thought to become the Earl, the Cabinet

Minister, and the great borough patron. Phineas, who was sensitive, felt this and winced. He had never quite

liked Lord Brentford, and could not bring himself to do so now in spite of the kindness which the Earl was

But he was very happy when he sat down to write to his father from the club. His father had told him that the

money should be forthcoming for the election at Loughshane, if he resolved to stand, but that the chance of

success would be very slight indeed that, in his opinion, there would be no chance of success.

Nevertheless, his father had evidently believed, when writing, that Phineas would not abandon his seat

without a useless and expensive contest. He now thanked his father with many expressions of gratitude

declared his conviction that his father was right about Lord Tulla, and then, in the most modest language that

he could use, went on to say that he had found another borough open to him in England. He was going to

stand for Loughton, with the assistance of Lord Brentford, and thought that the election would probably not

cost him above a couple of hundred pounds at the outside. Then he wrote a very pretty note to Lord Tulla,

thanking him for his former kindness, and telling the Irish Earl that it was not his intention to interfere with

A few days after this Phineas was very much surprised at a visit that was made to him at his lodgings. Mr

Clarkson, after that scene in the lobby of the House, called again in Great Marlborough Street and was

admitted. "You had better let him sit in your armchair for half am hour or so," Fitzgibbon had said; and

Phineas almost believed that it would be better. The man was a terrible nuisance to him, and he was

beginning to think that he had better undertake to pay the debt by degrees. It was, he knew, quite on the cards

that Mr Clarkson should have him arrested while at Saulsby. Since that scene in the lobby Mr Clarkson had

been with him twice, and there had been a preliminary conversation as to real payment. Mr Clarkson wanted

a hundred pounds down, and another bill for two hundred and twenty at three months' date. "Think of my

time and trouble in coming here," Mr Clarkson had urged when Phineas had objected to these terms. "Think

of my time and trouble, and do be punctual, Mr Finn." Phineas had offered him ten pounds a quarter, the

payments to be marked on the back of the bill, a tender which Mr Clarkson had not seemed to regard as

strong evidence of punctuality. He had not been angry, but had simply expressed his intention of calling again

giving Phineas to understand that business would probably take him to the west of Ireland in the autumn.

If only business might not take him down either to Loughlinter or to Saulsby! But the strange visitor who

The strange visitor was Miss Aspasia Fitzgibbon. "You'll be very much surprised at my coming to your

chambers, no doubt," she said, as she sat down in the chair which Phineas placed for her. Phineas could only

say that he was very proud to be so highly honoured, and that he hoped she was well, "Pretty well, I thank

you. I have just come about a little business, Mr Finn, and I hope you'll excuse me."

"Laurence, when he hears about it, will say that I've been an impertinent old fool; but I never care what

Laurence says, either this way or that. I've been to that Mr Clarkson, Mr Finn, and I've paid him the money."

"No!" said Phineas. "But I have, Mr Finn. I happened to hear what occurred that night at the door of the

"Never mind who told me. I heard it. I knew before that you had been foolish enough to help Laurence about

money, and so I put two and two together. It isn't the first time I have had to do with Mr Clarkson. So I sent

to him, and I've bought the bill. There it is." And Miss Fitzgibbon produced the document which bore the

"Not quite. I had a very hard tussle, and got it at last for two hundred and twenty pounds."

"All myself. If I had employed a lawyer I should have had to pay two hundred and forty pounds and five

"And now, Mr Finn, I hope you won't have any more money engagements with my brother Laurence."

Phineas said that he thought he might promise that he would have no more. "Because, if you do, I shan't

interfere. If Laurence began to find that he could get money out of me in that way, there would be no end to

it. Mr Clarkson would very soon be spending his spare time in my drawingroom. Goodbye, Mr Finn. If

Laurence says anything, just tell him that he'd better come to me." Then Phineas was left looking at the bill. It

was certainly a great relief to him that he should be thus secured from the domiciliary visits of Mr

Clarkson; a great relief to him to be assured that Mr Clarkson would not find him out down at Loughton; but

nevertheless, he had to suffer a pang of shame as he felt that Miss Fitzgibbon had become acquainted with his

Phineas went down to Loughlinter early in July, taking Loughton in his way. He stayed there one night at the

inn, and was introduced to sundry influential inhabitants of the borough by Mr Grating, the ironmonger, who

was known by those who knew Loughton to be a very strong supporter of the Earl's interest. Mr Grating and

about half a dozen others of the tradesmen of the town came to the inn, and met Phineas in the parlour. He

told them he was a good sound Liberal and a supporter of Mr Mildmay's Government, of which their

neighbour the Earl was so conspicuous an ornament. This was almost all that was said about the Earl out

loud; but each individual man of Loughton then present took an opportunity during the meeting of whispering

into Mr Finn's ear a word or two to show that he also was admitted to the secret councils of the borough

that he too could see the inside of the arrangement. "Of course we must support the Earl," one said. "Never

mind what you hear about a Tory candidate, Mr Finn," whispered a second; "the Earl can do what he pleases

here." And it seemed to Phineas that it was thought by them all to be rather a fine thing to be thus held in the

hand by an English nobleman. Phineas could not but reflect much upon this as he lay in his bed at the

Loughton inn. The great political question on which the political world was engrossed up in London was the

enfranchisement of Englishmen of Englishmen down to the rank of artisans and labourers and yet

when he found himself in contact with individual Englishmen, with men even very much above the artisan

and the labourer, he found that they rather liked being bound hand and foot, and being kept as tools in the

political pocket of a rich man. Every one of those Loughton tradesmen was proud of his own personal

From Loughton he went to Loughlinter, having promised to be back in the borough for the election. Mr

Grating would propose him, and he was to be seconded by Mr Shortribs, the butcher and grazier. Mention

had been made of a Conservative candidate, and Mr Shortribs had seemed to think that a good standup fight

upon English principles, with a clear understanding, of course, that victory should prevail on the liberal side,

would be a good thing for the borough. But the Earl's man of business saw Phineas on the morning of his

departure, and told him not to regard Mr Shortribs. "They'd all like it," said the man of business; "and I

daresay they'll have enough of it when this Reform Bill is passed; but at present no one will be fool enough to

come and spend his money here. We have them all in hand too well for that, Mr Finn!"

He found the great house at Loughlinter nearly empty, Mr Kennedy's mother was there, and Lord Brentford

was there, and Lord Brentford's private secretary, and Mr Kennedy's private secretary. At present that was the

entire party. Lady Baldock was expected there, with her daughter and Violet Effingham; but, as well as

Phineas could learn, they would not be at Loughlinter until after he had left it. There had come up lately a

rumour that there would be an autumn session that the Houses would sit through October and a part of

November, in order that Mr Mildmay might try the feeling of the new Parliament. If this were to be so,

Phineas had resolved that, in the event of his election at Loughton, he would not return to Ireland till after this

autumn session should be over. He gave an account to the Earl, in the presence of the Earl's soninlaw, of

what had taken place at Loughton, and the Earl expressed himself as satisfied. It was manifestly a great

satisfaction to Lord Brentford that he should still have a borough in his pocket, and the more so because there

were so very few noblemen left who had such property belonging to them. He was very careful in his speech,

never saying in so many words that the privilege of returning a member was his own; but his meaning was

Those were dreary days at Loughlinter. There was fishing if Phineas chose to fish; and he was told that he

could shoot a deer if he was minded to go out alone. But it seemed as though it were the intention of the host

that his guests should spend their time profitably. Mr Kennedy himself was shut up with books and papers all

the morning, and always took up a book after dinner. The Earl also would read a little and then would

sleep a good deal. Old Mrs Kennedy slept also, and Lady Laura looked as though she would like to sleep if it

were not that her husband's eye was upon her. As it was, she administered tea, Mr Kennedy not liking the

practice of having it handed round by a servant when none were there but members of the family circle, and

she read novels. Phineas got hold of a stiff bit of reading for himself, and tried to utilise his time. He took

Alison in hand, and worked his way gallantly through a couple of volumes. But even he, more than once or

twice, found himself on the very verge of slumber. Then he would wake up and try to think about things.

Why was he, Phineas Finn, an Irishman from Killaloe, living in that great house of Loughlinter as though he

were one of the family, striving to kill the hours, and feeling that he was in some way subject to the dominion

of his host? Would it not be better for him to get up and go away? In his heart of hearts he did not like Mr

Kennedy, though he believed him to be a good man. And of what service to him was it to like Lady Laura,

now that Lady Laura was a possession in the hands of Mr Kennedy? Then he would tell himself that he owed

his position in the world entirely to Lady Laura, and that he was ungrateful to feel himself ever dull in her

society. And, moreover, there was something to be done in the world beyond making love and being merry.

Mr Kennedy could occupy himself with a blue book for hours together without wincing. So Phineas went to

In those days he often wandered up and down the Linter and across the moor to the Linn, and so down to the

lake. He would take a book with him, and would seat himself down on spots which he loved, and would

pretend to read but I do not think that he got much advantage from his book. He was thinking of his life,

and trying to calculate whether the wonderful success which he had achieved would ever be of permanent

value to him. Would he be nearer to earning his bread when he should be member for Loughton than he had

been when he was member for Loughshane? Or was there before him any slightest probability that he would

ever earn his bread? And then he thought of Violet Effingham, and was angry with himself for remembering

Once before when he was sitting beside the Linter he had made up his mind to declare his passion to Lady

Laura and he had done so on the very spot. Now, within a twelvemonth of that time, he made up his mind

on the same spot to declare his passion to Miss Effingham, and he thought his best mode of carrying his suit

would be to secure the assistance of Lady Laura. Lady Laura, no doubt, had been very anxious that her

brother should marry Violet; but Lord Chiltern, as Phineas knew, had asked for Violet's hand twice in vain;

and, moreover, Chiltern himself had declared to Phineas that he would never ask for it again. Lady Laura,

who was always reasonable, would surely perceive that there was no hope of success for her brother. That

Chiltern would quarrel with him would quarrel with him to the knife he did not doubt; but he felt that

no fear of such a quarrel as that should deter him. He loved Violet Effingham, and he must indeed be

pusillanimous if, loving her as he did, he was deterred from expressing his love from any fear of a suitor

whom she did not favour. He would not willingly be untrue to his friendship for Lady Laura's brother. Had

there been a chance for Lord Chiltern he would have abstained from putting himself forward. But what was

the use of his abstaining, when by doing so he could in no wise benefit his friend when the result of his

doing so would be that some interloper would come in and carry off the prize? He would explain all this to

Lady Laura, and, if the prize would be kind to him, he would disregard the anger of Lord Chiltern, even

As he was thinking of all this Lady Laura stood before him where he was sitting at the top of the falls. At this

moment he remembered well all the circumstances of the scene when he had been there with her at his last

visit to Loughlinter. How things had changed since then! Then he had loved Lady Laura with all his heart,

and he had now already brought himself to regard her as a discreet matron whom to love would be almost as

unreasonable as though he were to entertain a passion for the Lord Chancellor. The reader will understand

how thorough had been the cure effected by Lady Laura's marriage and the interval of a few months, when

the swain was already prepared to make this lady the depositary of his confidence in another matter of love.

"You are often here, I suppose?" said Lady Laura, looking down upon him as he sat upon the rock.

"Well yes; not very often; I come here sometimes because the view down upon the lake is so fine."

"It is the prettiest spot about the place. I hardly ever get here now. Indeed this is only the second time that I

have been up since we have been at home, and then I came to bring papa here." There was a little wooden

seat near to the rock upon which Phineas had been lying, and upon this Lady Laura sat down. Phineas, with

his eyes turned upon the lake, was considering how he might introduce the subject of his love for Violet

Effingham; but he did not find the matter very easy. He had just resolved to begin by saying that Violet

would certainly never accept Lord Chiltern, when Lady Laura spoke a word or two which stopped him

altogether. "How well I remember," she said, "the day when you and I were here last autumn!"

"So do I. You told me then that you were going to marry Mr Kennedy. How much has happened since then!"

"No; You have been active. You have had your hands full of work. I am beginning to think that it is a great

"That was before I had learned my lesson properly. I know better than that now. Oh dear! I have no doubt it is

all for the best as it is, but I have a kind of wish that I might be allowed to go out and milk the cows."

"By no means not only not milk them, but hardly look at them. At any rate, I must not talk about them."

Phineas of course understood that she was complaining of her husband, and hardly knew how to reply to her.

He had been sharp enough to perceive already that Mr Kennedy was an autocrat in his own house, and he

knew Lady Laura well enough to be sure that such masterdom would be very irksome to her. But he had not

imagined that she would complain to him. "It was so different at Saulsby," Lady Laura continued.

"Yes according to the prayer book. And everything in truth is my own as all the dainties at the banquet

"You mean," said he and then he hesitated; you mean that Mr Kennedy stands over you, guarding you for

There was a pause before she answered a long pause, during which he was looking away over the lake,

and thinking how he might introduce the subject of his love. But long as was the pause, he had not begun

when Lady Laura was again speaking. "The truth is, my friend," she said, "that I have made a mistake.

"Yes, Phineas, a mistake. I have blundered as fools blunder, thinking that I was clever enough to pick my

footsteps aright without asking counsel from any one. I have blundered and stumbled and fallen, and now I

am so bruised that I am not able to stand upon my feet." The word that struck him most in all this was his

own Christian name. She had never called him Phineas before. He was aware that the circle of his

acquaintance had fallen into a way of miscalling him by his Christian name, as one observes to be done now

and again in reference to some special young man. Most of the men whom he called his friends called him

Phineas. Even the Earl had done so more than once on occasions in which the greatness of his position had

dropped for a moment out of his mind. Mrs Low had called him Phineas when she regarded him as her

husband's most cherished pupil; and Mrs Bunce had called him Mr Phineas. He had always been Phineas to

everybody at Killaloe. But still he was quite sure that Lady Laura had never so called him before. Nor would

"You mean that you are unhappy?" he said, still looking away from her towards the lake.

"Yes, I do mean that. Though I do not know why I should come and tell you so except that I am still

blundering and stumbling, and have fallen into a way of hurting myself at every step."

"That is a very pretty speech, but what would you do for my happiness? Indeed, what is it possible that you

should do? I mean it as no rebuke when I say that my happiness or unhappiness is a matter as to which you

"Because it is natural that it should be so. You and Mr Kennedy might have been friends. Not that you will

be, because you are unlike each other in all your ways. But it might have been so."

"No. In a very few months you will not think of telling me what are your desires or what your sorrows and

as for me, it will be out of the question that I should tell mine to you. How can you be my friend?"

"If you were not quite sure of my friendship, Lady Laura, you would not speak to me as you are speaking

now." Still he did not look at her, but lay with his face supported on his hands, and his eyes turned away upon

the lake. But she, where she was sitting, could see him, and was aided by her sight in making comparisons in

her mind between the two men who had been her lovers between him whom she had taken and him whom

she had left. There was something in the hard, dry, unsympathising, unchanging virtues of her husband which

almost revolted her. He had not a fault, but she had tried him at every point and had been able to strike no

spark of fire from him. Even by disobeying she could produce no heat only an access of firmness. How

would it have been with her had she thrown all ideas of fortune to the winds, and linked her lot to that of the

young Phoebus who was lying at her feet? If she had ever loved any one she had loved him. And she had not

thrown away her love for money. So she swore to herself over and over again, trying to console herself in her

cold unhappiness. She had married a rich man in order that she might be able to do something in the world

and now that she was this rich man's wife she found that she could do nothing. The rich man thought it to be

quite enough for her to sit at home and look after his welfare. In the meantime young Phoebus her

"Phineas," she said, slowly, I have in you such perfect confidence that I will tell you the truth as one man

"Not today, or tomorrow. Stay here now till the election; but do not return. He will ask you to come, and

press you hard, and will be hurt for, strange to say, with all his coldness, he really likes you. He has a

pleasure in seeing you here. But he must not have that pleasure at the expense of trouble to me."

"And why is it a trouble to you?" he asked. Men are such fools so awkward, so unready, with their wits

ever behind the occasion by a dozen seconds or so! As soon as the words were uttered, he knew that they

"No no; I will have none of that. I am a fool, but not such a fool as to suppose that any cure is to be found

"Only say what I can do for you, though it be with my entire life, and I will do it."

"Are you earnest in telling me that?" Now at last he had turned himself round and was looking at her, and as

he looked he saw the hat of a man appearing up the path, and immediately afterwards the face. It was the hat

and face of the laird of Loughlinter. "Here is Mr Kennedy," said Phineas, in a tone of voice not devoid of

"So I perceive," said Lady Laura. But there was no dismay or trouble in the tone of her voice.

In the countenance of Mr Kennedy, as he approached closer, there was not much to be read only, perhaps,

some slight addition of gloom, or rather, perhaps, of that frigid propriety of moral demeanour for which he

had always been conspicuous, which had grown upon him at his marriage, and which had been greatly

increased by the double action of being made a Cabinet Minister and being garrotted. "I am glad that your

headache is better," he said to his wife, who had risen from her seat to meet him. Phineas also had risen, and

"I came out because it was worse," she said. It irritated me so that I could not stand the house any longer."

"I am sure it cannot do you any good to climb up here in the heat of the sun. Had you been here long, Finn?"

"All the morning here, or hereabouts. I clambered up from the lake and had a book in my pocket."

"And you happened to come across him by accident?" Mr Kennedy asked. There was something so simple in

"Yes by chance," said Lady Laura. But every one at Loughlinter always comes up here. If any one ever

"I am going on towards Linter forest to meet Blane," said Mr Kennedy. Blane was the gamekeeper. "If you

don't mind the trouble, Finn, I wish you'd take Lady Laura down to the house. Do not let her stay out in the

heat. I will take care that somebody goes over to Callender for Dr Macnuthrie." Then Mr Kennedy went on,

and Phineas was left with the charge of taking Lady Laura back to the house. When Mr Kennedy's hat had

first appeared coming up the walk, Phineas had been ready to proclaim himself prepared for any devotion in

the service of Lady Laura. Indeed, he had begun to reply with criminal tenderness to the indiscreet avowal

which Lady Laura had made to him. But he felt now, after what had just occurred in the husband"s presence,

that any show of tenderness of criminal tenderness was impossible. The absence of all suspicion on the

part of Mr Kennedy had made Phineas feel that he was bound by all social laws to refrain from such

tenderness. Lady Laura began to descend the path before him without a word and went on, and on, as

though she would have reached the house without speaking, had he not addressed her. "Does your head still

"I do not know. It is not worth while to think about that. He sends me in, and so of course I must go. And he

"Yes, I would. Only he will be sure to find it out; and you must not tell him that you left me at my request."

"Yes I think you are. I know that I am, and that papa is; and that his mother hardly dares to call her soul

"He is something to me, and so I suppose I had better go on. And now I shall have that horrid man from the

little town pawing me and covering everything with snuff, and bidding me take Scotch physic which

seems to increase in quantity and nastiness as doses in England decrease. And he will stand over me to see

"No but Mr Kennedy will. If he advised me to have a hole in my glove mended, he would ask me before

he went to bed whether it was done. He never forgot anything in his life, and was never unmindful of

anything. That I think will do, Mr Finn. You have brought me out from the trees, and that may be taken as

bringing me home. We shall hardly get scolded if we part here. Remember what I told you up above. And

remember also that it is in your power to do nothing else for me. Goodbye." So he turned away towards the

lake, and let Lady Laura go across the wide lawn to the house by herself. He had failed altogether in his

intention of telling his friend of his love for Violet, and had come to perceive that he could not for the present

carry out that intention. After what had passed it would be impossible for him to go to Lady Laura with a

passionate tale of his longing for Violet Effingham. If he were even to speak to her of love at all, it must be

quite of another love than that. But he never would speak to her of love; nor as he felt quite sure would

she allow him to do so. But what astounded him most as he thought of the interview which had just passed,

was the fact that the Lady Laura whom he had known whom he had thought he had known should

have become so subject to such a man as Mr Kennedy, a man whom he had despised as being weak,

irresolute, and without a purpose! For the day or two that he remained at Loughlinter, he watched the family

closely, and became aware that Lady Laura had been right when she declared that her father was afraid of Mr

"I shall follow you almost immediately," said the Earl confidentially to Phineas, when the candidate for the

borough took his departure from Loughlinter. "I don't like to be there just when the election is going on, but

Phineas took his leave from Mr Kennedy, with a warm expression of friendship on the part of his host, and

from Lady Laura with a mere touch of the hand. He tried to say a word; but she was sullen, or, if not, she put

On the day after the departure of Phineas Finn for Loughton Lady Laura Kennedy still had a headache. She

had complained of a headache ever since she had been at Loughlinter, and Dr Macnuthrie had been over more

than once. "I wonder what it is that ails you," said her husband, standing over her in her own sittingroom

upstairs. It was a pretty room, looking away to the mountains, with just a glimpse of the lake to be caught

from the window, and it had been prepared for her with all the skill and taste of an accomplished upholsterer.

She had selected the room for herself soon after her engagement, and had thanked her future husband with

her sweetest smile for giving her the choice. She had thanked him and told him that she always meant to be

happy so happy in that room! He was a man not much given to romance, but he thought of this promise as

he stood over her and asked after her health. As far as he could see she had never been even comfortable

since she had been at Loughlinter. A shadow of the truth came across his mind. Perhaps his wife was bored.

If so, what was to be the future of his life and of hers? He went up to London every year, and to Parliament,

as a duty; and then, during some period of the recess, would have his house full of guests as another duty.

But his happiness was to consist in such hours as these which seemed to inflict upon his wife the penalty of a

continual headache. A shadow of the truth came upon him. What if his wife did not like living quietly at

home as the mistress of her husband's house? What if a headache was always to be the result of a simple

More than a shadow of truth had come upon Lady Laura herself. The dark cloud created by the entire truth

was upon her, making everything black and wretched around her. She had asked herself a question or two,

and had discovered that she had no love for her husband, that the kind of life which he intended to exact from

her was insupportable to her, and that she had blundered and fallen in her entrance upon life. She perceived

that her father had already become weary of Mr Kennedy, and that, lonely and sad as he would be at Saulsby

by himself, it was his intention to repudiate the idea of making a home at Loughlinter. Yes she would be

deserted by everyone, except of course by her husband; and then Then she would throw herself on some

"I don't think you take enough exercise, Laura. I would propose that you should walk four miles every day

after breakfast. I will always be ready to accompany you. I have spoken to Dr Macnuthrie "

"How can I tell why? I do. That is quite reason enough why you should not send for him to me."

"You are unreasonable, Laura. One chooses a doctor on account of his reputation in his profession, and that

"I am not ill." "But you said you had a headache. You have said so for the last ten days."

"Having a headache is not being ill. I only wish you would not talk of it, and then perhaps I should get rid of

"I cannot believe that. Headache in nine cases out of ten comes from the stomach." Though he said this

saying it because it was the commonplace commonsense sort of thing to say, still at the very moment there

was the shadow of the truth before his eyes. What if this headache meant simple dislike to him, and to his

"It is nothing of that sort," said Lady Laura, impatient at having her ailment inquired into with so much

"Then what is it? You cannot think that I can be happy to hear you complaining of headache every day

"What is it that you want me to do?" she said, jumping up from her seat. "Set me a task, and if I don't go mad

over it, I'll get through it. There are the account books. Give them to me. I don't suppose I can see the figures,

"Of course it is everything that is bad. What a pity that you did not find it out last year! Oh dear, oh dear!

what am I to do?" Then she threw herself down upon the sofa, and put both her hands up to her temples.

"I will send for Dr Macnuthrie at once," said Mr Kennedy, walking towards the door very slowly, and

"No do no such thing," she said, springing to her feet again and intercepting him before he reached the

door. "If he comes I will not see him. I give you my word that I will not speak to him if he comes. You do not

He made no reply at once, but stood there twisting the handle of the door, and collecting his thoughts. "Yes,"

said he at last; "I am beginning to find that out and to find out also what it is that bothers a woman, as you

call it. I can see now what it is that makes your head ache. It is not the stomach. You are quite right there. It is

the prospect of a quiet decent life, to which would be attached the performance of certain homely duties. Dr

Macnuthrie is a learned man, but I doubt whether he can do anything for such a malady."

"It is a malady you must cure for yourself, Laura and which is to be cured by perseverance. If you can

"Do you mean to tell me, Laura, that you will make no effort to do your duty as my wife?"

"I mean to tell you that I will not try to cure a headache by doing sums. That is all that I mean to say at this

moment. If you will leave me for a while, so that I may lie down, perhaps I shall be able to come to dinner."

He still hesitated, standing with the door in his hand. "But if you go on scolding me," she continued, "what I

shall do is to go to bed directly you go away." He hesitated for a moment longer, and then left the room

Our hero was elected member for Loughton without any trouble to him or, as far as he could see, to anyone

else. He made one speech from a small raised booth that was called a platform, and that was all that he was

called upon to do. Mr Grating made a speech in proposing him, and Mr Shortribs another in seconding him;

and these were all the speeches that were required. The thing seemed to be so very easy that he was

afterwards almost offended when he was told that the bill for so insignificant a piece of work came to �247

13s. 9d. He had seen no occasion for spending even the odd fortyseven pounds. But then he was member for

Loughton; and as he passed the evening alone at the inn, having dined in company with Messrs. Grating,

Shortribs, and sundry other influential electors, he began to reflect that, after all, it was not so very great a

thing to be a member of Parliament. It almost seemed that that which had come to him so easily could not be

On the following day he went to the castle, and was there when the Earl arrived. They two were alone

together, and the Earl was very kind to him. "So you had no opponent after all," said the great man of

"I did not think there would be. They have tried it once or twice and have always failed. There are only one or

two in the place who like to go one way just because their neighbours go the other. But, in truth, there is no

Phineas, although he was at the present moment the member for Loughton himself, could not but enjoy the

joke of this. Could there be any liberal feeling in such a place, or, indeed, any political feeling whatsoever?

Would not Messrs. Grating and Shortribs have done just the same had it happened that Lord Brentford had

been a Tory peer? "They all seemed to be very obliging," said Phineas, in answer to the Earl.

"Yes, they are, There isn't a house in the town, you know, let for longer than seven years, and most of them

merely from year to year. And, do you know, I haven't a farmer on the property with a lease not one; and

they don't want leases. They know they're safe. But I do like the people round me to be of the same way of

On the second day after dinner the last evening of Finn's visit to Saulsby the Earl fell suddenly into a

confidential conversation about his daughter and his son, and about Violet Effingham. So sudden, indeed, and

so confidential was the conversation, that Phineas was almost silenced for a while. A word or two had been

said about Loughlinter, of the beauty of the place and of the vastness of the property. "I am almost afraid,"

"He is so hard and dry, and what I call exacting. That is just the word for it. Now Laura has never been used

to that. With me she always had her own way in everything, and I always found her fit to have it. I do not

"Temper, yes; but what a bad prospect is that for her! And she, too, has a temper, and so he will find if he

tries her too far. I cannot stand Loughlinter. I told Laura so fairly. It is one of those houses in which a man

cannot call his hours his own. I told Laura that I could not undertake to remain there for above a day or two."

"Yes, indeed; it is sad for her, poor girl; and very sad for me too. I have no one else but Laura literally no

one; and now I am divided from her! It seems that she has been taken as much away from me as though her

"I say I have. As to Chiltern, I can perceive that he becomes more and more indifferent to me every day. He

"I do not wrong him at all. Why has he answered every offer I have made him with so much insolence as to

make it impossible for me to put myself into further communion with him?" "He thinks that you have

"Yes because I have been unable to shut my eyes to his mode of living. I was to go on paying his debts,

"Because his sister the other day spent every shilling of her fortune in paying them. She gave him �4,000! Do

you think she would have married Kennedy but for that? I don't. I could not prevent her. I had said that I

would not cripple my remaining years of life by raising the money, and I could not go back from my word."

"It would do no good now. She has married Mr Kennedy, and the money is nothing to her or to him. Chiltern

"No he did his worst. He asked her to be his wife as a man asks for a railway ticket or a pair of gloves,

which he buys with a price; and because she would not jump into his mouth he gave it up. I don't believe he

even really wanted to marry her. I suppose he has some disreputable connection to prevent it."

"Nothing of the kind. He would marry her tomorrow if he could. My belief is that Miss Effingham is sincere

"Ah, well; I don't agree with you, and I daresay I know them both better than you do. But everything goes

against me. I had set my heart upon it, and therefore of course I shall be disappointed. What is he going to do

"The greatest blackguard in all England! A man who shoots pigeons and rides steeplechases! And the worst

of Chiltern is this, that even if he didn't like the man, and if he were tired of this sort of life, he would go on

just the same because he thinks it a fine thing not to give way." This was so true that Phineas did not dare to

contradict the statement, and therefore said nothing. "I had some faint hope," continued the Earl, "while

Laura could always watch him; because, in his way, he was fond of his sister. But that is all over now. She

Phineas had felt that the Earl had put him down rather sharply when he had said that Violet would never

accept Lord Chiltern, and he was therefore not a little surprised when Lord Brentford spoke again of Miss

Effingham the following morning, holding in his hand a letter which he had just received from her. "They are

to be at Loughlinter on the tenth," he said, "and she purposes to come here for a couple of nights on her way."

"Well, yes; Lady Baldock and all. I am not very fond of Lady Baldock, but I will put up with her for a couple

of days for the sake of having Violet. She is more like a child of my own now than anybody else. I shall not

"You have had enough of it, have you?" Phineas made no reply to this, but smiled slightly. "By Jove, I don't

wonder at it," said the Earl. Phineas, who would have given all he had in the world to be staying in the same

country house with Violet Effingham, could not explain how it had come to pass that he was obliged to

"I explained to him after that," said Phineas, that I should not return. I shall go over to Ireland. I have a deal

He went up from Saulsby to London on that day, and found himself quite alone in Mrs Bunce's lodgings. I

mean not only that he was alone at his lodgings, but he was alone at his club, and alone in the streets. July

was not quite over, and yet all the birds of passage had migrated. Mr Mildmay, by his short session, had half

ruined the London tradesmen, and had changed the summer mode of life of all those who account themselves

to be anybody. Phineas, as he sat alone in his room, felt himself to be nobody. He had told the Earl that he

was going to Ireland, and to Ireland he must go because he had nothing else to do. He had been asked

indeed to join one or two parties in their autumn plans. Mr Monk had wanted him to go to the Pyrenees, and

Lord Chiltern had suggested that he should join the yacht but neither plan suited him. It would have suited

him to be it Loughlinter with Violet Effingham, but Loughlinter was a barred house to him. His old friend,

Lady Laura, had told him not to come thither, explaining, with sufficient clearness, her reasons for excluding

him from the number of her husband's guests. As he thought of it the past scenes of his life became very

marvellous to him. Twelve months since he would have given all the world for a word of love from Lady

Laura, and had barely dared to hope that such a word, at some future day, might possibly be spoken. Now

such a word had in truth been spoken, and it had come to be simply a trouble to him. She had owned to him

for, in truth, such had been the meaning of her warning to him that, though she had married another

man, she had loved and did love him. But in thinking of this he took no pride in it. It was not till he had

thought of it long that he began to ask himself whether he might not be justified in gathering from what

happened some hope that Violet also might learn to love him. He had thought so little of himself as to have

been afraid at first to press his suit with Lady Laura. Might he not venture to think more of himself, having

But how was he to get at Violet Effingham? From the moment at which he had left Saulsby he had been

angry with himself for not having asked Lord Brentford to allow him to remain there till after the Baldock

party should have gone on to Loughlinter. The Earl, who was very lonely in his house, would have consented

at once. Phineas, indeed, was driven to confess to himself that success with Violet would at once have put an

end to all his friendship with Lord Brentford as also to all his friendship with Lord Chiltern. He would, in

such case, be bound in honour to vacate his seat and give back Loughton to his offended patron. But he

would have given up much more than his seat for Violet Effingham! At present, however, he had no means of

getting at her to ask her the question. He could hardly go to Loughlinter in opposition to the wishes of Lady

A little adventure happened to him in London which somewhat relieved the dullness of the days of the first

week in August. He remained in London till the middle of August, half resolving to rush down to Saulsby

when Violet Effingham should be there endeavouring to find some excuse for such a proceeding, but

racking his brains in vain and then there came about his little adventure. The adventure was commenced

by the receipt of the following letter: Banner of the People Office, 3rd August, 186

I must say I think you have treated me badly, and without that sort of brotherly fairness which we on the

public press expect from one another. However, perhaps we can come to an understanding, and if so, things

may yet go smoothly. Give me a turn and I am not at all adverse to give you one. Will you come to me here,

Phineas was not only surprised, but disgusted also, at the receipt of this letter. He could not imagine what was

the deed by which he had offended Mr Slide. He thought over all the circumstances of his short connection

with the People's Banner, but could remember nothing which might have created offence. But his disgust was

greater than his surprise. He thought that he had done nothing and said nothing to justify Quintus Slide in

calling him "dear Finn." He, who had Lady Laura's secret in his keeping; he who hoped to be the possessor of

Violet Effingham's affections he to be called "dear Finn" by such a one as Quintus Slide! He soon made

up his mind that he would not answer the note, but would go at once to the People's Banner office at the hour

at which Quintus Slide was always there. He certainly would not write to "dear Slide;" and, until he had heard

something more of this cause of offence, he would not make an enemy for ever by calling the man "dear Sir."

He went to the office of the People's Banner, and found Mr Slide ensconced in a little glass cupboard, writing

"I suppose you're very busy," said Phineas, inserting himself with some difficulty on to a little stool in the

"Shoot!" said Phineas. It could not be possible that Mr Slide was intending, after this abrupt fashion, to

"I'm doing a letter about it advising men not to shoot too many of the young birds, and showing that

they'll have none next year if they do. I had a fellow here just now who knew all about it, and he put down a

lot; but I forgot to make him tell me the day of beginning. What's a good place to date from?"

"Stirling's too much of a town, isn't it? Callender sounds better for game, I think."

So the letter which was to save the young grouse was dated from Callender; and Mr Quintus Slide having

written the word, threw down his pen, came off his stool, and rushed at once at his subject.

"Well, now, Finn," he said, don't you know that you've treated me badly about Loughton?"

"Treated you badly about Loughton!" Phineas, as he repeated the words, was quite in the dark as to Mr Slide's

meaning. Did Mr Slide intend to convey a reproach because Phineas had not personally sent some tidings of

"Very badly," said Mr Slide, with his arms akimbo "very badly indeed! Men on the press together do

expect that they're to be stuck by, and not thrown over. Damn it, I say; what's the good of a brotherhood if it

"How on earth could you have stood for Loughton? What interest would you have there? You could not even

"Now, I'll tell you what I'll do, Finn. I think you have thrown me over most shabby, but I won't stand about

that. You shall have Loughton this session if you'll promise to make way for me after the next election. If

you'll agree to that, we'll have a special leader to say how well Lord What'shisname has done with the

"I never heard such nonsense in my life. In the first place, Loughton is safe to be in the schedule of reduced

"Agree! No! It's the most absurd proposal that was ever made. You might as well ask me whether I would

agree that you should go to heaven. Go to heaven if you can, I should say. I have not the slightest objection.

"Very well," said Quintus Slide. Very well! Now we understand each other, and that's all that I desire. I think

that I can show you what it is to come among gentlemen of the press, and then to throw them over. Good

Phineas, quite satisfied at the result of the interview as regarded himself, and by no means sorry that there

should have arisen a cause of separation between Mr Quintus Slide and his "dear Finn," shook off a little dust

from his foot as he left the office of the People's Banner. and resolved that in future he would attempt to make

no connection in that direction. As he returned home he told himself that a member of Parliament should be

altogether independent of the press. On the second morning after his meeting with his late friend, he saw the

result of his independence. There was a startling article, a tremendous article, showing the pressing necessity

of immediate reform, and proving the necessity by an illustration of the boroughmongering rottenness of the

present system. When such a patron as Lord Brentford himself a Cabinet Minister with a sinecure

could by his mere word put into the House such a stick as Phineas Finn a man who had struggled to stand

on his legs before the Speaker, but had wanted both the courage and the capacity, nothing further could surely

be wanted to prove that the Reform Bill of 1832 required to be supplemented by some more energetic

Phineas laughed as he read the article, and declared to himself that the joke was a good joke. But,

nevertheless, he suffered. Mr Quintus Slide, when he was really anxious to use his thong earnestly, could

On the 10th of August, Phineas Finn did return to Loughton. He went down by the mail train on the night of

the 10th, having telegraphed to the inn for a bed, and was up eating his breakfast in that hospitable house at

nine o'clock. The landlord and landlady with all their staff were at a loss to imagine what had brought down

their member again so quickly to his borough; but the reader, who will remember that Lady Baldock with her

daughter and Violet Effingham were to pass the 11th of the month at Saulsby, may perhaps be able to make a

Phineas had been thinking of making this sudden visit to Loughton ever since he had been up in town, but he

could suggest to himself no reason to be given to Lord Brentford for his sudden reappearance. The Earl had

been very kind to him, but he had said nothing which could justify his young friend in running in and out of

Saulsby Castle at pleasure, without invitation and without notice. Phineas was so well aware of this himself

that often as he had half resolved during the last ten days to return to Saulsby, so often had he determined that

he could not do so. He could think of no excuse. Then the heavens favoured him, and he received a letter

from Lord Chiltern, in which there was a message for Lord Brentford. "If you see my father, tell him that I

am ready at any moment to do what is necessary for raising the money for Laura." Taking this as his excuse

As chance arranged it, he met the Earl standing on the great steps before his own castle doors. "What, Finn; is

"Not yet, my lord, as you see." Then he opened his budget at once, and blushed at his own hypocrisy as he

went on with his story. He had, he said, felt the message from Chiltern to be so allimportant that he could

not bring himself to go over to Ireland without delivering it. He urged upon the Earl that he might learn from

this how anxious Lord Chiltern was to effect a reconciliation. When it occurred to him, he said, that there

might be a hope of doing anything towards such an object, he could not go to Ireland leaving the good work

behind him. In love and war all things are fair. So he declared to himself; but as he did so he felt that his story

was so weak that it would hardly gain for him an admittance into the Castle. In this he was completely wrong.

The Earl, swallowing the bait, put his arm through that of the intruder, and, walking with him through the

paths of the shrubbery, at length confessed that he would be glad to be reconciled to his son if it were

possible. "Let him come here, and she shall be here also," said the Earl, speaking of Violet. To this Phineas

could say nothing out loud, but he told himself that all should be fair between them. He would take no

dishonest advantage of Lord Chiltern. He would give Lord Chiltern the whole message as it was given to him

by Lord Brentford. But should it so turn out that he himself got an opportunity of saying to Violet all that he

had come to say, and should it also turn out an event which he acknowledged to himself to be most

unlikely that Violet did not reject him, then how could he write his letter to Lord Chiltern? So he resolved

that the letter should be written before he saw Violet. But how could he write such a letter and instantly

afterwards do that which would be false to the spirit of a letter so written? Could he bid Lord Chiltern come

home to woo Violet Effingham, and instantly go forth to woo her for himself? He found that he could not do

so unless he told the whole truth to Lord Chiltern. In no other way could he carry out his project and

The Earl bade him send to the hotel for his things. "The Baldock people are all here, you know, but they go

very early tomorrow." Then Phineas declared that he also must return to London very early on the morrow

but in the meantime he would go to the inn and fetch his things. The Earl thanked him again and again for his

generous kindness; and Phineas, blushing as he received the thanks, went back and wrote his letter to Lord

Chiltern. It was an elaborate letter, written, as regards the first and larger portion of it, with words intended to

bring the prodigal son back to the father's home. And everything was said about Miss Effingham that could or

should have been said. Then, on the last page, he told his own story. "Now," he said, I must speak of myself:

and he went on to explain to his friend, in the plainest language that he could use, his own position. "I

have loved her," he said, "for six months, and I am here with the express intention of asking her to take me.

The chances are ten to one that she refuses me. I do not deprecate your anger if you choose to be angry.

But I am endeavouring to treat you well, and I ask you to do the same by me. I must convey to you your

father's message, and after doing so I cannot address myself to Miss Effingham without telling you. I should

feel myself to be false were I to do so. In the event the probable, nay, almost certain event of my being

refused I shall trust you to keep my secret. Do not quarrel with me if you can help it but if you must I

He had only the one day for his action, and he knew that Violet was watched by Lady Baldock as by a

dragon. He was told that the Earl was out with the young ladies, and was shown to his room. On going to the

drawingroom he found Lady Baldock, with whom he had been, to a certain degree, a favourite, and was

soon deeply engaged in a conversation as to the practicability of shutting up all the breweries and distilleries

by Act of Parliament. But lunch relieved him, and brought the young ladies in at two. Miss Effingham

seemed to be really glad to see him, and even Miss Boreham, Lady Baldock's daughter, was very gracious to

him. For the Earl had been speaking well of his young member, and Phineas had in a way grown into the

good graces of sober and discreet people. After lunch they were to ride the Earl, that is, and Violet. Lady

Baldock and her daughter were to have the carriage. "I can mount you, Finn, if you would like it," said the

Earl. "Of course he'll like it," said Violet; do you suppose Mr Finn will object to ride with me in Saulsby

Woods? It won't be the first time, will it?" "Violet, said Lady Baldock, "you have the most singular way of

talking." I suppose I have," said Violet; "but I don't think I can change it now. Mr Finn knows me too well to

It was past five before they were on horseback, and up to that time Phineas had not found himself alone with

Violet Effingham for a moment. They had sat together after lunch in the diningroom for nearly an hour, and

had sauntered into the hall and knocked about the billiard balls, and then stood together at the open doors of a

conservatory. But Lady Baldock or Miss Boreham had always been there. Nothing could be more pleasant

than Miss Effingham's words, or more familiar than her manner to Phineas. She had expressed strong delight

at his success in getting a seat in Parliament, and had talked to him about the Kennedys as though they had

created some special bond of union between her and Phineas which ought to make them intimate. But, for all

that, she could not be got to separate herself from Lady Baldock and when she was told that if she meant

But he thought that he might have a chance on horseback; and after they had been out about half an hour,

chance did favour him. For awhile he rode behind with the carriage, calculating that by his so doing the Earl

would be put off his guard, and would be disposed after awhile to change places with him. And so it fell out.

At a certain fall of ground in the park, where the road turned round and crossed a bridge over the little river,

the carriage came up with the first two horses, and Lady Baldock spoke a word to the Earl. Then Violet

pulled up, allowing the vehicle to pass the bridge first, and in this way she and Phineas were brought together

and in this way they rode on. But he was aware that he must greatly increase the distance between them

and the others of their party before he could dare to plead his suit, and even were that done he felt that he

They had gone on some half mile in this way when they reached a spot on which a green ride led away from

the main road through the trees to the left. "You remember this place, do you not?" said Violet. Phineas

declared that he remembered it well. "I must go round by the woodman's cottage. You won't mind coming?"

Phineas said that he would not mind, and trotted on to tell them in the carriage.

"Where is she going?" asked Lady Baldock; and then, when Phineas explained, she begged the Earl to go

back to Violet. The Earl, feeling the absurdity of this, declared that Violet knew her way very well herself,

They rode on almost without speaking for nearly a mile, cantering through the trees, and then they took

another turn to the right, and came upon the cottage. They rode to the door, and spoke a word or two to the

woman there, and then passed on. "I always come here when I am at Saulsby," said Violet, "that I may teach

"He used to be so nice and is so still, I believe, only that he has taught himself to be so rough. Will he ever

Phineas knew that in this emergency it was his especial duty to be honest. "I think he would be changed

altogether if we could bring him here so that he should live among his friends." "Do you think he would?

We must put our heads together, and do it. Don't you think that it is to be done?"

Phineas replied that he thought it was to be done. "I'll tell you the truth at once, Miss Effingham," he said.

"Yes yes;" she said; but I do not mean that without that. It is absurd, you know, that a father should

make such a condition as that." Phineas said that he thought it was absurd; and then they rode on again,

cantering through the wood. He had been bold to speak to her about Lord Chiltern as he had done, and she

had answered just as he would have wished to be answered. But how could he press his suit for himself while

Presently they came to rough ground over which they were forced to walk, and he was close by her side. "Mr

"Then why are you not going to be at Loughlinter? She has written to me expressly saying you would not be

"Perhaps I can guess it," she said. But I will not try. I will not even think of it."

"The cause, whatever it be, has been full of sorrow to me. I would have given my left hand to have been at

"I should have been staying there with you," he said. He paused, and for a moment there was no word spoken

by either of them; but he could perceive that the hand in which she held her whip was playing with her

horse's mane with a nervous movement. "When I found how it must be, and that I must miss you, I rushed

down here that I might see you for a moment. And now I am here I do not dare to speak to you of myself."

They were now beyond the rocks, and Violet, without speaking a word, again put her horse into a trot. He

was by her side in a moment, but he could not see her face. "Have you not a word to say to me?" he asked.

"No no no;" she replied, not a word when you speak to me like that. There is the carriage. Come

we will join them." Then she cantered on, and he followed her till they reached the Earl and Lady Baldock

and Miss Boreham. "I have done my devotions now," said Miss Effingham, "and am ready to return to

Phineas could not find another moment in which to speak to her. Though he spent the evening with her, and

stood over her as she sang at the Earl's request, and pressed her hand as she went to bed, and was up to see

Phineas Finn went to Ireland immediately after his return from Saulsby, having said nothing further to Violet

Effingham, and having heard nothing further from her than what is recorded in the last chapter. He felt very

keenly that his position was unsatisfactory, and brooded over it all the autumn and early winter; but he could

form no plan for improving it. A dozen times he thought of writing to Miss Effingham, and asking for an

explicit answer. He could not, however, bring himself to write the letter, thinking that written expressions of

love are always weak and vapid and deterred also by a conviction that Violet, if driven to reply in writing,

would undoubtedly reply by a refusal. Fifty times he rode again in his imagination his ride in Saulsby Wood,

and he told himself as often that the siren's answer to him her no, no, no had been, of all possible

answers, the most indefinite and provoking. The tone of her voice as she galloped away from him, the bearing

of her countenance when he rejoined her, her manner to him when he saw her start from the Castle in the

morning, all forbade him to believe that his words to her had been taken as an offence. She had replied to him

with a direct negative, simply with the word "no;" but she had so said it that there had hardly been any sting

in the no; and he had known at the moment that whatever might be the result of his suit, he need not regard

But the doubt made his sojourn in Ireland very wearisome to him. And there were other matters which tended

also to his discomfort, though he was not left even at this period of his life without a continuation of success

which seemed to be very wonderful. And, first, I will say a word of his discomfort. He heard not a line from

Lord Chiltern in answer to the letter which he had written to his lordship. From Lady Laura he did hear

frequently. Lady Laura wrote to him exactly as though she had never warned him away from Loughlinter,

and as though there had been no occasion for such warning. She sent him letters filled chiefly with politics,

saying something also of the guests at Loughlinter, something of the game, and just a word or two here and

there of her husband. The letters were very good letters, and he preserved them carefully. It was manifest to

him that they were intended to be good letters, and, as such, to be preserved. In one of these, which he

received about the end of November, she told him that her brother was again in his old haunt, at the

Willingford Bull, and that he had sent to Portman Square for all property of his own that had been left there.

But there was no word in that letter of Violet Effingham; and though Lady Laura did speak more than once of

Violet, she always did so as though Violet were simply a joint acquaintance of herself and her correspondent.

There was no allusion to the existence of any special regard on his part for Miss Effingham. He had thought

that Violet might probably tell her friend what had occurred at Saulsby but if she did so, Lady Laura was

happy in her powers of reticence. Our hero was disturbed also when he reached home by finding that Mrs

Flood Jones and Miss Flood Jones had retired from Killaloe for the winter. I do not know whether he might

not have been more disturbed by the presence of the young lady, for he would have found himself constrained

to exhibit towards her some tenderness of manner; and any such tenderness of manner would, in his existing

circumstances, have been dangerous. But he was made to understand that Mary Flood Jones had been taken

away from Killaloe because it was thought that he had illtreated the lady, and the accusation made him

unhappy. In the middle of the heat of the last session he had received a letter from his sister, in which some

pushing question had been asked as to his then existing feeling about poor Mary. This he had answered

petulantly. Nothing more had been written to him about Miss Jones, and nothing was said to him when he

reached home. He could not, however, but ask after Mary, and when he did ask, the accusation was made

again in that quietly severe manner with which, perhaps, most of us have been made acquainted at some

period of our lives. "I think, Phineas," said his sister, "we had better say nothing about dear Mary. She is not

here at present, and probably you may not see her while you remain with us." "What's all that about?"

Phineas had demanded understanding the whole matter thoroughly. Then his sister had demurely refused

to say a word further on the subject, and not a word further was said about Miss Mary Flood Jones. They

were at Floodborough, living, he did not doubt, in a very desolate way and quite willing, he did not doubt

also, to abandon their desolation if he would go over there in the manner that would become him after what

had passed on one or two occasions between him and the young lady. But how was he to do this with such

work on his hands as he had undertaken? Now that he was in Ireland, he thought that he did love dear Mary

very dearly. He felt that he had two identities that he was, as it were, two separate persons and that he

could, without any real faithlessness, be very much in love with Violet Effingham in his position of man of

fashion and member of Parliament in England, and also warmly attached to dear little Mary Flood Jones as an

Irishman of Killaloe. He was aware, however, that there was a prejudice against such fullness of heart, and,

therefore, resolved sternly that it was his duty to be constant to Miss Effingham. How was it possible that he

should marry dear Mary he, with such extensive jobs of work on his hands! It was not possible. He must

abandon all thought of making dear Mary his own. No doubt they had been right to remove her. But, still, as

he took his solitary walks along the Shannon, and up on the hills that overhung the lake above the town, he

felt somewhat ashamed of himself, and dreamed of giving up Parliament, of leaving Violet to some noble

suitor to Lord Chiltern, if she would take him and of going to Floodborough with an honest proposal

that he should be allowed to press Mary to his heart. Miss Effingham would probably reject him at last;

whereas Mary, dear Mary, would come to his heart without a scruple of doubt. Dear Mary! In these days of

dreaming, he told himself that, after all, dear Mary was his real love. But, of course, such days were days of

dreaming only. He had letters in his pocket from Lady Laura Kennedy which made it impossible for him to

And then there came a wonderful piece of luck in his way. There lived, or had lived, in the town of Galway a

very eccentric old lady, one Miss Marian Persse, who was the aunt of Mrs Finn, the mother of our hero. With

this lady Dr Finn had quarrelled persistently ever since his marriage, because the lady had expressed her wish

to interfere in the management of his family offering to purchase such right by favourable arrangements in

reference to her will. This the doctor had resented, and there had been quarrels. Miss Persse was not a very

rich old lady, but she thought a good deal of her own money. And now she died, leaving �3,000 to her

nephew Phineas Finn. Another sum of about equal amount she bequeathed to a Roman Catholic seminary;

and thus was her worldly wealth divided. "She couldn't have done better with it," said the old doctor; "and as

far as we are concerned, the windfall is the more pleasant as being wholly unexpected. In these days the

doctor was undoubtedly gratified by his son's success in life, and never said much about the law. Phineas in

truth did do some work during the autumn, reading blue books, reading law books, reading perhaps a novel or

two at the same time but shutting himself up very carefully as he studied, so that his sisters were made to

understand that for a certain four hours in the day not a sound was to be allowed to disturb him.

On the receipt of his legacy he at once offered to repay his father all money that had been advanced him over

and above his original allowance; but this the doctor refused to take. "It comes to the same thing, Phineas," he

said. "What you have of your share now you can't have hereafter. As regards my present income, it has only

made me work a little longer than I had intended; and I believe that the later in life a man works, the more

likely he is to live." Phineas, therefore, when he returned to London, had his �3,000 in his pocket. He owed

There had been some talk of an autumnal session, but Mr Mildmay's decision had at last been against it. Who

cannot understand that such would be the decision of any Minister to whom was left the slightest fraction of

free will in the matter? Why should any Minister court the danger of unnecessary attack, submit himself to

unnecessary work, and incur the odium of summoning all his friends from their rest? In the midst of the

doubts as to the new and old Ministry, when the political needle was vacillating so tremulously on its pivot,

pointing now to one set of men as the coming Government and then to another, vague suggestions as to an

autumn session might be useful. And they were thrown out in all good faith. Mr Mildmay, when he spoke on

the subject to the Duke, was earnest in thinking that the question of Reform should not be postponed even for

six months. "Don't pledge yourself," said the Duke and Mr Mildmay did not pledge himself. Afterwards,

when Mr Mildmay found that he was once more assuredly Prime Minister, he changed his mind, and felt

himself to be under a fresh obligation to the Duke. Lord de Terrier had altogether failed, and the country

might very well wait till February. The country did wait till February, somewhat to the disappointment of

Phineas Finn, who had become tired of blue books at Killaloe. The difference between his English life and

his life at home was so great, that it was hardly possible that he should not become weary of the latter. He did

become weary of it, but strove gallantly to hide his weariness from his father and mother.

At this time the world was talking much about Reform, though Mr Mildmay had become placidly patient.

The feeling was growing, and Mr Turnbull, with his friends, was doing all he could to make it grow fast.

There was a certain amount of excitement on the subject; but the excitement had grown downwards, from the

leaders to the people from the selfinstituted leaders of popular politics down, by means of the press, to

the ranks of working men, instead of growing upwards, from the dissatisfaction of the masses, till it

expressed itself by this mouthpiece and that, chosen by the people themselves. There was no strong throb

through the country, making men feel that safety was to be had by Reform, and could not be had without

Reform. But there was an understanding that the press and the orators were too strong to be ignored, and that

some new measure of Reform must be conceded to them. The sooner the concession was made, the less it

might be necessary to concede. And all men of all parties were agreed on this point. That Reform was in itself

odious to many of those who spoke of it freely, who offered themselves willingly to be its promoters, was

acknowledged. It was not only odious to Lord de Terrier and to most of those who worked with him, but was

equally so to many of Mr Mildmay's most constant supporters. The Duke had no wish for Reform. Indeed it

is hard to suppose that such a Duke can wish for any change in a state of things that must seem to him to be

so salutary. Workmen were getting full wages. Farmers were paying their rent. Capitalists by the dozen were

creating capitalists by the hundreds. Nothing was wrong in the country, but the overdominant spirit of

speculative commerce and there was nothing in Reform to check that. Why should the Duke want

Reform? As for such men as Lord Brentford, Sir Harry Coldfoot, Lord Plinlimmon, and Mr Legge Wilson, it

was known to all men that they advocated Reform as we all of us advocate doctors. Some amount of

doctoring is necessary for us. We may hardly hope to avoid it. But let us have as little of the doctor as

possible. Mr Turnbull, and the cheap press, and the rising spirit of the loudest among the people, made it

manifest that something must be conceded. Let us be generous in our concession. That was now the doctrine

of many perhaps of most of the leading politicians of the day. Let us be generous. Let us at any rate seem

to be generous. Let us give with an open hand but still with a hand which, though open, shall not bestow

too much. The coach must be allowed to run down the hill. Indeed, unless the coach goes on running no

journey will be made. But let us have the drag on both the hind wheels. And we must remember that coaches

But there were men, even in the Cabinet, who had other ideas of public service than that of dragging the

wheels of the coach. Mr Gresham was in earnest. Plantagenet Palliser was in earnest. That exceedingly

intelligent young nobleman Lord Cantrip was in earnest. Mr Mildmay threw, perhaps, as much of earnestness

into the matter as was compatible with his age and his full appreciation of the manner in which the present

cry for Reform had been aroused. He was thoroughly honest, thoroughly patriotic, and thoroughly ambitious

that he should be written of hereafter as one who to the end of a long life had worked sedulously for the

welfare of the people but he disbelieved in Mr Turnbull, and in the bottom of his heart indulged an

aristocratic contempt for the penny press. And there was no man in England more in earnest, more truly

desirous of Reform, than Mr Monk. It was his great political idea that political advantages should be extended

to the people, whether the people clamoured for them or did not clamour for them even whether they

desired them or did not desire them. "You do not ask a child whether he would like to learn his lesson," he

would say. "At any rate, you do not wait till he cries for his book." When, therefore, men said to him that

there was no earnestness in the cry for Reform, that the cry was a false cry, got up for factious purposes by

interested persons, he would reply that the thing to be done should not be done in obedience to any cry, but

Our hero in the autumn had written to Mr Monk on the politics of the moment, and the following had been

"I am staying here with the Duke and Duchess of St Bungay. The house is very full, and Mr Mildmay was

here last week; but as I don't shoot, and can't play billiards, and have no taste for charades, I am becoming

tired of the gaieties, and shall leave them tomorrow. Of course you know that we are not to have the autumn

session. I think that Mr Mildmay is right. Could we have been sure of passing our measure, it would have

been very well; but we could not have been sure, and failure with our bill in a session convened for the

express purpose of passing it would have injured the cause greatly. We could hardly have gone on with it

again in the spring. Indeed, we must have resigned. And though I may truly say that I would as lief have a

good measure from Lord de Terrier as from Mr Mildmay, and that I am indifferent to my own present

personal position, still I think that we should endeavour to keep our seats as long as we honestly believe

"I am astonished by the difference of opinion which exists about Reform not only as to the difference in

the extent and exact tendency of the measure that is needed but that there should be such a divergence of

ideas as to the grand thing to be done and the grand reason for doing it. We are all agreed that we want

Reform in order that the House of Commons may be returned by a larger proportion of the people than is at

present employed upon that work, and that each member when returned should represent a somewhat more

equal section of the whole constituencies of the country than our members generally do at present. All men

confess that a �50 county franchise must be too high, and that a borough with less than two hundred

registered voters must be wrong. But it seems to me that but few among us perceive, or at any rate

acknowledge, the real reasons for changing these things and reforming what is wrong without delay. One

great authority told us the other day that the sole object of legislation on this subject should be to get together

the best possible 658 members of Parliament. That to me would be a most repulsive idea if it were not that by

its very vagueness it becomes inoperative. Who shall say what is best; or what characteristic constitutes

excellence in a member of Parliament? If the gentleman means excellence in general wisdom, or in statecraft,

or in skill in talking, or in private character, or even excellence in patriotism, then I say that he is utterly

wrong, and has never touched with his intellect the true theory of representation. One only excellence may be

acknowledged, and that is the excellence of likeness. As a portrait should be like the person portrayed, so

should a representative House be like the people whom it represents. Nor in arranging a franchise does it

seem to me that we have a right to regard any other view. If a country be unfit for representative government

and it may be that there are still peoples unable to use properly that greatest of all blessings the

question as to what state policy may be best for them is a different question. But if we do have representation,

let the representative assembly be like the people, whatever else may be its virtues and whatever else its

"Another great authority has told us that our House of Commons should be the mirror of the people. I say, not

its mirror, but its miniature. And let the artist be careful to put in every line of the expression of that

evermoving face. To do this is a great work, and the artist must know his trade well. In America the work

has been done with so coarse a hand that nothing is shown in the picture but the broad, plain, unspeaking

outline of the face. As you look from the represented to the representation you cannot but acknowledge the

likeness but there is in that portrait more of the body than of the mind. The true portrait should represent

more than the body. With us, hitherto, there have been snatches of the countenance of the nation which have

been inimitable a turn of the eye here and a curl of the lip there, which have seemed to denote a power

almost divine. There have been marvels on the canvas so beautiful that one approaches the work of

remodelling it with awe. But not only is the picture imperfect a thing of snatches but with years it

"The necessity for remodelling it is imperative, and we shall be cowards if we decline the work. But let us be

specially careful to retain as much as possible of those lines which we all acknowledge to be so faithfully

representative of our nation. To give to a bare numerical majority of the people that power which the

numerical majority has in the United States, would not be to achieve representation. The nation as it now

exists would not be known by such a portrait but neither can it now be known by that which exists. It

seems to me that they who are adverse to change, looking back with an unmeasured respect on what our old

Parliaments have done for us, ignore the majestic growth of the English people, and forget the present in their

worship of the past. They think that we must be what we were at any rate, what we were thirty years

since. They have not, perhaps, gone into the houses of artisans, or, if there, they have not looked into the

breasts of the men. With population vice has increased, and these politicians, with ears but no eyes, hear of

drunkenness and sin and ignorance. And then they declare to themselves that this wicked, halfbarbarous,

idle people should be controlled and not represented. A wicked, halfbarbarous, idlepeople may be

controlled but not a people thoughtful, educated, and industrious. We must look to it that we do not

endeavour to carry our control beyond the wickedness and the barbarity, and that we be ready to submit to

Phineas was up in London before the end of January, but did not find there many of those whom he wished to

see. Mr Low was there, and to him he showed Mr Monk's letter, thinking that it must be convincing even to

Mr Low. This he did in Mrs Low's drawingroom, knowing that Mrs Low would also condescend to discuss

politics on an occasion. He had dined with them, and they had been glad to see him, and Mrs Low had been

less severe than hitherto against the great sin of her husband's late pupil. She had condescended to

congratulate him on becoming member for an English borough instead of an Irish one, and had asked him

questions about Saulsby Castle. But, nevertheless, Mr Monk's letter was not received with that respectful

admiration which Phineas thought that it deserved. Phineas, foolishly, had read it out loud, so that the attack

"It is just the usual claptrap," said Mr Low, only put into language somewhat more grandiloquent than usual."

"It's what I call downright Radical nonsense," said Mrs Low, nodding her head energetically. "Portrait

indeed! Why should we want to have a portrait of ignorance and ugliness? What we all want is to have things

"Just so," said Mr Low only that what you call a paternal government is not always quiet and orderly.

National order I take to be submission to the law. I should not think it quiet and orderly if I were sent to

"My nextdoor neighbour might be which would be almost as bad. Let him be sent to Cayenne if he

deserves it, but let a jury say that he has deserved it. My idea of government is this that we want to be

governed by law and not by caprice, and that we must have a legislature to make our laws. If I thought that

Parliament as at present established made the laws badly, I would desire a change; but I doubt whether we

shall have them better from any change in Parliament which Reform will give us."

"Of course not," said Mrs Low. But we shall have a lot of beggars put on horseback, and we all know where

Then Phineas became aware that it is not easy to convince any man or any woman on a point of politics

not even though he who argues may have an eloquent letter from a philosophical Cabinet Minister in his

February was far advanced and the new Reform Bill had already been brought forward, before Lady Laura

Kennedy came up to town. Phineas had of course seen Mr Kennedy and had heard from him tidings of his

wife. She was at Saulsby with Lady Baldock and Miss Boreham and Violet Effingham, but was to be in

London soon. Mr Kennedy, as it appeared, did not quite know when he was to expect his wife; and Phineas

thought that he could perceive from the tone of the husband's voice that something was amiss. He could not

however ask any questions excepting such as referred to the expected arrival. Was Miss Effingham to come

to London with Lady Laura? Mr Kennedy believed that Miss Effingham would be up before Easter, but he

did not know whether she would come with his wife. "Women", he said, are so fond of mystery that one can

never quite know what they intend to do." He corrected himself at once however, perceiving that he had

seemed to say something against his wife, and explained that his general accusation against the sex was not

intended to apply to Lady Laura. This, however, he did so awkwardly as to strengthen the feeling with

Phineas that something assuredly was wrong. "Miss Effingham", said Mr Kennedy, "never seems to know her

own mind." "I suppose she is like other beautiful girls who are petted on all sides," said Phineas. "As for her

beauty, I don't think much of it," said Mr Kennedy; "and as for petting, I do not understand it in reference to

grown persons. Children may be petted, and dogs though that too is bad; but what you call petting for

grown persons is I think frivolous and almost indecent." Phineas could not help thinking of Lord Chiltern's

opinion that it would have been wise to have left Mr Kennedy in the hands of the garrotters.

The debate on the second reading of the bill was to be commenced on the 1st of March, and two days before

that Lady Laura arrived in Grosvenor Place. Phineas got a note from her in three words to say that she was at

home and would see him if he called on Sunday afternoon. The Sunday to which she alluded was the last day

of February. Phineas was now more certain than ever that something was wrong. Had there been nothing

wrong between Lady Laura and her husband, she would not have rebelled against him by asking visitors to

the house on a Sunday. He had nothing to do with that, however, and of course he did as he was desired. He

called on the Sunday, and found Mrs Bonteen sitting with Lady Laura. "I am just in time for the debate," said

"Every word of it unless I lose my seat. What else is there to be done at present?"

"There are worse places even than the Ladies' Gallery," said Lady Laura. "And perhaps it is as well to make

"Of course you will. The great speeches will be Mr Gresham's, Mr Daubeny's, and Mr Monk's."

"A man cannot be strong or not as he likes it," said Lady Laura. "Mr Palliser I believe to be a most useful

man, but he never can become an orator. He is of the same class as Mr Kennedy only of course higher in

"I have not the slightest idea whether he will open his lips," said Lady Laura. Immediately after that Mrs

Bonteen took her leave. "I hate that woman like poison," continued Lady Laura. "She is always playing a

game, and it is such a small game that she plays! And she contributes so little to society. She is not witty nor

wellinformed not even sufficiently ignorant or ridiculous to be a laughingstock. One gets nothing from

"You did not think so! You could not have thought so! How can you bring such an accusation against me,

knowing me as you do? But never mind Mrs Bonteen now. On what day shall you speak?"

"I suppose you can arrange it?" "I shall endeavour to do so, as far as any arrangement can go."

"Yes," said Phineas; I think we shall; but by the votes of men who are determined so to pull the bill to pieces

in committee, that its own parents will not know it. I doubt whether Mr Mildmay will have the temper to

"They tell me that Mr Mildmay will abandon the custody of the bill to Mr Gresham after his first speech."

"I don't know that Mr Gresham's temper is more enduring than Mr Mildmay's," said Phineas.

"Well we shall see. My own impression is that nothing would save the country so effectually at the

Phineas sat there for half an hour and then got up to go, having spoken no word on any other subject than that

of politics. He longed to ask after Violet. He longed to make some inquiry respecting Lord Chiltern. And, to

tell the truth, he felt painfully curious to hear Lady Laura say something about her own self. He could not but

remember what had been said between them up over the waterfall, and how he had been warned not to return

to Loughlinter. And then again, did Lady Laura know anything of what had passed between him and Violet?

"At Moroni's. He goes down on Tuesday, I think. He is to see his father tomorrow morning."

"Yes by agreement. There is a new trouble about money that they think to be due to me. But I cannot

tell you all now. There have been some words between Mr Kennedy and papa. But I won't talk about it. You

"Angry with you! Not in the least. I'll tell you just what he said. He said he should not wish to live even with

"One word, Mr Finn," said Lady Laura, hardly looking him in the face and yet making an effort to do so. "I

"Let it be absolutely forgotten. In such a case a man is bound to do all that a woman asks him, and no man

has a truer spirit of chivalry than yourself. That is all. Look in when you can. I will not ask you to dine here

as yet, because we are so frightfully dull. Do your best on Tuesday, and then let us see you on Wednesday.

Phineas as he walked across the park towards his club made up his mind that he would forget the scene by the

waterfall. He had never quite known what it had meant, and he would wipe it away from his mind altogether.

He acknowledged to himself that chivalry did demand of him that he should never allow himself to think of

Lady Laura's rash words to him. That she was not happy with her husband was very clear to him but that

was altogether another affair. She might be unhappy with her husband without indulging any guilty love. He

had never thought it possible that she could be happy living with such a husband as Mr Kennedy. All that,

however, was now past remedy, and she must simply endure the mode of life which she had prepared for

herself. There were other men and women in London tied together for better and worse, in reference to whose

union their friends knew that there would be no better that it must be all worse. Lady Laura must bear it,

On the Monday morning Phineas called at Moroni's Hotel at ten o'clock, but in spite of Lady Laura's

assurance to the contrary, he found that Lord Chiltern was out. He had felt some palpitation at the heart as he

made his inquiry, knowing well the fiery nature of the man he expected to see. It might be that there would be

some actual personal conflict between him and this halfmad lord before he got back again into the street.

What Lady Laura had said about her brother did not in the estimation of Phineas make this at all the less

probable. The halfmad lord was so singular in his ways that it might well be that he should speak

handsomely of a rival behind his back and yet take him by the throat as soon as they were together, face to

face. And yet, as Phineas thought, it was necessary that he should see the halfmad lord. He had written a

letter to which he had received no reply, and he considered it to be incumbent on him to ask whether it had

been received and whether any answer to it was intended to be given. He went therefore to Lord Chiltern at

once as I have said, with some feeling at his heart that there might be violence, at any rate of words,

before he should find himself again in the street. But Lord Chiltern was not there. All that the porter knew

was that Lord Chiltern intended to leave the house on the following morning. Then Phineas wrote a note and

"I particularly want to see you with reference to a letter I wrote to you last summer. I must be in the House

today from four till the debate is over. I will be at the Reform Club from two till half past three, and will

come if you will send for me, or I will meet you anywhere at any hour tomorrow morning.

No message came to him at the Reform Club, and he was in his seat in the House by four o'clock. During the

"I have got your letter this moment. Of course we must meet. I hunt on Tuesday, and go down by the early

train; but I will come to town on Wednesday. We shall require to be private, and I will therefore be at your

Phineas at once perceived that the note was a hostile note, written in an angry spirit written to one whom

the writer did not at the moment acknowledge to be his friend. This was certainly the case, whatever Lord

Chiltern may have said to his sister as to his friendship for Phineas. Phineas crushed the note into his pocket,

The debate was opened by a speech from Mr Mildmay, in which that gentleman at great length and with

much perspicuity explained his notion of that measure of Parliamentary Reform which he thought to be

necessary. He was listened to with the greatest attention to the close and perhaps, at the end of his speech,

with more attention than usual, as there had gone abroad a rumour that the Prime Minister intended to declare

that this would be the last effort of his life in that course. But, if he ever intended to utter such a pledge, his

heart misgave him when the time came for uttering it. He merely said that as the management of the bill in

committee would be an affair of much labour, and probably spread over many nights, he would be assisted in

his work by his colleagues, and especially by his right honourable friend the Secretary of State for Foreign

Affairs. It was then understood that Mr Gresham would take the lead should the bill go into committee but

it was understood also that no resignation of leadership had been made by Mr Mildmay.

The measure now proposed to the House was very much the same as that which had been brought forward in

the last session. The existing theory of British representation was not to be changed, but the actual practice

was to be brought nearer to the ideal theory. The ideas of manhood suffrage, and of electoral districts, were to

be as far as ever removed from the bulwarks of the British Constitution. There were to be counties with

agricultural constituencies, purposely arranged to be purely agricultural, whenever the nature of the counties

would admit of its being so. No artificer at Reform, let him be Conservative or Liberal, can make Middlesex

or Lancashire agricultural; but Wiltshire and Suffolk were to be preserved inviolable to the plough and the

apples of Devonshire were still to have their sway. Every town in the three kingdoms with a certain

population was to have two members. But here there was much room for cavil as all men knew would be

the case. Who shall say what is a town, or where shall be its limits? Bits of counties might be borrowed, so as

to lessen the Conservatism of the county without endangering the Liberalism of the borough. And then there

were the boroughs with one member and then the groups of little boroughs. In the discussion of any such

arrangement how easy is the picking of holes; how impossible the fabrication of a garment that shall be

impervious to such picking! Then again there was that great question of the ballot. On that there was to be no

mistake. Mr Mildmay again pledged himself to disappear from the Treasury bench should any motion, clause,

or resolution be carried by that House in favour of the ballot. He spoke for three hours, and then left the

No reader of these pages will desire that the speeches in the debate should be even indicated. It soon became

known that the Conservatives would not divide the House against the second reading of the bill. They

declared, however, very plainly their intention of so altering the clauses of the bill in committee or at least

of attempting so to do as to make the bill their bill, rather than the bill of their opponents. To this Mr

Palliser replied that as long as nothing vital was touched, the Government would only be too happy to oblige

their friends opposite. If anything vital were touched, the Government could only fall back upon their friends

on that side. And in this way men were very civil to each other. But Mr Turnbull, who opened the debate on

the Tuesday, thundered out an assurance to gods and men that he would divide the House on the second

reading of the bill itself. He did not doubt but that there were many good men and true to go with him into the

lobby, but into the lobby he would go if he had no more than a single friend to support him. And he warned

the Sovereign, and he warned the House, and he warned the people of England, that the measure of Reform

now proposed by a socalled liberal Minister was a measure prepared in concert with the ancient enemies of

the people. He was very loud, very angry, and quite successful in hallooing down sundry attempts which

were made to interrupt him. "I find", he said, that there are many members here who do not know me yet

young members, probably, who are green from the waste lands and roadsides of private life. They will know

me soon, and then, may be, there will be less of this foolish noise, less of this elongation of unnecessary

necks. Our Rome must be aroused to a sense of its danger by other voices than these." He was called to order,

but it was ruled that he had not been out of order and he was very triumphant. Mr Monk answered him,

and it was declared afterwards that Mr Monk's speech was one of the finest pieces of oratory that had ever

been uttered in that House. He made one remark personal to Mr Turnbull. "I quite agreed with the right

honourable gentleman in the chair," he said, "when he declared that the honourable member was not out of

order just now. We all of us agree with him always on such points. The rules of our House have been laid

down with the utmost latitude, so that the course of our debates may not be frivolously or too easily

interrupted. But a member may be so in order as to incur the displeasure of the House, and to merit the

reproaches of his countrymen." This little duel gave great life to the debate; but it was said that those two

great Reformers, Mr Turnbull and Mr Monk, could never again meet as friends. In the course of the debate on

Tuesday, Phineas got upon his legs. The reader, I trust, will remember that hitherto he had failed altogether as

a speaker. On one occasion he had lacked even the spirit to use and deliver an oration which he had prepared.

On a second occasion he had broken down woefully, and past all redemption, as said those who were not

his friends unfortunately, but not past redemption, as said those who were his true friends. After that once

again he had arisen and said a few words which had called for no remark, and had been spoken as though he

were in the habit of addressing the House daily. It may be doubted whether there were half a dozen men now

present who recognised the fact that this man, who was so well known to so many of them, was now about to

make another attempt at a first speech. Phineas himself diligently attempted to forget that such was the case.

He had prepared for himself a few headings of what he intended to say, and on one or two points had

arranged his words. His hope was that even though he should forget the words, he might still be able to cling

to the thread of his discourse. When he found himself again upon his legs amidst those crowded seats, for a

few moments there came upon him that old sensation of awe. Again things grew dim before his eyes, and

again he hardly knew at which end of that long chamber the Speaker was sitting. But there arose within him a

sudden courage, as soon as the sound of his own voice in that room had made itself intimate to his ear; and

after the first few sentences, all fear, all awe, was gone from him. When he read his speech in the report

afterwards, he found that he had strayed very wide of his intended course, but he had strayed without

tumbling into ditches, or falling into sunken pits. He had spoken much from Mr Monk's letter, but had had the

grace to acknowledge whence had come his inspiration. He hardly knew, however, whether he had failed

again or not, till Barrington Erle came up to him as they were leaving the House, with his old easy pressing

manner. "So you have got into form at last," he said. "I always thought that it would come. I never for a

moment believed but that it would come sooner or later." Phineas Finn answered not a word; but he went

home and lay awake all night triumphant. The verdict of Barrington Erle sufficed to assure him that he had

Phineas, when he woke, had two matters to occupy his mind his success of the previous night, and his

coming interview with Lord Chiltern. He stayed at home the whole morning, knowing that nothing could be

done before the hour Lord Chiltern had named for his visit. He read every word of the debate, studiously

postponing the perusal of his own speech till he should come to it in due order. And then he wrote to his

father, commencing his letter as though his writing had no reference to the affairs of the previous night. But

he soon found himself compelled to break into some mention of it. "I send you a Times", he said, "in order

that you may see that I have had my finger in the pie. I have hitherto abstained from putting myself forward

in the House, partly through a base fear for which I despise myself, and partly through a feeling of prudence

that a man of my age should not be in a hurry to gather laurels. This is literally true. There has been the fear,

and there has been the prudence. My wonder is, that I have not incurred more contempt from others because I

have been a coward. People have been so kind to me that I must suppose them to have judged me more

leniently than I have judged myself." Then, as he was putting up the paper, he looked again at his own

speech, and of course read every word of it once more. As he did so it occurred to him that the reporters had

been more than courteous to him. The man who had followed him had been, he thought, at any rate as

longwinded as himself; but to this orator less than half a column had been granted. To him had been granted

ten lines in big type, and after that a whole column and a half. Let Lord Chiltern come and do his worst!

When it wanted but twenty minutes to one, and he was beginning to think in what way he had better answer

the halfmad lord, should the lord in his wrath be very mad, there came to him a note by the hand of some

messenger. He knew at once that it was from Lady Laura, and opened it in hot haste. It was as follows:

We are all talking about your speech. My father was in the gallery and heard it and said that he had to

thank me for sending you to Loughton. That made me very happy. Mr Kennedy declares that you were

eloquent, but too short. That coming from him is praise indeed, I have seen Barrington, who takes pride to

himself that you are his political child. Violet says that it is the only speech she ever read. I was there, and

"I suppose we shall see you after the House is up, but I write this as I shall barely have an opportunity of

speaking to you then. I shall be in Portman Square, not at home, from six till seven."

The moment in which Phineas refolded this note and put it into his breast coatpocket was, I think, the

happiest of his life. Then, before he had withdrawn his hand from his breast, he remembered that what was

now about to take place between him and Lord Chiltern would probably be the means of separating him

altogether from Lady Laura and her family. Nay, might it not render it necessary that he should abandon the

seat in Parliament which had been conferred upon him by the personal kindness of Lord Brentford? Let that

be as it might. One thing was clear to him. He would not abandon Violet Effingham till he should be desired

to do so in the plainest language by Violet Effingham herself. Looking at his watch he saw that it was one

Phineas went forward immediately with his hand out to meet his visitor. "Chiltern," he said, I am very glad to

see you." But Lord Chiltern did not take his hand. Passing on to the table, with his hat still on his head, and

with a dark scowl upon his brow, the young lord stood for a few moments perfectly silent. Then he chucked a

letter across the table to the spot at which Phineas was standing. Phineas, taking up the letter, perceived that it

was that which he, in his great attempt to be honest, had written from the inn at Loughton. "It is my own

"Yes; it is your letter to me. I received it oddly enough together with your own note at Moroni's on

Monday morning. It has been round the world, I suppose, and reached me only then. You must withdraw it."

"Yes, sir, withdraw it. As far as I can learn, without asking any question which would have committed myself

for the young lady, you have not acted upon it. You have not yet done what you there threaten to do. In that

you have been very wise, and there can be no difficulty in your withdrawing the letter."

"Do you remember what I once told you about myself and Miss Effingham?" This question he

asked very slowly, pausing between the words, and looking full into the face of his rival, towards whom he

had gradually come nearer. And his countenance, as he did so, was by no means pleasant. The redness of his

complexion had become more ruddy than usual; he still wore his hat as though with studied insolence; his

right hand was clenched; and there was that look of angry purpose in his eye which no man likes to see in the

eye of an antagonist. Phineas was afraid of no violence, personal to himself; but he was afraid of of what I

may, perhaps, best call "a row". To be tumbling over the chairs and tables with his late friend and present

enemy in Mrs Bunce's room would be most unpleasant to him. If there were to be blows he, too, must strike

and he was very averse to strike Lady Laura's brother, Lord Brentford's son, Violet Effingham's friend. If

"I suppose I remember what you mean," said Phineas. I think you declared that you would quarrel with any

man who might presume to address Miss Effingham. Is it that to which you allude?"

"I remember what you said very well. If nothing else was to deter me from asking Miss Effingham to be my

wife, you will hardly think that that ought to have any weight. The threat had no weight."

"It was not spoken as a threat, sir, and that you know as well as I do. It was said from a friend to a friend

as I thought then. But it is not the less true. I wonder what you can think of faith and truth and honesty of

purpose when you took advantage of my absence you, whom I had told a thousand times that I loved her

better than my own soul! You stand before the world as a rising man, and I stand before the world as a man

damned. You have been chosen by my father to sit for our family borough, while I am an outcast from his

house. You have Cabinet Ministers for your friends, while I have hardly a decent associate left to me in the

world. But I can say of myself that I have never done anything unworthy of a gentleman, while this thing that

"I have done nothing unworthy," said Phineas. I wrote to you instantly when I had resolved though it was

"You wrote! Yes; when I was miles distant; weeks, months away. But I did not come here to ballyrag like an

old woman. I got your letter only on Monday, and know nothing of what has occurred. Is Miss Effingham to

be your wife?" Lord Chiltern had now come quite close to Phineas, and Phineas felt that that clenched fist

might be in his face in half a moment. Miss Effingham of course was not engaged to him, but it seemed to

him that if he were now so to declare, such declaration would appear to have been drawn from him by fear. "I

ask you," said Lord Chiltern, "in what position you now stand towards Miss Effingham. If you are not a

"I shall have to try," said Lord Chiltern. But if you please I will ask you for an answer to my question."

Phineas paused for a moment, thinking what honesty of purpose and a high spirit would, when combined

together, demand of him, and together with these requirements he felt that he was bound to join some feeling

of duty towards Miss Effingham. Lord Chiltern was standing there, fiery red, with his hand still clenched, and

his hat still on, waiting for his answer. "Let me have your question again", said Phineas, "and I will answer it

"I ask you in what position you stand towards Miss Effingham. Mind, I do not doubt at all, but I choose to

"You will remember, of course, that I can only answer to the best of my belief."

"Had you said as an indifferent acquaintance, you would, I think, have been nearer the mark. But we will let

that be. I presume I may understand that you have given up any idea of changing that position?"

"Why what hope have you?" "That is another thing. I shall not speak of that at any rate not to you."

"Then, sir " and now Lord Chiltern advanced another step and raised his hand as though he were about to

"Stop, Chiltern," said Phineas, stepping back, so that there was some article of furniture between him and his

"What do you call a riot, sir? I believe that after all you are a poltroon. What I require of you is that you shall

"Yes to fight; to fight; to fight. For what other purpose do you suppose that I can wish to meet you?"

Phineas felt at the moment that the fighting of a duel would be destructive to all his political hopes. Few

Englishmen fight duels in these days. They who do so are always reckoned to be fools. And a duel between

him and Lord Brentford's son must, as he thought, separate him from Violet, from Lady Laura, from Lord

Brentford, and from his borough. But yet how could he refuse? "What have you to think of, sir, when such an

"I have to think whether I have courage enough to refuse to make myself an ass."

"You say that you do not wish to have a riot. That is your way to escape what you call a riot."

"No, sir I simply want this, that you should leave me where you found me, and not interfere with that

"You had better send some friend to me, and I will name someone, whom he shall meet."

"Of course I will do that if I have your promise to meet me. We can be in Belgium in an hour or two, and

back again in a few more hours that is, any one of us who may chance to be alive."

"I will select a friend, and will tell him everything, and will then do as he bids me."

"It will certainly not be Mr Kennedy. I shall probably ask Laurence Fitzgibbon to manage for me in such an

affair." "Perhaps you will see him at once, then, so that Colepepper may arrange with him this afternoon. And

let me assure you, Mr Finn, that there will be a meeting between us after some fashion, let the ideas of your

friend Mr Fitzgibbon be what they may." Then Lord Chiltern purposed to go, but turned again as he was

going. "And remember this," he said, "my complaint is that you have been false to me damnably false; not

that you have fallen in love with this young lady or with that." Then the fieryred lord opened the door for

Phineas, as soon as he was alone, walked down to the House, at which there was an early sitting. As he went

there was one great question which he had to settle with himself Was there any justice in the charge made

against him that he had been false to his friend? When he had thought over the matter at Saulsby, after

rushing down there that he might throw himself at Violet's feet, he had assured himself that such a letter as

that which he resolved to write to Lord Chiltern, would be even chivalrous in its absolute honesty. He would

tell his purpose to Lord Chiltern the moment that his purpose was formed and would afterwards speak of

Lord Chiltern behind his back as one dear friend should speak of another. Had Miss Effingham shown the

slightest intention of accepting Lord Chiltern's offer, he would have acknowledged to himself that the

circumstances of his position made it impossible that he should, with honour, become his friend's rival. But

was he to be debarred for ever from getting that which he wanted because Lord Chiltern wanted it also

knowing, as he did so well, that Lord Chiltern could not get the thing which he wanted? All this had been

quite sufficient for him at Saulsby. But now the charge against him that he had been false to his friend rang in

his ears and made him unhappy. It certainly was true that Lord Chiltern had not given up his hopes, and that

he had spoken probably more openly to Phineas respecting them than he had done to any other human being.

If it was true that he had been false, then he must comply with any requisition which Lord Chiltern might

make short of voluntarily giving up the lady. He must fight if he were asked to do so, even though

When again in the House yesterday's scene came back upon him, and more than one man came to him

congratulating him. Mr Monk took his hand and spoke a word to him. The old Premier nodded to him. Mr

Gresham greeted him; and Plantagenet Palliser openly told him that he had made a good speech. How sweet

would all this have been had there not been ever at this heart the remembrance of this terrible difficulty

the consciousness that he was about to be forced into an absurdity which would put an end to all this

sweetness! Why was the world in England so severe against duelling? After all, as he regarded the matter

now, a duel might be the best way, nay, the only way out of a difficulty. If he might only be allowed to go out

with Lord Chiltern the whole thing might be arranged. If he were not shot he might carry on his suit with

Miss Effingham unfettered by any impediment on that side. And if he were shot, what matter was that to any

one but himself? Why should the world be so thinskinned so foolishly chary of human life?

Laurence Fitzgibbon did not come to the House, and Phineas looked for him at both the clubs which he

frequented leaving a note at each as he did not find him. He also left a note for him at his lodgings in

Duke Street. "I must see you this evening. I shall dine at the Reform Club pray come there." After that,

Phineas went up to Portman Square, in accordance with the instructions received from Lady Laura.

There he saw Violet Effingham, meeting her for the first time since he had parted from her on the great steps

at Saulsby. Of course he spoke to her, and of course she was gracious to him. But her graciousness was only a

smile and his speech was only a word. There were many in the room, but not enough to make privacy

possible as it becomes possible at a crowded evening meeting. Lord Brentford was there, and the

Bonteens, and Barrington Erle, and Lady Glencora Palliser, and Lord Cantrip with his young wife. It was

manifestly a meeting of Liberals, semisocial and semipolitical so arranged that ladies might feel that

some interest in politics was allowed to them, and perhaps some influence also. Afterwards Mr Palliser

himself came in. Phineas, however, was most struck by finding that Laurence Fitzgibbon was there, and that

Mr kennedy was not. In regard to Mr Kennedy, he was quite sure that had such a meeting taken place before

Lady Laura's marriage, Mr Kennedy would have been present. "I must speak to you as we go away," said

Phineas, whispering a word into Fitzgibbon's ear. "I have been leaving notes for you all about the town." "Not

How pleasant it was that meeting; or would have been had there not been that nightmare on his breast!

They all talked as though there were perfect accord between them and perfect confidence. There were there

great men Cabinet Ministers, and beautiful women the wives and daughters of some of England's

highest nobles. And Phineas Finn, throwing back, now and again, a thought to Killaloe, found himself among

On a sofa near to him, so that he could almost touch her foot with his, was sitting Violet Effingham, and as he

leaned over from his chair discussing some point in Mr Mildmay's bill with that most inveterate politician,

Lady Glencora, Violet looked into his face and smiled. Oh heavens! If Lord Chiltern and he might only toss

up as to which of them should go to Patagonia and remain there for the next ten years, and which should have

"Come along, Phineas, if you mean to come," said Laurence Fitzgibbon. Phineas was of course bound to go,

though Lady Glencora was still talking Radicalism, and Violet Effingham was still smiling ineffably.

"I knew it was a duel bedad I did," said Laurence Fitzgibbon, standing at the corner of Orchard Street and

Oxford Street, when Phineas had half told his story. "I was sure of it from the tone of your voice, my boy. We

mustn't let it come off that's all not if we can help it." Then Phineas was allowed to proceed and finish his

story. "I don't see any way out of it; I don't, indeed," said Laurence. By this time Phineas had come to think

that the duel was in very truth the best way out of the difficulty. It was a bad way out, but then it was a way

and he could not see any other. "As for illtreating him, that's nonsense," said Laurence. "What are the

girls to do, if one fellow mayn't come on as soon as another fellow is down? But then, you see, a fellow never

knows when he's down himself, and therefore he thinks that he's illused. I'll tell you what now. I shouldn't

wonder if we couldn't do it on the sly unless one of you is stupid enough to hit the other in an awkward

place. If you are certain of your hand now, the right shoulder is the best spot." Phineas felt very certain that

he would not hit Lord Chiltern in an awkward place, although he was by no means sure of his hand. Let come

what might, he would not aim at his adversary. But of this he had thought it proper to say nothing to

And the duel did come off on the sly. The meeting in the drawingroom in Portman Square, of which

mention was made in the last chapter, took place on a Wednesday afternoon. On the Thursday, Friday,

Monday, and Tuesday following, the great debate on Mr Mildmay's bill was continued, and at three on the

Tuesday night the House divided. There was a majority in favour of the Ministers, not large enough to permit

them to claim a triumph for their party, or even an ovation for themselves; but still sufficient to enable them

to send their bill into committee. Mr Daubeny and Mr Turnbull had again joined their forces together in

opposition to the ministerial measure. On the Thursday Phineas had shown himself in the House, but during

the remainder of this interesting period he was absent from his place, nor was he seen at the clubs, nor did

any man know of his whereabouts. I think that Lady Laura Kennedy was the first to miss him with any real

sense of his absence. She would now go to Portman Square on the afternoon of every Sunday at which

time her husband was attending the second service of his church and there she would receive those whom

she called her father's guests. But as her father was never there on the Sundays, and as these gatherings had

been created by herself, the reader will probably think that she was obeying her husband's behests in regard to

the Sabbath after a very indifferent fashion. The reader may be quite sure, however, that Mr Kennedy knew

well what was being done in Portman Square. Whatever might be Lady Laura's faults, she did not commit the

fault of disobeying her husband in secret. There were, probably, a few words on the subject; but we need not

On the Sunday which afforded some rest in the middle of the great Reform debate Lady Laura asked for Mr

Finn, and no one could answer her question. And then it was remembered that Laurence Fitzgibbon was also

absent. Barrington Erle knew nothing of Phineas had heard nothing; but was able to say that Fitzgibbon

had been with Mr Ratler, the patronage secretary and liberal whip, early on Thursday, expressing his

intention of absenting himself for two days. Mr Ratler had been wroth, bidding him remain at his duty, and

pointing out to him the great importance of the moment. Then Barrington Erle quoted Laurence Fitzgibbon's

reply. "My boy," said Laurence to poor Ratler, "the path of duty leads but to the grave. All the same; I'll be in

at the death, Ratler, my boy, as sure as the sun's in heaven." Not ten minutes after the telling of this little

story, Fitzgibbon entered the room in Portman Square, and Lady Laura at once asked him after Phineas.

"Bedad, Lady Laura, I have been out of town myself for two days, and I know nothing."

"With me! No not with me. I had a job of business of my own which took me over to Paris. And has

Phinny fled too? Poor Ratler! I shouldn't wonder if it isn't an asylum he's in before the session is over."

Laurence Fitzgibbon certainly possessed the rare accomplishment of telling a lie with a good grace. Had any

man called him a liar he would have considered himself to be not only insulted, but injured also. He believed

himself to be a man of truth. There were, however, in his estimation certain subjects on which a man might

depart as wide as the poles are asunder from truth without subjecting himself to any ignominy for falsehood.

In dealing with a tradesman as to his debts, or with a rival as to a lady, or with any man or woman in defence

of a lady's character, or in any such matter as that of a duel, Laurence believed that a gentleman was bound to

lie, and that he would be no gentleman if he hesitated to do so. Not the slightest prick of conscience disturbed

him when he told Lady Laura that he had been in Paris, and that he knew nothing of Phineas Finn. But, in

truth, during the last day or two he had been in Flanders, and not in Paris, and had stood as second with his

friend Phineas on the sands at Blankenberg, a little fishing town some twelve miles distant from Bruges, and

had left his friend since that at an hotel at Ostend with a wound just under the shoulder, from which a

The manner of the meeting had been in this wise. Captain Colepepper and Laurence Fitzgibbon had held their

meeting, and at this meeting Laurence had taken certain standingground on behalf of his friend, and in

obedience to his friend's positive instruction which was this, that his friend could not abandon his right of

addressing the young lady, should he hereafter ever think fit to do so. Let that be granted, and Laurence

would do anything. But then that could not be granted, and Laurence could only shrug his shoulders. Nor

would Laurence admit that his friend had been false. "The question lies in a nutshell," said Laurence, with

that sweet Connaught brogue which always came to him when he desired to be effective "here it is. One

gentleman tells another that he's sweet upon a young lady, but that the young lady has refused him, and

always will refuse him, for ever and ever. That's the truth anyhow. Is the second gentleman bound by that not

to address the young lady? I say he is not bound. It'd be a d d hard tratement, Captain Colepepper, if a

man's mouth and all the ardent affections of his heart were to be stopped in that manner! By Jases, I don't

Captain Colepepper was not very good at an argument. "I think they'd better see each other," said

"If you choose to have it so, so be it. But I think it the hardest thing in the world I do indeed." Then they

put their heads together in the most friendly way, and declared that the affair should, if possible, be kept

private. On the Thursday night Lord Chiltern and Captain Colepepper went over by Calais and Lille to

Bruges. Laurence Fitzgibbon, with his friend Dr O'Shaughnessy, crossed by the direct boat from Dover to

Ostend. Phineas went to Ostend by Dover and Calais, but he took the day route on Friday. It had all been

arranged among them, so that there might be no suspicion as to the job in hand. Even O'Shaughnessy and

Laurence Fitzgibbon had left London by separate trains. They met on the sands at Blankenberg about nine

o'clock on the Saturday morning, having reached that village in different vehicles from Ostend and Bruges,

and had met quite unobserved amidst the sandheaps. But one shot had been exchanged, and Phineas had

been wounded in the right shoulder. He had proposed to exchange another shot with his left hand, declaring

his capability of shooting quite as well with the left as with the right; but to this both Colepepper and

Fitzgibbon had objected. Lord Chiltern had offered to shake hands with his late friend in a true spirit of

friendship, if only his late friend would say that he did not intend to prosecute his suit with the young lady. In

all these disputes the young lady's name was never mentioned. Phineas indeed had not once named Violet to

Fitzgibbon, speaking of her always as the lady in question; and though Laurence correctly surmised the

identity of the young lady, he never hinted that he had even guessed her name. I doubt whether Lord Chiltern

had been so wary when alone with Captain Colepepper; but then Lord Chiltern was, when he spoke at all, a

very plainspoken man. Of course his lordship's late friend Phineas would give no such pledge, and therefore

Lord Chiltern moved off the ground and back to Blankenberg and Bruges, and into Brussels, in still living

enmity with our hero. Laurence and the doctor took Phineas back to Ostend, and though the bullet was then in

his shoulder, Phineas made his way through Blankenberg after such a fashion that no one there knew what

had occurred. Not a living soul, except the five concerned, was at that time aware that a duel had been fought

Laurence Fitzgibbon made his way to Dover by the Saturday night's boat, and was able to show himself in

Portman Square on the Sunday. "Know anything about Phinny Finn?" he said afterwards to Barrington Erle,

in answer to an inquiry from that anxious gentleman. "Not a word! I think you'd better send the towncrier

round after him." Barrington, however, did not feel quite so well assured of Fitzgibbon's truth as Lady Laura

Dr O'Shaughnessy remained during the Sunday and Monday at Ostend with his patient, and the people at the

inn only knew that Mr Finn had sprained his shoulder badly; and on the Tuesday they came back to London

again, via Calais and Dover. No bone had been broken, and Phineas, though his shoulder was very painful,

bore the journey well. O'Shaughnessy had received a telegram on the Monday, telling him that the division

would certainly take place on the Tuesday and on the Tuesday, at about ten in the evening, Phineas went

down to the House. "By , you're here," said Ratler, taking hold of him with an affection that was too

warm. "Yes; I'm here," said Phineas, wincing in agony; "but be a little careful, there's a good fellow. I've been

"Put your arm out, have you?" said Ratler, observing the sling for the first time. "I'm sorry for that. But you'll

"Yes I'll stop and vote. I've come up for the purpose, But I hope it won't be very late."

"There are both Daubeny and Gresham to speak yet, and at least three others. I don't suppose it will be much

before three. But you're all right now. You can go down and smoke if you like!" In this way Phineas Finn

spoke in the debate, and heard the end of it, voting for his party, and fought his duel with Lord Chiltern in the

He did go and sit on a wellcushioned bench in the smokingroom, and then was interrogated by many of his

friends as to his mysterious absence. He had, he said, been down in Kent, and had had an accident with his

arm, by which he had been confined. When this questioner and that perceived that there was some little

mystery in the matter, the questioners did not push their questions, but simply entertained their own surmises.

One indiscreet questioner, however, did trouble Phineas sorely, declaring that there must have been some

affair in which a woman had had a part, and asking after the young lady of Kent. This indiscreet questioner

was Laurence Fitzgibbon, who, as Phineas thought, carried his spirit of intrigue a little too far. Phineas stayed

How singular would it be if this affair of the duel should pass away, and no one be a bit the wiser but those

four men who had been with him on the sands at Blankenberg! Again he wondered at his own luck. He had

told himself that a duel with Lord Chiltern must create a quarrel between him and Lord Chiltern's relations,

and also between him and Violet Effingham; that it must banish him from his comfortable seat for Loughton,

and ruin him in regard to his political prospects. And now he had fought his duel, and was back in town

and the thing seemed to have been a thing of nothing. He had not as yet seen Lady Laura or Violet, but he had

no doubt but they both were as much in the dark as other people. The day might arrive, he thought, on which

it would be pleasant for him to tell Violet Effingham what had occurred, but that day had not come as yet.

Whither Lord Chiltern had gone, or what Lord Chiltern intended to do, he had not any idea; but he imagined

that he should soon hear something of her brother from Lady Laura. That Lord Chiltern should say a word to

Lady Laura of what had occurred or to any other person in the world he did not in the least suspect.

There could be no man more likely to be reticent in such matters than Lord Chiltern or more sure to be

guided by an almost exaggerated sense of what honour required of him. Nor did he doubt the discretion of his

friend Fitzgibbon if only his friend might not damage the secret by being too discreet. Of the silence of

the doctor and the captain he was by no means equally sure; but even though they should gossip, the

gossiping would take so long a time in oozing out and becoming recognised information, as to have lost

much of its power for injuring him. Were Lady Laura to hear at this moment that he had been over to

Belgium, and had fought a duel with Lord Chiltern respecting Violet, she would probably feel herself obliged

to quarrel with him; but no such obligation would rest on her, if in the course of six or nine months she

Lord Chiltern, during their interview at the rooms in Great Marlborough Street, had said a word to him about

the seat in Parliament had expressed some opinion that as he, Phineas Finn, was interfering with the views

of the Standish family in regard to Miss Effingham, he ought not to keep the Standish seat, which had been

conferred upon him in ignorance of any such intended interference. Phineas, as he thought of this, could not

remember Lord Chiltern's words, but there was present to him an idea that such had been their purport. Was

he bound, in circumstances as they now existed, to give up Loughton? He made up his mind that he was not

so bound unless Lord Chiltern should demand from him that he should do so; but, nevertheless, he was

uneasy in his position. It was quite true that the seat now was his for this session by all parliamentary law,

even though the electors themselves might wish to be rid of him, and that Lord Brentford could not even open

his mouth upon the matter in a tone more loud than that of a whisper. But Phineas, feeling that he had

consented to accept the favour of a corrupt seat from Lord Brentford, felt also that he was bound to give up

the spoil if it were demanded from him. If it were demanded from him, either by the father or the son, it

On the following morning he found a leading article in the People's Banner devoted solely to himself.

"During the late debate," so ran a passage in the leading article "Mr Finn, Lord Brentford's Irish

nominee for his pocketborough at Loughton, did at last manage to stand on his legs and open his mouth. If

we are not mistaken, this is Mr Finn's third session in Parliament, and hitherto he has been unable to

articulate three sentences, though he has on more than one occasion made the attempt. For what special merit

this young man has been selected for aristocratic patronage we do not know but that there must be some

merit recognisable by aristocratic eyes, we surmise. Three years ago he was a raw young Irishman, living in

London as Irishmen only know how to live, earning nothing, and apparently without means; and then

suddenly he bursts out as a member of Parliament and as the friend of Cabinet Ministers. The possession of

one good gift must be acceded to the honourable member for Loughton he is a handsome young man, and

looks to be as strong as a coalporter. Can it be that his promotion has sprung from this? Be this as it may,

we should like to know where he has been during his late mysterious absence from Parliament, and in what

way he came by the wound in his arm. Even handsome young members of Parliament, f ted by titled ladies

and their rich lords, are amenable to the laws to the laws of this country, and to the laws of any other

"Infamous scoundrel!" said Phineas to himself, as he read this. "Vile, low, disreputable blackguard!" It was

clear enough, however, that Quintus Slide had found out something of his secret. If so, his only hope would

rest on the fact that his friends were not likely to see the columns of the People's Banner.

By the time that Mr Mildmay's great bill was going into committee Phineas was able to move about London

in comfort with his arm, however, still in a sling. There had been nothing more about him and his wound

in the People's Banner, and he was beginning to hope that that nuisance would also be allowed to die away.

He had seen Lady Laura having dined in Grosvenor Place, where he had been petted to his heart's content.

His dinner had been cut up for him, and his wound had been treated with the tenderest sympathy. And,

singular to say, no questions were asked. He had been to Kent and had come by an accident. No more than

that was told, and his dear sympathising friends were content to receive so much information, and to ask for

no more. But he had not as yet seen Violet Effingham, and he was beginning to think that this romance about

Violet might as well be brought to a close. He had not, however, as yet been able to go into crowded rooms,

and unless he went out to large parties he could not be sure that he would meet Miss Effingham.

At last he resolved that he would tell Lady Laura the whole truth not the truth about the duel, but the truth

about Violet Effingham, and ask for her assistance. When making this resolution, I think that he must have

forgotten much that he had learned of his friend's character; and by making it, I think that he showed also that

he had not learned as much as his opportunities might have taught him. He knew Lady Laura's obstinacy of

purpose, he knew her devotion to her brother, and he knew also how desirous she had been that her brother

should win Violet Effingham for himself. This knowledge should, I think, have sufficed to show him how

improbable it was that Lady Laura should assist him in his enterprise. But beyond all this was the fact a

fact as to the consequences of which Phineas himself was entirely blind, beautifully ignorant that Lady

Laura had once condescended to love himself. Nay she had gone farther than this, and had ventured to tell

him, even after her marriage, that the remembrance of some feeling that had once dwelt in her heart in regard

to him was still a danger to her. She had warned him from Loughlinter, and then had received him in London

and now he selected her as his confidante in this love affair! Had he not been beautifully ignorant and

It was not that Lady Laura Kennedy ever confessed to herself the existence of a vicious passion. She had,

indeed, learned to tell herself that she could not love her husband; and once, in the excitement of such silent

announcements to herself, she had asked herself whether her heart was quite a blank, and had answered

herself by desiring Phineas Finn to absent himself from Loughlinter. During all the subsequent winter she had

scourged herself inwardly for her own imprudence, her quite unnecessary folly in so doing. What! could not

she, Laura Standish, who from her earliest years of girlish womanhood had resolved that she would use the

world as men use it, and not as women do could not she have felt the slight shock of a passing tenderness

for a handsome youth without allowing the feeling to be a rock before her big enough and sharp enough for

the destruction of her entire barque? Could not she command, if not her heart, at any rate her mind, so that

she might safely assure herself that, whether this man or any man was here or there, her course would be

unaltered? What though Phineas Finn had been in the same house with her throughout all the winter, could

not she have so lived with him on terms of friendship, that every deed and word and look of her friendship

might have been open to her husband or open to all the world? She could have done so. She told herself

that that was not need not have been her great calamity. Whether she could endure the dull, monotonous

control of her slow but imperious lord or whether she must not rather tell him that it was not to be endured

that was her trouble. So she told herself, and again admitted Phineas to her intimacy in London. But,

nevertheless, Phineas, had he not been beautifully ignorant and most blind to his own achievements, would

not have expected from Lady Laura Kennedy assistance with Miss Violet Effingham.

Phineas knew when to find Lady Laura alone, and he came upon her one day at the favourable hour. The two

first clauses of the bill had been passed after twenty fights and endless divisions. Two points had been settled,

as to which, however, Mr Gresham had been driven to give way so far and to yield so much, that men

declared that such a bill as the Government could consent to call its own could never be passed by that

Parliament in that session. Immediately on his entrance into her room Lady Laura began about the third

clause. Would the House let Mr Gresham have his way about the ? Phineas stopped her at once. "My dear

friend," he said, I have come to you in a private trouble, and I want you to drop politics for half an hour. I

"It is very serious but it is no trouble of the kind of which you are thinking. But it is serious enough to

"I suppose I may as well tell you at once in plain language, I do not know how to put my story into words

that shall fit it. I love Violet Effingham. Will you help me to win her to be my wife?"

"You love Violet Effingham!" said Lady Laura. And as she spoke the look of her countenance towards him

was so changed that he became at once aware that from her no assistance might be expected. His eyes were

not opened in any degree to the second reason above given for Lady Laura's opposition to his wishes, but he

instantly perceived that she would still cling to that destination of Violet's hand which had for years past been

the favourite scheme of her life. "Have you not always known, Mr Finn, what have been our hopes for

Phineas, though he had perceived his mistake, felt that he must go on with his cause. Lady Laura must know

his wishes sooner or later, and it was as well that she should learn them in this way as in any other. "Yes

but I have known also, from your brother's own lips and indeed from yours also, Lady Laura that

"Why so, Lady Laura?" "Because in this matter you have been his chosen friend and mine. We have told

you everything, trusting to you. We have believed in your honour. We have thought that with you, at any rate,

we were safe." These words were very bitter to Phineas, and yet when he had written his letter at Loughton,

he had intended to be so perfectly honest, chivalrously honest! Now Lady Laura spoke to him and looked at

him as though he had been most basely false most untrue to that noble friendship which had been lavished

upon him by all her family. He felt that he would become the prey of her most injurious thoughts unless he

could fully explain his ideas, and he felt, also, that the circumstances did not admit of his explaining them. He

could not take up the argument on Violet's side, and show how unfair it would be to her that she should be

debarred from the homage due to her by any man who really loved her, because Lord Chiltern chose to think

that he still had a claim or at any rate a chance. And Phineas knew well of himself or thought that he

knew well that he would not have interfered had there been any chance for Lord Chiltern. Lord Chiltern

had himself told him more than once that there was no such chance. How was he to explain all this to Lady

Laura? "Mr Finn," said Lady Laura, I can hardly believe this of you, even when you tell it me yourself."

"Certainly, I will listen. But that you should come to me for assistance! I cannot understand it. Men

"I do not think that I am hard." Poor blind fool! He was still thinking only of Violet, and of the accusation

made against him that he was untrue to his friendship for Lord Chiltern. Of that other accusation which could

"Hard and false capable of receiving no impression beyond the outside husk of the heart."

"Oh, Lady Laura, do not say that. If you could only know how true I am in my affection for you all."

"And how do you show it? by coming in between Oswald and the only means that are open to us of

reconciling him to his father means that have been explained to you exactly as though you had been one

of ourselves. Oswald has treated you as a brother in the matter, telling you everything, and this is the way you

"Can I help it, that I have learnt to love this girl?" "Yes, sir you can help it. What if she had been Oswald's

wife would you have loved her then? Do you speak of loving a woman as if it were an affair of fate, over

which you have no control? I doubt whether your passions are so strong as that. You had better put aside your

love for Miss Effingham. I feel assured that it will never hurt you." Then some remembrance of what had

passed between him and Lady Laura Standish near the falls of the Linter, when he first visited Scotland, came

across his mind. "Believe me," she said with a smile, "this little wound in your heart will soon be cured."

He stood silent before her, looking away from her, thinking over it all. He certainly had believed himself to

be violently in love with Lady Laura, and yet when he had just now entered her drawingroom, he had

almost forgotten that there had been such a passage in his life. And he had believed that she had forgotten it

even though she had counselled him not to come to Loughlinter within the last nine months! He had been

a boy then, and had not known himself but now he was a man, and was proud of the intensity of his love.

There came upon him some passing throb of pain from his shoulder, reminding him of the duel, and he was

proud also of that. He had been willing to risk everything life, prospects, and position sooner than

abandon the slight hope which was his of possessing Violet Effingham. And now he was told that this wound

in his heart would soon be cured, and was told so by a woman to whom he had once sung a song of another

passion. It is very hard to answer a woman in such circumstances, because her womanhood gives her so

strong a ground of vantage! Lady Laura might venture to throw in his teeth the fickleness of his heart, but he

could not in reply tell her that to change a love was better than to marry without love that to be capable of

such a change showed no such inferiority of nature as did the capacity for such a marriage. She could hit him

with her argument; but he could only remember his, and think how violent might be the blow he could inflict

if it were not that she were a woman, and therefore guarded. "You will not help me then?" he said, when

"I wanted no other help than this that I might have had an opportunity of meeting Violet here, and of

"Has the question then never been asked already?" said Lady Laura. To this Phineas made no immediate

"Why do you not go to Lady Baldock's house?" continued Lady Laura. "You are admitted there. You know

Lady Baldock. Go and ask her to stand your friend with her niece. See what she will say to you. As far as I

understand these matters, that is the fair, honourable, open way in which gentlemen are wont to make their

"Your sister? Psha! I am not your sister, Mr Finn. Nor, were I so, should I fail to remember that I have a

dearer brother to whom my faith is pledged. Look here. Within the last three weeks Oswald has sacrificed

everything to his father, because he was determined that Mr Kennedy should have the money which he

thought was due to my husband. He has enabled my father to do what he will with Saulsby. Papa will never

hurt him I know that. Hard as papa is with him, he will never hurt Oswald's future position. Papa is too

proud to do that. Violet has heard what Oswald has done; and now that he has nothing of his own to offer her

for the future but his bare title, now that he has given papa power to do what he will with the property, I

"Send to him, and bid him return. I will be patient, Lady Laura. Let him come and try, and I will bide my

time. I confess that I have no right to interfere with him if there be a chance for him. If there is no chance, my

There was something in this which made Lady Laura feel that she could not maintain her hostility against this

man on behalf of her brother and yet she could not force herself to be other than hostile to him. Her heart

was sore, and it was he that had made it sore. She had lectured herself, schooling herself with mental

sackcloth and ashes, rebuking herself with heaviest censures from day to day, because she had found herself

to be in danger of regarding this man with a perilous love; and she had been constant in this work of penance

till she had been able to assure herself that the sackcloth and ashes had done their work, and that the danger

was past. "I like him still and love him well," she had said to herself with something almost of triumph, "but I

have ceased to think of him as one who might have been my lover." And yet she was now sick and sore,

almost beside herself with the agony of the wound, because this man whom she had been able to throw aside

from her heart had also been able so to throw her aside. And she felt herself constrained to rebuke him with

what bitterest words she might use. She had felt it easy to do this at first, on her brother's score. She had

accused him of treachery to his friendship both as to Oswald and as to herself. On that she could say

cutting words without subjecting herself to suspicion even from herself. But now this power was taken away

from her, and still she wished to wound him. She desired to taunt him with his old fickleness, and yet to

subject herself to no imputation. "Your right!" she said. What gives you any right in the matter?"

"And yet you come to me for favour to me, because I am her friend. You cannot win her yourself, and

think I may help you! I do not believe in your love for her. There! If there were no other reason, and I could

help you, I would not, because I think your heart is a sham heart. She is pretty, and has money "

"She is pretty, and has money, and is the fashion. I do not wonder that you should wish to have her. But, Mr

Finn, I believe that Oswald really loves her and that you do not. His nature is deeper than yours."

He understood it all now as he listened to the tone of her voice, and looked into the lines of her face. There

was written there plainly enough that spretae injuria formae of which she herself was conscious, but only

conscious. Even his eyes, blind as he had been, were opened and he knew that he had been a fool.

"And yet perhaps it is well that there should be no misunderstanding between us."

He paused but for a moment, and then he answered her with a sharp voice, "He has been told."

"I did. I wrote to him the moment that I knew my own mind. I owed it to him to do so. But my letter missed

"Nothing is to be done. Everything has been done. I may as well tell you all. I am sure that for the sake of me,

as well as of your brother, you will keep our secret. He required that I should either give up my suit, or that I

should fight him. As I could not comply with the one request, I found myself bound to comply with the

"Yes there has been a duel. We went over to Belgium, and it was soon settled. He wounded me here in the

"That, Lady Laura, would have been a misfortune so terrible that I was bound to prevent it." Then he paused

again, regretting what he had said. "You have surprised me, Lady Laura, into an answer that I should not

"Yes you may be sure of that." This she said plaintively, with a tone of voice and demeanour of body

altogether different from that which she lately bore. Neither of them knew what was taking place between

them; but she was, in truth, gradually submitting herself again to this man's influence. Though she rebuked

him at every turn for what he said, for what he had done, for what he proposed to do, still she could not teach

herself to despise him, or even to cease to love him for any part of it. She knew it all now except that word

or two which had passed between Violet and Phineas in the rides of Saulsby Park. But she suspected

something even of that, feeling sure that the only matter on which Phineas would say nothing would be that

"And so you and Oswald have quarrelled, and there has been a duel. That is why you were away?"

"How wrong of you how very wrong Had he been killed, how could you have looked us in the face

"No we did not part as friends. Having gone there to fight with him most unwillingly I could not

afterwards promise him that I would give up Miss Effingham. You say she will accept him now. Let him

come and try." She had nothing further to say no other argument to use. There was the soreness at her heat

still present to her, making her wretched, instigating her to hurt him if she knew how to do so, in spite of her

regard for him. But she felt that she was weak and powerless. She had shot her arrows at him all but one

and if she used that, its poisoned point would wound herself far more surely than it would touch him.

"Everything that I can say in Oswald's favour. I will say nothing of the duel; but beyond that you have no

right to demand my secrecy with her. Yes; you had better go, Mr Finn, for I am hardly well. And remember

this If you can forget this little episode about Miss Effingham, so will I forget it also; and so will Oswald.

She rose from her chair as he left the room, and waited till she heard the sound of the great door closing

behind him before she again sat down. Then, when he was gone when she was sure that he was no longer

there with her in the same house she laid her head down upon the arm of the sofa, and burst into a flood of

tears. She was no longer angry with Phineas. There was no further longing in her heart for revenge. She did

not now desire to injure him, though she had done so as long as he was with her. Nay she resolved

instantly, almost instinctively, that Lord Brentford must know nothing of all this, lest the political prospects

of the young member for Loughton should be injured. To have rebuked him, to rebuke him again and again,

would be only fair would at least be womanly; but she would protect him from all material injury as far as

her power of protection might avail. And why was she weeping now so bitterly? Of course she asked herself,

as she rubbed away the tears with her hands Why should she weep? She was not weak enough to tell

herself that she was weeping for any injury that had been done to Oswald. She got up suddenly from the sofa,

and pushed away her hair from her face, and pushed away the tears from her cheeks, and then clenched her

fists as she held them out at full length from her body, and stood, looking up with her eyes fixed upon the

wall. "Ass!" she exclaimed. Fool! Idiot! That I should not be able to crush it into nothing and have done with

it! Why should he not have her? After all, he is better than Oswald. Oh is that you?" The door of the room

"If you are in trouble you should tell me what it is, and leave it to me to try to help you."

"There are moments, Robert, when even a married woman must be herself rather than her husband's wife. It

"You cannot make a woman subject to you as a dog is so. You may have all the outside and as much of the

"I have troubles about my father and my brother which you cannot share. My brother is a ruined man."

"I will not talk about it any more. I will not speak to you of him or of papa. I only want you to understand that

there is a subject which must be secret to myself, and on which I may be allowed to shed tears if I am so

weak. I will not trouble you on a matter in which I have not your sympathy." Then she left him, standing in

the middle of the room, depressed by what had occurred but not thinking of it as of a trouble which would

Day after day, and clause after clause, the bill was fought in committee, and few men fought with more

constancy on the side of the Ministers than did the member for Loughton. Troubled though he was by his

quarrel with Lord Chiltern, by his love for Violet Effingham, by the silence of his friend Lady Laura for

since he had told her of the duel she had become silent to him, never writing to him, and hardly speaking to

him when she met him in society nevertheless Phineas was not so troubled but what he could work at his

vocation. Now, when he would find himself upon his legs in the House, he would wonder at the hesitation

which had lately troubled him so sorely. He would sit sometimes and speculate upon that dimness of eye,

upon that tendency of things to go round, upon that obtrusive palpitation of heart, which had afflicted him so

seriously for so long a time. The House now was no more to him than any other chamber, and the members

no more than other men. He guarded himself from orations, speaking always very shortly because he

believed that policy and good judgment required that he should be short. But words were very easy to him,

and he would feel as though he could talk for ever. And there quickly came to him a reputation for practical

usefulness. He was a man with strong opinions, who could yet be submissive. And no man seemed to know

how his reputation had come. He had made one good speech after two or three failures. All who knew him,

his whole party, had been aware of his failure; and his one good speech had been regarded by many as no

very wonderful effort. But he was a man who was pleasant to other men not combative, not selfasserting

beyond the point at which selfassertion ceases to be a necessity of manliness. Nature had been very good to

him, making him comely inside and out and with this comeliness he had crept into popularity.

The secret of the duel was, I think, at this time, known to a great many men and women. So Phineas

perceived; but it was not, he thought, known either to Lord Brentford or to Violet Effingham. And in this he

was right. No rumour of it had yet reached the ears of either of these persons and rumour, though she flies

so fast and so far, is often slow in reaching those ears which would be most interested in her tidings. Some

dim report of the duel reached even Mr Kennedy, and he asked his wife. "Who told you?" said she, sharply.

"Mr Bonteen always knows more than anybody else about everything except his own business."

Lady Laura paused and then she lied. "Of course it is not true. I should be very sorry to ask either of them,

but to me it seems to be the most improbable thing in life." Then Mr Kennedy believed that there had been no

duel. In his wife's word he put absolute faith, and he thought that she would certainly know anything that her

brother had done. As he was a man given to but little discourse, he asked no further questions about the duel

At first, Phineas had been greatly dismayed when men had asked him questions tending to elicit from him

some explanation of the mystery but by degrees he became used to it, and as the tidings which had got

abroad did not seem to injure him, and as the questionings were not pushed very closely, he became

indifferent. There came out another article in the People's Banner in which Lord C n and Mr P s F n

were spoken of as glaring examples of that aristocratic snobility that was the expressive word coined,

evidently with great delight, for the occasion which the rotten state of London society in high quarters

now produced. Here was a young lord, infamously notorious, quarrelling with one of his boon companions,

whom he had appointed to a private seat in the House of Commons, fighting duels, breaking the laws,

scandalising the public and all this was done without punishment to the guilty! There were old stories

afloat so said the article of what in a former century had been done by Lord Mohuns and Mr Bests; but

now, in 186 , And so the article went on. Any reader may fill in without difficulty the concluding

indignation and virtuous appeal for reform in social morals as well as Parliament. But Phineas had so far

progressed that he had almost come to like this kind of thing. Certainly I think that the duel did him no harm

in society. Otherwise he would hardly have been asked to a semipolitical dinner at Lady Glencora Palliser's,

even though he might have been invited to make one of the five hundred guests who were crowded into her

saloons and staircases after the dinner was over. To have been one of the five hundred was nothing; but to be

one of the sixteen was a great deal was indeed so much that Phineas, not understanding as yet the

advantage of his own comeliness, was at a loss to conceive why so pleasant an honour was conferred upon

him. There was no man among the eight men at the dinnerparty not in Parliament and the only other

except Phineas not attached to the Government was Mr Palliser's great friend, John Grey, the member for

Silverbridge. There were four Cabinet Ministers in the room the Duke, Lord Cantrip, Mr Gresham, and

the owner of the mansion. There was also Barrington Erle and young Lord Fawn, an UnderSecretary of

State. But the wit and grace of the ladies present lent more of character to the party than even the position of

the men. Lady Glencora Palliser herself was a host. There was no woman then in London better able to talk to

a dozen people on a dozen subjects; and then, moreover, she was still in the flush of her beauty and the bloom

of her youth. Lady Laura was there by what means divided from her husband Phineas could not imagine;

but Lady Glencora was good at such divisions. Lady Cantrip had been allowed to come with her lord but,

as was well understood, Lord Cantrip was not so manifestly a husband as was Mr Kennedy. There are men

who cannot guard themselves from the assertion of marital rights at most inappropriate moments. Now Lord

Cantrip lived with his wife most happily; yet you should pass hours with him and her together, and hardly

know that they knew each other. One of the Duke's daughters was there but not the Duchess, who was

known to be heavy and there was the beauteous Marchioness of Hartletop. Violet Effingham was in the

room also giving Phineas a blow at the heart as he saw her smile. Might it be that he could speak a word

to her on this occasion? Mr Grey had also brought his wife and then there was Madame Max Goesler.

Phineas found that it was his fortune to take down to dinner not Violet Effingham, but Madame Max

Goesler. And, when he was placed at dinner, on the other side of him there sat Lady Hartletop, who addressed

the few words which she spoke exclusively to Mr Palliser. There had been in former days matters difficult of

arrangement between those two; but I think that those old passages had now been forgotten by them both.

Phineas was, therefore, driven to depend exclusively on Madame Max Goesler for conversation, and he found

Up to that moment he had never heard of Madame Max Goesler. Lady Glencora, in introducing them, had

pronounced the lady's name so clearly that he had caught it with accuracy, but he could not surmise whence

she had come, or why she was there. She was a woman probably something over thirty years of age. She had

thick black hair, which she wore in curls unlike anybody else in the world in curls which hung down

low beneath her face, covering, and perhaps intended to cover, a certain thinness in her cheeks which would

otherwise have taken something from the charm of her countenance. Her eyes were large, of a dark blue

colour, and very bright and she used them in a manner which is as yet hardly common with

Englishwomen. She seemed to intend that you should know that she employed them to conquer you, looking

as a knight may have looked in olden days who entered a chamber with his sword drawn from the scabbard

and in his hand. Her forehead was broad and somewhat low. Her nose was not classically beautiful, being

broader at the nostrils than beauty required, and, moreover, not perfectly straight in its line. Her lips were

thin. Her teeth, which she endeavoured to show as little as possible, were perfect in form and colour. They

who criticised her severely said, however, that they were too large. Her chin was well formed, and divided by

a dimple which gave to her face a softness of grace which would otherwise have been much missed. But

perhaps her great beauty was in the brilliant clearness of her dark complexion. You might almost fancy that

you could see into it so as to read the different lines beneath the skin. She was somewhat tall, though by no

means tall to a fault, and was so thin as to be almost meagre in her proportions. She always wore her dress

close up to her neck, and never showed the bareness of her arms. Though she was the only woman so clad

now present in the room, this singularity did not specially strike one, because in other respects her apparel

was so rich and quaint as to make inattention to it impossible. The observer who did not observe very closely

would perceive that Madame Max Goesler's dress was unlike the dress of other women, but seeing that it was

unlike in make, unlike in colour, and unlike in material, the ordinary observer would not see also that it was

unlike in form for any other purpose than that of maintaining its general peculiarity of character. In colour she

was abundant, and yet the fabric of her garment was always black. My pen may not dare to describe the

traceries of yellow and ruby silk which went in and out through the black lace, across her bosom, and round

her neck, and over her shoulders, and along her arms, and down to the very ground at her feet, robbing the

black stuff of all its sombre solemnity, and producing a brightness in which there was nothing gaudy. She

wore no vestige of crinoline, and hardly anything that could be called a train. And the lace sleeves of her

dress, with their bright traceries of silk, were fitted close to her arms; and round her neck she wore the

smallest possible collar of lace, above which there was a short chain of Roman gold with a ruby pendant. And

she had rubies in her ears, and a ruby brooch, and rubies in the bracelets on her arms. Such, as regarded the

outward woman, was Madame Max Goesler; and Phineas, as he took his place by her side, thought that

fortune for the nonce had done well with him only that he should have liked it so much better could he

I have said that in the matter of conversation his morsel of seed was not thrown into barren ground I do not

know that he can truly be said to have produced even a morsel. The subjects were all mooted by the lady, and

so great was her fertility in discoursing that all conversational grasses seemed to grow with her

spontaneously. "Mr Finn," she said, "what would I not give to be a member of the British Parliament at such

"Because there is something to be done, which, let me tell you, senator though you are, is not always the case

"My experience is short, but it sometimes seems to me that there is too much to be done."

"Too much of nothingness, Mr Firm. Is not that the case? But now there is a real fight in the lists. The one

"What, here in England?" said Madame Max Goesler from which expression, and from one or two others

of a similar nature, Phineas was led into a doubt whether the lady were a countrywoman of his or not.

"Indeed, it is hard to say. Politically I should want to outTurnbull Mr Turnbull, to vote for everything that

could be voted for ballot, manhood suffrage, womanhood suffrage, unlimited right of striking, tenant

right, education of everybody, annual parliaments, and the abolition of at least the bench of bishops."

"That is a strong programme," said Phineas. "It is strong, Mr Finn, but that's what I should like. I think,

however, that I should be tempted to feel a dastard security in the conviction that I might advocate my views

without any danger of seeing them carried out. For, to tell you the truth, I don't at all want to put down ladies

"I don't want anything to go that is, as far as real life is concerned. There's that dear good Bishop of

Abingdon is the best friend I have in the world and as for the Bishop of Dorchester, I'd walk from here to

there to hear him preach. And I'd sooner hem aprons for them all myself than that they should want those

pretty decorations. But then, Mr Finn, there is such a difference between life and theory is there not?"

"And it is so comfortable to have theories that one is not bound to carry out," said Phineas.

"Isn't it? Mr Palliser, do you live up to your political theories?" At this moment Mr Palliser was sitting

perfectly silent between Lady Hartletop and the Duke's daughter, and he gave a little spring in his chair as

this sudden address was made to him. "Your House of Commons theories, I mean, Mr Palliser. Mr Finn is

saying that it is very well to have faradvanced ideas it does not matter how far advanced because one

"It is at least very common," said Phineas, not caring to protect himself by a contradiction.

"For myself," said Mr Palliser gravely, I think I may say that I always am really anxious to carry into practice

During this conversation Lady Hartletop sat as though no word of it reached her ears. She did not understand

Madame Max Goesler, and by no means loved her. Mr Palliser, when he had made his little speech, turned to

the Duke's daughter and asked some question about the conservatories at Longroyston.

"I have called forth a word of wisdom," said Madame Max Goesler, almost in a whisper.

"Yes," said Phineas, and taught a Cabinet Minister to believe that I am a most unsound politician. You may

"Let me hope not. As far as I can understand the way of things in your Government, the aspirants to office

succeed chiefly by making themselves uncommonly unpleasant to those who are in power. If a man can hit

hard enough he is sure to be taken into the elysium of the Treasury bench not that he may hit others, but

that he may cease to hit those who are there, I don't think men are chosen because they are useful."

"Indeed, as far as I can see, one man is as useful as another. But to put aside joking they tell me that you

Phineas felt that he blushed. Could it be that people said of him behind his back that he was a man likely to

rise high in political position? "Your informants are very kind," he replied awkwardly, "but I do not know

who they are. I shall never get up in the way you describe that is, by abusing the men I support."

After that Madame Max Goesler turned round to Mr Grey, who was sitting on the other side of her, and

Phineas was left for a moment in silence. He tried to say a word to Lady Hartletop, but Lady Hartletop only

bowed her head gracefully in recognition of the truth of the statement he made. So he applied himself for a

"What do you think of Miss Effingham?" said Madame Max Goesler, again addressing him suddenly.

"Oh yes, I know her. She is closely connected with the Kennedys, who are friends of mine."

"So I have heard. They tell me that scores of men are raving about her. Are you one of them?"

"Oh yes I don't mind being one of sundry scores. There is nothing particular in owning to that."

"Ah, I see you are joking. I do amazingly. They say women never do admire women, but I most sincerely do

"Oh no I must not dare to say so much as that. I was with her last winter for a week at Matching, and of

course I meet her about at people's houses. She seems to me to be the most independent girl I ever knew in

my life. I do believe that nothing would make her marry a man unless she loved him and honoured him, and I

"I believe so also," said Phineas. Then he paused a moment before he continued to speak. "I cannot say that I

know Miss Effingham very intimately, but from what I have seen of her, I should think it very probable that

"Very probably," said Madame Max Goesler, who then again turned away to Mr Grey.

Ten minutes after this, when the moment was just at hand in which the ladies were to retreat, Madame Max

Goesler again addressed Phineas, looking very full into his face as she did so. "I wonder whether the time

will ever come, Mr Finn, in which you will give me an account of that day's journey to Blankenberg?"

"Yes to Blankenberg. I am not asking for it now. But I shall look for it some day." Then Lady Glencora

What had Madame Max Goesler to do with his journey to Blankenberg? thought Phineas, as he sat for a

while in silence between Mr Palliser and Mr Grey; and why should she, who was a perfect stranger to him,

have dared to ask him such a question? But as the conversation round the table, after the ladies had gone,

soon drifted into politics and became general, Phineas, for a while, forgot Madame Max Goesler and the

Blankenberg journey, and listened to the eager words of Cabinet Ministers, now and again uttering a word of

his own, and showing that he, too, was as eager as others. But the session in Mr Palliser's diningroom was

not long, and Phineas soon found himself making his way amidst a throng of coming guests into the rooms

above. His object was to meet Violet Effingham, but, failing that, he would not be unwilling to say a few

He first encountered Lady Laura, to whom he had not spoken as yet, and, finding himself standing close to

her for a while, he asked her after his late neighbour. "Do tell me one thing, Lady Laura who is Madame

"That will be two things, Mr Finn; but I will answer both questions as well as I can. You have not met her

before, because she was in Germany last spring and summer, and in the year before that you were not about

so much as you have been since. Still you must have seen her, I think. She is the widow of an Austrian

banker, and has lived the greater part of her life at Vienna. She is very rich, and has a small house in Park

Lane, where she receives people so exclusively that it has come to be thought an honour to be invited by

Madame Max Goesler. Her enemies say that her father was a German Jew, living in England, in the

employment of the Viennese bankers, and they say also that she has been married a second time to an

Austrian Count, to whom she allows ever so much a year to stay away from her. But of all this, nobody, I

fancy, knows anything. What they do know is that Madame Max Goesler spends seven or eight thousand a

year, and that she will give no man an opportunity of even asking her to marry him. People used to be shy of

"Oh no; but then Lady Glencora is so much more advanced than we are! After all, we are but humdrum

Then Phineas began to roam about the rooms, striving to find an opportunity of engrossing five minutes of

Miss Effingham's attention. During the time that Lady Laura was giving him the history of Madame Max

Goesler his eyes had wandered round, and he had perceived that Violet was standing in the further corner of a

large lobby on to which the stairs opened so situated, indeed, that she could hardly escape, because of the

increasing crowd, but on that very account almost impossible to be reached. He could see, also, that she was

talking to Lord Fawn, an unmarried peer of something over thirty years of age, with an unrivalled pair of

whiskers, a small estate, and a rising political reputation. Lord Fawn had been talking to Violet through the

whole dinner, and Phineas was beginning to think that he should like to make another journey to

When Lady Laura had done speaking, his eyes were turned through a large open doorway towards the spot on

which his idol was standing. "It is of no use, my friend," she said, touching his arm. "I wish I could make you

know that it is of no use, because then I think you would be happier." To this Phineas made no answer, but

went and roamed about the rooms. Why should it be of no use? Would Violet Effingham marry any man

Some halfhour after this he had succeeded in making his way up to the place in which Violet was still

standing, with Lord Fawn beside her. "I have been making such a struggle to get to you," he said.

"And now you are here, you will have to stay, for it is impossible to get out," she answered. "Lord Fawn has

Phineas felt that he ought to give some special reason to Miss Effingham to account for his efforts to reach

her, but yet he had nothing special to say. Had Lord Fawn not been there, he would immediately have told her

that he was waiting for an answer to the question he had asked her in Saulsby Park, but he could hardly do

this in presence of the noble UnderSecretary of State. She received him with her pleasant genial smile,

looking exactly as she had looked when he had parted from her on the morning after their ride. She did not

show any sign of anger, or even of indifference, at his approach. But still it was almost necessary that he

should account for his search of her. "I have so longed to hear from you how you got on at Loughlinter," he

"Yes yes; and I will tell you something of it some day, perhaps. Why do you not come to Lady

"You ought to have known. Of course she is in town. Where did you suppose I was living? Lord Fawn was

"Lady Baldock is blooming," said Lord Fawn; certainly blooming that is, if evergreens may be said to

"Evergreens do bloom, as well as spring plants, Lord Fawn. You come and see her, Mr Finn only you

must bring a little money with you for the Female Protestant Unmarried Women's Emigration Society. That is

"But it is a perilous affair for me, as my aunt wants me to go out as a sort of leading Protestant unmarried

"It is such a grand prospect," said he. Such an opening in life. So much excitement, you know; and such a

"As if there were not plenty of opening here for Miss Effingham," said Lord Fawn, "and plenty of excitement.

"Do you think there is?" said Violet. You are much more civil than Mr Finn, I must say." Then Phineas began

to hope that he need not be afraid of Lord Fawn. "What a happy man you were at dinner!" continued Violet,

"You had Madame Max Goesler all to yourself for nearly two hours, and I suppose there was not a creature in

the room who did not envy you. I don't doubt that ever so much interest was made with Lady Glencora as to

"And Barrington Erle begged for it as a particular favour. The Duke, with a sigh, owned that it was

impossible, because of his cumbrous rank; and Mr Gresham, when it was offered to him, declared that he was

fatigued with the business of the House, and not up to the occasion. How much did she say to you; and what

"Ah! she said something more than that, I am sure. Madame Max Goesler never lets any man go without

entrancing him. If you have anything near your heart, Mr Finn, Madame Max Goesler touched it, I am sure."

Now Phineas had two things near his heart political promotion and Violet Effingham and Madame

Max Goesler had managed to touch them both. She had asked him respecting his journey to Blankenberg, and

had touched him very nearly in reference to Miss Effingham. "You know Madame Max Goesler, of course?"

"Oh yes, I know the lady that is, as well as other people do. No one, I take it, knows much of her; and it

seems to me that the world is becoming tired of her. A mystery is good for nothing if it remains always a

"You did not find her a bore?" said Violet. Then Phineas, choosing to oppose Lord Fawn as well as he could

on that matter, as on every other, declared that he had found Madame Max Goesler most delightful. "And

"So do I," said Violet. And she is a dear ally of mine. We were a week together last winter, and swore an

Half an hour after this, when Phineas was preparing to fight his way out of the house, he was again close to

Madame Max Goesler. He had not found a single moment in which to ask Violet for an answer to his old

question, and was retiring from the field discomfited, but not dispirited. Lord Fawn, he thought, was not a

serious obstacle in his way. Lady Laura had told him that there was no hope for him; but then Lady Laura's

mind on that subject was, he thought, prejudiced. Violet Effingham certainly knew what were his wishes, and

knowing them, smiled on him and was gracious to him. Would she do so if his pretensions were thoroughly

"I call it great success to be able to make your way where you will through such a crowd as there is here. You

seem to me to be so stout a cavalier that I shall ask you to find my servant, and bid him get my carriage. Will

you mind?" Phineas, of course, declared that he would be delighted. "He is a German, and not in livery. But if

somebody will call out, he will hear. He is very sharp, and much more attentive than your English footmen.

"No, certainly not. If a man is a servant, he should be clever enough to be a good one." Phineas had now

given the order for the carriage, and, having returned, was standing with Madame Max Goesler in the

cloakroom. "After all, we are surely the most awkward people in the world," she said. "You know Lord

Fawn, who was talking to Miss Effingham just now. You should have heard him trying to pay me a

compliment before dinner. It was like a donkey walking a minuet, and yet they say he is a clever man and can

make speeches." Could it be possible that Madame Max Goesler's ears were so sharp that she had heard the

"For a lord, you mean," said Madame Max Goesler. But he is an oaf, is he not? And yet they say he is to

"I hope not, with all my heart; and I hope that somebody else may unless somebody else should change

his mind. Thank you; I am so much obliged to you. Mind you come and call on me 193, Park Lane. I dare

say you know the little cottage." Then he put Madame Max Goesler into her carriage, and walked away to his

Lady Baldock's house in Berkeley Square was very stately a large house with five front windows in a row,

and a big door, and a huge square hall, and a fat porter in a roundtopped chair but it was dingy and dull,

and could not have been painted for the last ten years, or furnished for the last twenty. Nevertheless, Lady

Baldock had "evenings," and people went to them though not such a crowd of people as would go to the

evenings of Lady Glencora. Now Mr Phineas Finn had not been asked to the evenings of Lady Baldock for

"Yes, Mr Finn," Lady Baldock had said to her daughter, who, early in the spring, was preparing the cards.

"I don't know that he is very nice," said Augusta Boreham, whose eyes at Saulsby had been sharper perhaps

But Lady Baldock did not like interference from her daughter. "Mr Finn, certainly," she continued. They tell

me that he is a very rising young man, and he sits for Lord Brentford's borough. Of course he is a Radical, but

we cannot help that. All the rising young men are Radicals now. I thought him very civil at Saulsby."

"I don't believe a word of it, Augusta not a word. I should have seen it if it was so. I am very sharp in

seeing such things. They never escape me. Even Violet would not be such a fool as that. Send him a card, and

if he comes I shall soon see." Miss Boreham quite understood her mother, though she could never master her

and the card was prepared. Miss Boreham could never master her mother by her own efforts; but it was, I

think, by a little intrigue on her part that Lady Baldock was mastered, and, indeed, altogether cowed, in

reference to our hero, and that this victory was gained on that very afternoon in time to prevent the sending of

When the mother and daughter were at tea, before dinner, Lord Baldock came into the room, and, after

having been patted and petted and praised by his mother, he took up all the cards out of a china bowl and ran

his eyes over them. "Lord Fawn!" he said, "the greatest ass in all London! Lady Hartletop! you know she

"I don't see why she shouldn't come," said Lady Baldock "a mere country clergyman's daughter!"

"Julius Caesar Conway a great friend of mine, and therefore he always blackballs my other friends at the

"They say he is going to be reconciled to his father, Gustavus, and I do it for Lord Brentford's sake. And he

won't come, so it does not signify. And I do believe that Violet has really refused him."

"You are quite right about his not coming," said Lord Baldock, continuing to read the cards; "Chiltern

certainly won't come. Count Sparrowsky I wonder what you know about Sparrowsky that you should ask

"I believe that Sparrowsky is a penniless adventurer. Mr Monk; well, he is a Cabinet Minister. Sir Gregory

Greeswing; you mix your people nicely at any rate. Sir Gregory Greeswing is the most oldfashioned Tory in

"I don't doubt it. They say he is a very good sort of fellow. They say also that Violet has found that out as

"I mean that everybody is saying that this Phineas Finn is going to set himself up in the world by marrying

your niece. He is quite right to try it on, if he has a chance." "I don't think he would be right at all," said Lady

Baldock, with much energy. "I think he would be wrong shamefully wrong. They say he is the son of an

"That is just why he would be right. What is such a man to do, but to marry money? He's a deuced

"He should work for his money in the city, then, or somewhere there. But I don't believe it, Gustavus; I don't,

"Very well. I only tell you what I hear. The fact is that he and Chiltern have already quarrelled about her. If I

were to tell you that they have been over to Holland together and fought a duel about her, you wouldn't

"Fought a duel about Violet! People don't fight duels now, and I should not believe it."

"Very well. Then send your card to Mr Finn." And, so saying, Lord Baldock left the room.

Lady Baldock sat in silence for some time toasting her toes at the fire, and Augusta Boreham sat by, waiting

for orders. She felt pretty nearly sure that new orders would be given if she did not herself interfere. "You had

better put by that card for the present, my dear," said Lady Baldock at last. "I will make inquiries. I don't

believe a word of what Gustavus has said. I don't think that even Violet is such a fool as that. But if rash and

"Not but what I think it very improper that these things should be said about a young woman; and as for the

story of the duel, I don't believe a word of it. It is absurd. I dare say that Gustavus invented it at the moment,

The card of course was not sent, and Lady Baldock at any rate put so much faith in her son's story as to make

her feel it to be her duty to interrogate her niece on the subject. Lady Baldock at this period of her life was

certainly not free from fear of Violet Effingham. In the numerous encounters which took place between them,

the aunt seldom gained that amount of victory which would have completely satisfied her spirit. She longed

to be dominant over her niece as she was dominant over her daughter; and when she found that she missed

such supremacy, she longed to tell Violet to depart from out her borders, and be no longer niece of hers. But

had she ever done so, Violet would have gone at the instant, and then terrible things would have followed.

There is a satisfaction in turning out of doors a nephew or niece who is pecuniarily dependent, but when the

youthful relative is richly endowed, the satisfaction is much diminished. It is the duty of a guardian, no doubt,

to look after the ward; but if this cannot be done, the ward's money should at least be held with as close a fist

as possible. But Lady Baldock, though she knew that she would be sorely wounded, poked about on her old

body with the sharp lances of disobedience, and struck with the cruel swords of satire, if she took upon

herself to scold or even to question Violet, nevertheless would not abandon the pleasure of lecturing and

teaching. "It is my duty," she would say to herself, "and though it be taken in a bad spirit, I will always

perform my duty." So she performed her duty, and asked Violet Effingham some few questions respecting

Phineas Finn. "My dear," she said, do you remember meeting a Mr Finn at Saulsby?"

"A Mr Finn, aunt! Why, he is a particular friend of mine. Of course I do, and he was at Saulsby. I have met

him there more than once. Don't you remember that we were riding about together?"

"I remember that he was there, certainly; but I did not know that he was a special friend."

Lady Baldock was certainly the most indiscreet of old women in such a matter as this, and Violet the most

provoking of young ladies. Lady Baldock, believing that there was something to fear as, indeed, there

was, much to fear should have been content to destroy the card, and to keep the young lady away from the

young gentleman, if such keeping away was possible to her. But Miss Effingham was certainly very wrong to

speak of any young man as being A 1. Fond as I am of Miss Effingham, I cannot justify her, and must

acknowledge that she used the most offensive phrase she could find, on purpose to annoy her aunt.

"Violet," said Lady Baldock, bridling up, I never heard such a word before from the lips of a young lady."

"Yes, indeed. You ask Lord Brentford, and Mr Kennedy. You know he saved poor Mr Kennedy from being

throttled in the streets." "That has nothing to do with it. A policeman might have done that."

"Then he would have been A 1 of policemen though A 1 does not mean a policeman."

"Of course he did, aunt. It couldn't have been his duty to stand by and see Mr Kennedy throttled. And he

nearly killed one of the men, and took the other prisoner with his own hands. And he made a beautiful speech

the other day. I read every word of it. I am so glad he's a Liberal. I do like young men to be Liberals." Now

Lord Baldock was a Tory, as had been all the Lord Baldocks since the first who had been bought over

"And I must tell you that your name is being very unpleasantly mentioned in connection with that of this

"What indiscretion?" Violet, as she made her demand for a more direct accusation, stood quite upright before

"People have been talking about me and Mr Finn, because I just now, at this very moment, called him A 1 to

you! If you want to scold me about anything, aunt, do find out something less ridiculous than that."

"It was most improper language and if you used it to me, I am sure you would to others."

"Call Mr Finn A 1 to his face! Well upon my honour I don't know why I should not. Lord Chiltern says he

"Have I not? I thought that perhaps the one sin might palliate the other. You know, aunt, no young lady, let

her be ever so illdisposed, can marry two objectionable young men at the same time."

"I meant that you should not allow yourself to be talked of with an adventurer, a young man without a

shilling, a person who has come from nobody knows where in the bogs of Ireland."

"Yes as long as he knew his place. But I shall not do so again. And I must beg you to be circumspect."

"My dear aunt, we may as well understand each other. I will not be circumspect as you call it. And if Mr Finn

asked me to marry him tomorrow, and if I liked him well enough, I would take him even though he had

been dug right out of a bog. Not only because I liked him mind! If I were unfortunate enough to like a

man who was nothing, I would refuse him in spite of my liking because he was nothing. But this young

man is not nothing. Mr Finn is a fine fellow, and if there were no other reason to prevent my marrying him

than his being the son of a doctor, and coming out of the bogs, that would not do so. Now I have made a clean

breast to you as regards Mr Finn; and if you do not like what I've said, aunt, you must acknowledge that you

Lady Baldock was left for a time speechless. But no card was sent to Phineas Finn.

Phineas got no card from Lady Baldock, but one morning he received a note from Lord Brentford which was

of more importance to him than any card could have been. At this time, bit by bit, the Reform Bill of the day

had nearly made its way through the committee, but had been so mutilated as to be almost impossible of

recognition by its progenitors. And there was still a clause or two as to the rearrangement of seats, respecting

which it was known that there would be a combat probably combats carried on after the internecine

fashion. There was a certain clipping of counties to be done, as to which it was said that Mr Daubeny had

declared that he would not yield till he was made to do so by the brute force of majorities and there was

another clause for the drafting of certain superfluous members from little boroughs, and bestowing them on

populous towns at which they were much wanted, respecting which Mr Turnbull had proclaimed that the

clause as it now stood was a fain ant clause, capable of doing, and intended to do, no good in the proper

direction; a clause put into the bill to gull ignorant folk who had not eyes enough to recognise the fact that it

was fain ant; a makebelieve clause so said Mr Turnbull to be detested on that account by every true

reformer worse than the old Philistine bonds and Tory figments of representation, as to which there was at

least no hypocritical pretence of popular fitness, Mr Turnbull had been very loud and very angry had

talked much of demonstrations among the people, and had almost threatened the House. The House in its

present mood did not fear any demonstrations but it did fear that Mr Turnbull might help Mr Daubeny,

and that Mr Daubeny might help Mr Turnbull. It was now May the middle of May and ministers, who

had been at work on their Reform Bill ever since the beginning of the session, were becoming weary of it.

And then, should these odious clauses escape the threatened Turnbull Daubeny alliance then there was

the House of Lords! " What a pity we can't pass our bills at the Treasury, and have done with them!" said

Laurence Fitzgibbon. "Yes, indeed," replied Mr Ratler. "For myself, I was never so tired of a session in my

life. I wouldn't go through it again to be made no, not to be made Chancellor of the Exchequer."

"You are no doubt aware that Lord Bosanquet's death has taken Mr Mottram into the Upper House, and that

as he was UnderSecretary for the Colonies, and as the UnderSecretary must be in the Lower House, the

vacancy must be filled up." [The heart of Phineas Finn at this moment was almost in his mouth. Not only to

be selected for political employment, but to be selected at once for an office so singularly desirable! Under

Secretaries, he fancied, were paid two thousand a year. What would Mr Low say now? But his great triumph

soon received a check.] "Mr Mildmay has spoken to me on the subject," continued the letter, "and informs me

that he has offered the place at the colonies to his old supporter, Mr Laurence Fitzgibbon." Laurence

Fitzgibbon! "I am inclined to think that he could not have done better, as Mr Fitzgibbon has shown great zeal

for his party. This will vacate the Irish seat at the Treasury Board, and I am commissioned by Mr Mildmay to

offer it to you. Perhaps you will do me the pleasure of calling on me tomorrow between the hours of eleven

Phineas was himself surprised to find that his first feeling on reading this letter was one of dissatisfaction.

Here were his golden hopes about to be realised hopes as to the realisation of which he had been quite

despondent twelve months ago and yet he was uncomfortable because he was to be postponed to Laurence

Fitzgibbon. Had the new UnderSecretary been a man whom he had not known, whom he had not learned to

look down upon as inferior to himself, he would not have minded it would have been full of joy at the

promotion proposed for himself. But Laurence Fitzgibbon was such a poor creature, that the idea of filling a

place from which Laurence had risen was distasteful to him. "It seems to be all a matter of favour and

convenience," he said to himself, "without any reference to the service." His triumph would have been so

complete had Mr Mildmay allowed him to go into the higher place at one leap. Other men who had made

themselves useful had done so. In the first hour after receiving Lord Brentford's letter, the idea of becoming a

Lord of the Treasury was almost displeasing to him. He had an idea that junior lordships of the Treasury were

generally bestowed on young members whom it was convenient to secure, but who were not good at doing

anything. There was a moment in which he thought that he would refuse to be made a junior lord.

But during the night cooler reflections told him that he had been very wrong. He had taken up politics with

the express desire of getting his foot upon a rung of the ladder of promotion, and now, in his third session, he

was about to be successful. Even as a junior lord he would have a thousand a year; and how long might he

have sat in chambers, and have wandered about Lincoln's Inn, and have loitered in the courts striving to look

as though he had business, before he would have earned a thousand a year! Even as a junior lord he could

make himself useful, and when once he should be known to be a good working man, promotion would come

to him. No ladder can be mounted without labour; but this ladder was now open above his head, and he

At half past eleven he was with Lord Brentford, who received him with the blandest smile and a pressure of

the hand which was quite cordial. "My dear Finn," he said, this gives me the most sincere pleasure the

greatest pleasure in the world. Our connection together at Loughton of course makes it doubly agreeable to

"No, no; no, no. It is all your own doing. When Mr Mildmay asked me whether I did not think you the most

promising of the young members on our side in your House, I certainly did say that I quite concurred. But I

should be taking too much on myself, I should be acting dishonestly, if I were to allow you to imagine that it

was my proposition. Had he asked me to recommend, I should have named you; that I say frankly. But he did

not. He did not. Mr Mildmay named you himself. "Do you think," he said, ";that your friend Finn would join

us at the Treasury?" I told him that I did think so. "And do you not think," said he, "that it would be a useful

appointment?" Then I ventured to say that I had no doubt whatever on that point that I knew you well

enough to feel confident that you would lend a strength to the Liberal Government. Then there were a few

words said about your seat, and I was commissioned to write to you. That was all."

Phineas was grateful, but not too grateful, and bore himself very well in the interview. He explained to Lord

Brentford that of course it was his object to serve the country and to be paid for his services and that

he considered himself to be very fortunate to be selected so early in his career for parliamentary place. He

would endeavour to do his duty, and could safely say of himself that he did not wish to eat the bread of

idleness. As he made this assertion, he thought of Laurence Fitzgibbon. Laurence Fitzgibbon had eaten the

bread of idleness, and yet he was promoted. But Phineas said nothing to Lord Brentford about his idle friend.

"I have already ventured to write a letter to my agent at Loughton, telling him that you have accepted office,

and that you will be shortly there again. He will see Shortribs and arrange it. But if I were you I should write

to Shortribs and to Grating after I had seen Mr Mildmay. Of course you will not mention my name." And

"I do not think you'll find any difficulty about the seat," said the peer. "There never has been any difficulty at

Loughton yet. I must say that for them. And if we can scrape through with Clause 72 we shall be all right

shall we not?" This was the clause as to which so violent an opposition was expected from Mr Turnbull a

clause as to which Phineas himself had felt that he would hardly know how to support the Government, in the

event of the committee being pressed to a division upon it. Could he, an ardent reformer, a reformer at heart

could he say that such a borough as Loughton should be spared that the arrangement by which

Shortribs and Grating had sent him to Parliament, in obedience to Lord Brentford's orders, was in due accord

with the theory of a representative legislature? In what respect had Gatton and Old Sarum been worse than

Loughton? Was he not himself false to his principle in sitting for such a borough as Loughton? He had

spoken to Mr Monk, and Mr Monk had told him that Rome was not built in a day and had told him also

that good things were most valued and were more valuable when they came by instalments. But then Mr

Monk himself enjoyed the satisfaction of sitting for a popular constituency. He was not personally pricked in

the conscience by his own parliamentary position. Now, however now that Phineas had consented to join

the Government, any such considerations as these must be laid aside. He could no longer be a free agent, or

even a free thinker. He had been quite aware of this, and had taught himself to understand that members of

Parliament in the direct service of the Government were absolved from the necessity of freethinking.

Individual freethinking was incompatible with the position of a member of the Government, and unless such

abnegation were practised, no government would be possible. It was of course a man's duty to bind himself

together with no other men but those with whom, on matters of general policy, he could agree heartily but

having found that he could so agree, he knew that it would be his duty as a subaltern to vote as he was

directed. It would trouble his conscience less to sit for Loughton and vote for an objectionable clause as a

member of the Government, than it would have done to give such a vote as an independent member. In so

resolving, he thought that he was simply acting in accordance with the acknowledged rules of parliamentary

government. And therefore, when Lord Brentford spoke of Clause 72, he could answer pleasantly, "I think we

shall carry it; and, you see, in getting it through committee, if we can carry it by one, that is as good as a

hundred. That's the comfort of close fighting in committee. In the open House we are almost as much beaten

"Just so; just so," said Lord Brentford, delighted to see that his young pupil as he regarded him

understood so well the system of parliamentary management. "By the bye, Finn, have you seen Chiltern

"Ah yes; he is somewhere on the Rhine now. I thought that as you were so intimate, perhaps you

corresponded with him. Have you heard that we have arranged about Lady Laura's money?"

"I wish he would return," said Lord Brentford sadly almost solemnly, "As that great difficulty is over, I

would receive him willingly, and make my house pleasant to him, if I can do so. I am most anxious that he

should settle, and marry. Could you not write to him?" Phineas, not daring to tell Lord Brentford that he had

quarrelled with Lord Chiltern feeling that if he did so everything would go wrong said that he would

As he went away he felt that he was bound to get an answer from Violet Effingham. If it should be necessary,

he was willing to break with Lord Brentford on that matter even though such breaking should lose him his

Our hero's friends were, I think, almost more elated by our hero's promotion than was our hero himself. He

never told himself that it was a great thing to be a junior lord of the Treasury, though he acknowledged to

himself that to have made a successful beginning was a very great thing. But his friends were loud in their

He had his interview with Mr Mildmay, and, after that, one of his first steps was to inform Mrs Bunce that he

must change his lodgings. "The truth is, Mrs Bunce, not that I want anything better; but that a better position

will be advantageous to me, and that I can afford to pay for it." Mrs Bunce acknowledged the truth of the

argument, with her apron up to her eyes. "I've got to be so fond of looking after you, Mr Finn! I have indeed,"

said Mrs Bunce. "It is not just what you pays like, because another party will pay as much. But we've got so

used to you, Mr Finn haven't we?" Mrs Bunce was probably not aware herself that the comeliness of her

lodger had pleased her feminine eye, and touched her feminine heart, Had anybody said that Mrs Bunce was

in love with Phineas, the scandal would have been monstrous. And yet it was so after a fashion. And

Bunce knew it after his fashion. "Don't be such an old fool," he said, "crying after him because he's six

foot high." "I ain't crying after him because he's six foot high," whined the poor woman "but one does like

old faces better than new, and a gentleman about one's place is pleasant." "Gentleman be d d, said Bunce.

But his anger was excited, not by his wife's love for Phineas, but by the use of an objectionable word.

Bunce himself had been on very friendly terms with Phineas, and they two had had many discussions on

matters of politics, Bunce taking up the cudgels always for Mr Turnbull, and generally slipping away

gradually into some account of his own martyrdom. For he had been a martyr, having failed in obtaining any

redress against the policeman who had imprisoned him so wrongfully. The People's Banner had fought for

him manfully, and therefore there was a little disagreement between him and Phineas on the subject of that

great organ of public opinion. And as Mr Bunce thought that his lodger was very wrong to sit for Lord

Brentford's borough, subjects were sometimes touched which were a little galling to Phineas.

Touching this promotion, Bunce had nothing but condolement to offer to the new junior lord. "Oh yes," said

he, in answer to an argument from Phineas, "I suppose there must be lords, as you call 'em; though for the

"Government! Well; I suppose there must be government. But the less of it the better. I'm not against

government nor yet against laws, Mr Finn; though the less of them, too, the better. But what does these

lords do in the Government? Lords indeed! I'll tell you what they do, Mr Finn. They wotes; that's what they

do! They wotes hard; black or white, white or black. Ain't that true? When you're a "lord," will you be able to

"If it comes to be a question of soulsaving, Mr Bunce, I shan't save my place at the expense of my

"Not if you knows it, you mean. But the worst of it is that a man gets so thick into the mud that he don't know

whether he's dirty or clean. You'll have to wote as you're told, and of course you'll think it's right enough.

Ain't you been among Parliament gents long enough to know that that's the way it goes?"

"I don't say that, but I think honesty's a deal easier away from 'em. The fact is, Mr Finn, it's all wrong with us

yet, and will be till we get it nigher to the great American model. If a poor man gets into Parliament you'll

"Just so and therefore what do you do? You goes and lays yourself out for government! I'm not saying as

how you're anyways wrong. A man has to live. You has winning ways, and a good physognomy of your own,

and are as big as a lifeguardsman." Phineas as he heard this doubtful praise laughed and blushed. "Very

well; you makes your way with the big wigs, lords and earls and them like, and you gets returned for a rotten

borough you'll excuse me, but that's about it, ain't it? and then you goes in for government! A man

may have a mission to govern, such as Washington and Cromwell and the like o' them. But when I hears of

"We've got to change a deal yet, Mr Finn, and we'll do it. When a young man as has liberal feelings gets into

Parliament, he shouldn't be snapped up and brought into the governing business just because he's poor and

wants a salary. They don't do it that way in the States; and they won't do it that way here long. It's the system

as I hates, and not you, Mr Finn. Well, goodbye, sir. I hope you'll like the governing business, and find it suits

These condolements from Mr Bunce were not pleasant, but they set him thinking. He felt assured that Bunce

and Quintus Slide and Mr Turnbull were wrong. Bunce was ignorant. Quintus Slide was dishonest. Turnbull

was greedy of popularity. For himself, he thought that as a young man he was fairly well informed. He knew

that he meant to be true in his vocation. And he was quite sure that the object nearest to his heart in politics

was not selfaggrandisement, but the welfare of the people in general. And yet he could not but agree with

Bunce that there was something wrong. When such men as Laurence Fitzgibbon were called upon to act as

governors, was it not to be expected that the ignorant but still intelligent Bunces of the population should

On the evening of that day he went up to Mrs Low's, very sure that he should receive some encouragement

from her and from her husband. She had been angry with him because he had put himself into a position in

which money must be spent and none could be made. The Lows, especially Mrs Low, had refused to believe

that any success was within his reach. Now that he had succeeded, now that he was in receipt of a salary on

which he could live and save money, he would be sure of sympathy from his old friends the Lows!

But Mrs Low was as severe upon him as Mr Bunce had been, and even from Mr Low he could extract no real

"Well, you know, Mr Finn, I think you have begun at the wrong end. I thought so before, and I think so still. I

suppose I ought not to say so to a Lord of the Treasury, but if you ask me, what can I do?"

"Exactly. That's what I must do. Well, the truth is, Mr Finn, that I do not think it is a very good opening for a

young man to be made what they call a Lord of the Treasury unless he has got a private fortune, you

"Of course it's uncertain but as I did go into the House, it's something to have succeeded."

"You did intend to go on with your profession," said Mr Low. He could not tell them that he had changed his

mind, and that he meant to marry Violet Effingham, who would much prefer a parliamentary life for her

husband to that of a working barrister. "I suppose that is all given up now," continued Mr Low.

"Yes and for ever I fear," said Mrs Low. You'll never go back to real work after frittering away your time

as a Lord of the Treasury. What sort of work must it be when just anybody can do it that it suits them to lay

hold of? But of course a thousand a year is something, though a man may have it for only six months."

It came out in the course of the evening that Mr Low was going to stand for the borough vacated by Mr

Mottram, at which it was considered that the Conservatives might possibly prevail. "You see, after all,

"That's as may be," said Mr Low. But it's the kind of thing a man does after twenty years of hard work. For

myself, I really don't care much whether I succeed or fail. I should like to live to be a ViceChancellor. I

don't mind saying as much as that to you. But I'm not at all sure that Parliament is the best way to the Equity

"But it is a grand thing to get into Parliament when you do it by means of your profession," said Mrs Low.

Soon after that Phineas took his departure from the house, feeling sore and unhappy. But on the next morning

he was received in Grosvenor Place with an amount of triumph which went far to compensate him. Lady

Laura had written to him to call there, and on his arrival he found both Violet Effingham and Madame Max

Goesler with his friend. When Phineas entered the room his first feeling was one of intense joy at seeing that

Violet Effingham was present there. Then there was one of surprise that Madame Max Goesler should make

one of the little party. Lady Laura had told him at Mr Palliser's dinnerparty that they, in Portman Square,

had not as yet advanced far enough to receive Madame Max Goesler and yet here was the lady in Mr

Kennedy's drawingroom. Now Phineas would have thought it more likely that he should find her in Portman

Square than in Grosvenor Place. The truth was that Madame Goesler had been brought by Miss Effingham

with the consent, indeed, of Lady Laura, but with a consent given with much of hesitation. "What are you

afraid of?" Violet had asked. "I am afraid of nothing," Lady Laura had answered; but one has to choose one's

acquaintance in accordance with rules which one doesn't lay down very strictly." "She is a clever woman,"

said Violet, "and everybody likes her; but if you think Mr Kennedy would object, of course you are right."

Then Lady Laura had consented, telling herself that it was not necessary that she should ask her husband's

approval as to every new acquaintance she might form. At the same time Violet had been told that Phineas

"I am so glad that Mr Finn has been made a lord of something," said Madame Max Goesler. "I had the

pleasure of a long political discussion with him the other night, and I quite approve of him."

"We are so much gratified, Mr Finn," said Lady Laura. "Mr. Kennedy says that it is the best appointment they

"You are Lord Brentford's member; are you not?" asked Madame Max Goesler. This was a question which

Phineas did not quite like, and which he was obliged to excuse by remembering that the questioner had lived

so long out of England as to be probably ignorant of the myths, and theories, and system, and working of the

British Constitution. Violet Effingham, little as she knew of politics, would never have asked a question so

But the question was turned off, and Phineas, with an easy grace, submitted himself to be petted, and

congratulated, and purred over, and almost caressed by the three ladies. Their goodnatured enthusiasm was

at any rate better than the satire of Bunce, or the wisdom of Mrs Low. Lady Laura had no misgivings as to

Phineas being fit for governing, and Violet Effingham said nothing as to the shortlived tenure of ministers.

Madame Max Goesler, though she had asked an indiscreet question, thoroughly appreciated the advantage of

Government pay, and the prestige of Government power. "You are a lord now," she said, speaking, as was

customary with her, with the slightest possible foreign accent, "and you will be a president soon, and then

perhaps a secretary. The order of promotion seems odd, but I am told it is very pleasant."

"It is pleasant to succeed, of course," said Phineas, "let the success be ever so little."

"We knew you would succeed," said Lady Laura. We were quite sure of it. Were we not, Violet?"

"You always said so, my dear. For myself I do not venture to have an opinion on such matters. Will you

always have to go to that big building in the corner, Mr Finn, and stay there from ten till four? Won't that be a

"And do the Lords of the Treasury have to take care of the money?" asked Madame Max Goesler.

He sat there for a considerable time, wondering whether Mr Kennedy would come in, and wondering also as

to what Mr Kennedy would say to Madame Max Goesler when he did come in. He knew that it was useless

for him to expect any opportunity, then or there, of being alone for a moment with Violet Effingham. His

only chance in that direction would be in some crowded room, at some ball at which he might ask her to

dance with him; but it seemed that fate was very unkind to him, and that no such chance came in his way. Mr

Kennedy did not appear, and Madame Max Goesler with Violet went away, leaving Phineas still sitting with

Lady Laura. Each of them said a kind word to him as they went. "I don't know whether I may dare to expect

that a Lord of the Treasury will come and see me?" said Madame Max Goesler. Then Phineas made a second

promise that he would call in Park Lane. Violet blushed as she remembered that she could not ask him to call

at Lady Baldock's. "Goodbye, Mr Finn," she said, giving him her hand. "I'm so very glad that they have

chosen you; and I do hope that, as Madame Max says, they'll make you a secretary and a president, and

everything else very quickly till it will come to your turn to be making other people." "He is very nice,

said Madame Goesler to Violet as she took her place in the carriage. "He bears being petted and spoilt

without being either awkward or conceited." "On the whole, he is rather nice, said Violet; "only he has not

got a shilling in the world, and has to make himself before he will be anybody." "He must marry money, of

"I hope you are contented?" said Lady Laura, rising from her chair and coming opposite to him as soon as

"I was not when I first heard of it. Why did they promote that emptyheaded countryman of yours to a

place for which he was quite unfit? I was not contented. But then I am more ambitious for you than you are

for yourself." He sat without answering her for awhile, and she stood waiting for his reply. "Have you

"I do not know what to say. When I think of it all, I am lost in amazement. You tell me that you are not

contented that you are ambitious for me. Why is it that you should feel any interest in the matter?"

"I think I said that I could not help you, and I think I said also that I thought you would fail. I do not know

that I showed much resentment. You see, I told her that you were here, that she might come and meet you.

You know that I wished my brother should succeed. I wished it before I ever knew you. You cannot expect

"Who is to say that? Has a woman never been won by devotion and perseverance? Besides, how can I wish to

see you go on with a suit which must sever you from my father, and injure your political prospects

perhaps fatally injure them? It seems to me now that my father is almost the only man in London who has not

"Do not do that, Mr Finn. There can be no reason for it. But I did not ask you to come here today to talk to

you about Oswald or Violet. I have given you my advice about that, and I can do no more."

"Lady Laura, I cannot take it. It is out of my power to take it." "Very well. The matter shall be what you

members of Parliament call an open question between us. When papa asked you to accept this place at the

"I hoped you would and yet I knew that I was wrong. I thought that you should count yourself to be worth

more than that, and that you should, as it were, assert yourself. But then it is so difficult to draw the line

between proper selfassertion and proper selfdenial to know how high to go up the table, and how low

to go down. I do not doubt that you have been right only make them understand that you are not as other

junior lords that you have been willing to be a junior lord, or anything else for a purpose; but that the

purpose is something higher than that of fetching and carrying in Parliament for Mr Mildmay and Mr

"Of course you will; and knowing that, I am glad that you are in office. I suppose there will be no difficulty

Then Phineas laughed. "I hear," said he, that Mr Quintus Slide, of the People's Banner, has already gone

"Mr Quintus Slide! To canvass the electors of Loughton!" and Lady Laura drew herself up and spoke of this

unseemly intrusion on her father's borough, as though the vulgar man who had been named had forced his

way into the very drawingroom in Portman Square. At that moment Mr Kennedy came in. "Do you hear

what Mr Finn tells me?" she said. "He has heard that Mr Quintus Slide has gone down to Loughton to stand

"Mr Quintus Slide will no doubt lose his time and his money but he will gain the prestige of having stood

for a borough, which will be something for him on the staff of the People's Banner," said Mr Kennedy.

"Very likely," said Mr Kennedy. And the less any of us say about it the better. Finn, my dear fellow, I

congratulate you heartily. Nothing for a long time has given me greater pleasure than hearing of your

appointment. It is equally honourable to yourself and to Mr Mildmay. It is a great step to have gained so

Phineas, as he thanked his friend, could not help asking himself what his friend had done to be made a

Cabinet Minister. Little as he, Phineas, himself had done in the House in his two sessions and a half, Mr

Kennedy had hardly done more in his fifteen or twenty. But then Mr Kennedy was possessed of almost

miraculous wealth, and owned half a county, whereas he, Phineas, owned almost nothing at all. Of course no

Prime Minister would offer a junior lordship at the Treasury to a man with �30,000 a year. Soon after this

"He is not quite such a black swan with me as he is with you; but still I think he will succeed, if he takes care

of himself. It is astonishing how that absurd story of his duel with Chiltern has got about."

"I suppose there was some quarrel, though neither of them will tell you. They say it was about Miss

Effingham. I should hardly think that Finn could have any hopes in that direction."

"He is a gentleman," said Lady Laura; and I think he has position. I do not see why he should not ask any girl

"There is no understanding you, Laura," said Mr Kennedy, angrily. "I thought you had quite other hopes

"So I have; but that has nothing to do with it. You spoke of Mr Finn as though he would be guilty of some

crime were he to ask Violet Effingham to be his wife. In that I disagree with you. Mr Finn is "

"I am sorry that I offend you by my gratitude to a man who saved your life." Mr Kennedy shook his head. He

knew that the argument used against him was false, but he did not know how to show that he knew that it was

false. "Perhaps I had better not mention his name any more," continued Lady Laura.

"All I mean to say is, that if you go on as you do, you will turn his head and spoil him. Do you think I do not

"And what is going on among us as you call it?" "You are taking this young man up and putting him on a

pedestal and worshipping him, just because he is welllooking, and rather clever and decently behaved. It's

always the way with women who have nothing to do, and who cannot be made to understand that they should

"Yes you know you have in going to those receptions at your father's house on Sundays."

"I begin to think I had better tell Mr Finn not to come here any more, since his presence is disagreeable to

you. All the world knows how great is the service he did you, and it will seem to be very ridiculous. People

will say all manner of things; but anything will be better than that you should go on as you have done

"You accused me personally, saying that because of my idolatry I had neglected my duty; but really you

made such a jumble of it all, with papa's visitors, and Sunday afternoons, that I cannot follow what was in

Then Mr Kennedy stood for awhile, collecting his thoughts, so that he might unravel the jumble, if that were

possible to him; but finding that it was not possible, he left the room, and closed the door behind him.

Then Lady Laura was left alone to consider the nature of the accusation which her husband had brought

against her; or the nature rather of the accusation which she had chosen to assert that her husband had

implied. For in her heart she knew that he had made no such accusation, and had intended to make none such.

The idolatry of which he had spoken was the idolatry which a woman might show to her cat, her dog, her

picture, her china, her furniture, her carriage and horses, or her pet maidservant. Such was the idolatry of

which Mr Kennedy had spoken but was there no other worship in her heart, worse, more pernicious than

She had schooled herself about him very severely, and had come to various resolutions. She had found out

and confessed to herself that she did not, and could not, love her husband. She had found out and confessed to

herself that she did love, and could not help loving, Phineas Finn. Then she had resolved to banish him from

her presence, and had gone the length of telling him so. After that she had perceived that she had been wrong,

and had determined to meet him as she met other men and to conquer her love. Then, when this could not

be done, when something almost like idolatry grew upon her, she determined that it should be the idolatry of

friendship, that she would not sin even in thought, that there should be nothing in her heart of which she need

be ashamed but that the one great object and purport of her life should be the promotion of this friend's

welfare. She had just begun to love after this fashion, had taught herself to believe that she might combine

something of the pleasure of idolatry towards her friend with a full complement of duty towards her husband,

when Phineas came to her with his tale of love for Violet Effingham. The lesson which she got then was a

very rough one so hard that at first she could not bear it. Her anger at his love for her brother's wishedfor

bride was lost in her dismay that Phineas should love anyone after having once loved her. But by sheer force

of mind she had conquered that dismay, that feeling of desolation at her heart, and had almost taught herself

to hope that Phineas might succeed with Violet. He wished it and why should he not have what he wished

he, whom she so fondly idolised? It was not his fault that he and she were not man and wife. She had

chosen to arrange it otherwise, and was she not bound to assist him now in the present object of his

reasonable wishes? She had got over in her heart that difficulty about her brother, but she could not quite

conquer the other difficulty. She could not bring herself to plead his cause with Violet. She had not brought

And now she was accused of idolatry for Phineas by her husband she with "a lot of others," in which lot

Violet was of course included. Would it not be better that they two should be brought together? Would not

her friend's husband still be her friend? Would she not then forget to love him? Would she not then be safer

As she sat alone struggling with her difficulties, she had not as yet forgotten to love him nor was she as

One morning early in June Lady Laura called at Lady Baldock's house and asked for Miss Effingham. The

servant was showing her into the large drawingroom, when she again asked specially for Miss Effingham. "I

think Miss Effingham is there," said the man, opening the door. Miss Effingham was not there. Lady Baldock

was sitting all alone, and Lady Laura perceived that she had been caught in the net which she specially

wished to avoid. Now Lady Baldock had not actually or openly quarrelled with Lady Laura Kennedy or with

Lord Brentford, but she had conceived a strong idea that her niece Violet was countenanced in all

improprieties by the Standish family generally, and that therefore the Standish family was to be regarded as a

family of enemies. There was doubtless in her mind considerable confusion on the subject, for she did not

know whether Lord Chiltern or Mr Finn was the suitor whom she most feared and she was aware, after a

sort of muddled fashion, that the claims of these two wicked young men were antagonistic to each other. But

they were both regarded by her as emanations from the same source of iniquity, and, therefore, without going

deeply into the machinations of Lady Laura without resolving whether Lady Laura was injuring her by

pressing her brother as a suitor upon Miss Effingham, or by pressing a rival of her brother still she became

aware that it was her duty to turn a cold shoulder on those two houses in Portman Square and Grosvenor

Place. But her difficulties in doing this were very great, and it may be said that Lady Baldock was placed in

an unjust and cruel position. Before the end of May she had proposed to leave London, and to take her

daughter and Violet down to Baddingham or to Brighton, if they preferred it, or to Switzerland. "Brighton

in June!" Violet had exclaimed. "Would not a month among the glaciers be delightful!" Miss Boreham had

said. "Don't let me keep you in town, aunt," Violet replied; "but I do not think I shall go till other people go. I

can have a room at Laura Kennedy's house." Then Lady Baldock, whose position was hard and cruel,

resolved that she would stay in town. Here she had in her hands a ward over whom she had no positive

power, and yet in respect to whom her duty was imperative! Her duty was imperative, and Lady Baldock was

not the woman to neglect her duty and yet she knew that the doing of her duty would all be in vain. Violet

would marry a shoeblack out of the streets if she were so minded. It was of no use that the poor lady had

provided herself with two strings, two most excellent strings, to her bow two strings either one of which

should have contented Miss Effingham. There was Lord Fawn, a young peer, not very rich indeed but still

with means sufficient for a wife, a rising man, and in every way respectable, although a Whig. And there was

Mr Appledom, one of the richest commoners in England, a fine Conservative too, with a seat in the House,

and everything appropriate. He was fifty, but looked hardly more than thirtyfive, and was so at least

Lady Baldock frequently asserted violently in love with Violet Effingham. Why had not the law, or the

executors, or the Lord Chancellor, or some power levied for the protection of the proprieties, made Violet

absolutely subject to her guardian till she should be made subject to a husband?

"Yes, I think she is at home," said Lady Baldock, in answer to Lady Laura's inquiry for Violet. "At least, I

hardly know. She seldom tells me what she means to do and sometimes she will walk out quite alone!" A

most imprudent old woman was Lady Baldock, always opening her hand to her adversaries, unable to control

herself in the scolding of people, either before their faces or behind their backs, even at moments in which

such scolding was most injurious to her own cause. "However, we will see," she continued. Then the bell was

rung, and in a few minutes Violet was in the room. In a few minutes more they were upstairs together in

Violet's own room, in spite of the openlydisplayed wrath of Lady Baldock. "I almost wish she had never

been born," said Lady Baldock to her daughter. "Oh, mamma, don't say that." I certainly do wish that I had

never seen her." "Indeed she has been a grievous trouble to you, mamma," said Miss Boreham,

"Of course it's nonsense. Fancy going to Brighton! And then they have proposed Switzerland. If you could

only hear Augusta talking in rapture of a month among the glaciers! And I feel so ungrateful. I believe they

would spend three months with me at any horrible place that I could suggest at Hong Kong if I were to

"No! I won't go. I know I am very naughty; but I can't help feeling that I cannot be good without being a

fool at the same time. I must either fight my aunt, or give way to her. If I were to yield, what a life I should

"I don't know you, I fancy. I told her that if she went, I should go to you. I knew that would make her

"You wouldn't be in his way in the least. If you would only be down punctually for morning prayers, and go

"Not a word. I don't think he quite knew who she was then. I fancy he has inquired since, by something he

"Nothing that matters only a word. I haven't come here to talk about Madame Max Goesler nor yet

"Whom have you come to talk about?" asked Violet, laughing a little, with something of increased colour in

"I wish you would leave me alone with my lovers. You are as bad or worse than my aunt. She, at any rate,

varies her prescription. She has become sick of poor Lord Fawn because he's a Whig."

"Old Mr Appledom who is really a most unexceptionable old party, and whom I like of all things. I really

think I could consent to be Mrs Appledom, to get rid of my troubles if he did not dye his whiskers and

"I shouldn't have the heart to do it. Besides, this isn't his time of the year for making proposals. His love

fever, which is of a very low kind, and intermits annually, never comes on till the autumn. It is a rural

"Just this that if you like to marry Phineas Finn, I will say that you are right."

"Keep your fancy more under control then. But upon my word I can't understand this. He was your great

"I do not know why he should not," said Violet, seeing how very little trouble it gives him. Half an hour once

in six months does it all for him, allowing him time for coming and going in a cab."

"Violet, I do not understand you. Have you refused Oswald so often because he does not pass hours on his

"No, indeed! His nature would be altered very much for the worse before he could do that."

"Why do you throw it in his teeth then that he does not give you more of his time?"

"Why have you come to tell me to marry Mr Phineas Finn? That is what I want to know. Mr Phineas Finn, as

far as I am aware, has not a shilling in the world except a month's salary now due to him from the

Government. Mr Phineas Finn I believe to be the son of a country doctor in Ireland with about seven

sisters. Mr Phineas Finn is a Roman Catholic. Mr Phineas Finn is or was a short time ago in love with

another lady; and Mr Phineas Finn is not so much in love at this moment but what he is able to entrust his

cause to an ambassador. None short of a royal suitor should ever do that with success."

"My dear, I never tell gentlemen's secrets. It seems that if he has, his success was so trifling that he has

"Because I hardly know how to tell his story. There have been things about Oswald which made it almost

"I know it all about their fighting. Foolish young men! I am not a bit obliged to either of them not a

bit. Only fancy, if my aunt knew it, what a life she would lead me! Gustavus knows all about it, and I feel that

"I cannot answer that though I know them well enough to be sure that Chiltern was the one in fault."

"I have not thrown my brother over. Will you accept Oswald if he asks you again?"

"Then I hope that Mr Finn may succeed. I want him to succeed in everything. There you may know it all.

"That is flattering to me looking at the position in which you desire to place your Phoebus at the present

"Come, Violet, I am true to you, and let me have a little truth from you. This man loves you, and I think is

worthy of you. He does not love me, but he is my friend. As his friend, and believing in his worth, I wish for

his success beyond almost anything else in the world. Listen to me, Violet. I don't believe in those reasons

"I know you do not. Look at me. I, who have less of real heart than you, I who thought that I could trust

myself to satisfy my mind and my ambition without caring for my heart, I have married for what you call

position. My husband is very rich, and a Cabinet Minister, and will probably be a peer. And he was willing to

"He has asked for it since," said Lady Laura. But never mind. I have not come to talk about myself

otherwise than to bid you not do what I have done. All that you have said about this man's want of money and

"If you love him !" "Ah! but if I do not? You are very close in inquiring into my secrets. Tell me, Laura

"What is the good of any secret, Laura, when we have been already so open? He tried his 'prentice hand on

you; and then he came to me. Let us watch him, and see who'll be the third. I too like him well enough to

Phineas had certainly no desire to make love by an ambassador at second hand. He had given no

commission to Lady Laura, and was, as the reader is aware, quite ignorant of what was being done and said

on his behalf. He had asked no more from Lady Laura than an opportunity of speaking for himself, and that

he had asked almost with a conviction that by so asking he would turn his friend into an enemy. He had read

but little of the workings of Lady Laura's heart towards himself, and had no idea of the assistance she was

anxious to give him. She had never told him that she was willing to sacrifice her brother on his behalf, and, of

course, had not told him that she was willing also to sacrifice herself. Nor, when she wrote to him one June

morning and told him that Violet would be found in Portman Square, alone, that afternoon naming an

hour, and explaining that Miss Effingham would be there to meet herself and her father, but that at such an

hour she would be certainly alone did he even then know how much she was prepared to do for him. The

short note was signed "L.," and then there came a long postscript. "Ask for me," she said in a postscript. "I

shall be there later, and I have told them to bid you wait. I can give you no hope of success, but if you choose

to try you can do so. If you do not come, I shall know that you have changed your mind. I shall not think

the worse of you, and your secret will be safe with me. I do that which you have asked me to do simply

because you have asked it. Burn this at once because I ask it." Phineas destroyed the note, tearing it into

atoms, the moment that he had read it and reread it. Of course he would go to Portman Square at the hour

named. Of course he would take his chance. He was not buoyed up by much of hope but even though

When Lord Brentford had first told Phineas of his promotion, he had also asked the new Lord of the Treasury

to make a certain communication on his behalf to his son. This Phineas had found himself obliged to promise

to do and he had done it. The letter had been difficult enough to write but he had written it. After

"Dear Lord Chiltern," he had commenced, I will not think that there was anything in our late encounter to

prevent my so addressing you. I now write at the instance of your father, who has heard nothing of our little

affair." Then he explained at length Lord Brentford's wishes as he understood them. "Pray come home," he

said, finishing his letter. "Touching V. E., I feel that I am bound to tell you that I still mean to try my fortune,

but that I have no ground for hoping that my fortune will be good. Since the day on the sands, I have never

met her but in society. I know you will be glad to hear that my wound was nothing; and I think you will be

glad to hear that I have got my foot on to the ladder of promotion. Yours always,

Now he had to try his fortune that fortune of which he had told Lord Chiltern that he had no reason for

hoping that it would be good. He went direct from his office at the Treasury to Portman Square, resolving that

he would take no trouble as to his dress, simply washing his hands and brushing his hair as though he were

going down to the House, and he knocked at the Earl's door exactly at the hour named by Lady Laura.

"Yes," she said, laughing. I am alone a poor unprotected female. But I fear nothing. I have strong reason

for believing that Lord Brentford is somewhere about. And Pomfret the butler, who has known me since I

"With such allies you can have nothing to fear," he replied, attempting to carry on her little jest.

"Nor even without them, Mr Finn. We unprotected females in these days are so selfreliant that our natural

protectors fall off from us, finding themselves to be no longer wanted. Now with you what can I fear?"

"There used to be a time, and that not so long ago either, when young gentlemen and ladies were thought to

be very dangerous to each other if they were left alone. But propriety is less rampant now, and upon the

whole virtue and morals, with discretion and all that kind of thing, have been the gainers. Don't you think

"Yes in a trap. Is there no trap here? If you will say so, I will acknowledge myself to be a dolt, and will

"Miss Effingham, of course I have used it. You must know I think you must know that I have that to say

"In such matters you should never talk to anyone, Mr Finn. If you cannot fight your own battle, no one can

"And do you remember that I asked you a question which you have never answered?"

"I did answer it as well as I knew how, so that I might tell you a truth without hurting you."

"It was necessary is necessary that I should be hurt sorely, or made perfectly happy, Violet Effingham, I

have come to you to ask you to be my wife to tell you that I love you, and to ask for your love in return.

Whatever may be my fate, the question must be asked, and an answer must be given. I have not hoped that

"For not much, indeed but if for anything, then for some chance that you might tell me so hereafter."

"If I loved you, I would tell you so now instantly. I give you my word of that."

"What is a woman to answer to such a question? No I believe never. I do not think I shall ever wish you to

"Is it because ?" He paused, hardly knowing what the question was which he proposed to himself to ask.

"It is for no because for no cause except that simple one which should make any girl refuse any man

whom she did not love. Mr Finn, I could say pleasant things to you on any other subject than this because

"You have everything to justify it at least I am bound to presume that you have. If you love me you are

"I am sorry that it should ever have been so very sorry. I can only hope that I have not been in fault."

"No why should I try? If any trying were necessary, I would try rather not to love you. Why should I try to

do that which would displease everybody belonging to me? For yourself, I admit your right to address me

and tell you frankly that such a marriage would not please those whom I am bound to try to please."

He paused a moment before he spoke further. "I shall wait," he said, "and come again."

"What am I to say to that? Do not tease me, so that I be driven to treat you with lack of courtesy. Lady Laura

is so much attached to you, and Mr Kennedy, and Lord Brentford and indeed I may say, I myself also, that

I trust there may be nothing to mar our good fellowship. Come Mr Finn say that you will take an answer,

"Give it me," said he. She gave him her hand, and he put it up to his lips and pressed it. "I will wait and come

again," he said. "I will assuredly come again." Then he turned from her and went out of the house. At the

corner of the square he saw Lady Laura's carriage, but did not stop to speak to her. And she also saw him.

"I fancy he has, after his fashion. There be cats that eat their mice without playing and cats that play with

their mice, and then eat them; and cats again which only play with their mice, and don't care to eat them. Mr

"You wrong him there." "I think not, Laura. I do not mean to say that he would not have liked me to accept

him. But, if I can see inside his bosom, such a little job as that he has now done will be looked back upon as

It will be necessary that we should go back in our story for a very short period in order that the reader may be

told that Phineas Finn was duly reelected at Loughton after his appointment at the Treasury Board. There

was some little trouble at Loughton, and something more of expense than he had before encountered. Mr

Quintus Slide absolutely came down, and was proposed by Mr Vellum for the borough. Mr Vellum being a

gentleman learned in the law, and hostile to the interests of the noble owner of Saulsby, was able to raise a

little trouble against our hero. Mr Slide was proposed by Mr Vellum, and seconded by Mr Vellum's clerk

though, as it afterwards appeared, Mr Vellum's clerk was not in truth an elector and went to the poll like a

man. He received three votes, and at twelve o'clock withdrew. This in itself could hardly have afforded

compensation for the expense which Mr Slide or his backers must have encountered but he had an

opportunity of making a speech, every word of which was reported in the People's Banner; and if the speech

was made in the language given in the report, Mr Slide was really possessed of some oratorical power. Most

of those who read the speech in the columns of the People's Banner were probably not aware how favourable

an opportunity of retouching his sentences in type had been given to Mr Slide by the fact of his connection

with the newspaper. The speech had been very severe upon our hero; and though the speaker had been so

hooted and pelted at Loughton as to have been altogether inaudible so maltreated that in point of fact he

had not been able to speak above a tenth part of his speech at all nevertheless the speech did give Phineas

a certain amount of pain. Why Phineas should have read it who can tell? But who is there that abstains from

In the speech as it was printed Mr Slide declared that he had no thought of being returned for the borough. He

knew too well how the borough was managed, what slaves the electors were how they groaned under a

tyranny from which hitherto they had been unable to release themselves. Of course the Earl's nominee, his

lackey, as the honourable gentleman might be called, would be returned. The Earl could order them to return

whichever of his lackueys he pleased. There is something peculiarly pleasing to the democratic ear in the

word lackuey! Anyone serving a big man, whatever the service may be, is the big man's lackuey in the

People's Banner. The speech throughout was very bitter. Mr Phineas Finn, who had previously served in

Parliament as the lackuey of an Irish earl, and had been turned off by him, had now fallen into the service of

the English earl, and was the lackuey chosen for the present occasion. But he, Quintus Slide, who boasted

himself to be a man of the people he could tell them that the days of their thraldom were coming to an

end, and that their enfranchisement was near at hand. That friend of the people, Mr Turnbull, had a clause in

his breeches pocket which he would either force down the unwilling throat of Mr Mildmay, or else drive the

imbecile Premier from office by carrying it in his teeth. Loughton, as Loughton, must be destroyed, but it

should be born again in a better birth as a part of a real electoral district, sending a real member, chosen by a

real constituency, to a real Parliament. In those days and they would come soon Mr Quintus Slide

rather thought that Mr Phineas Finn would be found "nowhere," and he rather thought also that when he

showed himself again, as he certainly should do, in the midst of that democratic electoral district as the

popular candidate for the honour of representing it in Parliament, that democratic electoral district would

accord to him a reception very different from that which he was now receiving from the Earl's lackueys in the

parliamentary village of Loughton. A prettier bit of fiction than these sentences as composing a part of any

speech delivered, or proposed to be delivered, at Loughton, Phineas thought he had never seen. And when he

read at the close of the speech that though the Earl's hired bullies did their worst, the remarks of Mr Slide

were received by the people with reiterated cheering, he threw himself back in his chair at the Treasury and

roared. The poor fellow had been three minutes on his legs, had received three rotten eggs, and one dead dog,

and had retired. But not the half of the speech as printed in the People's Banner has been quoted. The sins of

Phineas, who in spite of his inability to open his mouth in public had been made a Treasury hack by the

aristocratic influence "by aristocratic influence not confined to the male sex," were described at great

length, and in such language that Phineas for a while was fool enough to think that it would be his duty to

belabour Mr Slide with a horsewhip. This notion, however, did not endure long with him, and when Mr

Monk told him that things of that kind came as a matter of course, he was comforted.

But he found it much more difficult to obtain comfort when he weighed the arguments brought forward

against the abominations of such a borough as that for which he sat, and reflected that if Mr Turnbull brought

forward his clause, he, Phineas Finn, would be bound to vote against the clause, knowing the clause to be

right, because he was a servant of the Government. The arguments, even though they appeared in the People's

Banner, were true arguments; and he had on one occasion admitted their truth to his friend Lady Laura in

the presence of that great Cabinet Minister, her husband. "What business has such a man as that down there?

Is there a single creature who wants him?" Lady Laura had said. "I don't suppose anybody does want Mr

Quintus Slide," Phineas had replied; "but I am disposed to think the electors should choose the man they do

want, and that at present they have no choice left to them." "They are quite satisfied," said Lady Laura,

angrily. "Then, Lady Laura, continued Phineas, "that alone should be sufficient to prove that their privilege of

returning a member to Parliament is too much for them. We can't defend it." "It is defended by tradition, said

Mr Kennedy. "And by its great utility," said Lady Laura, bowing to the young member who was present, and

forgetting that very useless old gentleman, her cousin, who had sat for the borough for many years. "In this

country it doesn't do to go too fast," said Mr Kennedy. "And then the mixture of vulgarity, falsehood, and

pretence!" said Lady Laura, shuddering as her mind recurred to the fact that Mr Quintus Slide had

contaminated Loughton by his presence. "I am told that they hardly let him leave the place alive."

Whatever Mr Kennedy and Lady Laura might think about Loughton and the general question of small

boroughs, it was found by the Government, to their great cost, that Mr Turnbull's clause was a reality. After

two months of hard work, all questions of franchise had been settled, rating and renting, new and newfangled,

fancy franchises and those which no one fancied, franchises for boroughs and franchises for counties,

franchises single, dual, threecornered, and foursided by various clauses to which the Committee of the

whole House had agreed after some score of divisions the matter of the franchise had been settled. No

doubt there was the House of Lords, and there might yet be shipwreck. But it was generally believed that the

Lords would hardly look at the bill that they would not even venture on an amendment. The Lords would

only be too happy to let the matter be settled by the Commons themselves. But then, after the franchise, came

redistribution. How sick of the subject were all members of the Government, noone could tell who did not

see their weary faces. The whole House was sick, having been whipped into various lobbies, night after night,

during the heat of the summer, for weeks past. Redistribution! Why should there be any redistribution? They

had got, or would get, a beautiful franchise. Could they not see what that would do for them? Why

redistribute anything? But, alas, it was too late to go back to so blessed an idea as that! Redistribution they

must have. But there should be as little redistribution as possible. Men were sick of it all, and would not be

exigeant. Something should be done for overgrown counties something for new towns which had

prospered in brick and mortar. It would be easy to crush up a peccant borough or two a borough that had

been discovered in its sin. And a few boroughs now blessed with two members might consent to be blessed

only with one. Fifteen small clauses might settle the redistribution in spite of Mr Turnbull if only Mr

Neither the weather, which was very hot, nor the tedium of the session, which had been very great, nor the

anxiety of Ministers, which was very pressing, had any effect in impairing the energy of Mr Turnbull. He was

as instant, as oratorical, as hostile, as indignant about redistribution as he had been about the franchise. He

had been sure then, and he was sure now, that Ministers desired to burke the question, to deceive the people,

to produce a bill that should be no bill. He brought out his clause and made Loughton his instance.

"Would the honourable gentleman who sat lowest on the Treasury bench who at this moment was in

sweet confidential intercourse with the right honourable gentleman now President of the Board of Trade, who

had once been a friend of the people would the young Lord of the Treasury get up in his place and tell

them that no peer of Parliament had at present a voice in sending a member to their House of Commons

that no peer would have a voice if this bill, as proposed by the Government, were passed in its present

Phineas, who replied to this, and who told Mr Turnbull that he himself could not answer for any peers but

that he thought it probable that most peers would, by their opinions, somewhat influence the opinions of

some electors was thought to have got out of his difficulty very well. But there was the clause of Mr

Turnbull to be dealt with a clause directly disfranchising seven singlewinged boroughs, of which

Loughton was of course one a clause to which the Government must either submit or object. Submission

would be certain defeat in one way, and objection would be as certain defeat in another if the gentlemen

on the other side were not disposed to assist the ministers. It was said that the Cabinet was divided. Mr

Gresham and Mr Monk were for letting the seven boroughs go. Mr Mildmay could not bring himself to obey

Mr Turnbull, and Mr Palliser supported him. When Mr Mildmay was told that Mr Daubeny would certainly

go into the same lobby with Mr Turnbull respecting the seven boroughs, he was reported to have said that in

that case Mr Daubeny must be prepared with a Government. Mr Daubeny made a beautiful speech about the

seven boroughs the seven sins, and seven stars, and seven churches, and seven lamps. He would make no

party question of this. Gentlemen who usually acted with him would vote as their own sense of right or

wrong directed them from which expression of a special sanction it was considered that these gentlemen

were not accustomed to exercise the privilege now accorded to them. But in regarding the question as one of

right and wrong, and in looking at what he believed to be both the wish of the country and its interests, he,

Mr Daubeny he, himself, being simply a humble member of that House must support the clause of the

honourable gentleman. Almost all those to whom had been surrendered the privilege of using their own

judgment for that occasion only, used it discreetly as their chief had used it himself and Mr Turnbull

carried his clause by a majority of fifteen. It was then 3 a.m., and Mr Gresham, rising after the division, said

that his right honourable friend the First Lord of the Treasury was too tired to return to the House, and had

requested him to state that the Government would declare their purpose at 6 p.m. on the following evening.

Phineas, though he had made his little speech in answer to Mr Turnbull with good humoured flippancy, had

recorded his vote in favour of the seven boroughs with a sore heart. Much as he disliked Mr Turnbull, he

knew that Mr Turnbull was right in this. He had spoken to Mr Monk on the subject, as it were asking Mr

Monk's permission to throw up his office, and vote against Mr Mildmay. But Mr Monk was angry with him,

telling him that his conscience was of that restless, uneasy sort which is neither useful nor manly. "We all

know," said Mr Monk, "and none better than Mr Mildmay, that we cannot justify such a borough as Loughton

by the theory of our parliamentary representation any more than we can justify the fact that

Huntingdonshire should return as many members as the East Riding. There must be compromises, and you

should trust to others who have studied the matter more thoroughly than you, to say how far the compromise

"It is the influence of the peer, not the paucity of the electors," said Phineas.

"And has no peer any influence in a county? Would you disfranchise Westmoreland? Believe me, Finn, if

you want to be useful, you must submit yourself in such matters to those with whom you act."

Phineas had no answer to make, but he was not happy in his mind. And he was the less happy, perhaps,

because he was very sure that Mr Mildmay would be beaten. Mr Low in these days harassed him sorely. Mr

Low was very keen against such boroughs as Loughton, declaring that Mr Daubeny was quite right to join his

standard to that of Mr Turnbull on such an issue. Mr Low was the reformer now, and Phineas found himself

obliged to fight a losing battle on behalf of an acknowledged abuse. He never went near Bunce; but,

unfortunately for him, Bunce caught him once in the street and showed him no mercy. "Slide was a little

'eavy on you in the Banner the other day eh, Mr Finn? too 'eavy, as I told him."

"That's in course. The press is free, thank God as yet. But it wasn't any good rattling away at the Earl's

"The whole seven on 'em. The 'ouse couldn't but do it. They tell me it's all Mr Mildmay's own work, sticking

out for keeping on 'em. He's very old, and so we'll forgive him. But he must go, Mr Finn."

"If you don't get another seat, Mr Finn, I suppose we shall see you back at the Inn. I hope we may. It's better

than being member for Loughton, Mr Finn you may be sure of that." And then Mr Bunce passed on.

Mr Turnbull carried his clause, and Loughton was doomed. Loughton and the other six deadly sins were

anathematised, exorcised, and finally got rid of out of the world by the voices of the gentlemen who had been

proclaiming the beauty of such pleasant vices all their lives, and who in their hearts hated all changes that

tended towards popular representation. But not the less was Mr Mildmay beaten; and, in accordance with the

promise made by his first lieutenant immediately after the vote was taken, the Prime Minister came forward

on the next evening and made his statement. He had already put his resignation into the hands of Her

Majesty, and Her Majesty had graciously accepted it. He was very old, and felt that the time had come in

which it behoved him to retire into that leisure which he thought he had, perhaps, earned. He had hoped to

carry this bill as the last act of his political life; but he was too old, too stiff, as he said, in his prejudices, to

bend further than he had bent already, and he must leave the completion of the matter in other hands. Her

Majesty had sent for Mr Gresham, and Mr Gresham had already seen Her Majesty. Mr Gresham and his other

colleagues, though they dissented from the clause which had been carried by the united efforts of gentlemen

opposite to him, and of gentlemen below him on his own side of the House, were younger men than he, and

would, for the country's sake and for the sake of Her Majesty endeavour to carry the bill through.

There would then, of course, be a dissolution, and the future Government would, no doubt, depend on the

choice of the country, From all which it was understood that Mr Gresham was to go on with the bill to a

conclusion, whatever might be the divisions carried against him, and that a new Secretary of State for Foreign

Affairs must be chosen. Phineas understood, also, that he had lost his seat at Loughton. For the borough of

Loughton there would never again be an election. "If I had been Mr Mildmay, I would have thrown the bill

up altogether," Lord Brentford said afterwards; "but of course it was not for me to interfere."

The session was protracted for two months after that beyond the time at which grouse should have been

shot and by the 23rd of August became the law of the land. "I shall never get over it," said Mr Ratler to

Mr Finn, seated one terribly hot evening on a bench behind the Cabinet Ministers "never. I don't suppose

such a session for work was ever known before. Think what it is to have to keep men together in August, with

the thermometer at 81 degrees, and the river stinking like like the very mischief." Mr Ratler, however, did

not die. On the last day of the session Laurence Fitzgibbon resigned. Rumours reached the ears of Phineas as

to the cause of this, but no certain cause was told him. It was said that Lord Cantrip had insisted upon it,

Laurence having by mischance been called upon for some official statement during an unfortunate period of

absence. There was, however, a mystery about it but the mystery was not half so wonderful as the triumph

"The election will not come on till November, and you must look about you. Both Mr Monk and Lord

By the middle of September there was assembled a large party at Matching Priory, a country mansion

belonging to Mr Plantagenet Palliser. The men had certainly been chosen in reference to their political

feelings and position for there was not a guest in the house who had voted for Mr Turnbull's clause, or the

wife or daughter, or sister of anyone who had so voted. Indeed, in these days politics ran so high that among

politicians all social gatherings were brought together with some reference to the state of parties. Phineas was

invited, and when he arrived at Matching he found that half the Cabinet was there. Mr Kennedy was not

there, nor was Lady Laura. Mr Monk was there, and the Duke with the Duchess, and Mr Gresham, and

Lord Thrift; Mrs Max Goesler was there also, and Mrs Bonteen Mr Bonteen being detained somewhere

out of the way; and Violet Effingham was expected in two days, and Lord Chiltern at the end of the week.

Lady Glencora took an opportunity of imparting this latter information to Phineas very soon after his arrival;

and Phineas, as he watched her eye and her mouth while she spoke, was quite sure that Lady Glencora knew

the story of the duel. "I shall be delighted to see him again," said Phineas. "That is all right," said Lady

Glencora. There were also there Mr and Mrs Grey, who were great friends of the Pallisers and on the very

day on which Phineas reached Matching, at half an hour before the time for dressing, the Duke of Omnium

arrived. Now, Mr Palliser was the Duke's nephew and heir and the Duke of Omnium was a very great

person indeed. I hardly know why it should have been so, but the Duke of Omnium was certainly a greater

man in public estimation than the other duke then present the Duke of St Bungay. The Duke of St Bungay

was a useful man, and had been so all his life, sitting in Cabinets and serving his country, constant as any

peer in the House of Lords, always ready to take on his own shoulders any troublesome work required of him,

than whom Mr Mildmay, and Mr Mildmay's predecessor at the head of the liberal party, had had no more

devoted adherent. But the Duke of Omnium had never yet done a day's work on behalf of his country. They

both wore the Garter, the Duke of St Bungay having earned it by service, the Duke of Omnium having been

decorated with the blue ribbon because he was Duke of Omnium. The one was a moral, good man, a good

husband, a good father, and a good friend. The other did not bear quite so high a reputation. But men and

women thought but little of the Duke of St Bungay, while the other duke was regarded with an almost

reverential awe. I think the secret lay in the simple fact that the Duke of Omnium had not been common in

the eyes of the people. He had contrived to envelope himself in something of the ancient mystery of wealth

and rank. Within three minutes of the Duke's arrival Mrs Bonteen, with an air of great importance, whispered

"The Duke of Omnium!" she said, almost reprimanding him by her tone of voice for his indifference. "There

has been a great doubt whether or no he would show himself at last. Lady Glencora told me that he never will

"Oh, I have seen him a magnificentlooking man! I think it is so very nice of Lady Glencora getting him

to meet us. It is very rarely that he will join in a great party, but they say Lady Glencora can do anything with

"No," said Phineas; I have heard nothing of the heir, but I know that there are three or four babies."

"There was no heir, you know, for a year and a half, and they were all au d sespoir; and the Duke was very

nearly quarrelling with his nephew; and Mr Palliser you know it had very nearly come to a separation."

"I don't know anything at all about it," said Phineas, who was not very fond of the lady who was giving him

"It is so, I can assure you; but since the boy was born Lady Glencora can do anything with the Duke. She

made him go to Ascot last spring, and he presented her with the favourite for one of the races on the very

"And did Lady Glencora win?" "No the horse lost; and Mr Palliser has never known what to do with him

Phineas, though he had intended to show to Mrs Bonteen how little he thought about the Duke of Omnium

how small was his respect for a great peer who took no part in politics could not protect himself from a

certain feeling of anxiety as to the aspect and gait and words of the man of whom people thought so much, of

whom he had heard so often, and of whom he had seen so little. He told himself that the Duke of Omnium

should be no more to him than any other man, but yet the Duke of Omnium was more to him than other men.

When he came down into the drawingroom he was angry with himself, and stood apart and was then

angry with himself again because he stood apart. Why should he make a difference in his own bearing

because there was such a man in the company? And yet he could not avoid it. When he entered the room the

Duke was standing in a large bowwindow, and two or three ladies and two or three men were standing

round him. Phineas would not go near the group, telling himself that he would not approach a man so grand

as was the Duke of Omnium. He saw Madame Max Goesler among the party, and after a while he saw her

retreat. As she retreated, Phineas knew that some words from Madame Max Goesler had not been received

with the graciousness which she had expected. There was the prettiest smile in the world on the lady's face,

and she took a corner on a sofa with an air of perfect satisfaction. But yet Phineas knew that she had received

"I called twice on you in London," said Phineas, coming up close to her, "but was not fortunate enough to

"Yes but you came so late in the season as to make it impossible that there should be any arrangements for

"Yes, you did; on the 31st. I keep the most accurate record of all such things, Mr Finn. But let us hope that

we may have better luck next year. In the meantime, we can only enjoy the good things that are going."

"Oh, socially. How can I mean anything else when the Duke of Omnium is here? I feel so much taller at

being in the same house with him. Do not you? But you are a spoilt child of fortune, and perhaps you have

met him before." "I think I once saw the back of a hat in the park, and somebody told me that the Duke's head

"I do immensely. I believe him to be a fool, and I never heard of his doing a kind act to anybody in my

"I wonder whether that was true. Did you ever hear of such an absurdity? As I was saying, I don't think he

ever did anything for anybody but then, you know, to be Duke of Omnium! It isn't necessary is it

At this moment Lady Glencora came up to Phineas, and took him across to the Duke. The Duke had

expressed a desire to be introduced to him. Phineas, halfpleased and halfdisgusted, had no alternative, and

followed Lady Glencora. The Duke shook hands with him, and made a little bow, and said something about

the garrotters, which Phineas, in his confusion, did not quite understand. He tried to reply as he would have

replied to anybody else, but the weight of the Duke's majesty was too much for him, and he bungled. The

Duke made another little bow, and in a moment was speaking a word of condescension to some other

favoured individual. Phineas retreated altogether disgusted hating the Duke, but hating himself worse; but

he would not retreat in the direction of Madame Max Goesler. It might suit that lady to take an instant little

revenge for her discomfiture, but it did not suit him to do so. The question with him would be, whether in

some future part of his career it might not be his duty to assist in putting down Dukes of Omnium.

At dinner Phineas sat between Mrs Bonteen and the Duchess of St Bungay, and did not find himself very

happy. At the other end of the table the Duke the great Duke, was seated at Lady Glencora's right hand,

and on his other side Fortune had placed Madame Max Goesler. The greatest interest which Phineas had

during the dinner was in watching the operations the triumphantly successful operations of that lady.

Before dinner she had been wounded by the Duke. The Duke had not condescended to accord the honour of

his little bow of graciousness to some little flattering morsel of wit which the lady had uttered on his behoof.

She had said a sharp word or two in her momentary anger to Phineas; but when Fortune was so good to her in

that matter of her place at dinner, she was not fool enough to throw away her chance. Throughout the soup

and fish she was very quiet. She said a word or two after her first glass of champagne. The Duke refused two

dishes, one after another, and then she glided into conversation. By the time that he had his roast mutton

before him she was in full play, and as she eat her peach, the Duke was bending over her with his most

"Didn't you think the session was very long, Mr Finn?" said the Duchess to Phineas.

"Very long indeed, Duchess," said Phineas, with his attention still fixed on Madame Max Goesler.

"I daresay he did," said Phineas. That duke and that duchess were no more than any other man and any other

man's wife. The session had not been longer to the Duke of St Bungay than to all the public servants. Phineas

had the greatest possible respect for the Duke of St Bungay, but he could not take much interest in the

"And things do seem to be so very uncomfortable now," said the Duchess thinking partly of the

resignation of Mr Mildmay, and partly of the fact that her own old peculiar maid who had lived with her for

"Not so very bad, Duchess, I hope," said Phineas, observing that at this moment Madame Max Goesler's eyes

were brilliant with triumph. Then there came upon him a sudden ambition that he would like to "cut out"

the Duke of Omnium in the estimation of Madame Max Goesler. The brightness of Madame Max Goesler's

Violet Effingham came at the appointed time, and, to the surprise of Phineas, was brought to Matching by

Lord Brentford. Phineas at first thought that it was intended that the Earl and his son should meet and make

up their quarrel at Mr Palliser's house. But Lord Brentford stayed only one night, and Phineas on the next

morning heard the whole history of his coming and going from Violet. "I have almost been on my knees to

"He put his arm round me and kissed me, and and I cannot tell you all that he said. But it ended in this

that if Chiltern can be made to go to Saulsby, fatted calves without stint will be killed. I shall do all I can

to make him go; and so must you, Mr Finn. Of course that silly affair in foreign parts is not to make any

Phineas smiled, and said he would do his best, and looked up into her face, and was just able to talk to her as

though things were going comfortably with him. But his heart was very cold. As Violet had spoken to him

about Lord Chiltern there had come upon him, for the first time for the first time since he had known that

Lord Chiltern had been refused an idea, a doubt, whether even yet Violet might not become Lord

Chiltern's wife. His heart was very sad, but he struggled on declaring that it was incumbent on them both

"I am so glad to hear you say so, Mr Finn," said Violet. "I really do believe that you can do more towards it

than anyone else. Lord Chiltern would think nothing of my advice would hardly speak to me on such a

subject. But he respects you as well as likes you, and not the less because of what has occurred."

How was it that Violet should know aught of the respect or liking felt by this rejected suitor for that other

suitor who had also been rejected? And how was it that she was thus able to talk of one of them to the

other, as though neither of them had ever come forward with such a suit? Phineas felt his position to be so

strange as to be almost burdensome. He had told Violet, when she had refused him, very plainly, that he

should come again to her, and ask once more for the great gift which he coveted. But he could not ask again

now. In the first place, there was that in her manner which made him sure that were he to do so, he would ask

in vain; and then he felt that she was placing a special confidence in him, against which he would commit a

sin were he to use her present intimacy with him for the purposes of making love. They two were to put their

shoulders together to help Lord Chiltern, and while doing so he could not continue a suit which would be felt

by both of them to be hostile to Lord Chiltern. There might be opportunity for a chance word, and if so the

chance word should be spoken; but he could not make a deliberate attack, such as he had made in Portman

Square. Violet also probably understood that she had not now been caught in a mousetrap.

The Duke was to spend four days at Matching, and on the third day the day before Lord Chiltern was

expected he was to be seen riding with Madame Max Goesler by his side. Madame Max Goesler was

known as a perfect horsewoman one indeed who was rather fond of going a little fast on horseback, and

who rode well to hounds. But the Duke seldom moved out of a walk, and on this occasion Madame Max was

as steady in her seat and almost as slow as the mounted ghost in Don Juan. But it was said by some there,

especially by Mrs Bonteen, that the conversation between them was not slow. And on the next morning the

Duke and Madame Max Goesler were together again before luncheon, standing on a terrace at the back of the

"I am sorry Your Grace cannot be gratified. I have played croquet till I am tired of it, and have come to think

it is only fit for boys and girls. The great thing is to give them opportunities for flirting, and it does that."

"That depends on so many things and so much on the chosen person. What do you recommend?"

"What do you say to a mountaintop at dawn on a summer day?" asked Madame Max Goesler.

"Or a boat on a lake on a summer evening, or a good lead after hounds with nobody else within three fields,

or the bottom of a saltmine, or the deck of an ocean steamer, or a military hospital in time of war, or a

"I have no doubt your Grace has tried each of them successfully. But perhaps, after all, a comfortable

"I think it does certainly," said the Duke. Then he whispered something at which Madame Max Goesler

blushed and smiled, and immediately after that she followed those who had already gone in to lunch.

Mrs Bonteen had been hovering round the spot on the terrace on which the Duke and Madame Max Goesler

had been standing, looking on with envious eyes, meditating some attack, some interruption, some excuse for

an interpolation, but her courage had failed her and she had not dared to approach. The Duke had known

nothing of the hovering propinquity of Mrs Bonteen, but Madame Goesler had seen and had understood it all.

"Dear Mrs Bonteen," she said afterwards, why did you not come and join us? The Duke was so pleasant."

"Two is company, and three is none," said Mrs Bonteen, who in her anger was hardly able to choose her

"Our friend Madame Max has made quite a new conquest," said Mrs Bonteen to Lady Glencora.

"I am so pleased," said Lady Glencora, with apparently unaffected delight. "It is such a great thing to get

anybody to amuse my uncle. You see everybody cannot talk to him, and he will not talk to everybody."

"He talked enough to her in all conscience," said Mrs Bonteen, who was now more angry than ever.

Lord Chiltern arrived, and Phineas was a little nervous as to their meeting. He came back from shooting on

the day in question, and was told by the servant that Lord Chiltern was in the house. Phineas went into the

billiardroom in his knickerbockers, thinking probably that he might be there, and then into the

drawingroom, and at last into the library but Lord Chiltern was not to be found. At last he came across

"I never knew him to be more pleasant. He would give no promise about Saulsby, but he did not say that he

"Yes I told him so. I told him how much pleasure I should have in seeing you two together as friends."

"He laughed, and said you were the best fellow in the world. You see I am obliged to be explicit."

"He did not tell me, but I suppose it was because he was thinking of a little trip he once took to Belgium, and

"I wonder who told you. But never mind. I do not mean to ask any questions. As I do not like that our first

meeting should be before all the people in the drawingroom, I will go to him in his own room."

Phineas sent his card up by a servant, and in a few minutes was standing with his hand on the lock of Lord

Chiltern's door. The last time he had seen this man, they had met with pistols in their hands to shoot at each

other, and Lord Chiltern had in truth done his very best to shoot his opponent. The cause of quarrel was the

same between them as ever. Phineas had not given up Violet, and had no intention of giving her up. And he

had received no intimation whatever from his rival that there was to be a truce between them. Phineas had

indeed written in friendship to Lord Chiltern, but he had received no answer and nothing of certainty was

to be gathered from the report which Violet had just made. It might well be that Lord Chiltern would turn

upon him now in his wrath, and that there would be some scene which in a strange house would be obviously

objectionable. Nevertheless he had resolved that even that would be better than a chance encounter among

"Well, old fellow," said Lord Chiltern, laughing. Then all doubt was over, and in a moment Phineas was

shaking his former and present friend, warmly by the hand. "So we've come to be an UnderSecretary

"I thought you liked hunting better. You used to ride as if you did. There's Bonebreaker back again in the

stable for you. That poor fool who bought him could do nothing with him, and I let him have his money

"Because I was the biggest fool of the two. Do you remember when that brute got me down under the bank in

the river? That was about the nearest touch I ever had. Lord bless me how he did squeeze me! So here you

are staying with the Pallisers one of a Government party I suppose. But what are you going to do for a

"A sore subject isn't it? I think they have been quite right, you know, to put Loughton into the meltingpot

"And yet you voted against it, old chap? But, come; I'm not going to be down upon you. So my father has

"Yes he was here for a day or two." "Violet has just been telling me. You and he are as good friends as

"He never heard of that little affair?" And Lord Chiltern nodded his head, intending to indicate the direction

"The deuce you did! But I daresay it was for the best. It's a pity you had not proclaimed it at Charing Cross,

and then nobody would have believed a word about it. Of course my father will hear it some day."

"That question is easier asked than answered. It is quite true that the great difficulty has been got over. Laura

has had her money. And if my father will only acknowledge that he has wronged me throughout, from

beginning to end, I will go to Saulsby tomorrow and would cut you out at Loughton the next day, only

"No and therefore there is a difficulty. So you've had that awfully ponderous Duke here. How did you get

"Admirably. He condescended to do something which he called shaking hands with me."

"He is the greatest old dust out," said Lord Chiltern, disrespectfully. "Did he take any notice of Violet?"

"He ought not to be allowed into the same room with her." After that there was a short pause, and Phineas felt

some hesitation in speaking of Miss Effingham to Lord Chiltern. "And how do you get on with her?" asked

Lord Chiltern. Here was a question for a man to answer. The question was so hard to be answered, that

Phineas did not at first make any attempt to answer it. "You know exactly the ground that I stand on,"

continued Lord Chiltern. "She has refused me three times. Have you been more fortunate?"

Lord Chiltern, as he asked his question, looked full into Finn's face in a manner that was irresistible. His look

was not one of anger nor even of pride. It was not, indeed, without a strong dash of fun. But such as it was it

showed Phineas that Lord Chiltern intended to have an answer. "No," said he at last, I have not been more

"How stands it then? Come let us be honest to each other. I told you down at Willingford that I would

quarrel with any man who attempted to cut me out with Violet Effingham. You made up your mind that you

would do so, and therefore I quarrelled with you. But we can't always be fighting duels."

"No it would be absurd," said Lord Chiltern. I rather think that what we did was absurd. But upon my life

I did not see any other way out of it. However, that is over. How is it to be now?"

"I shall if I ever think that there is a chance. Indeed, Chiltern, I believe I shall whether I think that I have

"Then we start fairly, Finn. I certainly shall do so. I believe I once told you that I never would but that was

long before I suspected that you would enter for the same plate. What a man says on such a matter when he is

down in the mouth goes for nothing. Now we understand each other, and you had better go and dress. The

bell rang nearly half an hour ago, and my fellow is hanging about outside the door."

The interview had in one respect been very pleasant to Phineas, and in another it had been very bitter. It was

pleasant to him to know that he and Lord Chiltern were again friends. It was a delight to him to feel that this

halfsavage but highspirited young nobleman, who had been so anxious to fight with him and to shoot him,

was nevertheless ready to own that he had behaved well. Lord Chiltern had in fact acknowledged that though

he had been anxious to blow out our hero's brains, he was aware all the time that our hero was a good sort of

fellow. Phineas understood this, and felt that it was pleasant. But with this understanding, and accompanying

this pleasure, there was a conviction in his heart that the distance between Lord Chiltern and Violet would

daily grow to be less and still less and that Lord Chiltern could afford to be generous. If Miss Effingham

could teach herself to be fond of Lord Chiltern, what had he, Phineas Finn, to offer in opposition to the

That evening Lord Chiltern took Miss Effingham out to dinner. Phineas told himself that this was of course

so arranged by Lady Glencora, with the express view of serving the Saulsby interest. It was almost nothing to

him at the moment that Madame Max Goesler was entrusted to him. He had his ambition respecting Madame

Max Goesler; but that for the time was in abeyance. He could hardly keep his eyes off Miss Effingham. And

yet, as he well knew, his observation of her must be quite useless. He knew beforehand, with absolute

accuracy, the manner in which she would treat her lover. She would be kind, genial, friendly, confidential,

nay, affectionate; and yet her manner would mean nothing would give no clue to her future decision either

for or against Lord Chiltern. It was, as Phineas thought, a peculiarity with Violet Effingham that she could

treat her rejected lovers as dear familiar friends immediately after her rejection of them.

"Mr Finn," said Madame Max Goesler, your eyes and ears are telltales of your passion."

"I hope not," said Phineas, as I certainly do not wish that anyone should guess how strong is my regard for

"That is prettily turned very prettily turned; and shows more readiness of wit than I gave you credit for

under your present suffering. But of course we all know where your heart is. Men do not undertake perilous

"That unfortunate journey to Belgium! But, dear Madame Max, really nobody knows why I went."

"Of course there was, and of course it was about Miss Effingham, and of course the lady thinks herself bound

"Ah! if you have not wit enough to see, I do not think it can be my duty to tell you. But I wished to

caution you as a friend that your eyes and ears should be more under your command."

"I cannot possibly tell as yet," said he, frowning. "Then I can tell you that you ought to go. I do not care a bit

"There can be none better. Do you mean to say that the commandments are nothing to you?"

"I mean to say that I shan't go to Saulsby because I am told in the twentieth chapter of Exodus to honour my

father and mother and that I shouldn't believe anybody who told me that he did anything because of the

"Peopled are so prejudiced and so used to humbug that for the most part they do not in the least know their

"You should go for the sake of duty. I should not even care to see you go, much as I long for it, if that feeling

It was arranged that Phineas and Lord Chiltern were to leave Matching together. Phineas was to remain at his

office all October, and in November the general election was to take place. What he had hitherto heard about

a future seat was most vague, but he was to meet Ratler and Barrington Erle in London, and it had been

understood that Barrington Erle, who was now at Saulsby, was to make some inquiry as to that group of

boroughs of which Loughton at this moment formed one. But as Loughton was the smallest of four boroughs,

and as one of the four had for many years had a representative of its own, Phineas feared that no success

would be found there. In his present agony he began to think that there might be a strong plea made for a few

private seats in the House of Commons, and that the propriety of throwing Loughton into the meltingpot

was, after all, open to question. He and Lord Chiltern were to return to London together, and Lord Chiltern,

according to his present scheme, was to proceed at once to Willingford to look after the cubhunting.

Nothing that either Violet or Phineas could say to him would induce him to promise to go to Saulsby. When

Phineas pressed it, he was told by Lord Chiltern that he was a fool for his pains by which Phineas

understood perfectly well that when Lord Chiltern did go to Saulsby, he, Phineas, was to take that as strong

evidence that everything was over for him as regarded Violet Effingham. When Violet expressed her

eagerness that the visit should be made, she was stopped with an assurance that she could have it done at once

if she pleased. Let him only be enabled to carry with him the tidings of his betrothal, and he would start for

his father's house without an hour's delay. But this authority Violet would not give him. When he answered

her after this fashion she could only tell him that he was ungenerous. "At any rate I am not false," he replied

There was a very tender parting between Phineas and Madame Max Goesler. She had learned from him pretty

nearly all his history, and certainly knew more of the reality of his affairs than any of those in London who

had been his most staunch friends. "Of course you'll get a seat," she said as he took his leave of her. "If I

"But the intention is that in this matter nobody shall any longer have the power of throwing over, or of not

"That is all very well, my friend; but cakes will still be hot in the mouth, even though Mr Daubeny turn

purist, with Mr Turnbull to help him. If you want any assistance in finding a seat you will not go to the

"Very well household in boroughs. I daresay that is very fine and very liberal, though I don't comprehend

it in the least. And you want a borough. Very well. You won't go to the households. I don't think you will

"Oh to some great patron of a borough or to a club or perhaps to some great firm. The households

"The truth is, Madame Max, I do not know where I shall go. I am like a child lost in a wood. And you may

understand this if you do not see me in Park Lane before the end of January, I shall have perished in the

"Then I will come and find you with a troop of householders: You will come. You will be there. I do not

believe in death coming without signs. You are full of life." As she spoke, she had hold of his hand, and there

was nobody near them. They were in a little bookroom inside the library at Matching, and the door, though

not latched, was nearly closed. Phineas had flattered himself that Madame Goesler had retreated there in

order that this farewell might be spoken without interruption. "And, Mr Finn I wonder whether I may say

"No not in this country, in this England. There are things one may not say here that are tabooed by a

sort of consent and that without any reason." She paused again, and Phineas was at a loss to think what

was the subject on which she was about to speak. Could she mean ? No; she could not mean to give him

any outward plainspoken sign that she was attached to him. It was the peculiar merit of this man that he was

not vain, though much was done to him to fill him with vanity; and as the idea crossed his brain, he hated

"To me you may say anything, Madame Goesler," he said "here in England, as plainly as though we were

"But I cannot say it in English," she said. Then in French, blushing and laughing as she spoke almost

stammering in spite of her usual selfconfidence she told him that accident had made her rich, full of

money. Money was a drug with her. Money she knew was wanted, even for householders. Would he not

understand her, and come to her, and learn from her how faithful a woman could be?

He still was holding her by the hand, and he now raised it to his lips and kissed it. "The offer from you," he

said, is as highminded, as generous, and as honourable as its acceptance by me would be meanspirited,

vile, and ignoble. But whether I fail or whether I succeed, you shall see me before the winter is over."

Phineas also said a word of farewell to Violet before he left Matching, but there was nothing peculiar in her

little speech to him, or in his to her. "Of course we shall see each other in London. Don't talk of not being in

the House. Of course you will be in the House." Then Phineas had shaken his head and smiled. Where was he

to find a requisite number of householders prepared to return him? But as he went up to London he told

himself that the air of the House of Commons was now the very breath of his nostrils. Life to him without it

would be no life. To have come within the reach of the good things of political life, to have made his mark so

as to have almost ensured future success, to have been the petted young official aspirant of the day and

then to sink down into the miserable platitudes of private life, to undergo daily attendance in lawcourts

without a brief, to listen to men who had come to be much below him in estimation and social intercourse, to

sit in a wretched chamber up three pairs of stairs at Lincoln's Inn, whereas he was now at this moment

provided with a gorgeous apartment looking out into the Park from the Colonial Office in Downing Street, to

be attended by a mongrel between a clerk and an errand boy at 17s. 6d. a week instead of by a private

secretary who was the son of an earl's sister, and was petted by countesses' daughters innumerable all this

would surely break his heart. He could have done it, so he told himself, and could have taken glory in doing

it, had not these other things come in his way. But the other things had come. He had run the risk, and had

thrown the dice. And how when the game was so nearly won, must it be that everything should be lost at last?

He knew that nothing was to be gained by melancholy looks at his club, or by show of wretchedness at his

office. London was very empty; but the approaching elections still kept some there who otherwise would

have been looking after the first flush of pheasants. Barrington Erle was there, and was not long in asking

"Ratler is very well in the House," said Barrington, "but he is of no use for anything beyond it. I suppose you

"Because there would have been an opening. What do you say to Stratford the new Essex borough?"

"Yes and ready to spend any money you like to name. Let me see. Loughton is grouped with Smotherem,

and Walker is a deal too strong at Smotherem to hear of any other claim. I don't think we could dare to

"That's the devil of it. I think, if I were you, I should hark back upon some place in Ireland. Couldn't you get

"Yes. He has not a ghost of a chance of getting into office again. Nothing on earth would induce him to look

at a paper during all those weeks he was at the Colonial Office; and when Cantrip spoke to him, all he said

"Of course you'd have to arrange it." By which Phineas understood Barrington Erle to mean that he, Phineas,

was in some way to give to Laurence Fitzgibbon some adequate compensation for the surrender of his

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," said Phineas. "If he were to go, I should not get it."

"Of course you know that Morris is very ill." This Mr Morris was the brother of Lord Tulla, and was the

sitting member of Loughshane. "Upon my word I think I should try that. I don't see where we're to put our

hands on a seat in England. I don't indeed." Phineas, as he listened to this, could not help thinking that

Barrington Erle, though he had certainly expressed a great deal of solicitude, was not as true a friend as he

used to be. Perhaps he, Phineas, had risen too fast, and Barrington Erle was beginning to think that he might

He wrote to his father, asking after the borough, and asking after the health of Mr Morris. And in his letter he

told his own story very plainly almost pathetically. He perhaps had been wrong to make the attempt which

he had made. He began to believe that he had been wrong. But at any rate he had made it so far successfully,

and failure now would be doubly bitter. He thought that the party to which he belonged must now remain in

office. It would hardly be possible that a new election would produce a House of Commons favourable to a

conservative ministry. And with a liberal ministry he, Phineas, would be sure of his place, and sure of an

official income if only he could find a seat. It was all very true, and was almost pathetic. The old doctor,

who was inclined to be proud of his son, was not unwilling to make a sacrifice. Mrs Finn declared before her

daughters that if there was a seat in all Ireland, Phineas ought to have it. And Mary Flood Jones stood by

listening, and wondering what Phineas would do if he lost his seat. Would he come back and live in County

Clare, and be like any other girl's lover? Poor Mary had come to lose her ambition, and to think that girls

whose lovers stayed at home were the happiest. Nevertheless, she would have walked all the way to Lord

Tulla's house and back again, might that have availed to get the seat for Phineas. Then there came an express

over from Castlemorris. The doctor was wanted at once to see Mr Morris. Mr Morris was very bad with gout

in his stomach. According to the messenger it was supposed that Mr Morris was dying. Before Dr Finn had

had an opportunity of answering his son's letter, Mr Morris, the late member for Loughshane, had been

Dr Finn understood enough of elections for Parliament, and of the nature of boroughs, to be aware that a

candidate's chance of success is very much improved by being early in the field; and he was aware, also, that

the death of Mr Morris would probably create various aspirants for the honour of representing Loughshane.

But he could hardly address the Earl on the subject while the dead body of the late member was lying in the

house at Castlemorris. The bill which had passed in the late session for reforming the constitution of the

House of Commons had not touched Ireland, a future measure having been promised to the Irish for their

comfort; and Loughshane therefore was, as to Lord Tulla's influence, the same as it had ever been. He had not

there the plenary power which the other lord had held in his hands in regard to Loughton but still the

Castlemorris interest would go a long way. It might be possible to stand against it, but it would be much more

desirable that the candidate should have it at his back. Dr Finn was fully alive to this as he sat opposite to the

old lord, saying now a word about the old lord's gout in his legs and arms, and then about the gout in the

stomach, which had carried away to another world the lamented late member for the borough.

"Poor Jack!" said Lord Tulla, piteously. If I'd known it, I needn't have paid over two thousand pounds for him

"No, indeed," said Dr Finn, feeling that his patient might perhaps approach the subject of the borough

"The very devil. Now, you see, I do do what I'm told pretty well don't I, doctor?"

"By George, I do nearly always. I don't know what you mean by sometimes. I've been drinking brandy and

water till I'm sick of it, to oblige you, and you tell me about sometimes. You doctors expect a man to be a

"It's all very well thanking God, but I should have gone as poor Jack has gone, if I hadn't been the most

careful man in the world. He was drinking champagne ten days ago would do it, you know." Lord Tulla

could talk about himself and his own ailments by the hour together, and Dr Finn, who had thought that his

noble patient was approaching the subject of the borough, was beginning again to feel that the double interest

of the gout that was present, and the gout that had passed away, would be too absorbing. He, however, could

"Mr Morris, you see, lived more in London than you do, and was subject to temptation."

"I don't know what you call temptation. Haven't I the temptation of a bottle of wine under my nose every day

"And I don't drink it. I hardly ever take above a glass or two of brown sherry. By George! when I think of it, I

"Why the deuce would he go to London? By the bye, what am I to do about the borough now?"

"They've clean swept away Brentford's seat at Loughton, haven't they? Ha, ha, ha! What a nice game for him

to have been forced to help to do it himself! There's nobody on earth I pity so much as a radical peer who

is obliged to work like a nigger with a spade to shovel away the ground from under his own feet. As for me, I

don't care who sits for Loughshane. I did care for poor Jack while he was alive. I don't think I shall interfere

any longer. I am glad it lasted Jack's time." Lord Tulla had probably already forgotten that he himself had

"Oh, I've no doubt he's a very fine fellow but you see, he's an outandout Radical."

"Then how can he serve with such men as Mr Gresham and Mr Monk? They've turned out poor old Mildmay

"My anxiety, of course, is for my boy's prospects. He seems to have done so well in Parliament."

"I shan't interfere here, doctor. If he comes, and the people then choose to return him, I shall say nothing.

They may do just as they please. They tell me Lambert St George, of Mockrath, is going to stand. If he does,

it's the d piece of impudence I ever heard of. He's a tenant of my own, though he has a lease for ever; and

his father never owned an acre of land in the county till his uncle died." Then the doctor knew that, with a

Phineas came over and stood for the borough against Mr Lambert St George, and the contest was sharp

enough. The gentry of the neighbourhood could not understand why such a man as Lord Tulla should admit a

liberal candidate to succeed his brother. No one canvassed for the young UnderSecretary with more

persistent zeal than did his father, who, when Phineas first spoke of going into Parliament, had produced so

many good arguments against that perilous step. Lord Tulla's agent stood aloof desolate with grief at the

death of the late member. At such a moment of family affliction, Lord Tulla, he declared, could not think of

such a matter as the borough. But it was known that Lord Tulla was dreadfully jealous of Mr Lambert St

George, whose property in that part of the county was now nearly equal to his own, and who saw much more

company at Mockrath than was ever entertained at Castlemorris. A word from Lord Tulla so said the

Conservatives of the county would have put Mr St George into the seat; but that word was not spoken,

and the Conservatives of the neighbourhood swore that Lord Tulla was a renegade. The contest was very

Again successful! As he thought of it he remembered stories of great generals who were said to have chained

Fortune to the wheels of their chariots, but it seemed to him that the goddess had never served any general

with such staunch obedience as she had displayed in his cause. Had not everything gone well with him so

well, as almost to justify him in expecting that even yet Violet Effingham would become his wife? Dear,

dearest Violet! If he could only achieve that, no general, who ever led an army across the Alps, would be his

equal either in success or in the reward of success. Then he questioned himself as to what he would say to

Miss Flood Jones on that very night. He was to meet dear little Mary Flood Jones that evening at a

neighbour's house. His sister Barbara had so told him in a tone of voice which he quite understood to imply a

"Gold!" replied Barbara gold indeed! She is more precious than refined gold. But, Phineas, perhaps you

had better not single her out for any special attention. She has thought it wisest to meet you."

"That is all, Phineas. I have nothing more to say. Men of course are different from girls."

"Don't laugh at me, Phineas, when I am thinking of nothing but of you and your interests, and when I am

making all manner of excuses for you because I know what must be the distractions of the world in which

you live." Barbara made more than one attempt to renew the conversation before the evening came, but

Phineas thought that he had had enough of it. He did not like being told that excuses were made for him.

After all, what had he done? He had once kissed Mary Flood Jones behind the door.

"I am so glad to see you, Mary," he said, coming and taking a chair by her side. He had been specially

warned not to single Mary out for his attention, and yet there was the chair left vacant as though it were

"Not at all a great man. If you only knew what little men we understrappers are in London you would hardly

"Well yes. That's the name they give me. It simply means that if any member wants to badger someone in

the House about the Colonies, I am the man to be badgered. But if there is any credit to be had, I am not the

"It is a great thing for me, Mary, to have a salary, though it may only be for a year or two. However, I will not

"Oh, yes she is at home. She does not like coming out at night in winter. I have been staying here you

"I will ride over and call on your mother." Then there was a pause in the conversation for a moment. "Does it

"Yes that is the reason. But still it seems almost unnatural. I often wonder when the time will come that I

shall be quietly at home again. I have to be back in my office in London this day week, and yet I have not had

a single hour to myself since I have been at Killaloe. But I will certainly ride over and see your mother. You

Upon that he got up and went away, but again in the evening he found himself near her. Perhaps there is no

position more perilous to a man's honesty than that in which Phineas now found himself that, namely, of

knowing himself to be quite loved by a girl whom he almost loves himself. Of course he loved Violet

Effingham; and they who talk best of love protest that no man or woman can be in love with two persons at

once. Phineas was not in love with Mary Flood Jones; but he would have liked to take her in his arms and

kiss her he would have liked to gratify her by swearing that she was dearer to him than all the world; he

would have liked to have an episode and did, at the moment, think that it might be possible to have one

life in London and another life altogether different at Killaloe. "Dear Mary," he said as he pressed her hand

that night, "things will get themselves settled at last, I suppose." He was behaving very ill to her, but he did

He rode over to Floodborough, and saw Mrs Flood Jones. Mrs Flood Jones, however, received him very

coldly; and Mary did not appear. Mary had communicated to her mother her resolutions as to her future life.

"The fact is, mamma, I love him. I cannot help it. If he ever chooses to come for me, here I am. If he does

not, I will bear it as well as I can. It may be very mean of me, but it's true."

There was a dull house at Loughlinter during the greater part of this autumn. A few men went down for the

grouse shooting late in the season; but they stayed but a short time, and when they went Lady Laura was left

alone with her husband. Mr Kennedy had explained to his wife, more than once, that though he understood

the duties of hospitality and enjoyed the performance of them, he had not married with the intention of living

in a whirlwind. He was disposed to think that the whirlwind had hitherto been too predominant, and had said

so very plainly with a good deal of marital authority. This autumn and winter were to be devoted to the

cultivation of proper relations between him and his wife. "Does that mean Darby and Joan?" his wife had

asked him, when the proposition was made to her. "It means mutual regard and esteem," replied Mr Kennedy

in his most solemn tone, "and I trust that such mutual regard and esteem between us may yet be possible."

When Lady Laura showed him a letter from her brother, received some weeks after this conversation, in

which Lord Chiltern expressed his intention of coming to Loughlinter for Christmas, he returned the note to

his wife without a word. He suspected that she had made the arrangement without asking him, and was angry;

but he would not tell her that her brother would not be welcome at his house. "It is not my doing," she said,

"I will write to Oswald and bid him not come, if you wish it. Of course you can understand why he is

"Nor me," replied Lady Laura. He is coming because my friend Violet Effingham will be here."

"Miss Effingham! Why was I not told of this? I knew nothing of Miss Effingham's coming."

Then Lady Laura rose up, very haughty in her gait and with something of fire in her eye, and silently left the

room. Mr Kennedy, when he found himself alone, was very unhappy. Looking back in his mind to the

summer weeks in London, he remembered that his wife had told Violet that she was to spend her Christmas

at Loughlinter, that he himself had given a muttered assent; and that Violet as far as he could remember

had made no reply. It had been one of those things which are so often mentioned, but not settled. He felt

that he had been strictly right in denying that it had been "settled" in his presence but yet he felt that he

had been wrong in contradicting his wife so peremptorily. He was a just man, and he would apologise for his

fault; but he was an austere man, and would take back the value of his apology in additional austerity. He did

not see his wife for some hours after the conversation which has been narrated, but when he did meet her his

mind was still full of the subject. "Laura", he said, I am sorry that I contradicted you."

"No you are not used to it." She smiled and bowed her head. "You wrong me by saying that you are used

to it." Then he paused a moment, but she said not a word only smiled and bowed her head again. "I

remember," he continued, that something was said in my presence to Miss Effingham about her coming here

at Christmas. It was so slight, however, that it had passed out of my memory till recalled by an effort. I beg

"And do you wish that I should put her off or put Oswald off or both? My brother never yet has seen

"I have said nothing about anybody's fault, Robert. I merely mentioned a fact. Will you let me know whether

I shall bid him stay away?" "He is welcome to come only I do not like assignations for lovemaking."

"Lady Baldock! Do you think that Violet would exercise any secrecy in the matter or that she will not tell

"That has nothing to do with it." "Surely, Robert, it must have much to do with it. And why should not these

two young people meet? The acknowledged wish of all the family is that they should marry each other. And

in this matter, at any rate, my brother has behaved extremely well." Mr Kennedy said nothing further at the

time, and it became an understanding that Violet Effingham was to be a month at Loughlinter, staying from

the 20th of December to the 20th of January, and that Lord Chiltern was to come there for Christmas

Before Christmas came, however, there were various other sources of uneasiness at Loughlinter. There had

been, as a matter of course, great anxiety as to the elections. With Lady Laura this anxiety had been very

strong, and even Mr Kennedy had been warmed with some amount of fire as the announcements reached him

of the successes and of the failures. The English returns came first and then the Scotch, which were quite

as interesting to Mr Kennedy as the English. His own seat was quite safe was not contested; but some

neighbouring seats were sources of great solicitude. Then, when this was over, there were the tidings from

Ireland to be received; and respecting one special borough in Ireland, Lady Laura evinced more solicitude

than her husband approved. There was much danger for the domestic bliss of the house of Loughlinter, when

things came to such a pass, and such words were spoken, as the election at Loughshane produced.

"Who is in?" said Mr Kennedy, with that frown on his brow to which his wife was now well accustomed.

Though he asked the question, he knew very well who was the hero to whom the telegram referred.

"Our friend Phineas Finn," said Lady Laura, speaking still with an excited voice with a voice that was

intended to display excitement. If there was to be a battle on this matter, there should be a battle. She would

display all her anxiety for her young friend, and fling it in her husband's face if he chose to take it as an

injury. What should she endure reproach from her husband because she regarded the interests of the man

who had saved his life, of the man respecting whom she had suffered so many heartstruggles, and as to

whom she had at last come to the conclusion that he should ever be regarded as a second brother, loved

equally with the elder brother? She had done her duty by her husband so at least she had assured herself

and should he dare to reproach her on this subject, she would be ready for the battle. And now the battle

came. "I am glad of this," she said, with all the eagerness she could throw into her voice. "I am, indeed

and so ought you to be." The husband's brow grew blacker and blacker, but still he said nothing. He had long

been too proud to be jealous, and was now too proud to express his jealousy if only he could keep the

expression back. But his wife would not leave the subject. "I am so thankful for this," she said, pressing the

"You overdo your anxiety on such a subject," at last he said, speaking very slowly.

"What do you mean, Robert? How can I be overanxious? If it concerned any other dear friend that I have in

the world, it would not be an affair of life and death. To him it is almost so, I would have walked from here to

London to get him his election." And as she spoke she held up the clenched fist of her left hand, and shook it,

"Laura, I must tell you that it is improper that you should speak of any man in those terms of any man that

"A stranger to my blood! What has that to do with it? This man is my friend, is your friend saved your

life, has been my brother's best friend, is loved by my father and is loved by me, very dearly. Tell me

"I tell you that I will have no such expressions from you. They are unseemly, and are used only to provoke

"Am I to understand that I am insulted by an accusation? If so, let me beg at once that I may be allowed to go

to Saulsby. I would rather accept your apology and retractation there than here."

"You will not go to Saulsby, and there has been no accusation, and there will be no apology. If you please

there will be no more mention of Mr Finn's name between us, for the present. If you will take my advice you

will cease to think of him extravagantly and I must desire you to hold no further direct communication

"I have held no communication with him," said Lady Laura, advancing a step towards him. But Mr Kennedy

simply pointed to the telegram in her hand, and left the room. Now in respect to this telegram there had been

an unfortunate mistake. I am not prepared to say that there was any reason why Phineas himself should not

have sent the news of his success to Lady Laura; but he had not done so. The piece of paper which she still

held crushed in her hand was in itself very innocent. "Hurrah for the Loughshanes. Finny has done the trick."

Such were the words written on the slip, and they had been sent to Lady Laura by her young cousin, the clerk

in the office who acted as private secretary to the UnderSecretary of State. Lady Laura resolved that her

husband should never see those innocent but rather undignified words. The occasion had become one of

importance, and such words were unworthy of it. Besides, she would not condescend to defend herself by

bringing forward a telegram as evidence in her favour. So she burned the morsel of paper.

Lady Laura and Mr Kennedy did not meet again till late that evening. She was ill, she said, and would not

come down to dinner. After dinner she wrote him a note. "Dear Robert, I think you must regret what you said

to me. If so, pray let me have a line from you to that effect. Yours affectionately, L." When the servant

handed it to him, and he had read it, he smiled and thanked the girl who had brought it, and said he would see

her mistress just now. Anything would be better than that the servants should know that there was a quarrel.

But every servant in the house had known all about it for the last three hours. When the door was closed and

he was alone, he sat fingering the note, thinking deeply how he should answer it, or whether he would answer

it at all. No; he would not answer it not in writing. He would give his wife no written record of his

humiliation. He had not acted wrongly. He had said nothing more than now, upon mature consideration, he

thought that the circumstances demanded. But yet he felt that he must in some sort withdraw the accusation

which he had made. If he did not withdraw it, there was no knowing what his wife might do. About ten in the

evening he went up to her and made his little speech. "My dear, I have come to answer your note."

"I have come instead, Laura. Now, if you will listen to me for one moment, I think everything will be made

"Of course I will listen," said Lady Laura, knowing very well that her husband's moment would be rather

"I think you will acknowledge that if there be a difference of opinion between you and me as to any question

of social intercourse, it will be better that you should consent to adopt my opinion."

"I am not speaking of the law." "Well go on, Robert. I will not interrupt you if I can help it."

"I am not speaking of the law, I am speaking simply of convenience, and of that which you must feel to be

right. If I wish that your intercourse with any person should be of such or such a nature it must be best that

you should comply with my wishes." He paused for her assent, but she neither assented nor dissented. "As far

as I can understand the position of a man and wife in this country, there is no other way in which life can be

"I expect that ours shall be made to do so, Laura. I need hardly say to you that I intend to accuse you of no

"No, Robert; you need hardly say that. Indeed, to speak my own mind, I think that you need hardly have

alluded to it. I might go further, and say that such an allusion is in itself an insult an insult now repeated

after hours of deliberation an insult which I will not endure to have repeated again. If you say another

word in any way suggesting the possibility of improper relations between me and Mr Finn, either as to deeds

or thoughts, as God is above me, I will write to both my father and my brother, and desire them to take me

from your house. If you wish me to remain here, you had better be careful!" As she was making this speech,

her temper seemed to rise, and to become hot, and then hotter, till it glowed with a red heat. She had been

cool till the word insult, used by herself, had conveyed back to her a strong impression of her own wrong

or perhaps I should rather say a strong feeling of the necessity of becoming indignant. She was standing as

she spoke, and the fire flashed from her eyes, and he quailed before her. The threat which she had held out to

him was very dreadful to him. He was a man terribly in fear of the world's good opinion, who lacked the

courage to go through a great and harassing trial in order that something better might come afterwards. His

married life had been unhappy. His wife had not submitted either to his will or to his ways. He had that great

desire to enjoy his full rights, so strong in the minds of weak, ambitious men, and he had told himself that a

wife's obedience was one of those rights which he could not abandon without injury to his selfesteem. He

had thought about the matter, slowly, as was his wont, and had resolved that he would assert himself. He had

asserted himself, and his wife told him to his face that she would go away and leave him. He could detain her

legally, but he could not do even that without the fact of such forcible detention being known to all the world.

How was he to answer her now at this moment, so that she might not write to her father, and so that his

"Would you have a woman submit to insult without passion? I at any rate am not such a woman." Then there

was a pause for a moment. "If you have nothing else to say to me, you had better leave me. I am far from

He came up and took her hand, but she snatched it away from him. "Laura," he said, do not let us quarrel.

He was cowed and left her, having first attempted to get out of the difficulty of his position by making much

of her alleged illness, and by offering to send for Dr Macnuthrie. She positively refused to see Dr Macnuthrie,

This had occurred about the end of November, and on the 20th of December Violet Effingham reached

Loughlinter. Life in Mr Kennedy's house had gone quietly during the intervening three weeks, but not very

pleasantly. The name of Phineas Finn had not been mentioned. Lady Laura had triumphed; but she had no

desire to acerbate her husband by any unpalatable allusion to her victory. And he was quite willing to let the

subject die away, if only it would die. On some other matters he continued to assert himself, taking his wife

to church twice every Sunday, using longer family prayers than she approved, reading an additional sermon

himself every Sunday evening, calling upon her for weekly attention to elaborate household accounts, asking

for her personal assistance in much local visiting, initiating her into his favourite methods of family life in the

country, till sometimes she almost longed to talk again about Phineas Finn, so that there might be a rupture,

and she might escape. But her husband asserted himself within bounds, and she submitted, longing for the

coming of Violet Effingham. She could not write to her father and beg to be taken away, because her husband

To Violet, very shortly after her arrival, she told her whole story. "This is terrible," said Violet. This makes

"And yet what can a woman become if she remain single? The curse is to be a woman at all." "I have always

"I never have found them," said the other; never. I have tried to make the best of its weaknesses, and this is

"No I think I never did not as people mean when they speak of love. I have felt that I would consent to

"And I have felt something of the same thing for another a longing for his welfare, a delight to hear him

praised, a charm in his presence so strong a feeling for his interest, that were he to go to wrack and ruin, I

too, should, after a fashion, be wracked and ruined. But it has not been love either."

"I feared he would do so, and therefore accepted Mr Kennedy's offer almost at the first word."

"I understand it. I could have refused him nothing in my power to give him, but I did not wish to be his wife."

Lady Laura paused a moment, thinking what reply she should make and then she told a fib. "No; he never

asked me." But Violet did not believe the fib. Violet was quite sure that Phineas had asked Lady Laura

Standish to be his wife, "As far as I can see," said Violet, "Madame Max Goesler is his present passion."

"It would matter very much. You know, you you; you know whom he loves. And I do believe that sooner

"Yes, you will. Had you not loved him you would never have condescended to accuse him about that

"I have not accused him. Why should he not marry Madame Max Goesler? It would be just the thing for him.

"Never. You will be his wife." "Laura, you are the most capricious of women. You have two dear friends, and

"Oswald will be here in a day or two, and you can take him if you like it. No doubt he will ask you. But I do

"No; I do not think I shall. I shall knock under to Mr Mill; and go in for women's rights, and look forward to

stand for some female borough. Matrimony never seemed to me to be very charming, and upon my word it

It was thus that Violet and Lady Laura discussed these matters together, but Violet had never showed to her

friend the cards in her hand, as Lady Laura had shown those which she held. Lady Laura had in fact told

almost everything that there was to tell had spoken either plainly with true words, or equally plainly with

words that were not true. Violet Effingham had almost come to love Phineas Finn but she never told her

friend that it was so. At one time she had almost made up her mind to give herself and all her wealth to this

adventurer. He was a better man, she thought, than Lord Chiltern; and she had come to persuade herself that

it was almost imperative on her to take the one or the other. Though she could talk about remaining

unmarried, she knew that that was practically impossible. All those around her those of the Baldock as

well as those of the Brentford faction would make such a life impossible to her. Besides, in such a case

what could she do? It was all very well to talk of disregarding the world and of setting up a house for herself

but she was quite aware that that project could not be used further than for the purpose of scaring her

amiable aunt. And if not that then could she content herself to look forward to a joint life with Lady

Baldock and Augusta Boreham? She might, of course, oblige her aunt by taking Lord Fawn, or oblige her

aunt equally by taking Mr Appledom; but she was strongly of opinion that either Lord Chiltern or Phineas

would be preferable to these. Thinking over it always she had come to feel that it must be either Lord Chiltern

or Phineas; but she had never whispered her thought to man or woman. On her journey to Loughlinter, where

she then knew that she was to meet Lord Chiltern, she endeavoured to persuade herself that it should be

Phineas. But Lady Laura had marred it all by that illtold fib. There had been a moment before in which

Violet had felt that Phineas had sacrificed something of that truth of love for which she gave him credit to the

glances of Madame Goesler's eyes; but she had rebuked herself for the idea, accusing herself not only of a

little jealousy, but of foolish vanity. Was he, whom she had rejected, not to speak to another woman? Then

came the blow from Lady Laura, and Violet knew that it was a blow. This gallant lover, this young Crichton,

this unassuming but ardent lover, had simply taken up with her as soon as he had failed with her friend. Lady

Laura had been most enthusiastic in her expressions of friendship. Such platonic regards might be all very

well. It was for Mr Kennedy to look to that. But; for herself, she felt that such expressions were hardly

compatible with her ideas of having her lover all to herself. And then she again remembered Madame

Lord Chiltern came on Christmas Eve, and was received with open arms by his sister, and with that painful,

irritating affection which such a girl as Violet can show to such a man as Lord Chiltern, when she will not

give him that other affection for which his heart is panting. The two men were civil to each other but very

cold. They called each other Kennedy and Chiltern, but even that was not done without an effort. On the

Christmas morning Mr Kennedy asked his brotherinlaw to go to church. "It's a kind of thing I never do,"

said Lord Chiltern. Mr Kennedy gave a little start, and looked a look of horror. Lady Laura showed that she

As they walked across the park Violet took Lord Chiltern's part. "He only means that he does not go to

"I have been to church with him on Sundays myself," said Violet, perhaps not reflecting that the practices of

Christmas Day and the next day passed without any sign from Lord Chiltern, and on the day after that he was

to go away. But he was not to leave till one or two in the afternoon. Not a word had been said between the

two women, since he had been in the house, on the subject of which both of them were thinking. Very much

had been said of the expediency of his going to Saulsby, but on this matter he had declined to make any

promise. Sitting in Lady Laura's room, in the presence of both of them, he had refused to do so. "I am bad to

Lord Chiltern, though he had passed two entire days in the house with Violet without renewing his suit, had

come to Loughlinter for the express purpose of doing so, and had his plans perfectly fixed in his own mind.

After breakfast on that last morning he was upstairs with his sister in her own room, and immediately made

his request to her. "Laura," he said, go down like a good girl, and make Violet come up here." She stood a

moment looking at him and smiled. "And, mind," he continued, you are not to come back yourself. I must

"But suppose Violet will not come? Young ladies do not generally wait upon young men on such occasions."

"No but I rank her so high among young women, that I think she will have common sense enough to teach

her that, after what has passed between us, I have a right to ask for an interview, and that it may be more

Whatever may have been the arguments used by her friend, Violet did come. She reached the door all alone,

and opened it bravely. She had promised herself, as she came along the passages, that she would not pause

with her hand on the lock for a moment. She had first gone to her own room, and as she left it she had looked

into the glass with a hurried glance, and had then rested for a moment thinking that something should be

done, that her hair might be smoothed, or a ribbon set straight, or the chain arranged under her brooch. A girl

would wish to look well before her lover, even when she means to refuse him. But her pause was but for an

instant, and then she went on, having touched nothing. She shook her head and pressed her hands together,

and went on quick and opened the door almost with a little start. "Violet, this is very good of you," said

Lord Chiltern, standing with his back to the fire, and not moving from the spot. "Laura has told me that you

"I must have been bad at words too, as I have not been able to make you understand."

"I think I have understood. You are always clearspoken, and I, though I cannot talk, am not muddlepated. I

have understood. But while you are single there must be yet hope unless, indeed, you will tell me that you

"Then how can I not hope? Violet, I would if I could tell you all my feelings plainly. Once, twice, thrice, I

have said to myself that I would think of you no more. I have tried to persuade myself that I am better single

"To me you are absolutely, as though there were none other on the face of God's earth. I live much alone;

but you are always with me. Should you marry any other man, it will be the same with me still. If you refuse

"I mean that I will go to some distant part of the world, where I may be killed or live a life of adventure. But I

shall do so simply in despair. It will not be that I do not know how much better and greater should be the life

"I cannot stay. You will acknowledge, Violet, that I have never lied to you. I am thinking of you day and

night. The more indifferent you show yourself to me, the more I love you, Violet, try to love me." He came

up to her, and took her by both her hands, and tears were in his eyes. "Say you will try to love me."

"It is not that," said Violet, looking away, but still leaving her hands with him.

"Oswald, you are so violent, so headstrong. I am afraid of you as is everybody. Why have you not written

"I will write to him instantly, now, before I leave the room, and you shall dictate the letter to him. By

heavens, you shall!" He had dropped her hands when she called him violent; but now he took them again, and

still she permitted it. "I have postponed it only till I had spoken to you once again."

"But will you love me?" She paused and looked down, having even now not withdrawn her hands from him.

But I do not think he knew how much he had gained. "You used to love me a little," he said.

"How is it, then? Violet, speak to me honestly. Will you be my wife?" She did not answer him, and he stood

for a moment looking at her. Then he rushed at her, and, seizing her in his arms, kissed her all over her

forehead, her lips, her cheeks, then both her hands, and then her lips again. "By G , she is my own!" he

said. Then he went back to the rug before the fire, and stood there with his back turned to her. Violet, when

she found herself thus deserted, retreated to a sofa, and sat herself down. She had no negative to produce now

in answer to the violent assertion which he had pronounced as to his own success. It was true. She had

doubted, and doubted and still doubted. But now she must doubt no longer. Of one thing she was quite

sure. She could love him. As things had now gone, she would make him quite happy with assurances on that

subject. As to that other question that fearful question, whether or not she could trust him on that

matter she had better at present say nothing, and think as little, perhaps, as might be. She had taken the jump,

and therefore why should she not be gracious to him? But how was she to be gracious to a lover who stood

After the interval of a minute or two he remembered himself, and turned round. Seeing her seated, he

approached her, and went down on both knees close at her feet. Then he took her hands again, for the third

"I would not bend to a princess", he said, to ask for half her throne; but I will kneel here all day, if you will

"Nothing while you are kneeling. It is not natural that you should kneel. You are like Samson with his locks

"In earnest. I hardly thought that that would be doubted. Do you not believe me?"

"I will say it fifty times till your ears are weary with it' and she did say it to him, after her own fashion,

"This is a great change," he said, getting up after a while and walking about the room.

"So much for the better that I hardly know myself in my new joy. But, Violet, we'll have no delay will

"Remember, sir, that the first thing you have to do is to write to your father."

He instantly went to the writingtable and took up paper and pen. "Come along," he said. You are to dictate

it. But this she refused to do, telling him that he must write his letter to his father out of his own head, and out

of his own heart. "I cannot write it," he said, throwing down the pen. "My blood is in such a tumult that I

"You must not be so tumultuous, Oswald, or I shall have to live in a whirlwind."

"Oh, I shall shake down. I shall become as steady as an old stager. I'll go as quiet in harness by and by as

though I had been broken to it a fouryearold. I wonder whether Laura could not write this letter."

"If you bid me I will." "Bid you indeed! As if it was for me to bid you. Do you not know that in these new

troubles you are undertaking you will have to bid me in everything, and that I shall be bound to do your

bidding? Does it not seem to be dreadful? My wonder is that any girl can ever accept any man."

"No, indeed, and I will try to do your biddings but you must not be rough to me, and outrageous, and

"I will do my best, dearest. And you may at any rate be sure of this, that I will love you always. So much

"It is very good," she answered; the best of all good words. And now I must go. And as you are leaving

Loughlinter I will say goodbye. When am I to have the honour and felicity of beholding your lordship

"I love you better than all the world beside; and I mean to be your wife some day. Are

He would not prolong his stay at Loughlinter, though he was asked to do so both by Violet and his sister, and

though, as he confessed himself, he had no special business elsewhere. "It is no use mincing the matter. I

don't like Kennedy, and I don't like being in his house," he said to Violet. And then he promised that there

should be a party got up at Saulsby before the winter was over. His plan was to stop that night at Carlisle, and

write to his father from thence. "Your blood, perhaps, won't be so tumultuous at Carlisle," said Violet. He

shook his head and went on with his plans. He would then go on to London and down to Willingford, and

there wait for his father's answer. "There is no reason why I should lose more of the hunting than necessary."

"Pray don't lose a day for me," said Violet. As soon as he heard from his father, he would do his father's

bidding. "You will go to Saulsby," said Violet; "you can hunt at Saulsby, you know."

"I will go to Jericho if he asks me, only you will have to go with me." "I thought we were to go to

"And so that is settled at last," said Violet to Laura that night. "I hope you do not regret it."

"But I have, after my fashion. I am not tumultuous, as he calls himself. Since he began to make eyes at me

"Oh, he did, and mouths too. But from the beginning, when I was a child, I have known that he was

dangerous, and I have thought that he would pass on and forget me after a while. And I could have lived

without him. Nay, there have been moments when I thought I could learn to love someone else."

"We will mention no names. Mr Appledom, perhaps, more likely. He has been my most constant lover, and

then he would be so safe! Your brother, Laura, is dangerous. He is like the bad ice in the parks where they

"Remember that I do not love him a bit the less on that account perhaps the better. A sense of danger does

not make me unhappy, though the threatened evil may be fatal. I have entered myself for my forlorn hope,

and I mean to stick to it. Now I must go and write to his worship. Only think I never wrote a loveletter

Nothing more shall be said about Miss Effingham's first loveletter, which was, no doubt, creditable to her

head and heart; but there were two other letters sent by the same post from Loughlinter which shall be

submitted to the reader, as they will assist the telling of the story. One was from Lady Laura Kennedy to her

friend Phineas Finn, and the other from Violet to her aunt, Lady Baldock. No letter was written to Lord

Brentford, as it was thought desirable that he should receive the first intimation of what had been done from

Respecting the letter to Phineas, which shall be first given, Lady Laura thought it right to say a word to her

husband. He had been of course told of the engagement, and had replied that he could have wished that the

arrangement could have been made elsewhere than at his house, knowing as he did that Lady Baldock would

not approve of it. To this Lady Laura had made no reply, and Mr Kennedy had condescended to congratulate

the brideelect. When Lady Laura's letter to Phineas was completed she took care to put it into the letterbox

in the presence of her husband. "I have written to Mr Finn," she said, to tell him of this marriage."

"I wonder whether there was any truth in what everybody was saying about their fighting a duel?" asked Mr

Kennedy. His wife made no answer, and then he continued "You told me of your own knowledge that it

"Yes of your own knowledge." Then Mr Kennedy walked away, and was certain that his wife had

deceived him about the duel. There had been a duel, and she had known it; and yet she had told him that the

report was a ridiculous fabrication. He never forgot anything. He remembered at this moment the words of

the falsehood, and the look of her face as she told it. He had believed her implicitly, but he would never

believe her again. He was one of those men who, in spite of their experience of the world, of their experience

of their own lives, imagine that lips that have once lied can never tell the truth.

"Violet Effingham is here, and Oswald has just left us. It is possible that you may see him as he passes

through London. But, at any rate, I think it best to let you know immediately that she has accepted him at

last. If there be any pang in this to you, be sure that I will grieve for you. You will not wish me to say that I

regret that which was the dearest wish of my heart before I knew you. Lately, indeed, I have been torn in two

ways. You will understand what I mean, and I believe I need say nothing more except this, that it shall be

among my prayers that you may obtain all things that may tend to make you happy, honourable, and of high

Even though her husband should read the letter, there was nothing in that of which she need be ashamed. But

he did not read the letter. He simply speculated as to its contents, and inquired within himself whether it

would not be for the welfare of the world in general, and for the welfare of himself in particular, that

"The thing has come at last, and all your troubles will be soon over for I do believe that all your troubles

have come from your unfortunate niece. At last I am going to be married, and thus take myself off your

hands. Lord Chiltern has just been here, and I have accepted him. I am afraid you hardly think so well of

Lord Chiltern as I do; but then, perhaps, you have not known him so long. You do know, however, that there

has been some difference between him and his father. I think I may take upon myself to say that now, upon

his engagement, this will be settled. I have the inexpressible pleasure of feeling sure that Lord Brentford will

welcome me as his daughterinlaw. Tell the news to Augusta with my best love. I will write to her in a day

or two. I hope my cousin Gustavus will condescend to give me away. Of course there is nothing fixed about

When Phineas received Lady Laura Kennedy's letter, he was sitting in his gorgeous apartment in the Colonial

Office. It was gorgeous in comparison with the very dingy room at Mr Low's to which he had been

accustomed in his early days and somewhat gorgeous also as compared with the lodgings he had so long

inhabited in Mr Bunce's house. The room was large and square, and looked out from three windows on to St

James's Park. There were in it two very comfortable armchairs and a comfortable sofa. And the office table at

which he sat was of old mahogany, shining brightly, and seemed to be fitted up with every possible appliance

for official comfort. This stood near one of the windows, so that he could sit and look down upon the park.

And there was a large round table covered with books and newspapers. And the walls of the room were bright

with maps of all the colonies. And there was one very interesting map but not very bright showing the

American colonies, as they used to be. And there was a little inner closet in which he could brush his hair and

wash his hands; and in the room adjoining there sat or ought to have sat, for he was often absent, vexing

the mind of Phineas the Earl's nephew, his private secretary. And it was all very gorgeous. Often as he

looked round upon it, thinking of his old bedroom at Killaloe, of his little garrets at Trinity, of the dingy

chambers in Lincoln's Inn, he would tell himself that it was very gorgeous. He would wonder that anything so

The letter from Scotland was brought to him in the afternoon, having reached London by some daymail

from Glasgow, He was sitting at his desk with a heap of papers before him referring to a contemplated

railway from Halifax, in Nova Scotia, to the foot of the Rocky Mountains. It had become his business to get

up the subject, and then discuss with his principal, Lord Cantrip, the expediency of advising the Government

to lend a company five million of money, in order that this railway might be made. It was a big subject, and

the contemplation of it gratified him. It required that he should look forward to great events, and exercise the

wisdom of a statesman. What was the chance of these colonies being swallowed up by those other regions

once colonies of which the map that hung in the corner told so eloquent a tale? And if so, would the five

million ever be repaid? And if not swallowed up, were the colonies worth so great an adventure of national

money? Could they repay it? Would they do so? Should they be made to do so? Mr Low, who was now a

Q.C. and in Parliament, would not have greater subjects than this before him, even if he should come to be

Solicitor General. Lord Cantrip had specially asked him to get up this matter and he was getting it up

sedulously. Once in nine years the harbour of Halifax was blocked up by ice. He had just jotted down the

fact, which was material, when Lady Laura's letter was brought to him. He read it, and putting it down by his

side very gently, went back to his maps as though the thing would not so trouble his mind as to disturb his

work. He absolutely wrote, automatically, certain words of a note about the harbour, after he had received the

information. A horse will gallop for some scores of yards, after his back has been broken, before he knows of

his great ruin and so it was with Phineas Finn. His back was broken, but, nevertheless, he galloped, for a

yard or two. "Closed in 1860 61 for thirteen days." Then he began to be aware that his back was broken,

and that the writing of any more notes about the ice in Halifax harbour was for the present out of the

question. "I think it best to let you know immediately that she has accepted him." These were the words

which he read the oftenest. Then it was all over! The game was played out, and all his victories were as

nothing to him. He sat for an hour in his gorgeous room thinking of it, and various were the answers which he

gave during the time to various messages but he would see nobody. As for the colonies, he did not care if

they revolted tomorrow. He would have parted with every colony belonging to Great Britain to have gotten

the hand of Violet Effingham for himself, Now now at this moment, he told himself with oaths that he had

There had been so much to make such a marriage desirable! I should wrong my hero deeply were I to say that

the weight of his sorrow was occasioned by the fact that he had lost an heiress. He would never have thought

of looking for Violet Effingham had he not first learned to love her. But as the idea opened itself out to him,

everything had seemed to be so suitable. Had Miss Effingham become his wife, the mouths of the Lows and

of the Bunces would have been stopped altogether. Mr Monk would have come to his house as his familiar

guest, and he would have been connected with half a score of peers. A seat in Parliament would be simply his

proper place, and even UnderSecretaryships of State might soon come to be below him. He was playing a

great game, but hitherto he had played it with so much success with such wonderful luck! that it had

seemed to him that all things were within his reach. Nothing more had been wanting to him than Violet's

hand for his own comfort, and Violet's fortune to support his position; and these, too, had almost seemed to

be within his grasp. His goddess had indeed refused him but not with disdain. Even Lady Laura had talked

of his marriage as not improbable. All the world, almost, had heard of the duel; and all the world had smiled,

and seemed to think that in the real fight Phineas Finn would be the victor that the lucky pistol was in his

hands. It had never occurred to anyone to suppose as far as he could see that he was presuming at all,

or pushing himself out of his own sphere, in asking Violet Effingham to be his wife. No he would trust his

luck, would persevere, and would succeed. Such had been his resolution on that very morning and now

There were moments in which he declared to himself that he would not believe the letter not that there

was any moment in which there was in his mind the slightest spark of real hope. But he would tell himself

that he would still persevere. Violet might have been driven to accept that violent man by violent influence

or it might be that she had not in truth accepted him, that Chiltern had simply so asserted. Or, even if it

were so, did women never change their minds? The manly thing would be to persevere to the end. Had he not

before been successful, when success seemed to be as far from him? But he could buoy himself up with no

real hope. Even when these ideas were present to his mind, he knew he knew well at those very

Someone had come in and lighted the candles and drawn down the blinds while he was sitting there, and now,

as he looked at his watch, he found that it was past five o'clock. He was engaged to dine with Madame Max

Goesler at eight, and in his agony he halfresolved that he would send an excuse. Madame Max would be full

of wrath, as she was very particular about her little dinnerparties but, what did he care now about the

wrath of Madame Max Goesler? And yet only this morning he had been congratulating himself, among his

other successes, upon her favour, and had laughed inwardly at his own falseness his falseness to Violet

Effingham as he did so. He had said something to himself jocosely about lovers' perjuries, the

remembrance of which was now very bitter to him. He took up a sheet of notepaper and scrawled an excuse

to Madame Goesler. News from the country, he said, made it impossible that he should go out tonight. But he

did not send the note. At about half past five he opened the door of his private secretary's room and found the

"All right!" Charles Standish was a first cousin of Lady Laura's, and, having been in the office before Phineas

had joined it, and being a great favourite with his cousin, had of course become the UnderSecretary's private

secretary. "I'm all here," said Charles Standish, getting up and shaking himself.

"I am going. Just tie up those papers exactly as they are. I shall be here early tomorrow, but I shan't want

"Ta, ta," said his private secretary, who was very fond of his master, but not very respectful unless upon

Then Phineas went out and walked across the park; but as he went he became quite aware that his back was

broken. It was not the less broken because he sang to himself little songs to prove to himself that it was whole

and sound. It was broken, and it seemed to him now that he never could become an Atlas again, to bear the

weight of the world upon his shoulders. What did anything signify? All that he had done had been part of a

game which he had been playing throughout, and now he had been beaten in his game. He absolutely ignored

his old passion for Lady Laura as though it had never been, and regarded himself as a model of constancy

as a man who had loved, not wisely perhaps, but much too well and who must now therefore suffer a

living death. He hated Parliament. He hated the Colonial Office. He hated his friend Mr Monk; and he

especially hated Madame Max Goesler. As to Lord Chiltern he believed that Lord Chiltern had obtained

his object by violence. He would see to that! Yes let the consequences be what they might, he would see

He went up by the Duke of York's column, and as he passed the Athenaeum he saw his chief, Lord Cantrip,

standing under the portico talking to a bishop. He would have gone on unnoticed, had it been possible; but

Lord Cantrip came down to him at once. "I have put your name down here," said his lordship.

"What's the use?" said Phineas, who was profoundly indifferent at this moment to all the clubs in London.

"It can't do any harm, you know. You'll come up in time. And if you should get into the ministry, they'll let

"Ministry!" ejaculated Phineas. But Lord Cantrip took the tone of voice as simply suggestive of humility, and

suspected nothing of that profound indifference to all ministers and ministerial honours which Phineas had

intended to express. "By the bye," said Lord Cantrip, putting his arm through that of the UnderSecretary, "I

wanted to speak to you about the guarantees. We shall be in the devil's own mess, you know "And so the

Secretary of State went on about the Rocky Mountain Railroad, and Phineas strove hard to bear his burden

with his broken back. He was obliged to say something about the guarantees, and the railway, and the frozen

harbour and something especially about the difficulties which would be found, not in the measures

themselves, but in the natural pugnacity of the Opposition. In the fabrication of garments for the national

wear, the great thing is to produce garments that shall, as far as possible, defy holepicking. It may be, and

sometimes is, the case, that garments so fabricated will be good also for wear. Lord Cantrip, at the present

moment, was very anxious and very ingenious in the stopping of holes; and he thought that perhaps his

UnderSecretary was too much prone to the indulgence of large philanthropical views without sufficient

thought of the holepickers. But on this occasion, by the time that he reached Brooks's, he had been enabled

to convince his UnderSecretary, and though he had always thought well of his UnderSecretary, he thought

better of him now than ever he had done. Phineas during the whole time had been meditating what he could

do to Lord Chiltern when they two should meet. Could he take him by the throat and smite him? "I happen to

know that Broderick is working as hard at the matter as we are," said Lord Cantrip, stopping opposite to the

club. "He moved for papers, you know, at the end of last session." Now Mr Broderick was a gentleman in the

House looking for promotion in a Conservative Government, and of course would oppose any measure that

could be brought forward by the CantripFinn Colonial Administration. Then Lord Cantrip slipped into the

A spark of his old ambition with reference to Brooks's was the first thing to make him forget his misery for a

moment. He had asked Lord Brentford to put his name down, and was not sure whether it had been done. The

threat of Mr Broderick's opposition had been of no use towards the strengthening of his broken back, but the

sight of Lord Cantrip hurrying in at the coveted door did do something. "A man can't cut his throat or blow

his brains out," he said to himself; "after all, he must go on and do his work. For hearts will break, yet

brokenly live on." Thereupon he went home, and after sitting for an hour over his own fire, and looking

wistfully at a little treasure which he had a treasure obtained by some slight fraud at Saulsby, and which

he now chucked into the fire, and then instantly again pulled out of it, soiled but unscorched he dressed

himself for dinner, and went out to Madame Max Goesler's. Upon the whole, he was glad that he had not sent

the note of excuse. A man must live, even though his heart be broken, and living he must dine.

Madame Max Goesler was fond of giving little dinners at this period of the year, before London was

crowded, and when her guests might probably not be called away by subsequent social arrangements. Her

number seldom exceeded six or eight, and she always spoke of these entertainments as being of the humblest

kind. She sent out no big cards. She preferred to catch her people as though by chance, when that was

possible. "Dear Mr Jones. Mr Smith is coming to tell me about some sherry on Tuesday. Will you come and

tell me too? I daresay you know as much about it." And then there was a studious absence of parade. The

dishes were not very numerous. The bill of fare was simply written out once, for the mistress, and so

circulated round the table. Not a word about the things to be eaten or the things to be drunk was ever spoken

at the table or at least no such word was ever spoken by Madame Goesler. But, nevertheless, they who

knew anything about dinners were aware that Madame Goesler gave very good dinners indeed, Phineas Finn

was beginning to flatter himself that he knew something about dinners, and had been heard to assert that the

soups at the cottage in Park Lane were not to be beaten in London. But he cared for no soup today, as he

There had been one difficulty in the way of Madame Goesler's dinnerparties which had required some

patience and great ingenuity in its management. She must either have ladies, or she must not have them.

There was a great allurement in the latter alternative; but she knew well that if she gave way to it, all prospect

of general society would for her be closed and for ever. This had been in the early days of her widowhood

in Park Lane. She cared but little for women's society; but she knew well that the society of gentlemen

without women would not be that which she desired. She knew also that she might as effectually crush

herself and all her aspirations by bringing to her house indifferent women women lacking something

either in character, or in position, or in talent as by having none it all. Thus there had been a great

difficulty, and sometimes she had thought that the thing could not be done at all. "These English are so stiff,

so hard, so heavy!" And yet she would not have cared to succeed elsewhere than among the English. By

degrees, however, the thing was done. Her prudence equalled her wit, and even suspicious people had come

to acknowledge that they could not put their fingers on anything wrong. When Lady Glencora Palliser had

once dined at the cottage in Park Lane, Madame Max Goesler had told herself that henceforth she did not

care what the suspicious people said. Since that the Duke of Omnium had almost promised that he would

come. If she could only entertain the Duke of Omnium she would have done everything.

But there was no Duke of Omnium there tonight. At this time the Duke of Omnium was, of course, not in

London. But Lord Fawn was there; and our old friend Laurence Fitzgibbon, who had resigned his place at

the Colonial Office; and there were Mr and Mrs Bonteen. They, with our hero, made up the party. No one

doubted for a moment to what source Mr Bonteen owed his dinner. Mrs Bonteen was goodlooking, could

talk, was sufficiently proper, and all that kind of thing and did as well as any other woman at this time of

year to keep Madame Max Goesler in countenance. There was never any sitting after dinner at the cottage; or,

I should rather say, there was never any sitting after Madame Goesler went; so that the two ladies could not

weary each other by being alone together. Mrs Bonteen understood quite well that she was not required there

to talk to her hostess, and was as willing as any woman to make herself agreeable to the gentlemen she might

meet at Madame Goesler's table. And thus Mr and Mrs Bonteen not unfrequently dined in Park Lane.

"Now we have only to wait for that horrible man, Mr Fitzgibbon," said Madame Max Goesler, as she

"No you are always in good time. But there is a limit beyond which good time ends, and being shamefully

late at once begins. But here he is." And then, as Laurence Fitzgibbon entered the room, Madame Goesler

Phineas found himself placed between his hostess and Mr Bonteen, and Lord Fawn was on the other side of

Madame Goesler. They were hardly seated at the table before some one stated it as a fact that Lord Brentford

and his son were reconciled. Now Phineas knew, or thought that he knew, that this could not as yet be the

case; and indeed such was not the case, though the father had already received the son's letter. But Phineas

"How odd it is," said Madame Goesler; how often you English fathers quarrel with your sons!"

"How often we English sons quarrel with our fathers rather," said Lord Fawn, who was known for the respect

"It all comes from entail and primogeniture, and oldfashioned English prejudices of that kind," said

"Ah, yes; but you you you and Lord Chiltern once did something odd together. There was a little

"It was about a lady was it not?" said Mrs Bonteen, affecting to whisper to her neighbour.

"I am not at liberty to say anything on the subject," said Fitzgibbon; "but I have no doubt Phineas will tell

"I don't believe this about Lord Brentford," said Mr Bonteen. "I happen to know that Chiltern was down at

Loughlinter three days ago, and that he passed through London yesterday on his way to the place where he

"It all depends upon whether Miss Effingham will accept him," said Mrs Bonteen, looking over at Phineas as

As there were two of Violet Effingham's suitors at table, the subject was becoming disagreeably personal;

and the more so, as every one of the party knew or surmised something of the facts of the case. The cause of

the duel at Blankenberg had become almost as public as the duel, and Lord Fawn's courtship had not been

altogether hidden from the public eye. He on the present occasion might probably be able to carry himself

better than Phineas, even presuming him to be equally eager in his love for he knew nothing of the fatal

truth. But he was unable to hear Mrs Bonteen's statement with indifference, and showed his concern in the

matter by his reply. "Any lady will be much to be pitied," he said, "who does that. Chiltern is the last man in

the world to whom I would wish to trust the happiness of a woman for whom I cared."

"I do so wish I knew him," said Madame Max Goesler. I am fond of madmen, and men who haven't shillings,

Phineas did not know what to say, or how to open his mouth without showing his deep concern. "I shall be

happy to ask him if you wish it," he replied, as though the question had been put to him in earnest; "but I do

He paused a moment before he spoke, and then made his answer in a deep solemn voice with a

Had anybody told him beforehand that he would openly make this declaration at Madame Goesler's table, he

would have said that of all things it was the most impossible. He would have declared that nothing would

have induced him to speak of Violet Effingham in his existing frame of mind, and that he would have had his

tongue cut out before he spoke of her as the promised bride of his rival. And now he had declared the whole

truth of his own wretchedness and discomfiture. He was well aware that all of them there knew why he had

fought the duel at Blankenberg all, that is, except perhaps Lord Fawn. And he felt as he made the

statement as to Lord Chiltern that he blushed up to his forehead, and that his voice was strange, and that he

was telling the tale of his own disgrace. But when the direct question had been asked him he had been unable

to refrain from answering it directly. He had thought of turning it off with some jest or affectation of drollery,

"I do believe it, if Mr Finn says so," said Mrs Bonteen, who rather liked the confusion she had caused.

"It is quite impossible," said Lord Fawn. I think I may say that I know that it is impossible. If it were so, it

would be a most shameful arrangement. Every shilling she has in the world would be swallowed up." Now,

Lord Fawn in making his proposals had been magnanimous in his offers as to settlements and pecuniary

For some minutes after that Phineas did not speak another word, and the conversation generally was not so

brisk and bright as it was expected to be at Madame Goesler's. Madame Max Goesler herself thoroughly

understood our hero's position, and felt for him. She would have encouraged no questionings about Violet

Effingham had she thought that they would have led to such a result, and now she exerted herself to turn the

minds of her guests to other subjects. At last she succeeded; and after a while, too, Phineas himself was able

to talk. He drank two or three glasses of wine, and dashed away into politics, taking the earliest opportunity

in his power of contradicting Lord Fawn very plainly on one or two matters. Laurence Fitzgibbon was of

course of opinion that the ministry could not stay in long. Since he had left the Government the ministers had

made wonderful mistakes, and he spoke of them quite as an enemy might speak, "And yet, Fitz," said Mr

"I always observe," said Madame Max Goesler, that when any of you gentlemen resign which you usually

do on some very trivial matter the resigning gentleman becomes of all foes the bitterest. Somebody goes

on very well with his friends, agreeing most cordially about everything, till he finds that his public virtue

cannot swallow some little detail, and then he resigns. Or someone, perhaps, on the other side has attacked

him, and in the m l e he is hurt, and so he resigns. But when he has resigned, and made his parting speech

full of love and gratitude, I know well after that where to look for the bitterest hostility to his late friends.

Yes, I am beginning to understand the way in which politics are done in England."

All this was rather severe upon Laurence Fitzgibbon; but he was a man of the world, and bore it better than

The dinner, taken altogether, was not a success, and so Madame Goesler understood. Lord Fawn, after he had

been contradicted by Phineas, hardly opened his mouth. Phineas himself talked rather too much and rather

too loudly; and Mrs Bonteen, who was well enough inclined to flatter Lord Fawn, contradicted him. "I made

a mistake," said Madame Goesler afterwards, "in having four members of Parliament who all of them were or

had been in office. I never will have two men in office together again." This she said to Mrs Bonteen. "My

dear Madame Max," said Mrs Bonteen, "your resolution ought to be that you will never again have two

In the drawingroom upstairs Madame Goesler managed to be alone for three minutes with Phineas Finn.

"And it is as you say, my friend?" she asked. Her voice was plaintive and soft, and there was a look of real

sympathy in her eyes. Phineas almost felt that if they two had been quite alone he could have told her

"I never doubted it when you had declared it. May I venture to say that I wish it had been otherwise?"

"It is too late now, Madame Goesler. A man of course is a fool to show that he has any feelings in such a

matter. The fact is, I heard it just before I came here, and had made up my mind to send you an excuse. I wish

"In my estimation you have done yourself honour. But if I may venture to give you counsel, do not speak of

this affair again as though you had been personally concerned in it. In the world nowadays the only thing

"I, rather, am deeply indebted to you. I will go now, Madame Goesler, as I do not wish to leave the house

with Lord Fawn." "But you will come and see me soon." Then Phineas promised that he would come soon;

and felt as he made the promise that he would have an opportunity of talking over his love with his new

Laurence Fitzgibbon went away with Phineas, and Mr Bonteen, having sent his wife away by herself, walked

off towards the clubs with Lord Fawn. He was very anxious to have a few words with Lord Fawn. Lord Fawn

had evidently been annoyed by Phineas, and Mr Bonteen did not at all love the young UnderSecretary.

"That fellow has become the most consummate puppy I ever met," said he, as he linked himself on to the

lord. "Monk, and one or two others among them, have contrived to spoil him altogether."

"It would be such an abominable shame to sacrifice the girl," said Lord Fawn. "Only think of it. Everything is

gone. The man is a drunkard, and I don't believe he is any more reconciled to his father than you are. Lady

"Perhaps an invention of Finn's altogether," said Mr Bonteen. "Those Irish fellows are just the men for that

"A man, you know, so violent that nobody can hold him," said Lord Fawn, thinking of Chiltern.

"A man who has never done anything, with all his advantages in the world and never will."

"Oh, Mr Finn. I was talking of Lord Chiltern. I believe Finn to be a very good sort of a fellow, and he is

undoubtedly clever. They say Cantrip likes him amazingly. He'll do very well. But I don't believe a word of

this about Lord Chiltern." Then Mr Bonteen felt himself to be snubbed, and soon afterwards left Lord Fawn

On the day following Madame Goesler's dinnerparty, Phineas, though he was early at his office, was not

able to do much work, still feeling that as regarded the realities of the world, his back was broken. He might

no doubt go on learning, and, after a time, might be able to exert himself in a perhaps useful, but altogether

uninteresting kind of way, doing his work simply because it was there to be done as the carter or the tailor

does his and from the same cause, knowing that a man must have bread to live. But as for ambition, and

the idea of doing good, and the love of work for work's sake as for the elastic springs of delicious and

beneficent labour all that was over for him. He would have worked from day till night, and from night till

day, and from month till month throughout the year to have secured for Violet Effingham the assurance that

her husband's position was worthy of her own. But now he had no motive for such work as this. As long as he

On the next day things were a little better with him. He received a note in the morning from Lord Cantrip

saying that they two were to see the Prime Minister that evening, in order that the whole question of the

railway to the Rocky Mountains might be understood, and Phineas was driven to his work. Before the time of

the meeting came he had once more lost his own identity in great ideas of colonial welfare, and had planned

and peopled a mighty region on the Red River, which should have no sympathy with American democracy.

When he waited upon Mr Gresham in the afternoon he said nothing about the mighty region; indeed, he left it

to Lord Cantrip to explain most of the proposed arrangements speaking only a word or two here and there

as occasion required. But he was aware that he had so far recovered as to be able to save himself from losing

ground during the interview. "He's about the first Irishman we've had that has been worth his salt," said Mr

"That other Irishman was a terrible fellow," said Lord Cantrip, shaking his head.

On the fourth day after his sorrow had befallen him, Phineas went again to the cottage in Park Lane. And in

order that he might not be balked in his search for sympathy he wrote a line to Madame Goesler to ask if she

would be at home. "I will be at home from five to six and alone M. M. G." That was the answer from

Marie Max Goesler, and Phineas was of course at the cottage a few minutes after five. It is not, I think,

surprising that a man when he wants sympathy in such a calamity as that which had now befallen Phineas

Finn, should seek it from a woman. Women sympathise most effectually with men, as men do with women.

But it is, perhaps, a little odd that a man when he wants consolation because his heart has been broken,

always likes to receive it from a pretty woman. One would be disposed to think that at such a moment he

would be profoundly indifferent to such a matter, that no delight could come to him from female beauty, and

that all he would want would be the softness of a simply sympathetic soul. But he generally wants a soft hand

as well, and an eye that can be bright behind the mutual tear, and lips that shall be young and fresh as they

express their concern for his sorrow. All these things were added to Phineas when he went to Madame

"No but it is so good of you to trust me. But I was sure you would come after what took place the other

"Not at all. And I thought that you were right to tell them when the question had been asked. If the thing was

not to be kept a secret, it was better to speak it out. You will get over it quicker in that way than in any other.

"Oh, there is nothing amiss about him. As to what Lord Fawn said, the half of it is simply exaggeration, and

Phineas thought a moment of that matter before he replied. All the Standish family had been very good to

him, and Violet Effingham had been very good. It was not the fault of any of them that he was now wretched

and backbroken. He had meditated much on this, and had resolved that he would not even think evil of

them. "I do not in my heart believe that that has had anything to do with it," he said.

"Well I do not know this Violet that is not yours. I have met her, and did not specially admire her. But

then the tastes of men and women about beauty are never the same. But I know she is one that always lives

with lords and countesses. A girl who always lived with countesses feels it to be hard to settle down as a plain

"She has had plenty of choice among all sorts of men. It was not the title. She would not have accepted

"Not exactly. Nobody could arrange anything for Chiltern nor, as far as that goes, for Miss Effingham.

"Yes twice. And she had refused him more than twice. I have nothing for which to blame her; but yet I

"No I will not let you say that of her. She is no jilt. But I think she has been strangely ignorant of her own

"None only sometimes it is better to speak a word, than to keep one's sorrow to oneself."

"So it is and there is not one in the world to whom I can speak such a word, except yourself. Is not that

odd? I have sisters, but they have never heard of Miss Effingham, and would be quite indifferent."

"Ah well. That does not matter. And my best friend here in London is Lord Chiltern's own sister."

"She has always desired the marriage. And yet I think she would have been satisfied had it been otherwise.

But of course her heart must be with her brother. I need not have troubled myself to go to Blankenberg after

"There would have been an end of everything. She would never have seen me after that. Indeed I should have

"Ah you English are so peculiar. But I suppose it is best not to shoot a man. And, Mr Finn, there are other

ladies in the world prettier than Miss Violet Effingham. No of course you will not admit that now. Just at

this moment, and for a month or two, she is peerless, and you will feel yourself to be of all men the most

unfortunate. But you have the ball at your feet. I know no one so young who has got the ball at his feet so

well. I call it nothing to have the ball at your feet if you are born with it there. It is so easy to be a lord if your

father is one before you and so easy to marry a pretty girl if you can make her a countess. But to make

yourself a lord, or to be as good as a lord, when nothing has been born to you that I call very much. And

there are women, and pretty women too, Mr Finn, who have spirit enough to understand this, and to think that

the man, after all, is more important than the lord." Then she sang the old wellworn verse of the Scotch song

with wonderful spirit, and with a clearness of voice and knowledge of music for which he had hitherto never

given her credit. A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon

"Only now and then when something specially requires it. And I am very fond of Scotch songs. I will sing to

you now if you like it." Then she sang the whole song "A man's a man for a' that," she said as she

finished. "Even though he cannot get the special bit of painted Eve's flesh for which his heart has had a

craving." Then she sang again: "There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, Who would gladly be

"Take the spirit of the lines, Mr Finn, which is true; and not the tale as it is told, which is probably false. I

often think that Jock of Hazledean, and young Lochinvar too, probably lived to repent their bargains. We will

"That is all right. And as for you, do you for a while think of your politics, and your speeches, and your

colonies, rather than of your love. You are at home there, and no Lord Chiltern can rob you of your success.

And if you are down in the mouth, come to me, and I will sing you a Scotch song. And, look you, the next

time I ask you to dinner I will promise you that Mrs Bonteen shall not be here. Goodbye." She gave him her

hand, which was very soft, and left it for a moment in his, and he was consoled.

Madame Goesler, when she was alone, threw herself on to her chair and began to think of things. In these

days she would often ask herself what in truth was the object of her ambition, and the aim of her life. Now at

this moment she had in her hand a note from the Duke of Omnium. The Duke had allowed himself to say

something about a photograph, which had justified her in writing to him or which she had taken for such

justification. And the Duke had replied. "He would not," he said, lose the opportunity of waiting upon her in

person which the presentation of the little gift might afford him." It would be a great success to have the

Duke of Omnium at her house but to what would the success reach? What was her definite object or

had she any? In what way could she make herself happy? She could not say that she was happy yet. The

The Duke of Omnium should come if he would. And she was quite resolved as to this that if the Duke

did come she would not be afraid of him. Heavens and earth! What would be the feelings of such a woman as

her, were the world to greet her some fine morning as Duchess of Omnium! Then she made up her mind very

resolutely on one subject. Should the Duke give her any opportunity she would take a very short time in

Lord Chiltern did exactly as he said he would do. He wrote to his father as he passed through Carlisle, and at

once went on to his hunting at Willingford. But his letter was very stiff and ungainly, and it may be doubted

whether Miss Effingham was not wrong in refusing the offer which he had made to her as to the dictation of

it. He began his letter, "My Lord," and did not much improve the style as he went on with it. The reader may

"I am now on my way from Loughlinter to London, and write this letter to you in compliance with a promise

made by me to my sister and to Miss Effingham. I have asked Violet to be my wife, and she has accepted me,

and they think that you will be pleased to hear that this has been done. I shall be, of course, obliged, if you

will instruct Mr Edwards to let me know what you would propose to do in regard to settlements. Laura thinks

that you will wish to see both Violet and myself at Saulsby. For myself, I can only say that, should you desire

me to come, I will do so on receiving your assurance that I shall be treated neither with fatted calves nor with

That last word, in which he halfdeclared himself to be joined in affectionate relations to his father, caused

him a world of trouble. But he could find no term for expressing, without a circumlocution which was

disagreeable to him, exactly that position of feeling towards his father which really belonged to him. He

would have written "yours with affection," or yours with deadly enmity, or "yours with respect," or yours

with most profound indifference," exactly in accordance with the state of his father's mind, if he had only

known what was that state. He was afraid of going beyond his father in any offer of reconciliation, and was

firmly fixed in his resolution that he would never be either repentant or submissive in regard to the past. If his

father had wishes for the future, he would comply with them if he could do so without unreasonable

inconvenience, but he would not give way a single point as to things done and gone. If his father should

The Earl was of course disgusted by the pertinacious obstinacy of his son's letter, and for an hour or two

swore to himself that he would not answer it. But it is natural that the father should yearn for the son, while

the son's feeling for the father is of a very much weaker nature. Here, at any rate, was that engagement made

which he had ever desired. And his son had made a step, though it was so very unsatisfactory a step, towards

reconciliation. When the old man read the letter a second time, he skipped that reference to fatted calves

which had been so peculiarly distasteful to him, and before the evening had passed he had answered his son

"I have received your letter, and am truly delighted to hear that dear Violet has accepted you as her husband.

Her fortune will be very material to you, but she herself is better than any fortune. You have long known my

"I shall of course write to her immediately, and will endeavour to settle some early day for her coming here.

When I have done so, I will write to you again, and can only say that I will endeavour to make Saulsby

"Richards, the groom, is still here. You had perhaps better write to him direct about your horses."

By the middle of February arrangements had all been made, and Violet met her lover at his father's house.

She in the meantime had been with her aunt, and had undergone a good deal of mild unceasing persecution.

"My dear Violet," said her aunt to her on her arrival at Baddingham, speaking with a solemnity that ought to

"I mean about this engagement," said Lady Baldock, with an increase of aweinspiring severity in her voice.

"How can I say nothing about it? How can I be silent? Or how am I to congratulate you?"

"That is very well, and if I had no duty to perform, I would be silent. But, Violet, you have been left in my

charge. If I see you shipwrecked in life, I shall ever tell myself that the fault has been partly mine."

"Nay, aunt, that will be quite unnecessary. I will always admit that you did everything in your power to to

"And you know, aunt, I still hope that I shall be found to have kept on the right side of the posts. You will

"A young nobleman beginning a career of useful official life, that will end in there is no knowing what it

"Poor Mr Appledom. I do like Mr Appledom. But, you see, aunt, I like Lord Chiltern so much better. A

The same thing was repeated over and over again during the month that Miss Effingham remained at

Baddingham, but Lady Baldock had no power of interfering, and Violet bore her persecution bravely. Her

future husband was generally spoken of as "that violent young man," and hints were thrown out as to the

personal injuries to which his wife might be possibly subjected. But the threatened bride only laughed, and

spoke of these coming dangers as part of the general lot of married women. "I daresay, if the truth were

known, my uncle Baldock did not always keep his temper," she once said. Now, the truth was, as Violet well

knew, that "my uncle Baldock" had been dumb as a sheep before the shearers in the hands of his wife, and

had never been known to do anything improper by those who had been most intimate with him even in his

earlier days. "Your uncle Baldock, miss," said the outraged aunt, "was a nobleman as different in his manner

of life from Lord Chiltern as chalk from cheese." "But then comes the question, which is the cheese?" said

Violet. Lady Baldock would not argue the question any further, but stalked out of the room.

Lady Laura Kennedy met them at Saulsby, having had something of a battle with her husband before she left

her home to do so. When she told him of her desire to assist at this reconciliation between her father and

brother, he replied by pointing out that her first duty was at Loughlinter, and before the interview was ended

had come to express an opinion that that duty was very much neglected. She in the meantime had declared

that she would go to Saulsby, or that she would explain to her father that she was forbidden by her husband to

do so. "And I also forbid any such communication," said Mr Kennedy. In answer to which, Lady Laura told

him that there were some marital commands which she should not consider it to be her duty to obey. When

matters had come to this pass, it may be conceived that both Mr Kennedy and his wife were very unhappy.

She had almost resolved that she would take steps to enable her to live apart from her husband; and he had

begun to consider what course he would pursue if such steps were taken. The wife was subject to her husband

by the laws both of God and man; and Mr Kennedy was one who thought much of such laws. In the

meantime, Lady Laura carried her point and went to Saulsby, leaving her husband to go up to London and

Lady Laura and Violet were both at Saulsby before Lord Chiltern arrived, and many were the consultations

which were held between them as to the best mode in which things might be arranged. Violet was of opinion

that there had better be no arrangement, that Lord Chiltern should be allowed to come in and take his father's

hand, and sit down to dinner and that so things should fall into their places. Lady Laura was rather in

favour of some scene. But the interview had taken place before either of them were able to say a word. Lord

Chiltern, on his arrival, had gone immediately to his father, taking the Earl very much by surprise, and had

"My lord," said he, walking up to his father with his hand out, "I am very glad to come back to Saulsby." He

had written to his sister to say that he would be at Saulsby on that day, but had named no hour. He now

appeared between ten and eleven in the morning, and his father had as yet made no preparation for him

had arranged no appropriate words. He had walked in at the front door, and had asked for the Earl. The Earl

was in his own morningroom a gloomy room, full of dark books and darker furniture, and thither Lord

Chiltern had at once gone. The two women still were sitting together over the fire in the breakfastroom, and

"I have come early. I came across country, and slept at Birmingham. I suppose Violet is here."

"Yes, she is here and Laura. They will be very glad to see you. So am I." And the father took the son's

"What do you think I must be, then?" said the son, laughing. "I have been at it, you know, off and on, ever so

many years; and have sometimes thought I was quite a fool not to get it out of my head. But I couldn't get it

out of my head. And now she talks as though it were she who had been in love with me all the time!"

"I shan't be the worst husband in the world, I hope; and I am quite sure I shan't be the best. I will go and see

her now. I suppose I shall find her somewhere in the house. I thought it best to see you first."

"Stop half a moment, Oswald," said the Earl. And then Lord Brentford did make something of a shambling

speech, in which he expressed a hope that they two might for the future live together on friendly terms,

forgetting the past. He ought to have been prepared for the occasion, and the speech was poor and shambling.

But I think that it was more useful than it might have been, had it been uttered roundly and with that paternal

and almost majestic effect which he would have achieved had he been thoroughly prepared. But the

roundness and the majesty would have gone against the grain with his son, and there would have been a

danger of some outbreak. As it was, Lord Chiltern smiled, and muttered some word about things being "all

right," and then made his way out of the room. "That's a great deal better than I had hoped," he said to

himself; "and it has all come from my going in without being announced." But there was still a fear upon him

that his father even yet might prepare a speech, and speak it, to the great peril of their mutual comfort.

His meeting with Violet was of course pleasant enough. Now that she had succumbed, and had told herself

and had told him that she loved him, she did not scruple to be as generous as a maiden should be who has

acknowledged herself to be conquered, and has rendered herself to the conqueror. She would walk with him

and ride with him, and take a lively interest in the performances of all his horses, and listen to hunting stories

as long as he chose to tell them. In all this, she was so good and so loving that Lady Laura was more than

once tempted to throw in her teeth her old, oftenrepeated assertions, that she was not prone to be in love

that it was not her nature to feel any ardent affection for a man, and that, therefore, she would probably

remain unmarried. "You begrudge me my little bits of pleasure," Violet said, in answer to one such attack.

"No but it is so odd to see you, of all women, become so lovelorn." "I am not lovelorn, said Violet, but I

like the freedom of telling him everything and of hearing everything from him, and of having him for my

own best friend. He might go away for twelve months, and I should not be unhappy, believing, as I do, that

he would be true to me." All of which set Lady Laura thinking whether her friend had not been wiser than she

had been. She had never known anything of that sort of friendship with her husband which already seemed to

In her misery one day Lady Laura told the whole story of her own unhappiness to her brother, saying nothing

of Phineas Finn thinking nothing of him as she told her story, but speaking more strongly perhaps than she

should have done, of the terrible dreariness of her life at Loughlinter, and of her inability to induce her

"Do you mean that he illtreats you?" said the brother, with a scowl on his face which seemed to indicate

"He never said a word in his life either to me or, as I believe, to any other human being, that he would think

"He simply chooses to have his own way, and his way cannot be my way. He is hard, and dry, and just, and

"I tell you fairly, Laura, as far as I am concerned, I never could speak to him. He is antipathetic to me. But

"What can she say? She has nothing to say. Nor have you. Nor, if I am driven to leave him, can I make the

world understand why I do so. To be simply miserable, as I am, is nothing to the world."

"Cruel! I will stick by you in any way that you wish. If you think well of it, I will go off to Loughlinter

tomorrow, and tell him that you will never return to him. And if you are not safe from him here at Saulsby,

you shall go abroad with us. I am sure Violet would not object. I will not be cruel to you."

But in truth neither of Lady Laura's councillors was able to give her advice that could serve her. She felt that

she could not leave her husband without other cause than now existed, although she felt, also, that to go back

to him was to go back to utter wretchedness. And when she saw Violet and her brother together there came to

her dreams of what might have been her own happiness had she kept herself free from those terrible bonds in

which she was now held a prisoner. She could not get out of her heart the remembrance of that young man

who would have been her lover, if she would have let him of whose love for herself she had been aware

before she had handed herself over as a bale of goods to her unloved, unloving husband. She had married Mr

Kennedy because she was afraid that otherwise she might find herself forced to own that she loved that other

man who was then a nobody almost nobody. It was not Mr Kennedy's money that had bought her. This

woman in regard to money had shown herself to be as generous as the sun. But in marrying Mr Kennedy she

had maintained herself in her high position, among the first of her own people among the first socially and

among the first politically. But had she married Phineas had she become Lady Laura Finn there would

have been a great descent. She could not have entertained the leading men of her party. She would not have

been on a level with the wives and daughters of Cabinet Ministers. She might, indeed, have remained

unmarried! But she knew that had she done so had she so resolved that which she called her fancy

would have been too strong for her. She would not have remained unmarried. At that time it was her fate to

be either Lady Laura Kennedy or Lady Laura Finn. And she had chosen to be Lady Laura Kennedy. To

neither Violet Effingham nor to her brother could she tell one half of the sorrow which afflicted her.

"I do not wish it. But I shall do it. Mr Kennedy is in London now, and has been there since Parliament met,

but he will be in Scotland again in March, and I will go and meet him there. I told him that I would do so

"I suppose so. I must do as he tells me, of course. What I mean is, I will try it for another year."

"I cannot say what I will do. I would die if I knew how. Never be a tyrant, Oswald; or at any rate, not a cold

tyrant. And remember this, there is no tyranny to a woman like telling her of her duty. Talk of beating a

Lord Chiltern remained ten days at Saulsby, and at last did not get away without a few unpleasant words with

his father or without a few words that were almost unpleasant with his mistress. On his first arrival he had

told his sister that he should go on a certain day, and some intimation to this effect had probably been

conveyed to the Earl. But when his son told him one evening that the postchaise had been ordered for seven

o'clock the next morning, he felt that his son was ungracious and abrupt. There were many things still to be

"She has not told me a word lately. She may have said something before you came here. What is there to

"I thought ten days would be as long as you would care to have me here, and as I said that I would be back by

"You might have hunted here, Oswald." But the son made no sign of changing his plans; and the father,

seeing that he would not change them, became solemn and severe. There were a few words which he must

say to his son something of a speech that he must make so he led the way into the room with the dark

books and the dark furniture, and pointed to a great deep armchair for his son's accommodation. But as he did

not sit down himself, neither did Lord Chiltern. Lord Chiltern understood very well how great is the

advantage of a standing orator over a sitting recipient of his oratory, and that advantage he would not give to

his father. "I had hoped to have an opportunity of saying a few words to you about the future," said the Earl.

"So I have heard but after that. Now I do not want to interfere, Oswald, and of course the less so, because

Violet's money will to a great degree restore the inroads which have been made upon the property."

"Not if her estate be settled on a second son, Oswald, and I hear from Lady Baldock that that is the wish of

"She shall have her own way as she ought. What that way is I do not know. I have not even asked about it.

"Of course I should wish it to go with the family property. Of course that would be best."

"But it is not about that, Oswald, that I would speak. What are your plans of life when you are married?"

"Plans of life?" "Yes plans of life. I suppose you have some plans. I suppose you mean to apply yourself

"I don't know really, sir, that I am of much use for any purpose." Lord Chiltern laughed as he said this, but

"I deny it," said the Earl, becoming quite energetic as he defended his order. "I deny it utterly. I know no

class of men who do work more useful or more honest. Am I a drone? Have I been so from my youth

upwards? I have always worked, either in the one House or in the other, and those of my fellows with whom I

"But you should care for politics, and you should see a difference in parties. It is your duty to do so. My wish

"In the first place, sir, you have not got a seat to offer me. You have managed matters among you in such a

way that poor little Loughton has been swallowed up. If I were to canvass the electors of Smotherem, I don't

"And whom am I to turn out? I should spend four or five thousand pounds, and have nothing but vexation in

return for it. I had rather not begin that game, and indeed I am too old for Parliament. I did not take it up early

All this made the Earl very angry, and from these things they went on to worse things. When questioned

again as to the future, Lord Chiltern scowled, and at last declared that it was his idea to live abroad in the

summer for his wife's recreation, and somewhere down in the shires during the winter for his own. He would

admit of no purpose higher than recreation, and when his father again talked to him of a nobleman's duty, he

said that he knew of no other special duty than that of not exceeding his income. Then his father made a

longer speech than before, and at the end of it Lord Chiltern simply wished him goodnight. "It's getting late,

and I've promised to see Violet before I go to bed. Goodbye." Then he was off, and Lord Brentford was left

After that Lord Chiltern had a discussion with Violet, which lasted nearly half the night; and during the

discussion she told him more than once that he was wrong. "Such as I am you must take me, or leave me," he

said, in anger. "Nay; there is no choice now," she answered. "I have taken you, and I will stick by you

whether you are right or wrong. But when I think you wrong, I shall say so." He swore to her as he pressed

her to his heart that she was the finest, grandest, sweetest woman that ever the world had produced. But still

there was present on his palate, when he left her, the bitter taste of her reprimand.

Phineas Finn, when the session began, was still hard at work upon his Canada bill, and in his work found

some relief for his broken back. He went into the matter with all his energy, and before the debate came on,

knew much more about the seven thousand inhabitants of some hundreds of thousands of square miles at the

back of Canada, than he did of the people of London or of County Clare. And he found some consolation also

in the good nature of Madame Goesler, whose drawingroom was always open to him. He could talk freely

now to Madame Goesler about Violet, and had even ventured to tell her that once, in old days, he had thought

of loving Lady Laura Standish. He spoke of those days as being very old; and then he perhaps said some

word to her about dear little Mary Flood Jones. I think that there was not much in his career of which he did

not say something to Madame Goesler, and that he received from her a good deal of excellent advice and

encouragement in the direction of his political ambition. "A man should work," she said "and you do

work. A woman can only look on, and admire and long. What is there that I can do? I can learn to care for

these Canadians, just because you care for them. If it was the beavers that you told me of, I should have to

care for the beavers." Then Phineas of course told her that such sympathy from her was all and all to him. But

the reader must not on this account suppose that he was untrue in his love to Violet Effingham. His back was

altogether broken by his fall, and he was quite aware that such was the fact. Not as yet, at least, had come to

Early in March he heard that Lady Laura was up in town, and of course he was bound to go to her. The

information was given to him by Mr Kennedy himself, who told him that he had been to Scotland to fetch

her. In these days there was an acknowledged friendship between these two, but there was no intimacy.

Indeed, Mr Kennedy was a man who was hardly intimate with any other man. With Phineas he now and then

exchanged a few words in the lobby of the House, and when they chanced to meet each other, they met as

friends. Mr Kennedy had no strong wish to see again in his house the man respecting whom he had ventured

to caution his wife; but he was thoughtful; and thinking over it all, he found it better to ask him there. No one

must know that there was any reason why Phineas should not come to his house; especially as all the world

knew that Phineas had protected him from the garrotters. "Lady Laura is in town now," he said; you must go

In these days Phineas was beginning to be aware that he had enemies though he could not understand why

anybody should be his enemy now that Violet Effingham had decided against him. There was poor Laurence

Fitzgibbon, indeed, whom he had superseded at the Colonial Office, but Laurence Fitzgibbon, to give merit

where merit was due, felt no animosity against him at all. "You're welcome, me boy; you're welcome as

far as yourself goes. But as for the party, bedad, it's rotten to the core, and won't stand another session. Mind,

it's I who tell you so." And the poor idle Irishman, in so speaking, spoke the truth as well as he knew it. But

the Ratlers and the Bonteens were Finn's bitter foes, and did not scruple to let him know that such was the

case. Barrington Erle had scruples on the subject, and in a certain mildly apologetic way still spoke well of

the young man, whom he had himself first introduced into political life only four years since but there was

no earnestness or cordiality in Barrington Erle's manner, and Phineas knew that his first staunch friend could

no longer be regarded as a pillar of support. But there was a set of men, quite as influential so Phineas

thought as the busy politicians of the club, who were very friendly to him. These were men, generally of

high position, of steady character hard workers who thought quite as much of what a man did in his

office as what he said in the House. Lords Cantrip, Thrift, and Fawn were of this class and they were all

very courteous to Phineas. Envious men began to say of him that he cared little now for anyone of the party

who had not a handle to his name, and that he preferred to live with lords and lordlings. This was hard upon

him, as the great political ambition of his life was to call Mr Monk his friend; and he would sooner have

acted with Mr Monk than with any other man in the Cabinet. But though Mr Monk had not deserted him,

there had come to be little of late in common between the two. His life was becoming that of a parliamentary

official rather than that of a politician whereas, though Mr Monk was in office, his public life was purely

political. Mr Monk had great ideas of his own which he intended to hold, whether by holding them he might

remain in office or be forced out of office; and he was indifferent as to the direction which things in this

respect might take with him. But Phineas, who had achieved his declared object in getting into place, felt that

he was almost constrained to adopt the views of others, let them be what they might. Men spoke to him, as

though his parliamentary career were wholly at the disposal of the Government as though he were like a

proxy in Mr Gresham's pocket with this difference, that when directed to get up and speak on a subject he

was bound to do so. This annoyed him, and he complained to Mr Monk; but Mr Monk only shrugged his

shoulders and told him that he must make his choice. He soon discovered Mr Monk's meaning. "If you

choose to make Parliament a profession as you have chosen you can have no right even to think of

independence. If the country finds you out when you are in Parliament, and then invites you to office, of

course the thing is different. But the latter is a slow career, and probably would not have suited you." That

was the meaning of what Mr Monk said to him. After all, these official and parliamentary honours were

greater when seen at a distance than he found them to be now that he possessed them. Mr Low worked ten

hours a day, and could rarely call a day his own; but, after all, with all this work, Mr Low was less of a slave,

and more independent, than was he, Phineas Finn, UnderSecretary of State, the friend of Cabinet Ministers,

and Member of Parliament since his twentyfifth year! He began to dislike the House, and to think it a bore

to sit on the Treasury bench he, who a few years since had regarded Parliament as the British heaven on

earth, and who, since he had been in Parliament, had looked at that bench with longing envious eyes.

Laurence Fitzgibbon, who seemed to have as much to eat and drink as ever, and a bed also to lie on, could

And there was a new trouble coming. The Reform Bill for England had passed; but now there was to be

another Reform Bill for Ireland. Let them pass what bill they might, this would not render necessary a new

Irish election till the entire House should be dissolved. But he feared that he would be called upon to vote for

the abolition of his own borough and for other points almost equally distasteful to him. He knew that he

would not be consulted but would be called upon to vote, and perhaps to speak; and was certain that if he

did so, there would be war between him and his constituents. Lord Tulla had already communicated to him

his ideas that, for certain excellent reasons, Loughshane ought to be spared. But this evil was, he hoped, a

distant one. It was generally thought that, as the English Reform Bill had been passed last year, and as the

Irish bill, if carried, could not be immediately operative, the doing of the thing might probably be postponed

When he first saw Lady Laura he was struck by the great change in her look and manner. She seemed to him

to be old and worn, and he judged her to be wretched as she was. She had written to him to say that she

would be at her father's house on such and such a morning, and he had gone to her there. "It is of no use your

coming to Grosvenor Place," she said. "I see nobody there, and the house is like a prison." Later in the

interview she told him not to come and dine there, even though Mr Kennedy should ask him.

"Because everything would be stiff, and cold, and uncomfortable. I suppose you do not wish to make your

way into a lady's house if she asks you not." There was a sort of smile on her face as she said this, but he

could perceive that it was a very bitter smile. "You can easily excuse yourself."

"Then do so. If you are particularly anxious to dine with Mr Kennedy, you can easily do so at your club." In

the tone of her voice, and the words she used, she hardly attempted to conceal her dislike of her husband.

"Yes there is much to tell. You need not spare me. I do not pretend to deny to you that I have been hit

hard so hard, that I have been nearly knocked down; but it will not hurt me now to hear of it all. Did she

"I sometimes think women would be less cruel," he said, "if they knew how great is the anguish they can

"I have nothing to complain of. But if she loved Chiltern, why did she not tell him so at once? And why "

"This is complaining, Mr Finn." "I will not complain. I would not even think of it, if I could help it. Are they

"Ah! no one can tell, I do not think that they agree as yet as to that. But if she has a strong wish Oswald will

There was a pause for a moment, and then Lady Laura answered him with a touch of scorn in her voice

and with some scorn, too, in her eye: "That is all very well, Mr Finn; but the season will not be over before

"What matters who it is as long as she is young and pretty, and has the interest attached to her of something

more than ordinary position? When men tell me of the cruelty of women, I think that no woman can be really

cruel because no man is capable of suffering. A woman, if she is thrown aside, does suffer."

"Do you mean to tell me, then, that I am indifferent to Miss Effingham?" When he thus spoke, I wonder

whether he had forgotten that he had ever declared to this very woman to whom he was speaking, a passion

"It suits you, Lady Laura, to be harsh to me, but you are not speaking your thoughts."

Then she lost all control of herself, and poured out to him the real truth that was in her, "And whose thoughts

did you speak when you and I were on the braes of Loughlinter? Am I wrong in saying that change is easy to

you, or have I grown to be so old that you can talk to me as though those faraway follies ought to be

forgotten? Was it so long ago? Talk of love! I tell you, sir, that your heart is one in which love can have no

durable hold. Violet Effingham! There may be a dozen Violets after her, and you will be none the worse."

Then she walked away from him to the window, and he stood still, dumb, on the spot that he had occupied.

"You had better go now," she said, "and forget what has passed between us. I know that you are a gentleman,

and that you will forget it." The strong idea of his mind when he heard all this was the injustice of her attack

of the attack as coming from her, who had all but openly acknowledged that she had married a man whom

she had not loved because it suited her to escape from a man whom she did love. She was reproaching him

now for his fickleness in having ventured to set his heart upon another woman, when she herself had been so

much worse than fickle so profoundly false! And yet he could not defend himself by accusing her. What

would she have had of him? What would she have proposed to him, had he questioned her as to his future,

when they were together on the braes of Loughlinter? Would she not have bid him to find someone else

whom he could love? Would she then have suggested to him the propriety of nursing his love for herself

for her who was about to become another man's wife for her after she should have become another man's

wife? And yet because he had not done so, and because she had made herself wretched by marrying a man

He could not tell her of all this, so he fell back for his defence on words which had passed between them

since the day when they had met on the braes. "Lady Laura," he said, it is only a month or two since you

"I never wished it. I never said that I wished it. There are moments in which we try to give a child any brick

on the chimney top for which it may whimper." Then there was another silence which she was the first to

break. "You had better go," she said. "I know that I have committed myself, and of course I would rather be

"Must we be strangers, you and I, because there was a time in which we were almost more than friends?"

"I have spoken nothing about myself, sir only as I have been drawn to do so by your pretence of being

lovesick. You can do nothing for me nothing nothing. What is it possible that you should do for me?

You are not my father, or my brother." It is not to be supposed that she wanted him to fall at her feet. It is to

be supposed that had he done so her reproaches would have been hot and heavy on him; but yet it almost

seemed to him as though he had no other alternative. No! He was not her father or her brother nor

could he be her husband. And at this very moment, as she knew, his heart was sore with love for another

woman. And yet he hardly knew how not to throw himself at her feet, and swear, that he would return now

"There is nothing to be done," she said, clasping her hands together. "For me nothing. I have before me no

escape, no hope, no prospect of relief, no place of consolation. You have everything before you. You

complain of a wound! You have at least shown that such wounds with you are capable of cure. You cannot

but feel that when I hear your wailings, I must be impatient. You had better leave me now, if you please."

"As far as friendship can go without intercourse, I shall always be your friend."

Then he went, and as he walked down to his office, so intent was he on that which had just passed that he

hardly saw the people as he met them, or was aware of the streets through which his way led him. There had

been something in the later words which Lady Laura had spoken that had made him feel almost

unconsciously that the injustice of her reproaches was not so great as he had at first felt it to be, and that she

had some cause for her scorn. If her case was such as she had so plainly described it, what was his plight as

compared with hers? He had lost his Violet, and was in pain. There must be much of suffering before him.

But though Violet were lost, the world was not all blank before his eyes. He had not told himself, even in his

dreariest moments, that there was before him "no escape, no hope, no prospect of relief, no place of

consolation." And then he began to think whether this must in truth be the case with Lady Laura. What if Mr

Kennedy were to die? What in such case as that would he do? In ten or perhaps in five years time might it not

be possible for him to go through the ceremony of falling upon his knees, with stiffened joints indeed, but

still with something left of the ardour of his old love, of his oldest love of all?

As he was thinking of this he was brought up short in his walk as he was entering the Green Park beneath the

Duke's figure, by Laurence Fitzgibbon. "How dare you not be in your office at such an hour as this, Finn, me

boy or, at least, not in the House or serving your masters after some fashion?" said the late

"So I am. I've been on a message to Marylebone, to find what the people there think about the Canadas."

"Not one man in a thousand cares whether the Canadians prosper or fail to prosper. They care that Canada

should not go to the States, because though they don't love the Canadians, they do hate the Americans.

That's about the feeling in Marylebone and it's astonishing how like the Maryleboners are to the rest of the

"Dear me, what a fellow you are for an UnderSecretary! You've heard the news about little Violet."

"Never mind who says so, but they tell me it's true. Take an old friend's advice, and strike while the iron's

Phineas did not believe what he had heard, but though he did not believe it, still the tidings set his heart

beating. He would have believed it less perhaps had he known that Laurence had just received the news from

Madame Max Goesler was a lady who knew that in fighting the battles which fell to her lot, in arranging the

social difficulties which she found in her way, in doing the work of the world which came to her share, very

much more care was necessary and care too about things apparently trifling than was demanded by the

affairs of people in general. And this was not the case so much on account of any special disadvantage under

which she laboured, as because she was ambitious of doing the very uttermost with those advantages which

she possessed. Her own birth had not been high, and that of her husband, we may perhaps say, had been very

low. He had been old when she had married him, and she had had little power of making any progress till he

had left her a widow. Then she found herself possessed of money, certainly; of wit as she believed; and of

a something in her personal appearance which, as she plainly told herself, she might perhaps palm off upon

the world as beauty. She was a woman who did not flatter herself, who did not strongly believe in herself,

who could even bring herself to wonder that men and women in high position should condescend to notice

such a one as her. With all her ambition, there was a something of genuine humility about her; and with all

the hardness she had learned there was a touch of womanly softness which would sometimes obtrude itself

upon her heart. When she found a woman really kind to her, she would be very kind in return. And though

she prized wealth, and knew that her money was her only rock of strength, she could be lavish with it, as

But she was highly ambitious, and she played her game with great skill and great caution. Her doors were not

open to all callers were shut even to some who find but few doors closed against them were shut

occasionally to those whom she most specially wished to see within them. She knew how to allure by

denying, and to make the gift rich by delaying it. We are told by the Latin proverb that he who gives quickly

gives twice; but I say that she who gives quickly seldom gives more than half. When in the early spring the

Duke of Omnium first knocked at Madame Max Goesler's door, he was informed that she was not at home.

The Duke felt very cross as he handed his card out from his dark green brougham on the panel of which

there was no blazon to tell the owner's rank. He was very cross. She had told him that she was always at

home between four and six on a Thursday. He had condescended to remember the information, and had acted

upon it and now she was not at home! She was not at home, though he had come on a Thursday at the

very hour she had named to him. Any duke would have been cross, but the Duke of Omnium was particularly

cross. No he certainly would give himself no further trouble by going to the cottage in Park Lane. And yet

Madame Max Goesler had been in her own drawingroom, while the Duke was handing out his card from the

On the next morning there came to him a note from the cottage such a pretty note! so penitent, so full

of remorse and, which was better still, so laden with disappointment, that he forgave her.

"I hardly know how to apologise to you, after having told you that I am always at home on Thursdays; and I

was at home yesterday when you called. But I was unwell, and I had told the servant to deny me, not thinking

how much I might be losing. Indeed, indeed, I would not have given way to a silly headache, had I thought

that your Grace would have been here. I suppose that now I must not even hope for the photograph.

The note paper was very pretty note paper, hardly scented, and yet conveying a sense of something sweet,

and the monogram was small and new, and fantastic without being grotesque, and the writing was of that sort

which the Duke, having much experience, had learned to like and there was something in the signature

When the green brougham drew up at the door of the cottage on the next Thursday, Madame Goesler was at

She was not at all penitent now. She had probably studied the subject, and had resolved that penitence was

more alluring in a letter than when acted in person. She received her guest with perfect ease, and apologised

for the injury done to him in the preceding week, with much selfcomplacency. "I was so sorry when I got

"I was horribly ill, to tell the truth as pale as a death's head, and without a word to say for myself. I was fit

"But it flashed upon me immediately that I had named a day, and that you had been kind enough to remember

"The March winds blow everywhere in this wretched island, Madame Goesler, and there is no escaping them.

Youth may prevail against them; but on me they are so potent that I think they will succeed in driving me out

of my country. I doubt whether an old man should ever live in England if he can help it."

The Duke certainly was an old man, if a man turned of seventy be old and he was a man too who did not

bear his years with hearty strength. He moved slowly, and turned his limbs, when he did turn them, as though

the joints were stiff in their sockets. But there was nevertheless about him a dignity of demeanour, a majesty

of person, and an upright carriage which did not leave an idea of old age as the first impress on the minds of

those who encountered the Duke of Omnium. He was tall and moved without a stoop; and though he moved

slowly, he had learned to seem so to do because it was the proper kind of movement for one so high up in the

world as himself. And perhaps his tailor did something for him. He had not been long under Madame Max

Goesler's eyes before she perceived that his tailor had done a good deal for him. When he alluded to his own

age and to her youth, she said some pleasant little word as to the difference between oaktrees and

currantbushes; and by that time she was seated comfortably on her sofa, and the Duke was on a chair before

After a little time the photograph was brought forth from his Grace's pocket. That bringing out and giving of

photographs, with the demand for counter photographs, is the most absurd practice of the day. "I don't think I

look very nice, do I?" Oh yes very nice; but a little too old; and certainly you haven't got those spots all

over your forehead." These are the remarks which on such occasions are the most common. It may be said

that to give a photograph or to take a photograph without the utterance of some words which would be felt by

a bystander to be absurd, is almost an impossibility. At this moment there was no bystander, and therefore the

Duke and the lady had no need for caution. Words were spoken that were very absurd. Madame Goesler

protested that the Duke's photograph was more to her than the photographs of all the world beside; and the

Duke declared that he would carry the lady's picture next to his heart I am afraid he said for ever and ever.

Then he took her hand and pressed it, and was conscious that for a man over seventy years of age he did that

"You will come and dine with me, Duke?" she said, when he began to talk of going.

"That is just the reason you should dine with me. You shall meet nobody you do not wish to meet."

"I would so much rather see you in this way I would indeed. I do dine out occasionally, but it is at big

"And you cannot escape my little not formal party without giving offence." She looked into his face as she

spoke, and he knew that she meant it. And he looked into hers, and thought that her eyes were brighter than

any he was in the habit of seeing in these latter days. "Name your own day, Duke. Will a Sunday suit you?"

"You must come." As she spoke her eyes sparkled more and more, and her colour went and came, and she

shook her curls till they emitted through the air the same soft feeling of a perfume that her note had produced.

Then her foot peeped out from beneath the black and yellow drapery of her dress, and the Duke saw that it

was perfect. And she put out her finger and touched his arm as she spoke. Her hand was very fair, and her

fingers were bright with rich gems. To men such as the Duke, a hand, to be quite fair, should be bright with

The arranging of the guests was a little difficulty, till Madame Goesler begged the Duke to bring with him

Lady Glencora Palliser, his nephew's wife. This at last he agreed to do. As the wife of his nephew and heir,

Lady Glencora was to the Duke all that a woman could be. She was everything that was proper as to her own

conduct, and not obtrusive as to his. She did not bore him, and yet she was attentive. Although in her

husband's house she was a fierce politician, in his house she was simply an attractive woman. "Ah; she is

very clever," the Duke once said, "she adapts herself. If she were to go from any one place to any other, she

would be at home in both." And the movement of his Grace's hand as he spoke seemed to indicate the widest

possible sphere for travelling and the widest possible scope for adaptation. The dinner was arranged, and

went off very pleasantly. Madame Goesler's eyes were not quite so bright as they were during that morning

visit, nor did she touch her guest's arm in a manner so alluring. She was very quiet, allowing her guests to do

most of the talking. But the dinner and the flowers and the wine were excellent, and the whole thing was so

quiet that the Duke liked it. "And now you must come and dine with me," the Duke said as he took his leave.

"A command to that effect will be one which I certainly shall not disobey," whispered Madame Goesler.

"I am afraid he is going to get fond of that woman." These words were spoken early on the following

"He is always getting fond of some woman, and he will to the end," said Mr Palliser.

"So they tell me. I have generally thought that my uncle likes talking to a fool the best."

"Every man likes a clever woman the best," said Lady Glencora, "if the clever woman only knows how to use

"I'm sure I hope he'll be amused," said Mr Palliser innocently. "A little amusement is all that he cares for

"Suppose you were told some day that he was going to be married?" said Lady Glencora.

"There is not a man in all England who thinks more of his own position than my uncle," said Mr Palliser

"That is all very well, Plantagenet, and true enough in a kind of way. But a child will sacrifice all that it has

for the top brick of the chimney, and old men sometimes become children. You would not like to be told

some morning that there was a little Lord Silverbridge in the world." Now the eldest son of the Duke of

Omnium, when the Duke of Omnium had a son, was called the Earl of Silverbridge; and Mr Palliser, when

this question was asked him, became very pale. Mr Palliser knew well how thoroughly the cunning of the

serpent was joined to the purity of the dove in the person of his wife, and he was sure that there was cause for

When Madame Goesler dined at the Duke's house in St James's Square there was a large party, and Lady

Glencora knew that there was no need for apprehension then. Indeed Madame Goesler was no more than any

other guest, and the Duke hardly spoke to her. There was a Duchess there the Duchess of St Bungay, and

old Lady Hartletop, who was a dowager marchioness an old lady who pestered the Duke very sorely

and Madame Max Goesler received her reward, and knew that she was receiving it, in being asked to meet

these people. Would not all these names, including her own, be blazoned to the world in the columns of the

next day's "Morning Post'? There was no absolute danger here, as Lady Glencora knew; and Lady Glencora,

who was tolerant and begrudged nothing to Madame Max except the one thing, was quite willing to meet the

lady at such a grand affair as this. But the Duke, even should he become ever so childish a child in his old

age, still would have that plain green brougham at his command, and could go anywhere in that at any hour in

the day. And then Madame Goesler was so manifestly a clever woman. A Duchess of Omnium might be said

to fill in the estimation, at any rate, of English people the highest position in the world short of royalty.

And the reader will remember that Lady Glencora intended to be a Duchess of Omnium herself unless

some very unexpected event should intrude itself. She intended also that her little boy, her fairhaired,

curlypated, boldfaced little boy, should be Earl of Silverbridge when the sand of the old man should have

run itself out. Heavens, what a blow would it be, should some little wizencheeked halfmonkey baby, with

black brows, and yellow skin, be brought forward and shown to her some day as the heir! What a blow to

herself and what a blow to all England! "We can't prevent it if he chooses to do it," said her husband, who

had his budget to bring forward that very night, and who in truth cared more for his budget than he did for his

heirship at that moment. "But we must prevent it," said Lady Glencora. "If I stick to him by the tail of his

coat, I'll prevent it." At the time when she thus spoke, the dark green brougham had been twice again brought

And the brougham was standing there a third time. It was May now, the latter end of May, and the park

opposite was beautiful with green things, and the air was soft and balmy, as it will be sometimes even in

May, and the flowers in the balcony were full of perfume, and the charm of London what London can be

to the rich was at its height. The Duke was sitting in Madame Goesler's drawingroom, at some distance

from her, for she had retreated. The Duke had a habit of taking her hand, which she never would permit for

"Marie," said the Duke, you will go abroad when the summer is over." As an old man he had taken the

"Yes, probably; to Vienna. I have property in Vienna, you know, which must be looked after."

"The lakes are charming in August. I have a villa on Como which is empty now, and I think I shall go there.

"I know them well, my lord. When I was young I was on the Maggiore almost alone. Some day I will tell you

"Will you not accept the loan of mine? It shall be all your own while you use it."

"If it so pleases you." "It would not please me. It would so far from please me that I will never put myself in a

position that might make it possible for me to require to do so. No, Duke; it behoves me to live in houses of

"Why not? Am I to be put to the blush by being made to answer such a question as that? Because the world

would say that the Duke of Omnium had a new mistress, and that Madame Goesler was the woman. Do you

think that I would be any man's mistress even yours? Or do you believe that for the sake of the softness of

a summer evening on an Italian lake, I would give cause to the tongues of the women here to say that I was

such a thing? You would have me lose all that I have gained by steady years of sober work for the sake of a

How his Grace might have got through his difficulty had they been left alone, cannot be told. For at this

"It has often seemed to me that men in Parliament know less about Ireland than they do of the interior of

"It is seldom that we know anything accurately on any subject that we have not made matter of careful

study," said Mr Monk, "and very often do not do so even then. We are very apt to think that we men and

women understand one another; but most probably you know nothing even of the modes of thought of the

"There are general laws current in the world as to morality. "Thou shalt not steal," for instance. That has

necessarily been current as a law through all nations. But the first man you meet in the street will have ideas

about theft so different from yours, that, if you knew them as you know your own, you would say that this

law and yours were not even founded on the same principle. It is compatible with this man's honesty to cheat

you in a matter of horseflesh, with that man's in a traffic of railway shares, with that other man's as to a

woman's fortune; with a fourth's anything may be done for a seat in Parliament, while the fifth man, who

stands high among us, and who implores his God every Sunday to write that law on his heart, spends every

hour of his daily toil in a system of fraud, and is regarded as a pattern of the national commerce!"

Mr Monk and Phineas were dining together at Mr Monk's house, and the elder politician of the two in this

little speech had recurred to certain matters which had already been discussed between them. Mr Monk was

becoming somewhat sick of his place in the Cabinet, though he had not as yet whispered a word of his

sickness to any living ears; and he had begun to pine for the lost freedom of a seat below the gangway. He

had been discussing political honesty with Phineas, and hence had come the sermon of which I have ventured

Phineas was fond of such discussions and fond of holding them with Mr Monk in this matter fluttering

like a moth round a candle. He would not perceive that as he had made up his mind to be a servant of the

public in Parliament, he must abandon all idea of independent action; and unless he did so he could he neither

successful as regarded himself, or useful to the public whom he served. Could a man be honest in Parliament,

and yet abandon all idea of independence? When he put such questions to Mr Monk he did not get a direct

answer. And indeed the question was never put directly. But the teaching which he received was ever of a

nature to make him uneasy. It was always to this effect: "You have taken up the trade now, and seem to be fit

for success in it. You had better give up thinking about its special honesty." And yet Mr Monk would on an

occasion preach to him such a sermon as that which he had just uttered! Perhaps there is no question more

difficult to a man's mind than that of the expediency or inexpediency of scruples in political life. Whether

would a candidate for office be more liable to rejection from a leader because he was known to be

"But putting aside the fourth commandment and all the theories, you will come to Ireland?" said Phineas.

"I thought everybody did live in a castle in Ireland," said Mr Monk. "They seemed to do when I was there

This trip to Ireland had been proposed in consequence of certain ideas respecting tenantright which Mr

Monk was beginning to adopt, and as to which the minds of politicians were becoming moved. It had been all

very well to put down Fenianism, and Ribandmen, and Repeal and everything that had been put down in

Ireland in the way of rebellion for the last seventyfive years. England and Ireland had been apparently

joined together by laws of nature so fixed, that even politicians liberal as was Mr Monk liberal as was Mr

Turnbull could not trust themselves to think that disunion could be for the good of the Irish. They had

taught themselves that it certainly could not be good for the English. But if it was incumbent on England to

force upon Ireland the maintenance of the Union for her own sake, and for England's sake, because England

could not afford independence established so close against her own ribs it was at any rate necessary to

England's character that the bride thus bound in a compulsory wedlock should be endowed with all the best

privileges that a wife can enjoy. Let her at least not be a kept mistress. Let it be bone of my bone and flesh of

my flesh, if we are to live together in the married state. Between husband and wife a warm word now and

then matters but little, if there be a thoroughly good understanding at bottom. But let there be that good

understanding at bottom. What about this Protestant Church; and what about this tenantright? Mr Monk had

been asking himself these questions for some time past. In regard to the Church, he had long made up his

mind that the Establishment in Ireland was a crying sin. A man had married a woman whom he knew to be of

a religion different from his own, and then insisted that his wife should say that she believed those things

which he knew very well that she did not believe. But, as Mr Monk well knew, the subject of the Protestant

Endowments in Ireland was so difficult that it would require almost more than human wisdom to adjust it. It

was one of those matters which almost seemed to require the interposition of some higher power the

coming of some apparently chance event to clear away the evil; as a fire comes, and pestilential alleys are

removed; as a famine comes, and men are driven from want and ignorance and dirt to seek new homes and

new thoughts across the broad waters; as a war comes, and slavery is banished from the face of the earth. But

in regard to tenantright, to some arrangement by which a tenant in Ireland might be at least encouraged to

lay out what little capital he might have in labour or money without being at once called upon to pay rent for

that outlay which was his own, as well as for the land which was not his own Mr Monk thought that it was

possible that if a man would look hard enough he might perhaps be able to see his way as to that. He had

spoken to two of his colleagues on the subject, the two men in the Cabinet whom he believed to be the most

thoroughly honest in their ideas as public servants, the Duke and Mr Gresham. There was so much to be done

and then so little was known upon the subject! "I will endeavour to study it," said Mr Monk. "If you can

see your way, do;" said Mr Gresham "but of course we cannot bind ourselves." "I should be glad to see it

named in the Queen's speech at the beginning of the next session," said Mr Monk. "That is a long way off as

yet," said Mr Gresham, laughing. "Who will be in then, and who will be out?" So the matter was disposed of

at the time, but Mr Monk did not abandon his idea. He rather felt himself the more bound to cling to it

because he received so little encouragement. What was a seat in the Cabinet to him that he should on that

account omit a duty? He had not taken up politics as a trade. He had sat far behind the Treasury bench or

below the gangway for many a year, without owing any man a shilling and could afford to do so again.

But it was different with Phineas Finn, as Mr Monk himself understood and, understanding this, he felt

himself bound to caution his young friend. But it may be a question whether his cautions did not do more

harm than good. "I shall be delighted," he said, "to go over with you in August, but I do not think that if I

"No; I desire no such glory, and would wish to have no better lieutenant than you. But you have a subject of

which you are really fond, which you are beginning to understand, and in regard to which you can make

"Yes and that will grow to other matters as regards the colonies. There is nothing so important to a public

man as that he should have his own subject the thing which he understands, and in respect of which he can

"Yes and the man who has half learned how to have a ship built without waste is sent into opposition, and

is then brought back to look after regiments, or perhaps has to take up that beautiful subject, a study of the

career of India. But, nevertheless, if you have a subject, stick to it at any rate as long as it will stick to you."

"But," said Phineas, if a man takes up his own subject, independent of the Government, no man can drive him

"And how often does he do anything? Look at the annual motions which come forward in the hands of

private men, Maynooth and the ballot for instance. It is becoming more and more apparent every day that all

legislation must be carried by the Government, and must be carried in obedience to the expressed wish of the

people. The truest democracy that ever had a chance of living is that which we are now establishing in Great

"Then leave tenantright to the people and the Cabinet. Why should you take it up?"

Mr Monk paused a moment or two before he replied. "If I choose to run amok, there is no reason why you

should follow me. I am old and you are young. I want nothing from politics as a profession, and you do.

Moreover, you have a congenial subject where you are, and need not disturb yourself. For myself, I tell you,

"Yes," said Mr Monk, we will go and see. And thus, in the month of May, it was settled between them that,

as soon as the session should be over, and the incidental work of his office should allow Phineas to pack up

and be off, they two should start together for Ireland. Phineas felt rather proud as he wrote to his father and

asked permission to bring home with him a Cabinet Minister as a visitor. At this time the reputation of

Phineas at Killaloe, as well in the minds of the Killaloeians generally as in those of the inhabitants of the

paternal house, stood very high indeed. How could a father think that a son had done badly when before he

was thirty years of age he was earning �2,000 a year? And how could a father not think well of a son who had

absolutely paid back certain moneys into the paternal coffers? The moneys so repaid had not been much; but

the repayment of any such money at Killaloe had been regarded as little short of miraculous. The news of Mr

Monk's coming flew about the town, about the county, about the diocese, and all people began to say all good

things about the old doctor's only son. Mrs Finn had long since been quite sure that a real black swan had

been sent forth out of her nest. And the sisters Finn, for some time past, had felt in all social gatherings they

stood quite on a different footing than formerly because of their brother. They were asked about in the

county, and two of them had been staying only last Easter with the Molonys the Molonys of Poldoodie!

How should a father and a mother and sisters not be grateful to such a son, to such a brother, to such a

veritable black swan out of the nest! And as for dear little Mary Flood Jones, her eyes became suffused with

tears as in her solitude she thought how much out of her reach this swan was flying. And yet she took joy in

his swanhood, and swore that she would love him still that she would love him always. Might he bring

home with him to Killaloe, Mr Monk, the Cabinet Minister! Of course he might. When Mrs Finn first heard

of this august arrival, she felt as though she would like to expend herself in entertaining, though but an hour,

Phineas, during the spring, had, of course, met Mr Kennedy frequently in and about the House, and had

become aware that Lady Laura's husband, from time to time, made little overtures of civility to him taking

him now and again by the buttonhole, walking home with him as far as their joint paths allowed, and asking

him once or twice to come and dine in Grosvenor Place. These little advances towards a repetition of the old

friendship Phineas would have avoided altogether, had it been possible. The invitation to Mr Kennedy's

house he did refuse, feeling himself positively bound to do so by Lady Laura's command, let the

consequences be what they might. When he did refuse, Mr Kennedy would assume a look of displeasure and

leave him, and Phineas would hope that the work was done. Then there would come another encounter, and

the invitation would be repeated. At last, about the middle of May, there came another note. "Dear Finn, will

you dine with us on Wednesday, the 28th? I give you a long notice, because you seem to have so many

appointments. Yours always, Robert Kennedy." He had no alternative. He must refuse, even though double

the notice had been given. He could only think that Mr Kennedy was a very obtuse man and one who would

not take a hint, and hope that he might succeed at last. So he wrote an answer, not intended to be conciliatory.

"My dear Kennedy, I am sorry to say that I am engaged on the 28th. Yours always, Phineas Finn." At this

period he did his best to keep out of Mr Kennedy's way, and would be very cunning in his manoeuvres that

they should not be alone together. It was difficult, as they sat on the same bench in the House, and

consequently saw each other almost every day of their lives. Nevertheless, he thought that with a little

cunning he might prevail, especially as he was not unwilling to give so much of offence as might assist his

own object. But when Mr Kennedy called upon him at his office the day after he had written the above note,

"I am sorry you cannot come to us on the 28th," Mr Kennedy said, as soon as he was seated.

Phineas was taken so much by surprise that all his cunning failed him. "Well, yes," said he; I was very sorry

"It seems to me, Finn, that you have had some reason for avoiding me of late. I do not know that I have done

"I am wrong, then, in supposing that anything beyond mere chance has prevented you from coming to my

house?" Phineas felt that he was in a terrible difficulty, and he felt also that he was being rather illused in

being thus crossexamined as to his reasons for not going to a gentleman's dinner. He thought that a man

ought to be allowed to choose where he would go and where he would not go, and that questions such as

these were very uncommon. Mr Kennedy was sitting opposite to him, looking more grave and more sour than

usual and now his own countenance also became a little solemn. It was impossible that he should use

Lady Laura's name, and yet he must, in some way, let his persecuting friend know that no further invitation

would be of any use that there was something beyond mere chance in his not going to Grosvenor Place.

But how was he to do this? The difficulty was so great that he could not see his way out of it. So he sat silent

with a solemn face. Mr Kennedy then asked him another question, which made the difficulty ten times

It was necessary now that he should make a rush and get out of his trouble in some way. "To tell you the

"She said that which left on my mind an impression that she would sooner that I did not come."

"I think it quite unfair, and I must decline to answer it. I cannot imagine what you expect to gain by

crossquestioning me in this way. Of course no man likes to go to a house if he does not believe that

"I hope we are not enemies now. But things will occur that cause friendships to grow cool."

"Upon my word and honour I cannot stand this, and I will not. I have not as yet quarrelled with anybody; but

I must quarrel with you, if you go on in this way. It is quite unusual that a man should be put through his

"Then I must ask Lady Laura." "You can say what you like to your own wife of course. I cannot hinder you."

Upon that Mr Kennedy formally shook hands with him, in token that there was no positive breach between

them as two nations may still maintain their alliance, though they have made up their minds to hate each

other, and thwart each other at every turn and took his leave. Phineas, as he sat at his window, looking out

into the park, and thinking of what had passed, could not but reflect that, disagreeable as Mr Kennedy had

been to him, he would probably make himself much more disagreeable to his wife. And, for himself, he

thought that he had got out of the scrape very well by the exhibition of a little mock anger.

The reader may remember that a rumour had been conveyed to Phineas a rumour indeed which reached

him from a source which he regarded as very untrustworthy that Violet Effingham had quarrelled with her

lover. He would probably have paid no attention to the rumour, beyond that which necessarily attached itself

to any tidings as to a matter so full of interest to him, had it not been repeated to him in another quarter. "A

bird has told me that your Violet Effingham has broken with her lover," Madame Goesler said to him one

day. "What bird?" he asked. Ah, that I cannot tell you. But this I will confess to you, that these birds which

tell us news are seldom very credible and are often not very creditable. You must take a bird's word for

what it may be worth. It is said that they have quarrelled. I daresay, if the truth were known, they are billing

Phineas did not like to be told of their billing and cooing did not like to be told even of their quarrelling.

Though they were to quarrel, it would do him no good. He would rather that nobody should mention their

names to him so that his back, which had been so utterly broken, might in process of time get itself cured.

From what he knew of Violet he thought it very improbable that, even were she to quarrel with one lover, she

would at once throw herself into the arms of another. And he did feel, too, that there would be some

meanness in taking her, were she willing to be so taken. But, nevertheless, these rumours, coming to him in

this way from different sources, almost made it incumbent on him to find out the truth. He began to think that

his broken back was not cured that perhaps, after all, it was not in the way of being cured. And was it not

possible that there might be explanations? Then he went to work and built castles in the air, so constructed as

This had been in April, and at that time all that he knew of Violet was, that she was not yet in London. And

he thought that he knew the same as to Lord Chiltern. The Earl had told him that Chiltern was not in town,

nor expected in town as yet; and in saying so had seemed to express displeasure against his son. Phineas had

met Lady Baldock at some house which he frequented, and had been quite surprised to find himself

graciously received by the old woman. She had said not a word of Violet, but had spoken of Lord Chiltern

mentioning his name in bitter wrath. "But he is a friend of mine," said Phineas, smiling. "A friend indeed! Mr

Finn. I know what sort of a friend. I don't believe that you are his friend. I am afraid he is not worthy of

having any friend." Phineas did not quite understand from this that Lady Baldock was signifying to him that,

badly as she had thought of him as a suitor for her niece, she would have preferred him especially now

when people were beginning to speak well of him to that terrible young man, who, from his youth

upwards, had been to her a cause of fear and trembling. Of course it was desirable that Violet should marry

an elder son, and a peer's heir. All that kind of thing, in Lady Baldock's eyes, was most desirable. But,

nevertheless, anything was better than Lord Chiltern. If Violet would not take Mr Appledom or Lord Fawn,

in heaven's name let her take this young man, who was kind, worthy, and steady, who was civilised in his

manners, and would no doubt be amenable in regard to settlements. Lady Baldock had so far fallen in the

world that she would have consented to make a bargain with her niece almost any bargain, so long as

Lord Chiltern was excluded. Phineas did not quite understand all this; but when Lady Baldock asked him to

come to Berkeley Square, he perceived that help was being proffered to him where he certainly had not

He was frequently with Lord Brentford, who talked to him constantly on matters connected with his

parliamentary life. After having been the intimate friend of the daughter and of the son, it now seemed to be

his lot to be the intimate friend of the father. The Earl had constantly discussed with him his arrangements

with his son, and had lately expressed himself as only half satisfied with such reconciliation as had taken

place. And Phineas could perceive that from day to day the Earl was less and less satisfied. He would

complain bitterly of his son complain of his silence, complain of his not coming to London, complain of

his conduct to Violet, complain of his idle indifference to anything like proper occupation; but he had never

as yet said a word to show that there had been any quarrel between Violet and her lover, and Phineas had felt

that he could not ask the question. "Mr Finn," said the Earl to him one morning, as soon as he entered the

room, "I have just heard a story which has almost seemed to me to be incredible." The nobleman's manner

was very stern, and the fact that he called his young friend "Mr Finn", showed at once that something was

"That you and Chiltern went over last year to Belgium, and fought a duel there!"

Now it must have been the case that, in the set among which they all lived Lord Brentford and his son and

daughter and Phineas Finn the old lord was the only man who had not heard of the duel before this. It had

even penetrated to the dull ears of Mr Kennedy, reminding him, as it did so, that his wife had told him a

lie! But it was the fact that no rumour of the duel had reached the Earl till this morning.

"I have never been so much shocked in my life never. I had no idea that you had any thought of aspiring

to the hand of Miss Effingham." The lord's voice as he said this was very stern.

"As I aspired in vain, and as Chiltern has been successful, that need not now be made a reproach against me."

"I do not know what to think of it, Mr Finn. I am so much surprised that I hardly know what to say. I must

"I do not know how much you know, my lord, and how much you do not know; and the circumstances of the

little affair do not permit me to be explicit about them; but, as you have expressed your opinion so openly

you must allow me to express mine, and to say that, as far as I can judge of my own actions, I did not behave

"No. If you mean to tell me that a duel is of itself sinful, I have nothing to say. I suppose it is. My defence of

myself merely goes to the manner in which this duel was fought, and the fact that I fought it with your son."

"I cannot conceive how you can have come to my house as my guest, and stood upon my interest for my

borough, when you at the time were doing your very best to interpose yourself between Chiltern and the lady

whom you so well knew I wished to become his wife." Phineas was aware that the Earl must have been very

much moved indeed when he thus permitted himself to speak of "his" borough. He said nothing now,

however, though the Earl paused and then the angry lord went on. "I must say that there was something

"If I were to defend myself by evidence, Lord Brentford, I should have to go back to exact dates and dates

not of facts which I could verify, but dates as to my feelings which could not be verified and that would

be useless. I can only say that I believe I know what the honour and truth of a gentleman demand even to

the verge of selfsacrifice, and that I have done nothing that ought to place my character as a gentleman in

"Just now; this morning." Thus Phineas learned that Lord Chiltern was at this moment in the house or at

"I complain of it, sir. I complain of it very bitterly. I placed the greatest confidence in you, especially in

regard to my son's affairs, and you deceived me." The Earl was very angry, and was more angry from the fact

that this young man who had offended him, to whom he had given such vital assistance when assistance was

needed, had used that assistance to its utmost before his sin was found out. Had Phineas still been sitting for

Loughton, so that the Earl could have said to him, "You are now bound to retreat from this borough because

you have offended me, your patron," I think that he would have forgiven the offender and allowed him to

remain in his seat. There would have been a scene, and the Earl would have been pacified. But now the

offender was beyond his reach altogether, having used the borough as a most convenient steppingstone over

his difficulties, and having so used it just at the time when he was committing this sin. There was a good

fortune about Phineas which added greatly to the lord's wrath. And then, to tell the truth, he had not that rich

consolation for which Phineas gave him credit. Lord Chiltern had told him that morning that the engagement

between him and Violet was at an end. "You have so preached to her, my lord, about my duties," the son had

said to his father, "that she finds herself obliged to give me your sermons at second hand, till I can bear them

no longer." But of this Phineas knew nothing as yet. The Earl, however, was so imprudent in his anger that

before this interview was over he had told the whole story. " Yes you deceived me," he continued; "and I

"Was it for me, my lord, to tell you of that which would have increased your anger against your own son?

When he wanted me to fight was I to come, like a sneak at school, and tell you the story? I know what you

would have thought of me had I done so. And when it was over was I to come and tell you then? Think what

you yourself would have done when you were young, and you may be quite sure that I did the same. What

have I gained? He has got all that he wanted; and you have also got all that you wanted and I have helped

you both. Lord Brentford, I can put my hand on my heart and say that I have been honest to you."

"No they will not. He has quarrelled with her. He is so obstinate that she will not bear with him."

Then it was all true, even though the rumours had reached him through Laurence Fitzgibbon and Madame

Max Goesler. "At any rate, my lord, that has not been my fault," he said, after a moment's hesitation. The Earl

was walking up and down the room, angry with himself at his own mistake in having told the story, and not

knowing what further to say to his visitor. He had been in the habit of talking so freely to Phineas about his

son that he could hardly resist the temptation of doing so still; and yet it was impossible that he could

swallow his anger and continue in the same strain. "My lord," said Phineas, after a while, "I can assure you

that I grieve that you should be grieved. I have received so much undeserved favour from your family, that I

owe you a debt which I can never pay. I am sorry that you should be angry with me now; but I hope that a

He was about to leave the room when the Earl stopped him. "Will you give me your word," said the Earl, that

you will think no more of Miss Effingham?" Phineas stood silent, considering how he might answer this

proposal, resolving that nothing should bring him to such a pledge as that suggested while there was yet a

"There need be no cause for alarm, my lord," said Phineas. "You may be sure that Miss Effingham will not

"No, my lord certainly not. You have no right to ask it, and the pursuit is open to me as to any other man

who may choose to follow it. I have hardly a vestige of a hope of success. It is barely possible that I should

succeed. But if it be true that Miss Effingham be disengaged, I shall endeavour to find an opportunity of

urging my suit. I would give up everything that I have, my seat in Parliament, all the ambition of my life, for

the barest chance of success. When she had accepted your son, I desisted of course. I have now heard,

from more sources than one, that she or he or both of them have changed their minds. If this be so, I am free

to try again." The Earl stood opposite to him, scowling at him, but said nothing. "Good morning, my lord."

"Good morning, sir." And the Earl as he spoke rang the bell. Then Phineas took up his hat and departed.

As he walked away his mind filled itself gradually with various ideas, all springing from the words which

Lord Brentford had spoken. What account had Lord Chiltern given to his father of the duel? Our hero was a

man very sensitive as to the good opinion of others, and in spite of his bold assertion of his own knowledge

of what became a gentleman, was beyond measure solicitous that others should acknowledge his claim at any

rate to that title. He thought that he had been generous to Lord Chiltern; and as he went back in his memory

over almost every word that had been spoken in the interview that had just passed, he fancied that he was able

to collect evidence that his antagonist at Blankenberg had not spoken ill of him. As to the charge of deceit

which the Earl had made against him, he told himself that the Earl had made it in anger. He would not even

think hardly of the Earl who had been so good a friend to him, but he believed in his heart that the Earl had

made the accusation out of his wrath and not out of his judgment. "He cannot think that I have been false to

him," Phineas said to himself. But it was very sad to him that he should have to quarrel with all the family of

the Standishes, as he could not but feel that it was they who had put him on his feet. It seemed as though he

were never to see Lady Laura again except when they chanced to meet in company on which occasions he

simply bowed to her. Now the Earl had almost turned him out of his house. And though there had been to a

certain extent a reconciliation between him and Lord Chiltern, he in these days never saw the friend who had

once put him upon Bonebreaker; and now now that Violet Effingham was again free how was it

possible to avoid some renewal of enmity between them? He would, however, endeavour to see Lord Chiltern

And then he thought of Violet of Violet again free, of Violet as again a possible wife for himself, of

Violet to whom he might address himself at any rate without any scruple as to his own unworthiness.

Everybody concerned, and many who were not concerned at all, were aware that he had been among her

lovers, and he thought that he could perceive that those who interested themselves on the subject, had

regarded him as the only horse in the race likely to run with success against Lord Chiltern. She herself had

received his offers without scorn, and had always treated him as though he were a favoured friend, though not

favoured as a lover. And now even Lady Baldock was smiling upon him, and asking him to her house as

though the redfaced porter in the hall in Berkeley Square had never been ordered to refuse him a moment's

admission inside the doors. He had been very humble in speaking of his own hopes to the Earl, but surely

there might be a chance. What if after all the little strain which he had had in his back was to be cured after

such a fashion as this! When he got to his lodgings, he found a card from Lady Baldock, informing him that

Lady Baldock would be at home on a certain night, and that there would be music. He could not go to Lady

Baldock's on the night named, as it would be necessary that he should be in the House nor did he much

care to go there, as Violet Effingham was not in town. But he would call and explain, and endeavour to curry

He at once wrote a note to Lord Chiltern, which he addressed to Portman Square. "As you are in town, can

we not meet? Come and dine with me at the Club on Saturday." That was the note. After a few days he

received the following answer, dated from the Bull at Willingford. Why on earth should Chiltern be staying at

"I can't dine with you, because I am down here, looking after the cripples, and writing a sporting novel. They

tell me I ought to do something, so I am going to do that. I hope you don't think I turned informer against you

in telling the Earl of our pleasant little meeting on the sands. It had become necessary, and you are too much

of a man to care much for any truth being told. He was terribly angry both with me and with you; but the fact

is, he is so blindly unreasonable that one cannot regard his anger. I endeavoured to tell the story truly, and, so

told, it certainly should not have injured you in his estimation. But it did. Very sorry, old fellow, and I hope

There was not a word about Violet. But then it was hardly to be expected that there should be words about

Violet. It was not likely that a man should write to his rival of his own failure. But yet there was a flavour of

Violet in the letter which would not have been there, so Phineas thought, if the writer had been despondent.

The pleasant little meeting on the sands had been convened altogether in respect of Violet. And the telling of

the story to the Earl must have arisen from discussions about Violet. Lord Chiltern must have told his father

that Phineas was his rival. Could the rejected suitor have written on such a subject in such a strain to such a

correspondent if he had believed his own rejection to be certain? But then Lord Chiltern was not like anybody

else in the world, and it was impossible to judge of him by one's experience of the motives of others.

Shortly afterwards Phineas did call in Berkeley Square, and was shown up at once into Lady Baldock's

drawingroom. The whole aspect of the porter's countenance was changed towards him, and from this, too,

he gathered good auguries. This had surprised him; but his surprise was far greater, when, on entering the

room, he found Violet Effingham there alone. A little fresh colour came to her face as she greeted him,

though it cannot be said that she blushed. She behaved herself admirably, not endeavouring to conceal some

little emotion at thus meeting him, but betraying none that was injurious to her composure. "I am so glad to

see you, Mr Finn," she said. My aunt has just left me, and will be back directly."

He was by no means her equal in his management of himself on the occasion; but perhaps it may be

acknowledged that his position was the more difficult of the two. He had not seen her since her engagement

had been proclaimed to the world, and now he had heard from a source which was not to be doubted, that it

had been broken off. Of course there was nothing to be said on that matter. He could not have congratulated

her in the one case, nor could he either congratulate her or condole with her on the other. And yet he did not

know how to speak to her as though no such events had occurred. "I did not know that you were in town," he

"I only came yesterday. I have been, you know, at Rome with the Effinghams; and since that I have been

but, indeed, I have been such a vagrant that I cannot tell you of all my comings and goings. And you you

"That is right. I wish I could be something, if it were only a stick in waiting, or a doorkeeper. It is so good to

be something." Was it some such teaching as this that had jarred against Lord Chiltern's susceptibilities, and

"And a woman must be content to be nothing unless Mr Mill can pull us through! And now, tell me

"I sometimes see him in the House." The visit to the Colonial Office of which the reader has been made

"I am sorry for all that," she said. Upon which Phineas smiled and shook his head. "I am very sorry that there

"I used to think that you and he might do so much for each other that is, of course, if you could make a

"He is a man of whom it is very hard to make a friend," said Phineas, feeling that he was dishonest to Mr

Kennedy in saying so, but thinking that such dishonesty was justified by what he owed to Lady Laura.

"Yes he is hard, and what I call ungenial. We won't say anything about him will we? Have you seen

much of the Earl?" This she asked as though such a question had no reference whatever to Lord Chiltern.

"He has quarrelled with me. He has heard, Miss Effingham, of what happened last year, and he thinks that I

"Very likely. To him I chose to defend myself, but I certainly shall not do so to you. At any rate, you did not

"I ought to have done so. I wonder why my aunt does not come." Then she rang the bell.

"Now I have told you all about myself," said he; you should tell me something of yourself."

"About me? I am like the knifegrinder, who had no story to tell none at least to be told. We have all, no

"But your story, Miss Effingham," he said, is of such intense interest to me." At that moment, luckily, Lady

Baldock came into the room, and Phineas was saved from the necessity of making a declaration at a moment

Lady Baldock was exceedingly gracious to him, bidding Violet use her influence to persuade him to come to

the gathering. "Persuade him to desert his work to come and hear some fiddlers!" said Miss Effingham.

"Indeed I shall not, aunt. Who can tell but what the colonies might suffer from it through centuries, and that

such a lapse of duty might drive a province or two into the arms of our mortal enemies?"

"Herr Moll is coming," said Lady Baldock, and so is Signor Scrubi, and Pjinskt who, they say, is the greatest

man living on the flageolet. Have you ever heard Pjinskt, Mr Finn?" Phineas never had heard Pjinskt. "And as

for Herr Moll, there is nothing equal to him, this year, at least." Lady Baldock had taken up music this

season, but all her enthusiasm was unable to shake the conscientious zeal of the young UnderSecretary of

State. At such a gathering he would have been unable to say a word in private to Violet Effingham.

It may be remembered that when Lady Glencora Palliser was shown into Madame Goesler's room, Madame

Goesler had just explained somewhat forcibly to the Duke of Omnium her reasons for refusing the loan of his

Grace's villa at Como. She had told the Duke in so many words that she did not mean to give the world an

opportunity of maligning her, and it would then have been left to the Duke to decide whether any other

arrangements might have been made for taking Madame Goesler to Como, had he not been interrupted. That

he was very anxious to take her was certain. The green brougham had already been often enough at the door

in Park Lane to make his Grace feel that Madame Goesler's company was very desirable was, perhaps, of

all things left for his enjoyment, the one thing the most desirable. Lady Glencora had spoken to her husband

of children crying for the top brick of the chimney. Now it had come to this, that in the eyes of the Duke of

Omnium Marie Max Goesler was the top brick of the chimney. She had more wit for him than other women

more of that sort of wit which he was capable of enjoying. She had a beauty which he had learned to think

more alluring than other beauty. He was sick of fair faces, and fat arms, and free necks. Madame Goesler's

eyes sparkled as other eyes did not sparkle, and there was something of the vagueness of mystery in the very

blackness and gloss and abundance of her hair as though her beauty was the beauty of some world which

he had not yet known. And there was a quickness and yet a grace of motion about her which was quite new to

him. The ladies upon whom the Duke had of late most often smiled had been somewhat slow perhaps

almost heavy though, no doubt, graceful withal. In his early youth he remembered to have seen,

somewhere in Greece, such a houri as was this Madame Goesler. The houri in that case had run off with the

captain of a Russian vessel engaged in the tallow trade; but not the less was there left on His Grace's mind

some dreamy memory of charms which had impressed him very strongly when he was simply a young Mr

Palliser, and had had at his command not so convenient a mode of sudden abduction as the Russian captain's

tallow ship. Pressed hard by such circumstances as these, there is no knowing how the Duke might have got

Since the future little Lord Silverbridge had been born, the Duke had been very constant in his worship of

Lady Glencora, and as, from year to year, a little brother was added, thus making the family very strong and

stable, his acts of worship had increased; but with his worship there had come of late something almost of

dread something almost of obedience, which had made those who were immediately about the Duke

declare that His Grace was a good deal changed. For, hitherto, whatever may have been the Duke's

weaknesses, he certainly had known no master. His heir, Plantagenet Palliser, had been always subject to

him. His other relations had been kept at such a distance as hardly to be more than recognised; and though

His Grace no doubt had had his intimacies, they who had been intimate with him had either never tried to

obtain ascendancy, or had failed. Lady Glencora, whether with or without a struggle, had succeeded, and

people about the Duke said that the Duke was much changed. Mr Fothergill who was His Grace's man of

business, and who was not a favourite with Lady Glencora said that he was very much changed indeed.

Finding His Grace so much changed, Mr Fothergill had made a little attempt at dictation himself, but had

receded with fingers very much scorched in the attempt. It was indeed possible that the Duke was becoming

in the slightest degree weary of Lady Glencora's thraldom, and that he thought that Madame Max Goesler

might be more tender with him. Madame Max Goesler, however, intended to be tender only on one condition.

When Lady Glencora entered the room, Madame Goesler received her beautifully. "How lucky that you

"No, indeed; I was coming. If my word is to be doubted in that point, I must insist on having the servant up; I

must, certainly. I told him to drive to this door, as far back as Grosvenor Street. Did I not, Planty?" Planty

was the little Lord Silverbridge as was to be, if nothing unfortunate intervened, who was now sitting on his

"And it is the smallest house in Park Lane, so the evidence is complete," said Madame Goesler. Lady

Glencora had not cared much for evidence to convince Madame Goesler, but she had not wished her uncle to

think that he was watched and hunted down. It might be necessary that he should know that he was watched,

"He is working for his country," said the Duke. Your papa is a busy, useful man, and can't afford time to play

"He will be some day, and that probably before long, my boy. He will be a duke quite as soon as he wants to

be a duke. He likes the House of Commons better than the strawberry leaves, I fancy. There is not a man in

"And I ain't in a hurry either am I, mamma?" said the little future Lord Silverbridge.

"You are a wicked little monkey," said his granduncle, kissing him. At this moment Lady Glencora was, no

doubt, thinking how necessary it was that she should be careful to see that things did turn out in the manner

proposed so that people who had waited should not be disappointed; and the Duke was perhaps thinking

that he was not absolutely bound to his nephew by any law of God or man; and Madame Max Goesler I

wonder whether her thoughts were injurious to the prospects of that handsome boldfaced little boy.

Lady Glencora rose to take her leave first. It was not for her to show any anxiety to force the Duke out of the

lady's presence. If the Duke were resolved to make a fool of himself, nothing that she could do would prevent

it. But she thought that this little inspection might possibly be of service, and that her uncle's ardour would be

cooled by the interruption to which he had been subjected. So she went, and immediately afterwards the Duke

followed her. The interruption had, at any rate, saved him on that occasion from making the highest bid for

the pleasure of Madame Goesler's company at Como. The Duke went down with the little boy in his hand, so

that there was not an opportunity for a single word of interest between the gentleman and the lady.

Madame Goesler, when she was alone, seated herself on her sofa, tucking her feet up under her as though she

were seated somewhere in the East, pushed her ringlets back roughly from her face, and then placed her two

hands to her sides so that her thumbs rested lightly on her girdle. When alone with something weighty on her

mind she would sit in this form for the hour together, resolving, or trying to resolve, what should be her

conduct. She did few things without much thinking, and though she walked very boldly, she walked warily.

She often told herself that such success as she had achieved could not have been achieved without much

caution. And yet she was ever discontented with herself, telling herself that all that she had done was nothing,

or worse than nothing. What was it all, to have a duke and to have lords dining with her, to dine with lords or

with a duke itself, if life were dull with her, and the hours hung heavy! Life with her was dull, and the hours

did hang heavy. And what if she caught this old man, and became herself a duchess caught him by means

of his weakness, to the inexpressible dismay of all those who were bound to him by ties of blood would

that make her life happier, or her hours less tedious? That prospect of a life on the Italian lakes with an old

man tied to her side was not so charming in her eyes as it was in those of the Duke. Were she to succeed, and

to be blazoned forth to the world as Duchess of Omnium, what would she have gained?

She perfectly understood the motive of Lady Glencora's visit, and thought that she would at any rate gain

something in the very triumph of baffling the manoeuvres of so clever a woman. Let Lady Glencora throw

her aegis before the Duke, and it would be something to carry off his Grace from beneath the protection of so

thick a shield. The very flavour of the contest was pleasing to Madame Goesler. But, the victory gained, what

then would remain to her? Money she had already; position, too, she had of her own. She was free as air, and

should it suit her at any time to go off to some lake of Como in society that would personally be more

agreeable to her than that of the Duke of Omnium, there was nothing to hinder her for a moment. And then

came a smile over her face but the saddest smile as she thought of one with whom it might be pleasant

to look at the colour of Italian skies and feel the softness of Italian breezes. In feigning to like to do this with

an old man, in acting the raptures of love on behalf of a wornout duke who at the best would scarce believe

in her acting, there would not be much delight for her. She had never yet known what it was to have anything

of the pleasure of love. She had grown, as she often told herself, to be a hard, cautious, selfish, successful

woman, without any interference or assistance from such pleasure. Might there not be yet time left for her to

try it without selfishness with an absolute devotion of self if only she could find the right companion?

There was one who might be such a companion, but the Duke of Omnium certainly could not be such a one.

But to be Duchess of Omnium! After all, success in this world is everything is at any rate the only thing

the pleasure of which will endure. There was the name of many a woman written in a black list within

Madame Goesler's breast written there because of scorn, because of rejected overtures, because of deep

social injury; and Madame Goesler told herself often that it would be a pleasure to her to use the list, and to

be revenged on those who had illused and scornfully treated her. She did not readily forgive those who had

injured her. As Duchess of Omnium she thought that probably she might use that list with efficacy. Lady

Glencora had treated her well, and she had no such feeling against Lady Glencora. As Duchess of Omnium

she would accept Lady Glencora as her dearest friend, if Lady Glencora would admit it. But if it should be

necessary that there should be a little duel between them, as to which of them should take the Duke in hand,

the duel must of course be fought. In a matter so important, one woman would of course expect no false

sentiment from another. She and Lady Glencora would understand each other and no doubt, respect each

I have said that she would sit there resolving, or trying to resolve. There is nothing in the world so difficult as

that task of making up one's mind. Who is there that has not longed that the power and privilege of selection

among alternatives should be taken away from him in some important crisis of his life, and that his conduct

should be arranged for him, either this way or that, by some divine power if it were possible by some

patriarchal power in the absence of divinity or by chance even, if nothing better than chance could be

found to do it? But no one dares to cast the die, and to go honestly by the hazard. There must be the actual

necessity of obeying the die, before even the die can be of any use. As it was, when Madame Goesler had sat

there for an hour, till her legs were tired beneath her, she had not resolved. It must be as her impulse should

direct her when the important moment came. There was not a soul on earth to whom she could go for

Two days afterwards the Duke called again. He would come generally on a Thursday early, so that he

might be there before other visitors; and he had already quite learned that when he was there other visitors

would probably be refused admittance. How Lady Glencora had made her way in, telling the servant that her

uncle was there, he had not understood. That visit had been made on the Thursday, but now he came on the

Saturday having, I regret to say, sent down some early fruit from his own hothouses or from Covent

Garden with a little note on the previous day. The grapes might have been pretty well, but the note was

injudicious. There were three lines about the grapes, as to which there was some special history, the vine

having been brought from the garden of some villa in which some illused queen had lived and died; and

then there was a postscript in one line to say that the Duke would call on the following morning. I do not

think that he had meant to add this when he began his note; but then children who want the top brick want it

Of course Madame Goesler was at home. But even then she had not made up her mind. She had made up her

mind only to this that he should be made to speak plainly, and that she would take time for her reply. Not

even with such a gem as the Duke's coronet before her eyes, would she jump at it. Where there was so much

"You ran away the other day, Duke, because you could not resist the charm of that little boy," she said,

"Then what was it? Your niece carried you off in a whirlwind. She was come and gone, taking you with her,

"Things shouldn't be thought of not so deeply as that." Madame Goesler was playing with a bunch of his

grapes now, eating one or two from a small china plate which had stood upon the table, and he thought that

he had never seen a woman so graceful and yet so natural. "Will you not eat your own grapes with me? They

are delicious flavoured with the poor queen's sorrows." He shook his head, knowing that it did not suit his

gastric juices to have to deal with fruit eaten at odd times. "Never think, Duke. I am convinced that it does no

good. It simply means doubting, and doubt always leads to error. The safest way in the world is to do

"Much the safest. But if you have not sufficient command over yourself to enable you to sit in repose, always

quiet, never committing yourself to the chance of any danger then take a leap in the dark; or rather many

leaps. A stumbling horse regains his footing by persevering in his onward course. As for moving cautiously,

"Take that for granted always. Remember, I do not recommend motion at all. Repose is my idea of life

The Duke sat for a while silent, taking his repose as far as the outer man was concerned, looking at his top

brick of the chimney, as from time to time she ate one of his grapes. Probably she did not eat above half a

dozen of them altogether, but he thought that the grapes must have been made for the woman, she was so

pretty in the eating of them. But it was necessary that he should speak at last. "Have you been thinking of

"I thought I had answered Your Grace on that question." Then she put down the grapes, and moved herself on

"Oh, yes. And I am grateful, knowing how far it is from your intention to do me any harm. And I am

somewhat ashamed of my warmth on the other day. But still there can be but one answer. There are delights

"What man likes to be denied anything by a woman at any age? A woman who denies anything is called cruel

at once even though it be her very soul." She had turned round upon him now, and was leaning forward

towards him from her chair, so that he could touch her if he put out his hand. He put out his hand and touched

"Nay, my lord; how shall I say? There is many a trifle I would deny you. There is many a great gift I would

"My lord, if you have anything to say, you must say it plainly. There never was a woman worse than I am at

"Could you endure to live in the quietude of an Italian lake with an old man?" Now he touched her again, and

"No, my lord nor with a young one for all my days. But I do not know that age would guide me."

Then the Duke rose and made his proposition in form. "Marie, you know that I love you. Why it is that I at

"Yes, from me. My coronet is at your feet. If you will allow me to raise it, I will place it on your brow."

Then she went away from him, and seated herself at a distance. After a moment or two he followed her, and

"My dear, I may venture to please myself in this as in everything. Will you not answer me?"

"Certainly not on the spur of the moment, my lord. Think how high is the position you offer me, and how

immense is the change you propose to me. Allow me two days, and I will answer you by letter. I am so

fluttered now that I must leave you." Then he came to her, took her hand, kissed her brow, and opened the

It happened that there were at this time certain matters of business to be settled between the Duke of Omnium

and his nephew Mr Palliser, respecting which the latter called upon his uncle on the morning after the Duke

had committed himself by his offer. Mr Palliser had come by appointment made with Mr Fothergill, the

Duke's man of business, and had expected to meet Mr Fothergill. Mr Fothergill, however, was not with the

Duke, and the uncle told the nephew that the business had been postponed. Then Mr Palliser asked some

question as to the reason of such postponement, not meaning much by his question and the Duke, after a

moment's hesitation, answered him, meaning very much by his answer. "The truth is, Plantagenet, that it is

"It is not exactly that but it is possible that I may do so. Since I proposed this matter to Fothergill, I have

been thinking over it, and I have changed my mind. It will make but little difference to you; and after all you

"But I could not hear such a statement from you without some surprise. Whatever you do I hope will tend to

So much passed between the uncle and the nephew, and what the uncle told to the nephew, the nephew of

course told to his wife. "He was with her again, yesterday," said Lady Glencora, "for more than an hour. And

he had been half the morning dressing himself before he went to her." "He is not engaged to her, or he would

"I think he would, but there is no knowing. At the present moment I have only one doubt whether to act

"Well, we will see. If she be the woman I take her to be, I think I could do something with her. I have never

supposed her to be a bad woman never. I will think of it." Then Lady Glencora left her husband, and did

not consult him afterwards as to the course she would pursue. He had his budget to manage, and his speeches

to make. The little affair of the Duke and Madame Goesler, she thought it best to take into her own hands

without any assistance from him. "What a fool I was," she said to herself, to have her down there when the

Madame Goesler, when she was left alone, felt that now indeed she must make up her mind. She had asked

for two days. The intervening day was a Sunday, and on the Monday she must send her answer. She might

doubt at any rate for this one night the Saturday night and sit playing, as it were, with the coronet of a

duchess in her lap. She had been born the daughter of a small country attorney, and now a duke had asked her

to be his wife and a duke who was acknowledged to stand above other dukes! Nothing at any rate could

rob her of that satisfaction. Whatever resolution she might form at last, she had by her own resources reached

a point of success in remembering which there would always be a keen gratification. It would be much to be

Duchess of Omnium; but it would be something also to have refused to be a Duchess of Omnium. During that

evening, that night, and the next morning, she remained playing with the coronet in her lap. She would not go

to church. What good could any sermon do her while that bauble was dangling before her eyes? After

churchtime, about two o'clock, Phineas Finn came to her. Just at this period Phineas would come to her

often sometimes full of a new decision to forget Violet Effingham altogether, at others minded to continue

his siege let the hope of success be ever so small. He had now heard that Violet and Lord Chiltern had in truth

quarrelled, and was of course anxious to be advised to continue the siege. When he first came in and spoke a

word or two, in which there was no reference to Violet Effingham, there came upon Madame Goesler a

strong wish to decide at once that she would play no longer with the coronet, that the gem was not worth the

cost she would be called upon to pay for it. There was something in the world better for her than the coronet

if only it might be had. But within ten minutes he had told her the whole tale about Lord Chiltern, and

how he had seen Violet at Lady Baldock's and how there might yet be hope for him. What would she

advise him to do? "Go home, Mr Finn," she said, and write a sonnet to her eyebrow. See if that will have any

"Ah, well! It is natural that you should laugh at me; but somehow, I did not expect it from you."

"Do not be angry with me. What I mean is that such little things seem to influence this Violet of yours."

"If she had loved Lord Chiltern she would not have quarrelled with him for a few words. If she had loved

you, she would not have accepted Lord Chiltern. If she loves neither of you, she should say so. I am losing

"Do not say that, Madame Goesler. I respect her as strongly as I love her." Then Madame Goesler almost

made up her mind that she would have the coronet. There was a substance about the coronet that would not

Late that afternoon, while she was still hesitating, there came another caller to the cottage in Park Lane. She

was still hesitating, feeling that she had as yet another night before her. Should she be Duchess of Omnium or

not? All that she wished to be, she could not be but to be Duchess of Omnium was within her reach. Then

she began to ask herself various questions. Would the Queen refuse to accept her in her new rank? Refuse!

How could any Queen refuse to accept her? She had not done aught amiss in life. There was no slur on her

name; no stain on her character. What though her father had been a small attorney, and her first husband a

Jew banker! She had broken no law of God or man, had been accused of breaking no law, which breaking or

which accusation need stand in the way of her being as good a duchess as any other woman! She was sitting

thinking of this, almost angry with herself at the awe with which the proposed rank inspired her, when Lady

"And I more than equally so, to be found," said Madame Goesler, smiling with all her grace.

"Oh yes more than once if I remember right. He was here yesterday at any rate." "He comes often to you

"Not so often as I would wish, Lady Glencora. The Duke is one of my dearest friends."

"Yes a quick friendship," said Madame Goesler. Then there was a pause for some moments which

Madame Goesler was determined that she would not break. It was clear to her now on what ground Lady

Glencora had come to her, and she was fully minded that if she could bear the full light of the god himself in

all his glory, she would not allow herself to be scorched by any reflected heat coming from the god's niece.

She thought she could endure anything that Lady Glencora might say; but she would wait and hear what

"I think, Madame Goesler, that I had better hurry on to my subject at once," said Lady Glencora, almost

hesitating as she spoke, and feeling that the colour was rushing up to her cheeks and covering her brow. "Of

course what I have to say will be disagreeable. Of course I shall offend you. And yet I do not mean it."

"I shall be offended at nothing, Lady Glencora, unless I think that you mean to offend me."

"Yes, indeed. The sweetest child! God never gave me anything half so precious as that."

"For myself, by my honour as a woman, I care nothing. I am rich and have all that the world can give me. For

my husband, in this matter, I care nothing. His career he will make for himself, and it will depend on no title."

"Why all this to me, Lady Glencora? What have I to do with your husband's titles?"

"Much if it be true that there is an idea of marriage between you and the Duke of Omnium."

"Lady Glencora, I really must say that such a crossquestioning from one lady to another is very unusual. I

have promised not to be offended, unless I thought that you wished to offend me. But do not drive me too

"Madame Goesler, if you will tell me that I am mistaken, I will beg your pardon, and offer to you the most

"I have thought much of what I should gain: and something also of what I should lose."

"Well, yes; a sort of position. Not such as yours, Lady Glencora. That, if it be not born to a woman, can only

"But for such a title, Lady Glencora! It may be little to you to be Duchess of Omnium, but think what it must

"And for this you will not hesitate to rob him of all his friends, to embitter his future life, to degrade him

"Degrade him! Who dares say that I shall degrade him? He will exalt me, but I shall no whit degrade him.

"Ask anyone. It is not that I despise you. If I did, would I offer you my hand in friendship? But an old man,

over seventy, carrying the weight and burden of such rank as his, will degrade himself in the eyes of his

fellows, if he marries a young woman without rank, let her be ever so clever, ever so beautiful. A Duke of

"It may be well, Lady Glencora, for other dukes, and for the daughters and heirs and cousins of other dukes,

that His Grace should try that question. I will, if you wish it, argue this matter with you on many points, but I

will not allow you to say that I should degrade any man whom I might marry. My name is as unstained as

"For him I certainly would not willingly injure him. Who wishes to injure a friend? And, in truth, I have

so little to gain, that the temptation to do him an injury, if I thought it one, is not strong. For your little boy,

Lady Glencora, I think your fears are premature." As she said this, there came a smile over her face, which

threatened to break from control and almost become laughter. "But, if you will allow me to say so, my mind

will not be turned against this marriage half so strongly by any arguments you can use as by those which I

can adduce myself. You have nearly driven me into it by telling me I should degrade his house. It is almost

incumbent on me to prove that you are wrong. But you had better leave me to settle the matter in my own

After a while Lady Glencora did leave her to settle the matter within her own bosom having no other

Monday morning came and Madame Goesler had as yet written no answer to the Duke of Omnium. Had not

Lady Glencora gone to Park Lane on the Sunday afternoon, I think the letter would have been written on that

day; but, whatever may have been the effect of Lady Glencora's visit, it so far disturbed Madame Goesler as

to keep her from her writingtable. There was yet another night for thought, and then the letter should be

When Lady Glencora left Madame Goesler she went at once to the Duke's house. It was her custom to see her

husband's uncle on a Sunday, and she would most frequently find him just at this hour before he went

upstairs to dress for dinner. She usually took her boy with her, but on this occasion she went alone. She had

tried what she could do with Madame Goesler, and she found that she had failed. She must now make her

attempt upon the Duke. But the Duke, perhaps anticipating some attack of the kind, had fled. "Where is His

Grace, Barker?" said Lady Glencora to the porter. "We do not know, your ladyship. His Grace went away

yesterday evening with nobody but Lapoule." Lapoule was the Duke's French valet. Lady Glencora could

only return home and consider in her own mind what batteries might yet be brought to bear upon the Duke,

towards stopping the marriage, even after the engagement should have been made if it were to be made.

Lady Glencora felt that such batteries might still be brought up as would not improbably have an effect on a

proud, weak old man. If all other resources failed, royalty in some of its branches might be induced to make a

request, and every august relation in the peerage should interfere. The Duke no doubt might persevere and

marry whom he pleased if he were strong enough. But it requires much personal strength that standing

alone against the wellarmed batteries of all one's friends. Lady Glencora had once tried such a battle on her

own behalf, and had failed. She had wished to be imprudent when she was young; but her friends had been

too strong for her. She had been reduced, and kept in order, and made to run in a groove and was now,

when she sat looking at her little boy with his bold face, almost inclined to think that the world was right, and

that grooves were best. But if she had been controlled when she was young, so ought the Duke to be

controlled now that he was old. It is all very well for a man or woman to boast that he or she may do

what he likes with his own or with her own. But there are circumstances in which such selfaction is

ruinous to so many that coercion from the outside becomes absolutely needed. Nobody had felt the injustice

of such coercion when applied to herself more sharply than had Lady Glencora. But she had lived to

acknowledge that such coercion might be proper, and was now prepared to use it in any shape in which it

might be made available. It was all very well for Madame Goesler to laugh and exclaim, "Psha!" when Lady

Glencora declared her real trouble. But should it ever come to pass that a blackbrowed baby with a yellow

skin should be shown to the world as Lord Silverbridge, Lady Glencora knew that her peace of mind would

be gone for ever. She had begun the world desiring one thing, and had missed it. She had suffered much, and

had then reconciled herself to other hopes. If those other hopes were also to be cut away from her, the world

would not be worth a pinch of snuff to her. The Duke had fled, and she could do nothing today; but tomorrow

she would begin with her batteries. And she herself had done the mischief! She had invited this woman down

to Matching! Heaven and earth! that such a man as the Duke should be such a fool! The widow of a

Jew banker! He, the Duke of Omnium and thus to cut away from himself, for the rest of his life, all

honour, all peace of mind, all the grace of a noble end to a career which, if not very noble in itself, had

received the praise of nobility! And to do this for a thin, blackbrowed, yellowvisaged woman with ringlets

and devil's eyes, and a beard on her upper lip a Jewess a creature of whose habits of life and manners

of thought they all were absolutely ignorant; who drank, possibly; who might have been a forger, for what

anyone knew; an adventuress who had found her way into society by her art and perseverance and who

did not even pretend to have a relation in the world! That such a one should have influence enough to intrude

herself into the house of Omnium, and blot the scutcheon, and what was worst of all perhaps be the

mother of future dukes! Lady Glencora, in her anger, was very unjust to Madame Goesler, thinking all evil of

her, accusing her in her mind of every crime, denying her all charm, all beauty. Had the Duke forgotten

himself and his position for the sake of some fair girl with a pink complexion and grey eyes, and smooth hair,

and a father, Lady Glencora thought that she would have forgiven it better. It might be that Madame Goesler

would win her way to the coronet; but when she came to put it on, she should find that there were sharp

thorns inside the lining of it. Not a woman worth the knowing in all London should speak to her nor a

man either of those men with whom a Duchess of Omnium would wish to hold converse. She should find her

husband rated as a doting fool, and herself rated as a scheming female adventuress. And it should go hard

with Lady Glencora, if the Duke were not separated from his new Duchess before the end of the first year! In

The Duke, when he left his house without telling his household whither he was going, did send his address to

the top brick of the chimney. His note, which was delivered at Madame Goesler's house late on the

Sunday evening, was as follows: "I am to have your answer on Monday. I shall be at Brighton. Send it by a

private messenger to the Bedford Hotel there. I need not tell you with what expectation, with what hope, with

what fear I shall await it. O." Poor old man! He had run through all the pleasures of life too quickly, and

had not much left with which to amuse himself. At length he had set his eyes on a top brick, and being tired

of everything else, wanted it very sorely. Poor old man! How should it do him any good, even if he got it?

Madame Goesler, when she received the note, sat with it in her hand, thinking of his great want. "And he

would be tired of his new plaything after a month," she said to herself. But she had given herself to the next

morning, and she would not make up her mind that night. She would sleep once more with the coronet of a

duchess within her reach. She did do so; and woke in the morning with her mind absolutely in doubt. When

she walked down to breakfast, all doubt was at an end. The time had come when it was necessary that she

should resolve, and while her maid was brushing her hair for her she did make her resolution.

"What a thing it is to be a great lady," said the maid, who may probably have reflected that the Duke of

"The women I know, madame, talk so much of their countesses, and ladyships, and duchesses. I would never

rest till I had a title in this country, if I were a lady and rich and beautiful."

"And can the countesses, and the ladyships, and the duchesses do as they please?"

"But I know. That will do, Lotta. Now leave me." Then Madame Goesler had made up her mind; but I do not

know whether that doubt as to having her own way had much to do with it. As the wife of an old man she

would probably have had much of her own way. Immediately after breakfast she wrote her answer to the

I find so great a difficulty in expressing myself to Your Grace in a written letter, that since you left me I have

never ceased to wish that I had been less nervous, less doubting, and less foolish when you were present with

me here in my room. I might then have said in one word what will take so many awkward words to explain.

"Great as is the honour you propose to confer on me, rich as is the gift you offer me, I cannot accept it. I

cannot be Your Grace's wife. I may almost say that I knew it was so when you parted from me; but the

surprise of the situation took away from me a part of my judgment, and made me unable to answer you as I

should have done. My lord, the truth is, that I am not fit to be the wife of the Duke of Omnium. I should

injure you; and though I should raise myself in name, I should injure myself in character. But you must not

think, because I say this, that there is any reason why I should not be an honest man's wife. There is none. I

have nothing on my conscience which I could not tell you or to another man; nothing that I need fear to

tell to all the world. Indeed, my lord, there is nothing to tell but this that I am not fitted by birth and

position to be the wife of the Duke of Omnium. You would have to blush for me, and that no man shall ever

"I will own that I have been ambitious, too ambitious, and have been pleased to think that one so exalted as

you are, one whose high position is so rife in the eyes of all men, should have taken pleasure in my company.

I will confess to a foolish woman's silly vanity in having wished to be known to be the friend of the Duke of

Omnium. I am like the other moths that flutter near the light and have their wings burned. But I am wiser

than they in this, that having been scorched, I know that I must keep my distance. You will easily believe that

a woman such as I am does not refuse to ride in a carriage with Your Grace's arms on the panels without a

regret. I am no philosopher. I do not pretend to despise the rich things of the world, or the high things.

According to my way of thinking a woman ought to wish to be Duchess of Omnium but she ought to wish

also to be able to carry her coronet with a proper grace. As Madame Goesler I can live, even among my

superiors, at my ease. As Your Grace's wife, I should be easy no longer nor would Your Grace.

"You will think perhaps that what I write is heartless, that I speak altogether of your rank, and not at all of the

affection you have shown me, or of that which I might possibly bear towards you. I think that when the first

flush of passion is over in early youth men and women should strive to regulate their love, as they do their

other desires, by their reason. I could love Your Grace, fondly, as your wife, if I thought it well for Your

Grace or for myself that we should be man and wife. As I think it would be ill for both of us, I will restrain

that feeling, and remember Your Grace ever with the purest feeling of true friendship.

"Before I close this letter, I must utter a word of gratitude. In the kind of life which I have led as a widow, a

life which has been very isolated as regards true fellowship, it has been my greatest effort to obtain the good

opinion of those among whom I have attempted to make my way. I may, perhaps, own to you now that I have

had many difficulties. A woman who is alone in the world is ever regarded with suspicion. In this country a

woman with a foreign name, with means derived from foreign sources, with a foreign history, is specially

suspected. I have striven to live that down, and I have succeeded. But in my wildest dreams I never dreamed

of such success as this that the Duke of Omnium should think me the worthiest of the worthy. You may be

sure that I am not ungrateful that I never will be ungrateful. And I trust it will not derogate from your

"How many unmarried women in England are there would do the same?" she said to herself, as she folded the

paper, and put it into an envelope, and sealed the cover. The moment that the letter was completed she sent it

off, as she was directed to send it, so that there might be no possibility of repentance and subsequent

hesitation. She had at last made up her mind, and she would stand by the making. She knew that there would

come moments in which she would deeply regret the opportunity that she had lost the chance of greatness

that she had flung away from her. But so would she have often regretted it, also, had she accepted the

greatness. Her position was one in which there must be regret, let her decision have been what it might. But

she had decided, and the thing was done. She would still be free Marie Max Goesler unless in

abandoning her freedom she would obtain something that she might in truth prefer to it. When the letter was

gone she sat disconsolate, at the window of an upstairs room in which she had written, thinking much of the

coronet, much of the name, much of the rank, much of that position in society which she had flattered herself

she might have won for herself as Duchess of Omnium by her beauty, her grace, and her wit. It had not been

simply her ambition to be a duchess, without further aim or object. She had fancied that she might have been

such a duchess as there is never another, so that her fame might have been great throughout Europe, as a

woman charming at all points. And she would have had friends, then real friends, and would not have

lived alone as it was now her fate to do. And she would have loved her ducal husband, old though he was,

and stiff with pomp and ceremony. She would have loved him, and done her best to add something of

brightness to his life. It was indeed true that there was one whom she loved better; but of what avail was it to

love a man who, when he came to her, would speak to her of nothing but of the charms which he found in

She had been sitting thus at her window, with a book in her hand, at which she never looked, gazing over the

park which was now beautiful with its May verdure, when on a sudden a thought struck her. Lady Glencora

Palliser had come to her, trying to enlist her sympathy for the little heir, behaving, indeed, not very well, as

Madame Goesler had thought, but still with an earnest purpose which was in itself good. She would write to

Lady Glencora and put her out of her misery. Perhaps there was some feeling of triumph in her mind as she

returned to the desk from which her epistle had been sent to the Duke not of that triumph which would

have found its gratification in boasting of the offer that had been made to her, but arising from a feeling that

she could now show the proud mother of the boldfaced boy that though she would not pledge herself to any

woman as to what she might do or not do, she was nevertheless capable of resisting such a temptation as

would have been irresistible to many. Of the Duke's offer to her she would have spoken to no human being,

had not this woman shown that the Duke's purpose was known at least to her, and now, in her letter, she

would write no plain word of that offer. She would not state, in words intelligible to anyone who might read,

that the Duke had offered her his hand and his coronet. But she would write so that Lady Glencora should

understand her. And she would be careful that there should be no word in the letter to make Lady Glencora

think that she supposed herself to be unfit for the rank offered to her. She had been very humble in what she

had written to the Duke, but she would not be at all humble in what she was about to write to the mother of

"I venture to send you a line to put you out of your misery for you were very miserable when you were so

good as to come here yesterday. Your dear little boy is safe from me and, what is more to the purpose, so

are you and your husband and your uncle, whom, in truth, I love. You asked me a downright question

which I did not then choose to answer by a downright answer. The downright answer was not at that time due

to you. It has since been given, and as I like you too well to wish you to be in torment, I send you a line to say

"And now, dear Lady Glencora, one word more. Should it ever again appear to you to be necessary to use

your zeal for the protection of your husband or your child, do not endeavour to dissuade a woman by trying to

make her think that she, by her alliance, would bring degradation into any house, or to any man. If there

could have been an argument powerful with me, to make me do that which you wished to prevent, it was the

argument which you used. But my own comfort, and the happiness of another person whom I value almost as

much as myself, were too important to be sacrificed even to a woman's revenge. I take mine by writing to you

and telling you that I am better and more rational and wiser than you took me to be.

"If, after this, you choose to be on good terms with me, I shall be happy to be your friend. I shall want no

further revenge. You owe me some little apology; but whether you make it or not, I will be contented, and

will never do more than ask whether your darling's prospects are still safe. There are more women than one in

the world, you know, and you must not consider yourself to be out of the wood because you have escaped

from a single danger. If there arise another, come to me, and we will consult together.

There was a thing or two besides which she longed to say, laughing as she thought of them. But she refrained,

On the day following, Lady Glencora was again in Park Lane. When she first read Madame Goesler's letter,

she felt herself to be annoyed and angry, but her anger was with herself rather than with her correspondent.

Ever since her last interview with the woman whom she had feared, she had been conscious of having been

indiscreet. All her feelings had been too violent, and it might well have been that she should have driven this

woman to do the very thing that she was so anxious to avoid. "You owe me some little apology," Madame

Goesler had said. It was true and she would apologise. Undue pride was not a part of Lady Glencora's

character. Indeed, there was not enough of pride in her composition. She had been quite ready to hate this

woman, and to fight her on every point as long as the danger existed; but she was equally willing to take the

woman to her heart now that the danger was over. Apologise! Of course she would apologise. And she would

make a friend of the woman if the woman wished it. But she would not have the woman and the Duke at

Matching together again, lest, after all, there might be a mistake. She did not show Madame Goesler's letter to

her husband, or tell him anything of the relief she had received. He had cared but little for the danger,

thinking more of his budget than of the danger; and would be sufficiently at his ease if he heard no more

rumours of his uncle's marriage. Lady Glencora went to Park Lane early on the Tuesday morning, but she did

not take her boy with her. She understood that Madame Goesler might perhaps indulge in a little gentle

raillery at the child's expense, and the mother felt that this might be borne the more easily if the child were

"I have come to thank you for your letter, Madame Goesler," said Lady Glencora, before she sat down.

"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, or to dance at our bridal?" said Madame Goesler, standing up

"Alas! no. You have forbidden the banns too effectually for that, and I sit here wearing the willow all alone.

Why shouldn't I be allowed to get married as well as another woman, I wonder? I think you have been very

hard upon me among you. But sit down, Lady Glencora. At any rate you come in peace."

"Certainly in peace, and with much admiration and a great deal of love and affection, and all that kind of

"I shall be too proud, Lady Glencora for the Duke's sake, if for no other reason."

"It was made as soon as your carriage stopped at my door with friendly wheels. Of course I understand. I can

know how terrible it all was to you even though the dear little Plantagenet might not have been in much

danger. Fancy what it would be to disturb the career of a Plantagenet! I am far too well read in history, I can

"Never mind the word. After all, it was a true word. I do not hesitate to say so now myself, though I will

allow no other woman to say it and no man either. I should have degraded him and disgraced him."

Madame Goesler now had dropped the bantering tone which she had assumed, and was speaking in sober

earnest. "I, for myself, have nothing about me of which I am ashamed. I have no history to hide, no story to

be brought to light to my discredit. But I have not been so born, or so placed by circumstances, as make me

fit to be the wife of the Duke of Omnium. I should not have been happy, you know."

"You want nothing, dear Madame Goesler. You have all that society can give you."

"I do not know about that. I have much given to me by society, but there are many things that I want a

brightfaced little boy, for instance, to go about with me in my carriage. Why did you not bring him, Lady

"I came out in my penitential sheet, and when one goes in that guise, one goes alone. I had half a mind to

"You will bring him soon?" "Oh, yes. He was very anxious to know the other day who was the beautiful lady

"You did not tell him that the beautiful lady with the black hair was a possible aunt, was a possible ? But

"Some day when I am a very old woman, and when his father is quite an old duke, and when he has a dozen

little boys and girls of his own, you will tell him the story. Then he will reflect what a madman his

greatuncle must have been, to have thought of making a duchess out of such a wizened old woman as that."

They parted the best of friends, but Lady Glencora was still of opinion that if the lady and the Duke were to

Mr Low the barrister, who had given so many lectures to our friend Phineas Finn, lectures that ought to have

been useful, was now himself in the House of Commons, having reached it in the legitimate course of his

profession. At a certain point of his career, supposing his career to have been sufficiently prosperous, it

becomes natural to a barrister to stand for some constituency, and natural for him also to form his politics at

that period of his life with a view to his further advancement, looking, as he does so, carefully at the age and

standing of the various candidates for high legal office. When a man has worked as Mr Low had worked, he

begins to regard the bench wistfully, and to calculate the profits of a two years' run in the

AttorneyGeneralship. It is the way of the profession, and thus a proper and sufficient number of real

barristers finds its way into the House. Mr Low had been angry with Phineas because he, being a barrister,

had climbed into it after another fashion, having taken up politics, not in the proper way as an assistance to

his great profession, but as a profession in itself. Mr Low had been quite sure that his pupil had been wrong in

this, and that the error would at last show itself, to his pupil's cost. And Mrs Low had been more sure than Mr

Low, having not unnaturally been jealous that a young whippersnapper of a pupil as she had once called

Phineas should become a Parliament man before her husband, who had worked his way up gallantly, in

the usual course. She would not give way a jot even now not even when she heard that Phineas was going

to marry this and that heiress. For at this period of his life such rumours were afloat about him, originating

probably in his hopes as to Violet Effingham and his intimacy with Madame Goesler. "Oh, heiresses!" said

Mrs Low. I don't believe in heiresses' money till I see it. Three or four hundred a year is a great fortune for a

woman, but it don't go far in keeping a house in London. And when a woman has got a little money she

generally knows how to spend it. He has begun at the wrong end, and they who do that never get themselves

At this time Phineas had become somewhat of a fine gentleman, which made Mrs Low the more angry with

him. He showed himself willing enough to go to Mrs Low's house, but when there he seemed to her to give

himself airs. I think that she was unjust to him, and that it was natural that he should not bear himself beneath

her remarks exactly as he had done when he was nobody. He had certainly been very successful. He was

always listened to in the House, and rarely spoke except on subjects which belonged to him, or had been

allotted to him as part of his business. He lived quite at his ease with people of the highest rank and those

of his own mode of life who disliked him did so simply because they regarded with envy his too rapid rise.

He rode upon a pretty horse in the park, and was careful in his dress, and had about him an air of comfortable

wealth which Mrs Low thought he had not earned. When her husband told her of his sufficient salary, she

would shake her head and express her opinion that a good time was coming. By which she perhaps meant to

imply a belief that a time was coming in which her husband would have a salary much better than that now

enjoyed by Phineas, and much more likely to be permanent. The Radicals were not to have office for ever,

and when they were gone, what then? "I don't suppose he saves a shilling," said Mrs Low. How can he,

keeping a horse in the park, and hunting down in the country, and living with lords? I shouldn't wonder if he

isn't found to be over head and ears in debt when things come to be looked into." Mrs Low was fond of an

assured prosperity, of money in the funds, and was proud to think that her husband lived in a house of his

own. "�19 10s groundrent to the Portman estate is what we pay, Mr Bunce," she once said to that gallant

Radical, "and that comes of beginning at the right end. Mr. Low had nothing when he began the world, and I

had just what made us decent the day we married. But he began at the right end, and let things go as they may

he can't get a fall." Mr Bunce and Mrs Low, though they differed much in politics, sympathised in reference

"I never believes, ma'am, in nobody doing any good by getting a place," said Mr Bunce. "Of course I don't

mean judges and them like, which must be. But when a young man has ever so much a year for sitting in a

big room down at Whitehall, and reading a newspaper with his feet up on a chair, I don't think it honest,

whether he's a Parliament man or whether he ain't." Whence Mr Bunce had got his notions as to the way in

which officials at Whitehall pass their time, I cannot say; but his notions are very common notions. The

British world at large is slow to believe that the great British housekeeper keeps no more cats than what kill

Mr Low, who was now frequently in the habit of seeing Phineas at the House, had somewhat changed his

opinions, and was not so eager in condemning Phineas as was his wife. He had begun to think that perhaps

Phineas had shown some knowledge of his own aptitudes in the career which he had sought, and was aware,

at any rate, that his late pupil was somebody in the House of Commons. A man will almost always respect

him whom those around him respect, and will generally look up to one who is evidently above himself in his

own daily avocation. Now Phineas was certainly above Mr Low in parliamentary reputation. He sat on a front

bench. He knew the leaders of parties. He was at home amidst the forms of the House. He enjoyed something

of the prestige of Government power. And he walked about familiarly with the sons of dukes and the brothers

of earls in a manner which had its effect even on Mr Low. Seeing these things Mr Low could not maintain his

old opinion as stoutly as did his wife. It was almost a privilege to Mr Low to be intimate with Phineas Finn.

He was surprised, therefore, one day when Phineas discussed the matter with him fully. Phineas had asked

him what would be his chance of success if even now he were to give up politics and take to the Bar as the

means of earning his livelihood, "You would have uphill work at first, as a matter of course," said Mr Low.

"But it might be done, I suppose. To have been in office would not be fatal to me?"

"No, not fatal. Nothing of the kind need be fatal. Men have succeeded, and have sat on the bench afterwards,

who did not begin till they were past forty. You would have to live down a prejudice created against yourself;

that is all. The attorneys do not like barristers who are anything else but barristers."

"Yes and there would be this against you that it is so difficult for a man to go back to the verdure and

malleability of pupildom, who has once escaped from the necessary humility of its conditions. You will find

it difficult to sit and wait for business in a ViceChancellor's Court, after having had ViceChancellors, or

"But others would think of it, and you would find that there were difficulties. But you are not thinking of it in

"Why so? I should have thought that every day had removed you further and further from any such idea."

"Well, yes. I can understand that. But yet it is less slippery than it used to be."

"Ah no one can tell. And suppose I took it into my head to differ from the Government?"

"You must not do that. You have put yourself into a boat with these men, and you must remain in the boat. I

"It is not so easy as it seems. The very necessity of sitting still in the boat is in itself irksome very

"I cannot say that but I am beginning to find that sitting still is very disagreeable to me. When I hear those

fellows below having their own way, and saying just what they like, it makes me furious. There is Robson.

He tried office for a couple of years, and has broken away; and now, by George, there is no man they think so

much of as they do of Robson. He is twice the man he was when he sat on the Treasury Bench."

"I suppose so. Of course he is, because he lives. He never earns anything. His wife had money."

"My dear Finn, that makes all the difference. When a man has means of his own he can please himself. Do

you marry a wife with money, and then you may kick up your heels, and do as you like about the Colonial

Office. When a man hasn't money, of course he must fit himself to the circumstances of a profession."

"But I say it, my dear Low. A man who is ready to vote black white because somebody tells him, is

dishonest. Never mind, old fellow. I shall pull through, I daresay. Don't go and tell your wife all this, or she'll

be harder upon me than ever when she sees me." After that Mr Low began to think that his wife's judgment in

Robson could do as he liked because he had married a woman with money. Phineas told himself that that

game was also open to him. He, too, might marry money. Violet Effingham had money quite enough to

make him independent were he married to her. And Madame Goesler had money plenty of money. And an

idea had begun to creep upon him that Madame Goesler would take him were he to offer himself. But he

would sooner go back to the Bar as the lowest pupil, sooner clean boots for barristers so he told himself

than marry a woman simply because she had money, than marry any other woman as long as there was a

chance that Violet might be won. But it was very desirable that he should know whether Violet might be won

or not. It was now July, and everybody would be gone in another month. Before August would be over he

was to start for Ireland with Mr Monk, and he knew that words would be spoken in Ireland which might make

it indispensable for him to be, at any rate, able to throw up his office. In these days he became more anxious

He had never spoken as yet to Lord Brentford since the day on which the Earl had quarrelled with him, nor

had he ever been at the house in Portman Square. Lady Laura he met occasionally, and had always spoken to

her. She was gracious to him, but there had been no renewal of their intimacy. Rumours had reached him that

things were going badly with her and her husband; but when men repeated such rumours in his presence, he

said little or nothing on the subject. It was not for him, at any rate, to speak of Lady Laura's unhappiness.

Lord Chiltern he had seen once or twice during the last month, and they had met cordially as friends. Of

course he could ask no question from Lord Chiltern as to Violet; but he did learn that his friend had again

patched up some reconciliation with his father. "He has quarrelled with me, you know," said Phineas.

"I am very sorry, but what could I do? As things went, I was obliged to tell him."

"Do not suppose for a moment that I am blaming you. It is, no doubt, much better that he should know it all."

"And it cannot make much difference to you, I should say." "One doesn't like to quarrel with those who have

"But it isn't your doing. He'll come right again after a time. When I can get my own affairs settled, you may

be sure I'll do my best to bring him round. But what's the reason you never see Laura now?"

"When I mentioned your name to Kennedy the other day, he looked as black as thunder. But it is not odd that

anyone should quarrel with him. I can't stand him. Do you know, I sometimes think that Laura will have to

This was all very well as coming from Lord Chiltern; but there was no word about Violet, and Phineas did

not know how to get a word from anyone. Lady Laura could have told him everything, but he could not go to

Lady Laura. He did go to Lady Baldock's house as often as he thought he could with propriety, and

occasionally he saw Violet. But he could do no more than see her, and the days and weeks were passing by,

and the time was coming in which he would have to go away, and be with her no more. The end of the

season, which was always to other men to other working men such as our hero a period of pleasurable

anticipation, to him was a time of sadness, in which he felt that he was not exactly like to, or even equal to,

the men with whom he lived in London. In the old days, in which he was allowed to go to Loughlinter or to

Saulsby, when all men and women were going to their Loughlinters and their Saulsbys, it was very well with

him; but there was something melancholy to him in his yearly journey to Ireland. He loved his father and

mother and sisters as well as do other men; but there was a falling off in the manner of his life which made

him feel that he had been in some sort out of his own element in London. He would have liked to have shot

grouse at Loughlinter, or pheasants at Saulsby, or to have hunted down at Willingford or better still, to

have made love to Violet Effingham wherever Violet Effingham might have placed herself. But all this was

closed to him now; and there would be nothing for him but to remain at Killaloe, or to return to his work in

Downing Street, from August to February. Mr Monk, indeed, was going with him for a few weeks; but even

this association did not make up for that sort of society which he would have preferred.

The session went on very quietly. The question of the Irish Reform Bill was postponed till the next year,

which was a great thing gained. He carried his bill about the Canada Railway, with sundry other small bills

appertaining to it, through the House in a manner which redounded infinitely to his credit. There was just

enough of opposition to give a zest to the work, and to make the affair conspicuous among the affairs of the

year. As his chief was in the other House, the work fell altogether into his hands, so that he came to be

conspicuous among UnderSecretaries. It was only when he said a word to any leaders of his party about

other matters about Irish Tenant Right, for instance, which was beginning to loom very large, that he

found himself to be snubbed. But there was no room for action this year in reference to Irish Tenant Right,

and therefore any deep consideration of that discomfort might be legitimately postponed. If he did by chance

In the early days of July, when the weather was very hot, and people were beginning to complain of the

Thames, and members were becoming thirsty after grouse, and the remaining days of parliamentary work

were being counted up, there came to him news news that was soon known throughout the fashionable

world that the Duke of Omnium was going to give a garden party at a certain villa residence on the banks

of the Thames above Richmond. It was to be such a garden party as had never been seen before. And it would

be the more remarkable because the Duke had never been known to do such a thing. The villa was called The

Horns, and had, indeed, been given by the Duke to Lady Glencora on her marriage; but the party was to be

the Duke's party, and The Horns, with all its gardens, conservatories, lawns, shrubberies, paddocks,

boathouses, and boats, was to be made bright and beautiful for the occasion. Scores of workmen were about

the place through the three first weeks of July. The world at large did not at all know why the Duke was

doing so unwonted a thing why he should undertake so new a trouble. But Lady Glencora knew, and

Madame Goesler shrewdly guessed, the riddle. When Madame Goesler's unexpected refusal had reached his

Grace, he felt that he must either accept the lady's refusal, or persevere, After a day's consideration, he

resolved that he would accept it. The top brick of the chimney was very desirable; but perhaps it might be

well that he should endeavour to live without it. Then, accepting this refusal, he must either stand his ground

and bear the blow or he must run away to that villa at Como, or elsewhere. The running away seemed to

him at first to be the better, or at least the more pleasant, course; but at last he determined that he would stand

Who was to be invited? Before the first week in July was over, many a bosom in London was fluttering with

anxiety on that subject. The Duke, in giving his short word of instruction to Lady Glencora, made her

understand that he would wish her to be particular in her invitations. Her Royal Highness the Princess and his

Royal Highness the Prince had both been so gracious as to say that they would honour his f te. The Duke

himself had made out a short list, with not more than a dozen names. Lady Glencora was employed to select

the real crowd the five hundred out of the ten thousand who were to be blessed. On the Duke's own

private list was the name of Madame Goesler. Lady Glencora understood it all. When Madame Goesler got

her card, she thought that she understood it too. And she thought also that the Duke was behaving in a gallant

There was, no doubt, much difficulty about the invitations, and a considerable amount of illwill was created.

And they who considered themselves entitled to be asked, and were not asked, were full of wrath against their

more fortunate friends, instead of being angry with the Duke or with Lady Glencora, who had neglected

them. It was soon known that Lady Glencora was the real dispenser of the favours, and I fancy that her

ladyship was tired of her task before it was completed. The party was to take place on Wednesday, the 27th

of July, and before the day had come, men and women had become so hardy in the combat that personal

applications were made with unflinching importunity; and letters were written to Lady Glencora putting

forward this claim and that claim with a piteous clamour. "No, that is too bad," Lady Glencora said to her

particular friend, Mrs Grey, when a letter came from Mrs Bonteen, stating all that her husband had ever done

towards supporting Mr Palliser in Parliament and all that he ever would do. "She shan't have it, even

Mrs Bonteen did not get a card; and when she heard that Phineas Finn had received one, her wrath against

Phineas was very great. He was "an Irish adventurer," and she regretted deeply that Mr Bonteen had ever

interested himself in bringing such an upstart forward in the world of politics. But as Mr Bonteen never had

done anything towards bringing Phineas forward, there was not much cause for regret on this head. Phineas,

The grounds were opened at four. There was to be an early dinner out in tents at five; and after dinner men

and women were to walk about, or dance, or make love or hay, as suited them. The haycocks, however,

were ready prepared, while it was expected that they should bring the love with them. Phineas, knowing that

For an hour and a half Lady Glencora kept her position in a saloon through which the guests passed to the

grounds, and to every comer she imparted the information that the Duke was on the lawn to every comer

but one. To Madame Goesler she said no such word. "So glad to see you, my dear," she said, as she pressed

her friend's hand: "if I am not killed by this work, I'll make you out again by and by." Then Madame Goesler

passed on, and soon found herself amidst a throng of acquaintance. After a few minutes she saw the Duke

seated in an armchair, close to the riverbank, and she bravely went up to him, and thanked him for the

invitation. "The thanks are due to you for gracing our entertainment," said the Duke, rising to greet her. There

were a dozen people standing round, and so the thing was done without difficulty. At that moment there came

a notice that their royal highnesses were on the ground, and the Duke, of course, went off to meet them.

There was not a word more spoken between the Duke and Madame Goesler on that afternoon.

Phineas did not come till late till seven, when the banquet was over, I think he was right in this, as the

banqueting in tents loses in comfort almost more than it gains in romance. A small picnic may be very well,

and the distance previously travelled may give to a dinner on the ground the seeming excuse of necessity.

Frail human nature must be supported and human nature, having gone so far in pursuit of the beautiful, is

entitled to what best support the unaccustomed circumstances will allow. Therefore, out with the cold pies,

out with the salads, and the chickens, and the champagne. Since no better may be, let us recruit human nature

sitting upon this moss, and forget our discomforts in the glory of the verdure around us. And dear Mary,

seeing that the cushion from the waggonet is small, and not wishing to accept the too generous offer that she

should take it all for her own use, will admit a contact somewhat closer than the ordinary chairs of a

diningroom render necessary. That in its way is very well but I hold that a banquet on narrow tables in a

Phineas strolled into the grounds when the tent was nearly empty, and when Lady Glencora, almost sinking

beneath her exertions, was taking rest in an inner room. The Duke at this time was dining with their royal

highnesses, and three or four others, specially selected, very comfortably within doors. Out of doors the

world had begun to dance and the world was beginning to say that it would be much nicer to go and dance

upon the boards inside as soon as possible. For, though of all parties a garden party is the nicest, everybody is

always anxious to get out of the garden as quick as may be. A few ardent lovers of suburban picturesque

effect were sitting beneath the haycocks, and four forlorn damsels were vainly endeavouring to excite the

sympathy of manly youth by playing croquet in a corner. I am not sure, however, that the lovers beneath the

haycocks and the players at croquet were not actors hired by Lady Glencora for the occasion.

Phineas had not been long on the lawn before he saw Lady Laura Kennedy. She was standing with another

lady, and Barrington Erle was with them. "So you have been successful?" said Barrington, greeting him.

"In what? In getting a ticket. I have had to promise three tidewaiterships, and to give deep hints about a

bishopric expected to be vacant, before I got in. But what matters? Success pays for everything. My only

Lady Laura shook hands with Phineas, and then as he was passing on, followed him for a step and whispered

a word to him. "Mr Finn," she said, "if you are not going yet, come back to me presently. I have something to

say to you. I shall not be far from the river, and shall stay here for about an hour."

Phineas said that he would, and then went on, not knowing exactly where he was going. He had one desire

to find Violet Effingham, but when he should find her he could not carry her off, and sit with her beneath a

While looking for Violet Effingham, Phineas encountered Madame Goesler, among a crowd of people who

were watching the adventurous embarkation of certain daring spirits in a pleasureboat. There were

watermen there in the Duke's livery, ready to take such spirits down to Richmond or up to Teddington lock,

and many daring spirits did take such trips to the great peril of muslins, ribbons, and starch, to the peril

also of ornamental summer white garments, so that when the thing was over, the boats were voted to have

"I should like it of all things if I were not afraid for my clothes. Will you come?"

"I was never good upon the water. I should be seasick to a certainty. They are going down beneath the bridge

too, and we should be splashed by the steamers. I don't think my courage is high enough." Thus Phineas

"Then neither will I," said Madame Goesler. One dash from a peccant oar would destroy the whole symmetry

"But the blue young gentleman has been sprinkled also," said Phineas, "and they will be happy in a joint

baptism." Then they strolled along the river path together, and were soon alone. "You will be leaving town

"Oh to Vienna. I am there for a couple of months every year, minding my business. I wonder whether you

would know me, if you saw me sometimes sitting on a stool in a countinghouse, sometimes going about

among old houses, settling what must be done to save them from tumbling down. I dress so differently at

such times, and talk so differently, and look so much older, that I almost fancy myself to be another person."

"Quite alone. I take a German maid with me, and never speak a word to anyone else on the journey."

"Yes; it is the worst of it. But then I am so much accustomed to be alone. You see me in society, and in

society only, and therefore naturally look upon me as one of a gregarious herd; but I am in truth an animal

that feeds alone and lives alone. Take the hours of the year all through, and I am a solitary during fourfifths

"Home to your own people. How nice! I have no people to go to. I have one sister, who lives with her

"Yes as you see them," and she turned and spread out her hands towards the crowded lawn, which was

Madame Goesler laughed also. "The Duke is not so bad," she said. "The Duke would do as much as anyone

"Ah no. I have no particular friend. And were I to wish to choose one, I should think the Duke a little

"Oh, yes and too stiff, and too old, and too pompous, and too cold, and too makebelieve, and too

"Yes it is true in its way. One goes about to meet those whom one likes, not always for the pleasure of the

host's society. I hope I am not wrong because I go to houses at which I like neither the host nor the hostess."

Phineas as he said this was thinking of Lady Baldock, to whom of late he had been exceedingly civil but

"I think he is a gracious gentleman," said Madame Goesler, "and though I cannot boast of knowing him well,

I do not like to hear him called buckram. I do not think he is buckram. It is not very easy for a man in his

position to live so as to please all people. He has to maintain the prestige of the highest aristocracy in

"Look at his nephew, who will be the next Duke, and who works as hard as any man in the country. Will he

"You believe only in motion, Mr Finn and not at all in quiescence. An express train at full speed is

grander to you than a mountain with heaps of snow. I own that to me there is something glorious in the

dignity of a man too high to do anything if only he knows how to carry that dignity with a proper grace. I

"Ah well; we will not fight about it. Go and earn your star, and I will say that it becomes you better than

any glitter on the coat of the Duke of Omnium." This she said with an earnestness which he could not pretend

not to notice or not to understand. "I too may be able to see that the express train is really greater than the

"Though, for your own life, you would prefer to sit and gaze upon the snowy peaks?"

"No that is not so. For myself, I would prefer to be of use somewhere to someone, if it were possible. I

"Never mind. I hate to talk about myself. You and the Duke are fair subjects for conversation; you as the

express train, who will probably do your sixty miles an hour in safety, but may possibly go down a bank with

"And the Duke, as the mountain, which is fixed in its stateliness, short of the power of some earthquake,

which shall be grander and more terrible than any earthquake yet known. Here we are at the house again. I

will go in and sit down for a while." "If I leave you, Madame Goesler, I will say goodbye till next winter."

"I shall be in town again before Christmas, you know. You will come and see me?"

"And then this love trouble of course will be over one way or the other will it not?"

Then he left her. Up to this moment he had not seen Violet, and yet he knew that she was to be there. She had

herself told him that she was to accompany Lady Laura, whom he had already met. Lady Baldock had not

been invited, and had expressed great animosity against the Duke in consequence. She had gone so far as to

say that the Duke was a man at whose house a young lady such as her niece ought not to be seen. But Violet

had laughed at this, and declared her intention of accepting the invitation. "Go," she had said; of course I

shall go. I should have broken my heart if I could not have got there." Phineas therefore was sure that she

must be in the place. He had kept his eyes ever on the alert, and yet he had not found her. And now he must

keep his appointment with Lady Laura Kennedy. So he went down to the path by the river, and there he

found her seated close by the water's edge. Her cousin Barrington Erle was still with her, but as soon as

Phineas joined them, Erle went away. "I had told him," said Lady Laura, "that I wished to speak to you, and

he stayed with me till you came. There are worse men than Barrington a great deal."

"I don't know that. I have gone as circumstances have directed me, but I have certainly not intended to throw

"Oh he does not blame you. He tells me that you have found your way among what he calls the working

men of the party, and he thinks you will do very well if you can only be patient enough. We all expected a

different line from you, you know more of words and less of deeds, if I may say so more of liberal

"I think that I have been wrong," said Phineas. I am becoming heartily sick of officialities."

"That comes from the fickleness about which papa is so fond of quoting his Latin. The ox desires the saddle.

"Your career may combine the dignity of the one with the utility of the other. At any rate you must not think

of changing now. Have you seen Mr Kennedy lately?" She asked the question abruptly, showing that she was

anxious to get to the matter respecting which she had summoned him to her side, and that all that she had said

"Why not?" Phineas stood for a moment in silence, hesitating. "Why is it that he and you do not speak?"

"Do you know any reason? Sit down, or, if you please, I will get up and walk with you. He tells me that you

have chosen to quarrel with him, and that I have made you do so. He says that you have confessed to him that

"But he has said it in so many words. Do you think that I would tell you such a story falsely?"

"No she is to come with my father later. She is here no doubt, now. But answer my question, Mr Finn

unless you find that you cannot answer it. What was it that you did say to my husband?"

"I mean to use no harsh word but I think that Mr Kennedy when troubled in his spirit looks at things

"You must know that better than I can do, Lady Laura. I will tell you all that I can tell you. He invited me to

his house and I would not go, because you had forbidden me. Then he asked me some questions about you.

Did I refuse because of you or of anything that you had said? If I remember right, I told him that I did

fancy that you would not be glad to see me and that therefore I would rather stay away. What was I to

"Nothing with him would have been worse than what I did say. Remember that he asked me the question

pointblank, and that no reply would have been equal to an affirmation. I should have confessed that his

"If I have erred, Lady Laura, and brought any sorrow on you, I am indeed grieved."

"It is all sorrow. There is nothing but sorrow. I have made up my mind to leave him."

"It is very bad but not so bad, I think, as the life I am now leading. He has accused me of what do you

"I would not answer him at all. If he had come to me like a man not accusing me, but asking me I

would have told him everything. And what was there to tell? I should have broken my faith to you, in

speaking of that scene at Loughlinter, but women always tell such stories to their husbands when their

husbands are good to them, and true, and just. And it is well that they should be told. But to Mr Kennedy I

"No! Because I did not blurt out to him all that story about your foolish duel because I thought it best to

keep my brother's secret, as long as there was a secret to be kept, he told me that I had lied to him!"

"Yes with that very word. He is not particular about his words,when he thinks it necessary to express

himself strongly. And he has told me since that because of that he could never believe me again. How is it

possible that a woman should live with such a man?" But why did she come to him with this story to him

whom she had been accused of entertaining as a lover to him who of all her friends was the last whom she

should have chosen as the recipient for such a tale? Phineas as he thought how he might best answer her, with

what words he might try to comfort her, could not but ask himself this question. "The moment that the word

was out of his mouth," she went on to say, "I resolved that I would tell you. The accusation is against you as

it is against me, and is equally false to both. I have written to him, and there is my letter."

"No I will go to my father's house. I have already arranged it. Mr Kennedy has my letter by this time, and

"Yes certainly. I wish that you should read it. Should I ever meet him again, I shall tell him that you saw

They were now standing close upon the river's bank, at a corner of the grounds, and, though the voices of

people sounded near to them, they were alone. Phineas had no alternative but to read the letter, which was as

"After what you have said to me it is impossible that I should return to your house. I shall meet my father at

the Duke of Omnium's, and have already asked him to give me an asylum. It is my wish to remain wherever

he may be, either in town or in the country. Should I change my purpose in this, and change my residence, I

will not fail to let you know where I go and what I propose to do. You I think must have forgotten that I was

"You have accused me of having a lover. You cannot have expected that I should continue to live with you

after such an accusation. For myself I cannot understand how any man can have brought himself to bring

such a charge against his wife. Even had it been true the accusation should not have been made by your

"That it is untrue I believe you must be as well aware as I am myself. How intimate I was with Mr Finn, and

what were the limits of my intimacy with him you knew before I married you. After our marriage I

encouraged his friendship till I found that there was something in it that displeased you and, after learning

that, I discouraged it. You have said that he is my lover, but you have probably not defined for yourself that

word very clearly. You have felt yourself slighted because his name has been mentioned with praise and

your jealousy has been wounded because you have thought that I have regarded him as in some way superior

to yourself. You have never really thought that he was my lover that he spoke words to me which others

might not hear, that he claimed from me aught that a wife may not give, that he received aught which a friend

"I shall be at my father's tonight, and tomorrow I will get you to let my servant bring to me such things as are

my own my clothes, namely, and desk, and a few books. She will know what I want. I trust you may be

happier without a wife, than ever you have been with me. I have felt almost daily since we were married that

"True! Doubtless it is true," said Phineas, except that I do not suppose he was ever really angry with me, or

jealous, or anything of the sort because I got on well. It seems absurd even to think it."

"There is nothing too absurd for some men. I remember your telling me that he was weak, and poor, and

unworthy. I remember your saying so when I first thought that he might become my husband. I wish I had

believed you when you told me so. I should not have made such a shipwreck of myself as I have done. That is

all I had to say to you. After what has passed between us I did not choose that you should hear how I was

separated from my husband from any lips but my own. I will go now and find papa. Do not come with me. I

prefer being alone." Then he was left standing by himself, looking down upon the river as it glided by. How

would it have been with both of them if Lady Laura had accepted him three years ago, when she consented to

join her lot with that of Mr Kennedy, and had rejected him? As he stood he heard the sound of music from the

house, and remembered that he had come there with the one sole object of seeing Violet Effingham. He had

known that he would meet Lady Laura, and it had been in his mind to break through that law of silence which

she had imposed upon him, and once more to ask her to assist him to implore her for the sake of their old

friendship to tell him whether there might yet be for him any chance of success. But in the interview which

had just taken place it had been impossible for him to speak a word of himself or of Violet. To her, in her

great desolation, he could address himself on no other subject than that of her own misery. But not the less

when she was talking to him of her own sorrow, of her regret that she had not listened to him when in years

past he had spoken slightingly of Mr Kennedy, was he thinking of Violet Effingham. Mr Kennedy had

certainly mistaken the signs of things when he had accused his wife by saying that Phineas was her lover.

Phineas had soon got over that early feeling; and as far as he himself was concerned had never regretted Lady

He remained down by the water for a few minutes, giving Lady Laura time to escape, and then he wandered

across the grounds towards the house. It was now about nine o'clock, and though there were still many

walking about the grounds, the crowd of people were in the rooms. The musicians were ranged out on a

verandah, so that their music might have been available for dancing within or without; but the dancers had

found the boards pleasanter than the lawn, and the Duke's garden party was becoming a mere ball, with

privilege for the dancers to stroll about the lawn between the dances. And in this respect the fun was better

than at a ball that let the engagements made for partners be what they might, they could always be broken

with ease. No lady felt herself bound to dance with a cavalier who was displeasing to her; and some

gentlemen were left sadly in the lurch. Phineas felt himself to be very much in the lurch, even after he had

He bided his time patiently, and at last he found his opportunity. "Would she dance with him?" She declared

that she intended to dance no more, and that she had promised to be ready to return home with Lord

Brentford before ten o'clock. "I have pledged myself not to be after ten," she said, laughing. Then she put her

hand upon his arm, and they stepped out upon the terrace together. "Have you heard anything?" she asked

"But to be accused after that fashion by her husband!" said Violet. "One can hardly believe it in these

days. And of all women she is the last to deserve such accusation." "The very last," said Phineas, feeling that

"I cannot conceive to whom he can have alluded," said Violet. Then Phineas began to understand that Violet

had not heard the whole story; but the difficulty of speaking was still very great.

"But a man does not usually strive to dishonour himself because he is in a rage. And this man is incapable of

rage. He must be cursed with one of those dark gloomy minds in which love always leads to jealousy. She

"One cannot say. In many respects it would be better that she should," said Phineas.

"She will never return to him," repeated Violet "never. Would you advise her to do so?"

"How can I say? If one were called upon for advice, one would think so much before one spoke."

"I would not not for a minute. What! to be accused of that! How are a man and woman to live together

after there have been such words between them? Poor Laura! What a terrible end to all her high hopes! Do

They were now at some distance from the house, and Phineas could not but feel that chance had been very

good to him in giving him his opportunity. She was leaning on his arm, and they were alone, and she was

speaking to him with all the familiarity of old friendship. "I wonder whether I may change the subject," said

"Simply this that you are not now as you were six months ago. Your marriage was then fixed for June."

"Yes it has been unfixed. I know it. Miss Effingham, you will not be angry with me if I say that when I

heard it was so, something of a hope no, I must not call it a hope something that longed to form itself

into hope returned to my breast and from that hour to this has been the only subject on which I have cared to

"He is so, and I do not think that I have ever been untrue to my friendship for him."

"He says that no man has ever had a truer friend. He will swear to that in all companies. And I, when it was

allowed to me to swear with him, swore it too. As his friend, let me tell you one thing one thing which I

would never tell to any other man one thing which I know I may tell you in confidence. You are a

"I know you will not, because you are a gentleman. I told Lord Chiltern in the autumn of last year that I loved

him. And I did love him. I shall never have the same confession to make to another man. That he and I are

not now on those loving terms which once existed, can make no difference in that. A woman cannot

transfer her heart. There have been things which have made me feel that I was perhaps mistaken in

saying that I would be his wife. But I said so, and cannot now give myself to another. Here is Lord

Brentford, and we will join him." There was Lord Brentford with Lady Laura on his arm, very gloomy

resolving on what way he might be avenged on the man who had insulted his daughter. He took but little

notice of Phineas as he resumed his charge of Miss Effingham; but the two ladies wished him goodnight.

"Goodnight, Lady Laura," said Phineas, standing with his hat in his hand "goodnight, Miss Effingham."

Then he was alone quite alone. Would it not be well for him to go down to the bottom of the garden, and

fling himself into the quiet river, so that there might be an end of him? Or would it not be better still that he

should create for himself some quiet river of life, away from London, away from politics, away from lords,

and titled ladies, and fashionable squares, and the parties given by dukes, and the disappointments incident to

a small man in attempting to make for himself a career among big men? There had frequently been in the

mind of this young man an idea that there was something almost false in his own position that his life was

a pretence, and that he would ultimately be subject to that ruin which always comes, sooner or later, on things

which are false; and now as he wandered alone about Lady Glencora's gardens, this feeling was very strong

within his bosom, and robbed him altogether of the honour and glory of having been one of the Duke of

Phineas did not throw himself into the river from the Duke's garden; and was ready, in spite of Violet

Effingham, to start for Ireland with Mr Monk at the end of the first week in August. The close of that season

in London certainly was not a happy period of his life. Violet had spoken to him after such a fashion that he

could not bring himself not to believe her. She had given him no hint whether it was likely or unlikely that

she and Lord Chiltern would be reconciled; but she had convinced him that he could not be allowed to take

Lord Chiltern's place. "A woman cannot transfer her heart," she had said. Phineas was well aware that many

women do transfer their hearts; but he had gone to this woman too soon after the wrench which her love had

received; he had been too sudden with his proposal for a transfer; and the punishment for such ill judgment

must be that success would now be impossible to him. And yet how could he have waited, feeling that Miss

Effingham, if she were at all like other girls whom he had known, might have promised herself to some other

lover before she would return within his reach in the succeeding spring? But she was not like some other

But he was ready for Mr Monk on the 7th of August, and they started together. Something less than twenty

hours took them from London to Killaloe, and during four or five of those twenty hours Mr Monk was

unfitted for any conversation by the uncomfortable feelings incidental to the passage from Holyhead to

Kingstown. Nevertheless, there was a great deal of conversation between them during the journey. Mr Monk

had almost made up his mind to leave the Cabinet. "It is sad to me to have to confess it," he said, "but the

truth is that my old rival, Turnbull, is right. A man who begins his political life as I began mine, is not the

man of whom a Minister should be formed. I am inclined to think that Ministers of Government require

almost as much education in their trade as shoemakers or tallowchandlers. I doubt whether you can make a

good public servant of a man simply because he has got the ear of the House of Commons."

"Then you mean to say," said Phineas, that we are altogether wrong from beginning to end, in our way of

"I do not say that at all. Look at the men who have been leading statesmen since our present mode of

government was formed from the days in which it was forming itself, say from Walpole down, and you

will find that all who have been of real use had early training as public servants."

"Not if the groove is good," said Mr Monk. Those who have been efficient as ministers sucked in their

efficacy with their mother's milk. Lord Brock did so, and Lord de Terrier, and Mr Mildmay. They seated

themselves in office chairs the moment they left college. Mr Gresham was in office before he was

eightandtwenty. The Duke of St Bungay was at work as a Private Secretary when he was

"You have no cause for regret, but it is not so with me. If there be any man unfitted by his previous career for

office, it is he who has become, or who has endeavoured to become, a popular politician an exponent, if I

may say so, of public opinion. As far as I can see, office is offered to such men with one view only that of

"It is the same thing. Help from Turnbull would mean the withdrawal of all power of opposition from him.

He could not give other help for any long term, as the very fact of his accepting power and patronage would

take from him his popular leadership. The masses outside require to have their minister as the Queen has

hers; but the same man cannot be minister to both. If the people's minister chooses to change his master, and

to take the Queen's shilling, something of temporary relief may be gained by government in the fact that the

other place will for a time be vacant. But there are candidates enough for such places, and the vacancy is not

a vacancy long. Of course the Crown has this pull, that it pays wages, and the people do not."

"I do not think that that influenced you," said Phineas. "It did not influence me. To you I will make bold to

state so much positively, though it would be foolish, perhaps, to do so to others. I did not go for the shilling,

though I am so poor a man that the shilling is more to me than it would be to almost any man in the House. I

took the shilling, much doubting, but guided in part by this, that I was ashamed of being afraid to take it.

They told me Mr Mildmay and the Duke that I could earn it to the benefit of the country. I have not

earned it, and the country has not been benefited unless it be for the good of the country that my voice in

the House should be silenced. If I believe that, I ought to hold my tongue without taking a salary for holding

it. I have made a mistake, my friend. Such mistakes made at my time of life cannot be wholly rectified; but,

being convinced of my error, I must do the best in my power to put myself right again."

There was a bitterness in all this to Phineas himself of which he could not but make plaint to his companion.

"The truth is," he said, "that a man in office must be a slave, and that slavery is distasteful."

"There I think you are wrong. If you mean that you cannot do joint work with other men altogether after your

own fashion the same may be said of all work. If you had stuck to the Bar you must have pleaded your causes

"I cannot see that you suffer anything that ought to go against the grain with you. You are beginning young,

and it is your first adopted career. With me it is otherwise. If by my telling you this I shall have led you

astray, I shall regret my openness with you. Could I begin again, I would willingly begin as you began."

It was a great day in Killaloe, that on which Mr Monk arrived with Phineas at the doctor's house. In London,

perhaps, a bishop inspires more awe than a Cabinet Minister. In Killaloe, where a bishop might be seen

walking about every day, the mitred dignitary of the Church, though much loved, was thought of, I fear, but

lightly; whereas a Cabinet Minister coming to stay in the house of a townsman was a thing to be wondered at,

to be talked about, to be afraid of, to be a fruitful source of conversation for a year to come. There were many

in Killaloe, especially among the elder ladies, who had shaken their heads and expressed the saddest doubts

when young Phineas Finn had first become a Parliament man. And though by degrees they had been half

brought round, having been driven to acknowledge that he had been wonderfully successful as a Parliament

man, still they had continued to shake their heads among themselves, and to fear something in the future

until he appeared at his old home leading a Cabinet Minister by the hand. There was such assurance in this

that even old Mrs Callaghan, at the brewery, gave way, and began to say all manner of good things, and to

praise the doctor's luck in that he had a son gifted with parts so excellent. There was a great desire to see the

Cabinet Minister in the flesh, to be with him when he ate and drank, to watch the gait and countenance of the

man, and to drink water from this fountain of state lore which had been so wonderfully brought among them

by their young townsman. Mrs Finn was aware that it behoved her to be chary of her invitations, but the lady

from the brewery had said such good things of Mrs Finn's black swan, that she carried her point, and was

Mrs Flood Jones and her daughter were invited also to be of the party. When Phineas had been last at

Killaloe, Mrs Flood Jones, as the reader may remember, had remained with her daughter at Floodborough

feeling it to be her duty to keep her daughter away from the danger of an unrequited attachment. But it

seemed that her purpose was changed now, or that she no longer feared the danger for both Mary and her

mother were now again living in Killaloe, and Mary was at the doctor's house as much as ever.

A day or two before the coming of the god and the demigod to the little town, Barbara Finn and her friend

had thus come to understand each other as they walked along the Shannon side. "I am sure, my dear, that he

"And I am sure, my dear," said Mary, that I do not care whether he is or is not."

"I mean what I say. Why should I care? Five years ago I had a foolish dream, and now I am awake again.

"It has this to do with it that I am old enough to know better. Mamma and I quite understand each other.

She used to be angry with him, but she has got over all that foolishness now. It always made me so vexed

the idea of being angry with a man because because ! You know one can't talk about it, it is so foolish.

"Do you mean to say you don't care for him, Mary? Do you remember what you used to swear to me less than

"I remember it all very well, and I remember what a goose I was. As for caring for him, of course I do

because he is your brother, and because I have known him all my life. But if he were going to be married

Barbara Finn walked on for a couple of minutes in silence before she replied, "Mary," she said at last, I don't

"Very well then all that I shall ask of you is, that we may not talk about him any more. Mamma believes

it, and that is enough for me." Nevertheless, they did talk about Phineas during the whole of that day, and

There was a large dinner party at the doctor's on the day after Mr Monk's arrival. The bishop was not there,

though he was on terms sufficiently friendly with the doctor's family to have been invited on so grand an

occasion; but he was not there, because Mrs Finn was determined that she would be taken out to dinner by a

Cabinet Minister in the face of all her friends. She was aware that had the bishop been there, she must have

taken the bishop's arm. And though there would have been glory in that, the other glory was more to her taste.

It was the first time in her life that she had ever seen a Cabinet Minister, and I think that she was a little

disappointed at finding him so like other middleaged gentlemen. She had hoped that Mr Monk would have

assumed something of the dignity of his position; but he assumed nothing. Now the bishop, though he was a

very mild man, did assume something by the very facts of his apron and kneebreeches.

"I am sure, sir, it is very good of you to come and put up with our humble way of living," said Mrs Finn to

her guest, as they sat down at table. And yet she had resolved that she would not make any speech of the kind

that she would condescend to no apology that she would bear herself as though a Cabinet Minister

dined with her at least once a year. But when the moment came, she broke down, and made this apology with

"My dear madam," said Mr Monk, I live myself so much like a hermit that your house is a palace of luxury to

me." Then he felt that he had made a foolish speech, and he also hated himself. He found it very difficult to

talk to his hostess upon any subject, until by chance he mentioned his young friend Phineas. Then her tongue

was unloosed. "Your son, madam," he said, is going with me to Limerick and back to Dublin. It is a shame, I

know, taking him so soon away from home, but I should not know how to get on without him."

"Oh, Mr Monk, it is such a blessing for him, and such an honour for us, that you should be so good to him."

Then the mother spoke out all her past fears and all her present hopes, and acknowledged the great glory

which it was to her to have a son sitting in Parliament, holding an office with a stately name and a great

salary, and blessed with the friendship of such a man as Mr Monk. After that Mr Monk got on better with her.

"I don't know any young man," said he, in whose career I have taken so strong an interest."

"He was always good," said Mrs Finn, with a tear forcing itself into the corner of each eye. "I am his mother,

and of course I ought not to say so not in this way; but it is true, Mr Monk." And then the poor lady was

Phineas on this occasion had taken out to dinner the mother of his devoted Mary, Mrs Flood Jones. "What a

pleasure it must be to the doctor and Mrs Finn to see you come back in this way," said Mrs Flood Jones.

"Yes; with all your bones unbroken. You know, Phineas, when we first heard that you were to sit in

Parliament, we were afraid that you might break a rib or two since you choose to talk about the breaking

"Yes, I know. Everybody thought I should come to grief; but nobody felt so sure of it as I did myself."

"I am not out of the wood yet, you know, Mrs Flood Jones. There is plenty of possibility for grief in my way

"As far as I can understand it, you are out of the wood. All that your friends here want to see now is, that you

should marry some nice English girl, with a little money, if possible. Rumours have reached us, you know."

"Rumours always lie," said Phineas. "Sometimes they do, of course; and I am not going to ask any indiscreet

questions. But that is what we all hope. Mary was saying, only the other day, that if you were once married,

we should all feel quite safe about you. And you know we all take the most lively interest in your welfare. It

is not every day that a man from County Clare gets on as you have done, and therefore we are bound to think

of you." Thus Mrs Flood Jones signified to Phineas Finn that she had forgiven him the thoughtlessness of his

early youth even though there had been something of treachery in that thoughtlessness to her own

daughter; and showed him, also, that whatever Mary's feelings might have been once, they were not now of a

"I should think very likely not," said Phineas, who perhaps looked farther into the mind of the lady than the

"Oh, do," said the lady. Every man should marry as soon as he can, and especially a man in your position."

When the ladies met together in the drawingroom after dinner, it was impossible but that they should

discuss Mr Monk. There was Mrs Callaghan from the brewery there, and old Lady Blood, of Bloodstone

who on ordinary occasions would hardly admit that she was on diningout terms with anyone in Killaloe

except the bishop, but who had found it impossible to decline to meet a Cabinet Minister and there was

Mrs Stackpoole from Sixmiletown, a faraway cousin of the Finns, who hated Lady Blood with a true

"I don't see anything particularly uncommon in him, after all," said Lady Blood.

"So very quiet, my dear, and just like other people," said Mrs Callaghan, meaning to pronounce a strong

"And what would you expect, Lady Blood?" said Mrs Stackpoole. "Men and women in London walk upon

two legs, just as they do in Ennis." Now Lady Blood herself had been born and bred in Ennis, whereas Mrs

Stackpoole had come from Limerick, which is a much more considerable town, and therefore there was a

satire in this allusion to the habits of the men of Ennis which Lady Blood understood thoroughly.

"My dear Mrs Stackpoole, I know how the people walk in London quite as well as you do." Lady Blood had

once passed three months in London while Sir Patrick had been alive, whereas Mrs Stackpoole had never

"Oh, no doubt," said Mrs Stackpoole; but I never can understand what it is that people expect. I suppose Mr.

Monk ought to have come with his stars on the breast of his coat, to have pleased Lady Blood."

"He is so nice and gentle to talk to," said Mrs Finn. "You may say what you will, but men who are high up do

very often give themselves airs. Now I must say that this friend of my son's does not do anything of that

"Quite the contrary," said Mrs Stackpoole. I dare say he is a wonderful man," said Lady Blood. "All I say is,

that I didn't hear anything wonderful come out of his mouth; and as for people in Ennis walking on two legs, I

have seen donkeys in Limerick doing just the same thing." Now it was well known that Mrs Stackpoole had

two sons living in Limerick, as to neither of whom was it expected that he would set the Shannon on fire.

After this little speech there was no further mention of Mr Monk, as it became necessary that all the good

nature of Mrs Finn and all the tact of Mrs Flood Jones and all the energy of Mrs Callaghan should be used, to

prevent the raging of an internecine battle between Mrs Stackpoole and Lady Blood.

Mr Monk"s holiday programme allowed him a week at Killaloe, and from thence he was to go to Limerick,

and from Limerick to Dublin, in order that, at both places, he might be entertained at a public dinner and

make a speech about tenantright. Foreseeing that Phineas might commit himself if he attended these

meetings, Mr Monk had counselled him to remain at Killaloe. But Phineas had refused to subject himself to

such cautious abstinence. Mr Monk had come to Ireland as his friend, and he would see him through his

travels. "I shall not, probably, be asked to speak," said Phineas, "and if I am asked, I need not say more than a

"I must take my chance of that. I am not going to tie myself down for ever and ever for the sake of being

UnderSecretary to the Colonies." Mr Monk said very much to him on the subject was constantly saying

very much to him about it; but in spite of all that Mr Monk said, Phineas did make the journey to Limerick

He had not, since his arrival at Killaloe, been a moment alone with Mary Flood Jones till the evening before

he started with Mr Monk. She had kept out of his way successfully, though she had constantly been with him

in company, and was beginning to plume herself on the strength and valour of her conduct. But her

selfpraise had in it nothing of joy, and her glory was very sad. Of course she would care for him no more

more especially as it was so very evident that he cared not at all for her. But the very fact of her keeping out

of his way, made her acknowledge to herself that her position was very miserable. She had declared to her

mother that she might certainly go to Killaloe with safety that it would be better for her to put herself in

the way of meeting him as an old friend that the idea of the necessity of shutting herself up because of his

approach, was the one thing that gave her real pain. Therefore her mother had brought her to Killaloe and she

had met him; but her fancied security had deserted her, and she found herself to be miserable, hoping for

something she did not know what, still dreaming of possibilities, feeling during every moment of his presence

with her that some special conduct was necessary on her part. She could not make further confession to her

mother and ask to be carried back to Floodborough; but she knew that she was very wretched at Killaloe.

As for Phineas, he had felt that his old friend was very cold to him. He was in that humour with reference to

Violet Effingham which seemed especially to require consolation. He knew now that all hope was over there.

Violet Effingham could never be his wife. Even were she not to marry Lord Chiltern for the next five years,

she would not, during those five years, marry any other man. Such was our hero's conviction; and, suffering

under this conviction, he was in want of the comfort of feminine sympathy. Had Mary known all this, and

had it suited her to play such a part, I think she might have had Phineas at her feet before he had been a week

at home. But she had kept aloof from him and had heard nothing of his sorrows. As a natural consequence of

On the evening before he started with Mr Monk for Limerick, he managed to be alone with her for a few

minutes. Barbara may probably have assisted in bringing about this arrangement, and had, perhaps, been

guilty of some treachery sisters in such circumstances will sometimes be very treacherous to their friends.

I feel sure, however, that Mary herself was quite innocent of any guile in the matter. "Mary," Phineas said to

her suddenly, it seems to me that you have avoided me purposely ever since I have been at home." She smiled

and blushed, and stammered and said nothing. "Has there been any reason for it, Mary?"

"That was before you were a great man, Phineas. It must necessarily be different now. You know so many

people now, and people of such a different sort, that of course I fall a little into the background."

"Indeed, indeed I am not." "I believe there is no one in the whole world," he said, after a pause, "whose

friendship is more to me than yours is. I think of it so often, Mary. Say that when we come back it shall be

between us as it used to be." Then he put out his hand for hers, and she could not help giving it to him. "Of

course there will be people," he said, "who talk nonsense, and one cannot help it; but I will not put up with it

"I did not mean to talk nonsense, Phineas!" Then there came someone across them, and the conversation was

ended; but the sound of his voice remained on her ears, and she could not help but remember that he had

declared that her friendship was dearer to him than the friendship of anyone else.

Phineas went with Mr Monk first to Limerick and then to Dublin, and found himself at both places to be

regarded as a hero only second to the great hero. At both places the one subject of debate was tenantright

could anything be done to make it profitable for men with capital to put their capital into Irish land? The

fertility of the soil was questioned by no one nor the sufficiency of external circumstances, such as

railroads and the like nor the abundance of labour nor even security for the wealth to be produced. The

only difficulty was in this, that the men who were to produce the wealth had no guarantee that it would be

theirs when it was created. In England and elsewhere such guarantees were in existence. Might it not be

possible to introduce them into Ireland? That was the question which Mr Monk had in hand; and in various

speeches which he made both before and after the dinners given to him, he pledged himself to keep it well in

hand when Parliament should meet. Of course Phineas spoke also. It was impossible that he should be silent

when his friend and leader was pouring out his eloquence. Of course he spoke, and of course he pledged

himself. Something like the old pleasures of the debating society returned to him, as standing upon a platform

before a listening multitude, he gave full vent to his words. In the House of Commons, of late he had been so

cabined, cribbed, and confined by office as to have enjoyed nothing of this. Indeed, from the commencement

of his career, he had fallen so thoroughly into the decorum of Government ways, as to have missed altogether

the delights of that wild irresponsible oratory of which Mr Monk had spoken to him so often. He had envied

men below the gangway, who, though supporting the Government on main questions, could get up on their

legs whenever the House was full enough to make it worth their while, and say almost whatever they pleased.

There was that Mr Robson, who literally did say just what came uppermost; and the thing that came

uppermost was often illnatured, often unbecoming the gravity of the House, was always startling; but men

listened to him and liked him to speak. But Mr Robson had married a woman with money. Oh, why

why, had not Violet Effingham been kinder to him? He might even yet, perhaps, marry a woman with money.

The upshot of the Dublin meeting was that he also positively pledged himself to support during the next

session of Parliament a bill advocating tenantright. "I am sorry you went so far as that," Mr Monk said to

him almost as soon as the meeting was over. They were standing on the pier at Kingstown, and Mr Monk was

"Because I had thought about it, and I do not think that you have. I am prepared to resign my office

tomorrow; and directly that I can see Mr Gresham and explain to him what I have done, I shall offer to do

"He must accept it, unless he is prepared to instruct the Irish Secretary to bring in such a bill as I can

"But you ought not to be in the same boat nor need you. My advice to you is to say nothing about it till

you get back to London, and then speak to Lord Cantrip. Tell him that you will not say anything on the

subject in the House, but that in the event of there being a division you hope to be allowed to vote as on an

open question. It may be that I shall get Gresham's assent, and if so we shall be all right. If I do not, and if

"But I do not think they will. You have been too useful, and they will wish to avoid the weakness which

comes to a ministry from changing its team. Goodbye, my dear fellow; and remember this my last word of

advice to you is to stick by the ship. I am quite sure it is a career which will suit you. I did not begin it soon

Phineas was rather melancholy as he returned alone to Killaloe. It was all very well to bid him stick to the

ship, and he knew as well as anyone could tell him how material the ship was to him; but there are

circumstances in which a man cannot stick to his ship cannot stick, at least, to this special Government

ship. He knew that whither Mr Monk went, in this session, he must follow. He had considerable hope that

when Mr Monk explained his purpose to the Prime Minister, the Prime Minister would feel himself obliged

to give way. In that case Phineas would not only be able to keep his office, but would have such an

opportunity of making a speech in Parliament as circumstances had never yet given to him. When he was

again at home he said nothing to his father or to the Killaloeians as to the danger of his position. Of what use

would it be to make his mother and sisters miserable, or to incur the useless counsels of the doctor? They

seemed to think his speech at Dublin very fine, and were never tired of talking of what Mr Monk and Phineas

were going to do; but the idea had not come home to them that if Mr Monk or Phineas chose to do anything

on their own account, they must give up the places which they held under the Crown.

It was September when Phineas found himself back at Killaloe, and he was due to be at his office in London

in November. The excitement of Mr Monk's company was now over, and he had nothing to do but to receive

pouches full of official papers from the Colonial Office, and study all the statistics which came within his

reach in reference to the proposed new law for tenantright. In the meantime Mary was still living with her

mother at Killaloe, and still kept herself somewhat aloof from the man she loved. How could it be possible

One day he found himself talking to her about himself, and speaking to her of his own position with more

frankness than he ever used with his own family. He had begun by reminding her of that conversation which

they had had before he went away with Mr Monk, and by reminding her also that she had promised to return

"I only say that I made no particular promise. Of course we are friends. We have always been friends."

"What would you say if you heard that I had resigned my office and given up my seat?" he asked. Of course

she expressed her surprise, almost her horror, at such an idea, and then he told her everything. It took long in

the telling, because it was necessary that he should explain to her the working of the system which made it

impossible for him, as a member of the Government, to entertain an opinion of his own.

He laughed as he acknowledged that it would be dreadful. "It is very dreadful, Mary, to have nothing to eat

and drink. But what is a man to do? Would you recommend me to say that black is white?"

"You see, Mary, it is very nice to be called by a big name and to have a salary, and it is very comfortable to

be envied by one's friends and enemies but there are drawbacks. There is this especial drawback." Then he

"A man cannot do what he pleases with himself. How can a man marry, so circumstanced as I am?"

She hesitated for a moment, and then she answered him "A man may be very happy without marrying, I

He also paused for many moments before he spoke again, and she then made a faint attempt to escape from

him. But before she succeeded he had asked her a question which arrested her. "I wonder whether you would

listen to me if I were to tell you a history?" Of course she listened, and the history he told her was the tale of

"Mary, that is untrue that is illnatured. You do not mean that. Say that you do not mean it. You have not

"I have said nothing of the kind. Love is involuntary. It does not often run in a yoke with prudence. I have

told you my history as far as it is concerned with Violet Effingham. I did love her very dearly."

"Yes did love her. Is there any inconstancy in ceasing to love when one is not loved? Is there inconstancy

"I do not know," said Mary, to whom the occasion was becoming so embarrassing that she no longer was able

"If there be, dear, I am inconstant." He paused, but of course she had not a syllable to say. "I have changed

my love. But I could not speak of a new passion till I had told the story of that which has passed away. You

have heard it all now, Mary. Can you try to love me, after that?" It had come at last the thing for which

she had been ever wishing. It had come in spite of her imprudence, and in spite of her prudence. When she

had heard him to the end she was not a whit angry with him she was not in the least aggrieved because

he had been lost to her in his love for this Miss Effingham, while she had been so nearly lost by her love for

him. For women such episodes in the lives of their lovers have an excitement which is almost pleasurable,

whereas each man is anxious to hear his lady swear that until he appeared upon the scene her heart had been

fancy free. Mary, upon the whole, had liked the story had thought that it had been finely told, and was

well pleased with the final catastrophe. But, nevertheless, she was not prepared with her reply. "Have you no

answer to give me, Mary?" he said, looking up into her eyes. I am afraid that he did not doubt what would be

her answer as it would be good that all lovers should do. "You must vouchsafe me some word, Mary."

When she essayed to speak she found that she was dumb. She could not get her voice to give her the

assistance of a single word. She did not cry, but there was a motion as of sobbing in her throat which impeded

all utterance. She was as happy as earth as heaven could make her; but she did not know how to tell him

that she was happy. And yet she longed to tell it, that he might know how thankful she was to him for his

goodness. He still sat looking at her, and now by degrees he had got her hand in his. "Mary," he said, will you

When half an hour had passed, they were still together, and now she had found the use of her tongue. "Do

whatever you like best," she said. "I do not care which you do. If you came to me tomorrow and told me you

had no income, it would make no difference. Though to love you and to have your love is all the world to me

though it makes all the difference between misery and happiness I would sooner give up that than be a

clog on you." Then he took her in his arms and kissed her. "Oh, Phineas!" she said, I do love you so entirely!"

"Yes; your own one. But if you had known it always! Never mind. Now you are my own are you not?"

"What on earth are you two doing here these two hours together?" said Barbara, bursting into the room.

"Nothing at all in particular," said Phineas. Only this that we have engaged ourselves to marry each other.

"Oh, Barbara!" said the joyful girl, springing forward into her friend's arms; "I do believe I am the happiest

Before Phineas had returned to London his engagement with Mary Flood Jones was known to all his family,

was known to Mrs Flood Jones, and was indeed known generally to all Killaloe. That other secret of his,

which had reference to the probability of his being obliged to throw up his office, was known only to Mary

herself. He thought that he had done all that honour required of him in telling her of his position before he

had proposed so that she might on that ground refuse him if she were so minded. And yet he had known

very well that such prudence on her part was not to be expected. If she loved him, of course she would say so

when she was asked. And he had known that she loved him. "There may be delay, Mary," he said to her as he

"Not in the least. I will swear by it as the one thing that is truest in the world."

"You may, dearest. And if this should come to pass I must go to work and put my shoulder to the wheel, and

earn an income for you by my old profession before I can make you my wife. With such a motive before me I

know that I shall earn an income." And thus they parted. Mary, though of course she would have preferred

that her future husband should remain in his high office, that he should be a member of Parliament and an

UnderSecretary of State, admitted no doubt into her mind to disturb her happiness; and Phineas, though he

had many misgivings as to the prudence of what he had done, was not the less strong in his resolution of

constancy and endurance. He would throw up his position, resign his seat, and go to work at the Bar instantly,

if he found that his independence as a man required him to do so. And, above all, let come what might, he

would be true to Mary Flood Jones. December was half over before he saw Lord Cantrip. "Yes yes;" said

Lord Cantrip, when the UnderSecretary began to tell his story; "I saw what you were about. I wish I had

"Then I can only say that I am very glad that I do not know the country as you know it. You see, Finn, it's my

idea that if a man wants to make himself useful he should stick to some special kind of work. With you it's a

"I don't say anything about that. As you wish it, of course I'll speak to Gresham. Monk, I believe, has

"I always felt afraid of him for your sake, Finn. Mr Monk is a clever man, and as honest a man as any in the

House, but I always thought that he was a dangerous friend for you. However, we will see. I will speak to

When Parliament met the first great subject of interest was the desertion of Mr Monk from the Ministry. He

at once took his place below the gangway, sitting as it happened exactly in front of Mr Turnbull, and there he

made his explanation. Someone opposite asked a question whether a certain right honourable gentleman had

not left the Cabinet. Then Mr Gresham replied that to his infinite regret his right honourable friend who lately

presided at the Board of Trade had resigned; and he went on to explain that this resignation had, according to

his ideas, been quite unnecessary. His right honourable friend entertained certain ideas about Irish Tenant

Right, as to which he himself and his right honourable friend the Secretary for Ireland could not exactly

pledge themselves to be in unison with him; but he had thought that the motion might have rested at any rate

over this session. Then Mr Monk explained, making his first great speech on Irish Tenant Right. He found

himself obliged to advocate some immediate measure for giving security to the Irish farmer; and as he could

not do so as a member of the Cabinet, he was forced to resign the honour of that position. He said something

also as to the great doubt which had ever weighed on his own mind as to the inexpediency of a man at his

time of life submitting himself for the first time to the trammels of office. This called up Mr Turnbull, who

took the opportunity of saying that he now agreed cordially with his old friend for the first time since that old

friend had listened to the blandishments of the ministerial seducer, and that he welcomed his old friend back

to those independent benches with great satisfaction. In this way the debate was very exciting. Nothing was

said which made it then necessary for Phineas to get upon his legs or to declare himself; but he perceived that

the time would rapidly come in which he must do so. Mr Gresham, though he strove to speak with gentle

words, was evidently very angry with the late President of the Board of Trade; and, moreover, it was quite

clear that a bill would be introduced by Mr Monk himself, which Mr Gresham was determined to oppose. If

all this came to pass and there should be a close division, Phineas felt that his fate would be sealed. When he

again spoke to Lord Cantrip on the subject, the Secretary of State shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"I can only advise you," said Lord Cantrip, to forget all that took place in Ireland. If you will do so, nobody

else will remember it." "As if it were possible to forget such things," he said in the letter which he wrote to

Mary that night. "Of course I shall go now. If it were not for your sake, I should not in the least regret it."

He had been with Madame Goesler frequently in the winter, and had discussed with her so often the question

of his official position that she had declared that she was coming at last to understand the mysteries of an

English Cabinet. "I think you are quite right, my friend," she said "quite right. What you are to be in

Parliament and say that this black thing is white, or that this white thing is black, because you like to take

your salary! That cannot be honest!" Then, when he came to talk to her of money that he must give up

Parliament itself, if he gave up his place she offered to lend him money. "Why should you not treat me as

a friend?" she said. When he pointed out to her that there would never come a time in which he could pay

such money back, she stamped her foot and told him that he had better leave her. "You have high principle,"

she said, but not principle sufficiently high to understand that this thing could be done between you and me

without disgrace to either of us." Then Phineas assured her with tears in his eyes that such an arrangement

But he whispered to this new friend no word of the engagement with his dear Irish Mary. His Irish life, he

would tell himself, was a thing quite apart and separate from his life in England. He said not a word about

Mary Flood Jones to any of those with whom he lived in London. Why should he, feeling as he did that it

would so soon be necessary that he should disappear from among them? About Miss Effingham he had said

much to Madame Goesler. She had asked him whether he had abandoned all hope, "That affair, then, is

"Heaven knows. I think she will. But she is exactly the girl to remain unmarried if she takes it into her head

"Oh yes there is no doubt of that." And Phineas, as he made this acknowledgment, seemed to do so

without much inward agony of soul. When he had been last in London he could not speak of Violet and Lord

At this time he received some counsel from two friends. One was Laurence Fitzgibbon, and the other was

Barrington Erle. Laurence had always been true to him after a fashion, and had never resented his intrusion at

the Colonial Office. "Phineas, me boy," he said, "if all this is true, you're about up a tree."

"Then, me boy, you're up a tree as far as office goes. A place like that niver suited me, because, you see, that

poker of a young lord expected so much of a man but you don't mind that kind of thing, and I thought you

"Bedad, yes. It's all throubles, I think, sometimes. But you've a way out of all your throubles."

"And it's my belief she'll take you without a second word. Anyways, thry it, Phinny, my boy. That's my

advice." Phineas so far agreed with his friend Laurence that he thought it possible that Madame Goesler

might accept him were he to propose marriage to her. He knew, of course, that that mode of escape from his

difficulties was out of the question for him, but he could not explain this to Laurence Fitzgibbon.

"I am sorry to hear that you have taken up a bad cause," said Barrington Erle to him.

"It is a pity is it not?" "And the worst of it is that you'll sacrifice yourself and do no good to the cause. I

never knew a man break away in this fashion, and not feel afterwards that he had done it all for nothing."

"Convictions! There is nothing on earth that I'm so much afraid of in a young member of Parliament as

convictions. There are ever so many rocks against which men get broken. One man can't keep his temper.

Another can't hold his tongue. A third can't say a word unless he has been priming himself half a session. A

fourth is always thinking of himself, and wanting more than he can get. A fifth is idle, and won't be there

when he's waited. A sixth is always in the way. A seventh lies so that you never can trust him. I've had to do

"I don't see how a fellow is to help himself," said Phineas. "When a fellow begins to meddle with politics

"Why can't you grow into them gradually as your betters and elders have done before you? It ought to be

enough for any man, when he begins, to know that he's a Liberal. He understands which side of the House

he's to vote, and who is to lead him. What's the meaning of having a leader to a party, if it's not that? Do you

"I'm not so sure of that. But look here, Phineas. I don't care two straws about Monk's going. I always thought

that Mildmay and the Duke were wrong when they asked him to join. I knew he'd go over the traces

unless, indeed, he took his money and did nothing for it, which is the way with some of those Radicals. I look

"The devil go along with him, as you say in Ireland. But don't you be such a fool as to ruin yourself for a

crotchet of Monk's. It isn't too late yet for you to hold back. To tell you the truth, Gresham has said a word to

"He is most anxious that you should stay, but of course you can't stay and vote against us."

"I look upon you, you know, as in some sort my own child. I've tried to bring other fellows forward who

seemed to have something in them, but I have never succeeded as I have with you. You've hit the thing off,

and have got the ball at your foot. Upon my honour, in the whole course of my experience I have never

"And I shall always remember how it began, Barrington," said Phineas, who was greatly moved by the

"But, for God's sake, don't go and destroy it all by such mad perversity as this. They mean to do something

next session. Morrison is going to take it up." Sir Walter Morrison was at this time Secretary for Ireland. "But

of course we can't let a fellow like Monk take the matter into his own hands just when he pleases. I call it d

"Men will have their own opinions about that. It's generally understood that when a man is asked to take a

seat in the Cabinet he is expected to conform with his colleagues, unless something very special turns up. But

I am speaking of you now, and not of Monk. You are not a man of fortune. You cannot afford to make ducks

and drakes. You are excellently placed, and you have plenty of time to hark back, if you'll only listen to

reason. All that Irish stump balderdash will never be thrown in your teeth by us, if you will just go on as

Phineas could only thank his friend for his advice, which was at least disinterested, and was good of its kind,

and tell him that he would think of it. He did think of it very much. He almost thought that, were it to do

again, he would allow Mr Monk to go upon his tour alone, and keep himself from the utterance of anything

that so good a judge as Erle could call stump balderdash. As he sat in his armchair in his room at the Colonial

Office, with despatchboxes around him, and official papers spread before him feeling himself to be one

of those who in truth managed and governed the affairs of this great nation, feeling also that if he

relinquished his post now he could never regain it he did wish that he had been a little less in love with

independence, a little quieter in his boastings that no official considerations should ever silence his tongue.

But all this was too late now. He knew that his skin was not thick enough to bear the arrows of those archers

who would bend their bows against him if he should now dare to vote against Mr Monk's motion. His own

party might be willing to forgive and forget; but there would be others who would read those reports, and

Then he received a letter from his father. Some goodnatured person had enlightened the doctor as to the

danger in which his son was placing himself. Dr Finn, who in his own profession was a very excellent and

wellinstructed man, had teen so ignorant of Parliamentary tactics as to have been proud at his son's success

at the Irish meetings. He had thought that Phineas was carrying on his trade as a public speaker with proper

energy and continued success. He had cared nothing himself for tenantright, and had acknowledged to Mr

Monk that he could not understand in what it was that the farmers were wronged. But he knew that Mr Monk

was a Cabinet Minister, and he thought that Phineas was earning his salary. Then there came someone who

undeceived him, and the paternal bosom of the doctor was dismayed. "I don't mean to interfere," he said in

his letter, but I can hardly believe that you really intend to resign your place. Yet I am told that you must do

so if you go on with this matter. My dear boy, pray think about it. I cannot imagine you are disposed to lose

all that you have won for nothing." Mary also wrote to him. Mrs Finn had been talking to her, and Mary had

taught herself to believe that after the many sweet conversations she had had with a man so high in office as

Phineas, she really did understand something about the British Government. Mrs Finn had interrogated Mary,

and Mary had been obliged to own that it was quite possible that Phineas would be called upon to resign.

"Fiddlestick!" said Mrs Finn. How is he to maintain you, or himself either, if he goes on in that way? I

shouldn't wonder if he didn't get himself all wrong, even now." then Mrs Finn began to cry; and Mary could

only write to her lover, pointing out to him how very anxious all his friends were that he should do nothing in

a hurry. But what if the thing were done already! Phineas in his great discomfort went to seek further counsel

from Madame Goesler. Of all his counsellors, Madame Goesler was the only one who applauded him for

"But, after all, what is it you give up? Mr Gresham may be out tomorrow, and then where will be your

"Who can tell? Of course I do not understand but it was only the other day when Mr Mildmay was there,

and only the day before that when Lord de Terrier was there, and again only the day before that when Lord

Brock was there." Phineas endeavoured to make her understand that of the four Prime Ministers whom she

had named three were men of the same party as himself, under whom it would have suited him to serve. "I

would not serve under any man if I were an English gentleman in Parliament," said Madame Goesler.

"A poor fellow need not be a poor fellow unless he likes," said Madame Goesler. Immediately after this

Phineas left her, and as he went along the street he began to question himself whether the prospects of his

own darling Mary were at all endangered by his visits to Park Lane; and to reflect what sort of a blackguard

he would be a blackguard of how deep a dye were he to desert Mary and marry Madame Max Goesler.

Then he also asked himself as to the nature and quality of his own political honesty if he were to abandon

Mary in order that he might maintain his parliamentary independence. After all, if it should ever come to pass

that his biography should be written, his biographer would say very much more about the manner in which he

kept his seat in Parliament than of the manner in which he kept his engagement with Miss Mary Flood Jones.

Half a dozen people who knew him and her might think ill of him for his conduct to Mary, but the world

would not condemn him! And when he thundered forth his liberal eloquence from below the gangway as an

independent member, having the fortune of his charming wife to back him, giving excellent dinners at the

When he got to his office he found a note from Lord Brentford inviting him to dine in Portman Square.

The note from Lord Brentford surprised our hero not a little. He had had no communication with the Earl

since the day on which he had been so savagely scolded about the duel, when the Earl had plainly told him

that his conduct had been as bad as it could be. Phineas had not on that account become at all ashamed of his

conduct in reference to the duel, but he had conceived that any reconciliation between him and the Earl had

been out of the question. Now there had come a civillyworded invitation, asking him to dine with the

offended nobleman. The note had been written by Lady Laura, but it had purported to come from Lord

Brentford himself. He sent back word to say that he should be happy to have the honour of dining with Lord

Parliament at this time had been sitting nearly a month, and it was already March. Phineas had heard nothing

of Lady Laura, and did not even know that she was in London till he saw her handwriting. He did not know

that she had not gone back to her husband, and that she had remained with her father all the winter at Saulsby.

He had also heard that Lord Chiltern had been at Saulsby. All the world had been talking of the separation of

Mr Kennedy from his wife, one half of the world declaring that his wife, if not absolutely false to him, had

neglected all her duties; and the other half asserting that Mr Kennedy's treatment of his wife had been so bad

that no woman could possibly have lived with him. There had even been a rumour that Lady Laura had gone

off with a lover from the Duke of Omnium's garden party, and some indiscreet tongue had hinted that a

certain unmarried UnderSecretary of State was missing at the same time. But Lord Chiltern upon this had

shown his teeth with so strong a propensity to do some real biting that no one had ventured to repeat that

rumour. Its untruth was soon established by the fact that Lady Laura Kennedy was living with her father at

Saulsby. Of Mr Kennedy, Phineas had as yet seen nothing since he had been up in town. That gentleman,

though a member of the Cabinet, had not been in London at the opening of the session, nor had he attended

the Cabinet meetings during the recess. It had been stated in the newspapers that he was ill, and stated in

private that he could not bear to show himself since his wife had left him. At last, however, he came to

London, and Phineas saw him in the House. Then, when the first meeting of the Cabinet was summoned after

his return, it became known that he also had resigned his office. There was nothing said about his resignation

in the House. He had resigned on the score of illhealth, and that very worthy peer, Lord Mount Thistle,

formerly Sir Marmaduke Morecombe, came back to the Duchy of Lancaster in his place. A Prime Minister

sometimes finds great relief in the possession of a serviceable stick who can be made to go in and out as

occasion may require; only it generally happens that the stick will expect some reward when he is made to go

out. Lord Mount Thistle immediately saw his way to a viscount's coronet, when he was once more summoned

A few days after this had been arranged, in the interval between Lord Brentford's invitation and Lord

Brentford's dinner, Phineas encountered Mr Kennedy so closely in one of the passages of the House that it

was impossible that they should not speak to each other, unless they were to avoid each other as people do

who have palpably quarrelled. Phineas saw that Mr Kennedy was hesitating, and therefore took the bull by

the horns. He greeted his former friend in a friendly fashion, shaking him by the hand, and then prepared to

pass on. But Mr Kennedy, though he had hesitated at first, now detained his brother member. "Finn," he said,

if you are not engaged I should like to speak to you for a moment." Phineas was not engaged, and allowed

himself to be led out arminarm by the late Chancellor of the Duchy into Westminster Hall. "Of course you

"Everybody has heard of it. That is one of the terrible cruelties of such a blow."

"All those things are very bad of course. I was very much grieved because you have both been intimate

"Ah, yes; the morning of that day was the last on which I spoke to her. It was then she left me." "I am going

"Yes she is in town. I saw her yesterday in her father's carriage. I think that she had no cause to leave me."

"I think she had no cause to leave me." Phineas as he heard this could not but remember all that Lady Laura

had told himself, and thought that no woman had ever had a better reason for leaving her husband. "There

"But are we all of us to have all that we like? I have not found it so. Or would it be good for us if we had?"

Then he paused; but as Phineas had no further remark to make, he continued speaking after they had walked

about a third of the length of the hall. "It is not of my own comfort I am thinking now so much as of her name

and her future conduct. Of course it will in every sense be best for her that she should come back to her

"Has she not accepted that lot for better or for worse?" said Mr Kennedy, solemnly.

"But incompatibility of temper, you know, is always always supposed You understand me?"

"It is my intention that she should come back to me. I do not wish to make any legal demand at any rate,

not as yet. Will you consent to be the bearer of a message from me both to herself and to the Earl?"

Now it seemed to Phineas that of all the messengers whom Mr Kennedy could have chosen he was the most

unsuited to be a Mercury in this cause not perceiving that he had been so selected with some craft, in

order that Lady Laura might understand that the accusation against her was, at any rate, withdrawn, which

had named Phineas as her lover. He paused again before he answered. "Of course," he said, "I should be most

willing to be of service, if it were possible. But I do not see how I can speak to the Earl about it. Though I am

going to dine with him I don't know why he has asked me for he and I are on very bad terms. He heard

that stupid story about the duel, and has not spoken to me since." "I heard that, too," said Mr Kennedy,

"Everybody heard of it. But it has made such a difference between him and me, that I don't think I can

"Speak to Chiltern! Never! He would probably strike me on the head with his club."

"I did and she answered me, saying only thus; "Indeed, indeed, it cannot be so." But it must be so. The

laws of God require it, and the laws of man permit it. I want someone to point out that to them more softly

than I could do if I were simply to write to that effect. To the Earl, of course, I cannot write again." The

conference ended by a promise from Phineas that he would, if possible, say a word to Lady Laura.

When he was shown into Lord Brentford's drawingroom he found not only Lady Laura there, but her

brother. Lord Brentford was not in the room. Barrington Erle was there, and so also were Lord and Lady

"Is not your father going to be here?" he said to Lady Laura, after their first greeting.

"We live in that hope," said she, and do not at all know why he should be late. What has become of him,

"He came in with me half an hour ago, and I suppose he does not dress as quickly as I do," said Lord

Chiltern; upon which Phineas immediately understood that the father and the son were reconciled, and he

rushed to the conclusion that Violet and her lover would also soon be reconciled, if such were not already the

case. He felt some remnant of a soreness that it should be so, as a man feels where his headache has been

when the real ache itself has left him. Then the host came in and made his apologies. "Chiltern kept me

standing about", he said, "till the east wind had chilled me through and through. The only charm I recognise

in youth is that it is impervious to the east wind." Phineas felt quite sure now that Violet and her lover were

reconciled, and he has a distinct feeling of the place where the ache had been. Dear Violet! But, after all,

Violet lacked that sweet, clinging, feminine softness which made Mary Flood Jones so preeminently the

most charming of her sex. The Earl, when he had repeated his general apology, especially to Lady Cantrip,

who was the only lady present except his daughter, came up to our hero and shook him kindly by the hand.

He took him up to one of the windows and then addressed him in a voice of mock solemnity.

"Stick to the colonies, young man," he said, and never meddle with foreign affairs especially not at

"And leave all questions of firearms to be arranged between the Horse Guards and the War Office. I have

heard a good deal about it since I saw you, and I retract a part of what I said. But a duel is a foolish thing a

very foolish thing. Come here is dinner." And the Earl walked off with Lady Cantrip, and Lord Cantrip

walked off with Lady Laura. Barrington Erle followed, and Phineas had an opportunity of saying a word to

"Yes after a fashion. There is no knowing how long it will last. He wants me to do three things, and I

"To go into Parliament, to be an owner of sheep and oxen, and to hunt in his own country. I should never

attend the first, I should ruin myself with the second, and I should never get a run in the third." But there was

There were only seven who sat down to dinner, and the six were all people with whom Phineas was or had

been on most intimate terms. Lord Cantrip was his official chief, and, since that connection had existed

between him, Lady Cantrip had been very gracious to him. She quite understood the comfort which it was to

her husband to have under him, as his representative in the House of Commons, a man whom he could

thoroughly trust and like, and therefore she had used her woman's arts to bind Phineas to her lord in more

than mere official bondage. She had tried her skill also upon Laurence Fitzgibbon but altogether in vain.

He had eaten her dinners and accepted her courtesies, and had given for them no return whatever. But

Phineas had possessed a more grateful mind, and had done all that had been required of him had done all

that had been required of him till there had come that terrible absurdity in Ireland. "I knew very well what

sort of things would happen when they brought such a man as Mr Monk into the Cabinet," Lady Cantrip had

But though the party was very small, and though the guests were all his intimate friends, Phineas suspected

nothing special till an attack was made upon him as soon as the servants had left the room. This was done in

the presence of the two ladies, and, no doubt, had been preconcerted. There was Lord Cantrip there, who had

already said much to him, and Barrington Erle who had said more even than Lord Cantrip. Lord Brentford,

himself a member of the Cabinet, opened the attack by asking whether it was actually true that Mr Monk

meant to go on with his motion. Barrington Erle asserted that Mr Monk positively would do so. "And

Gresham will oppose it?" asked the Earl. Of course he will," said Barrington. "Of course he will, said Lord

Cantrip. "I know what I should think of him if he did not," said Lady Cantrip. "He is the last man in the world

to be forced into a thing," said Lady Laura. Then Phineas knew pretty well what was coming on him.

Lord Brentford began again by asking how many supporters Mr Monk would have in the House. "That

depends upon the amount of courage which the Conservatives may have," said Barrington Erle. "If they dare

to vote for a thoroughly democratic measure, simply for the sake of turning us out, it is quite on the cards that

they may succeed." "But of our own people? asked Lord Cantrip. "You had better inquire that of Phineas

Our hero had a bad half hour of it, though many words were said which must have gratified him much. They

all wanted to keep him so Lord Cantrip declared, "except one or two whom I could name, and who are

particularly anxious to wear his shoes," said Barrington, thinking that certain reminiscences of Phineas with

regard to Mr Bonteen and others might operate as strongly as any other consideration to make him love his

place. Lord Brentford declared that he could not understand it that he should find himself lost in

amazement if such a man as his young friend allowed himself to be led into the outer wilderness by such an

ignisfatuus of light as this. Lord Cantrip laid down the unwritten traditional law of Government officials

very plainly. A man in office in an office which really imposed upon him as much work as he could

possibly do with credit to himself or his cause was dispensed from the necessity of a conscience with

reference to other matters. It was for Sir Walter Morrison to have a conscience about Irish TenantRight, as

no doubt he had just as Phineas Finn had a conscience about Canada, and Jamaica, and the Cape.

Barrington Erle was very strong about parties in general, and painted the comforts of official position in

glowing colours. But I think that the two ladies were more efficacious than even their male relatives in the

arguments which they used. "We have been so happy to have you among us," said Lady Cantrip, looking at

him with beseeching, almost loving eyes. "Mr Finn knows," said Lady Laura, "that since he first came into

Parliament I have always believed in his success, and I have been very proud to see it." "We shall weep over

him, as over a fallen angel, if he leaves us," said Lady Cantrip. "I won't say that I will weep," said Lady

Laura, "but I do not know anything of the kind that would so truly make me unhappy."

What was he to say in answer to applications so flattering and so pressing? He would have said nothing, had

that been possible, but he felt himself obliged to reply. He replied very weakly of course, not justifying

himself, but declaring that as he had gone so far he must go further. He must vote for the measure now. Both

his chief and Barrington Erle proved or attempt to prove, that he was wrong in this. Of course he would not

speak on the measure, and his vote for his party would probably be allowed to pass without notice. One or

two newspapers might perhaps attack him; but what public man cared for such attacks as those? His whole

party would hang by him, and in that he would find ample consolation. Phineas could only say that he would

think of it and this he said in so irresolute a tone of voice that all the men then present believed that he

was gained. The two ladies, however, were of a different opinion. "In spite of anything that anybody may say,

he will do what he thinks right when the time comes," said Laura to her father afterwards. But then Lady

Laura had been in love with him was perhaps almost in love with him still. "I'm afraid he is a mule," said

Lady Cantrip to her husband. "He's a good mule up a hill with a load on his back," said his lordship. "But

with a mule there always comes a time when you can't manage him," said Lady Cantrip. But Lady Cantrip

Phineas found a moment, before he left Lord Brentford's house, to say a word to Lady Laura as to the

commission that had been given to him. "It can never be," said Lady Laura, shuddering "never, never,

"Tell him it cannot be. Tell him that if he has any instruction to send me as to what he considers to be my

duty, I will endeavour to comply, if that duty can be done apart. I will recognize him so far, because of my

vow. But not even for the sake of my vow, will I endeavour to live with him. His presence would kill me!"

When Phineas repeated this, or as much of this as he judged to be necessary, to Mr Kennedy a day or two

afterwards, that gentleman replied that in such case he would have no alternative but to seek redress at law. "I

have done nothing to my wife," said he, "of which I need be ashamed. It will be sad, no doubt, to have all our

affairs bandied about in court, and made the subject of comment in newspapers, but a man must go through

that, or worse than that, in the vindication of his rights, and for the performance of his duty to his Maker."

That very day Mr Kennedy went to his lawyer, and desired that steps might be taken for the restitution to him

Mr Monk's bill was read the first time before Easter, and Phineas Finn still held his office. He had spoken to

the Prime Minister once on the subject, and had been surprised at that gentleman's courtesy for Mr

Gresham had the reputation of being unconciliatory in his manners, and very prone to resent anything like

desertion from that allegiance which was due to himself as the leader of his party. "You had better stay where

you are and take no step that may be irretrievable, till you have quite made up your mind," said Mr Gresham.

"Nothing can be done till after Easter", replied the great man, "and there is no knowing how things may go

then. I strongly recommend you to stay with us. If you can do this it will be only necessary that you shall put

your resignation in Lord Cantrip's hands before you speak or vote against us. See Monk and talk it over with

him." Mr Gresham possibly imagined that Mr Monk might be moved to abandon his bill, when he saw what

"We have just got home from Killaloe, and mean to remain here all through the summer. After leaving your

sisters this house seems so desolate; but I shall have the more time to think of you. I have been reading

Tennyson, as you told me, and I fancy that I could in truth be a Mariana here, if it were not that I am so quite

certain that you will come and that makes all the difference in the world in a moated grange. Last night I

sat at the window and tried to realise what I should feel if you were to tell me that you did not want me; and I

got myself into such an ecstatic state of mock melancholy that I cried for half an hour. But when one has such

a real living joy at the back of one's romantic melancholy, tears are very pleasant they water and do not

"I must tell you about them all at Killaloe. They certainly are very unhappy at the idea of your resigning.

Your father says very little, but I made him own that to act as you are acting for the sake of principle is very

grand. I would not leave him till he had said so, and he did say it. Dear Mrs Finn does not understand it as

well, but she will do so. She complains mostly for my sake, and when I tell her that I will wait twenty years if

it is necessary, she tells me I do not know what waiting means. But I will and will be happy, and will

never really think myself a Mariana. Dear, dear, dear Phineas, indeed I won't. The girls are half sad and half

proud, But I am wholly proud, and know that you are doing just what you ought to do. I shall think more of

you as a man who might have been a Prime Minister than if you were really sitting in the Cabinet like Lord

Cantrip. As for mamma, I cannot make her quite understand it. She merely says that no young man who is

going to be married ought to resign anything. Dear mamma sometimes she does say such odd things.

"You told me to tell you everything, and so I have. I talk to some of the people here, and tell them what they

might do if they had tenantright. One old fellow, Mike Dufferty I don't know whether you remember

him asked if he would have to pay the rent all the same. When I said certainly he would, then he shook his

head. But as you said once, when we want to do good to people one has no right to expect that they should

"I got both your notes seven words in one, Mr UnderSecretary, and nine in the other! But the one little

word at the end was worth a whole sheet full of common words. How nice it is to write letters without paying

postage, and to send them about the world with a grand name in the corner. When Barney brings me one he

always looks as if he didn't know whether it was a love letter or an order to go to Botany Bay. If he saw the

inside of them, how short they are, I don't think he'd think much of you as a lover nor yet as an

"But I think ever so much of you as both I do, indeed; and I am not scolding you a bit. As long as I can

have two or three dear, sweet, loving words, I shall be as happy as a queen. Ah, if you knew it all! But you

never can know it all. A man has so many other things to learn that he cannot understand it.

"Goodbye, dear, dear, dearest man. Whatever you do I shall be quite sure you have done the best.

This was very nice. Such a man as was Phineas Finn always takes a delight which he cannot express even to

himself in the receipt of such a letter as this. There is nothing so flattering as the warm expression of the

confidence of a woman's love, and Phineas thought that no woman ever expressed this more completely than

did his Mary. Dear, dearest Mary. As for giving her up, as for treachery to one so trusting, so sweet, so well

beloved, that was out of the question. But nevertheless the truth came home to him more clearly day by day,

that he of all men was the last who ought to have given himself up to such a passion. For her sake he ought to

have abstained. So he told himself now. For her sake he ought to have kept aloof from her and for his own

sake he ought to have kept aloof from Mr Monk. That very day, with Mary's letter in his pocket, he went to

the livery stables and explained that he would not keep his horse any longer. There was no difficulty about

the horse. Mr Howard Macleod of the Treasury would take him from that very hour. Phineas, as he walked

away, uttered a curse upon Mr Howard Macleod. Mr Howard Macleod was just beginning the glory of his life

With Mary's letter in his pocket he went up to Portman Square. He had again got into the habit of seeing Lady

Laura frequently, and was often with her brother, who now again lived at his father's house. A letter had

reached Lord Brentford, through his lawyer, in which a demand was made by Mr Kennedy for the return of

his wife. She was quite determined that she would never go back to him; and there had come to her a doubt

whether it would not be expedient that she should live abroad so as to be out of the way of persecution from

her husband. Lord Brentford was in great wrath, and Lord Chiltern had once or twice hinted that perhaps he

had better "see" Mr Kennedy. The amenities of such an interview, as this would be, had up to the present day

been postponed; and, in a certain way, Phineas had been used as a messenger between Mr Kennedy and his

wife's family. "I think it will end", she said, in my going to Dresden, and settling myself there. Papa will

"Dull! What does dullness amount to when one has come to such a pass as this? When one is in the ruck of

fortune, to be dull is very bad; but when misfortune comes, simple dullness is nothing. It sounds almost like

"It is so hard that you should be driven away." She did not answer him for a while, and he was beginning to

think of his own case also. Was it not hard that he too should be driven away? "It is odd enough that we

"I think I shall. I have resolved upon this that if I give up my place, I will give up my seat too. I went into

Parliament with the hope of office, and how can I remain there when I shall have gained it and then have lost

"I think not. After all that has come and gone I should not be happy here, and I should make my way easier

and on cheaper terms in Dublin. My present idea is that I shall endeavour to make a practice over in my own

"Ah, Lady Laura if it only could be avoided! But it is of no use going through all that again."

"How much we would both of us avoid if we could only have another chance!" said Lady Laura. "If I could

only be as I was before I persuaded myself to marry a man whom I never loved, what a paradise the earth

"No, Mr Finn. Even should you resign your office, there is no reason why you should give up your seat."

She was silent for a few moments, during which she changed her seat so as to come nearer to him, placing

herself on a corner of a sofa close to the chair on which he was seated. "I wonder whether I may speak to you

"I trust you have been able to rid your bosom of all remembrances of Violet Effingham."

"Well, yes and of all lingering desires. I know now that it cannot be. Your brother is welcome to her."

"Ah of that I know nothing. He, with his perversity, has estranged her. But I am sure of this that if she

do not marry him, she will marry no one. But it is not on account of him that I speak. He must fight his own

"Then why should you not establish yourself by a marriage that will make place a matter of indifference to

you? I know that it is within your power to do so." Phineas put his hand up to his breast coat pocket, and felt

that Mary's letter her precious letter was there safe. It certainly was not in his power to do this thing

which Lady Laura recommended to him, but he hardly thought that the present was a moment suitable for

explaining to her the nature of the impediment which stood in the way of such an arrangement. He had so

lately spoken to Lady Laura with an assurance of undying constancy of his love for Miss Effingham, that he

could not as yet acknowledge the force of another passion. He shook his head by way of reply. "I tell you that

"Psha! You do not think so. You know that she would not laugh. And are you the man to be afraid of a

Again he did not answer her at once, and when he did speak the tone of his voice was altered. "What was it

"Why should you not love her? And it is so different with a man! A woman is wretched if she does not love

her husband, but I fancy that a man gets on very well without any such feeling. She cannot domineer over

you. She cannot expect you to pluck yourself out of your own soil, and begin a new growth together in

"I do not for a moment think that she would take me, if I were to offer myself."

"Try her," said Lady Laura energetically. Such trials cost you but little we both of us know that!" Still he

said nothing of the letter in his pocket. "It is everything that you should go on now that you have once begun.

I do not believe in you working at the Bar. You cannot do it. A man who has commenced life as you have

done with the excitement of politics, who has known what it is to take a prominent part in the control of

public affairs, cannot give it up and be happy at other work. Make her your wife, and you may resign or

remain in office just as you choose. Office will be much easier to you than it is now, because it will not be a

necessity. Let me at any rate have the pleasure of thinking that one of us can remain here that we need not

Still he did not tell her of the letter in his pocket. He felt that she moved him that she made him

acknowledge to himself how great would be the pity of such a failure as would be his. He was quite as much

alive as she could be to the fact that work at the Bar, either in London or in Dublin, would have no charms for

him now. The prospect of such a life was very dreary to him. Even with the comfort of Mary's love such a life

would be very dreary to him. And then he knew he thought that he knew that were he to offer himself

to Madame Goesler he would not in truth be rejected. She had told him that if poverty was a trouble to him he

need be no longer poor. Of course he had understood this. Her money was at his service if he should choose

to stoop and pick it up. And it was not only money that such a marriage would give him. He had

acknowledged to himself more than once that Madame Goesler was very lovely, that she was clever,

attractive in every way, and as far as he could see, blessed with a sweet temper. She had a position, too, in the

world that would help him rather than mar him. What might he not do with an independent seat in the House

of Commons, and as joint owner of the little house in Park Lane? Of all careers which the world could offer

to a man the pleasantest would then be within his reach. "You appear to me as a tempter," he said at last to

"It is unkind of you to say that, and ungrateful. I would do anything on earth in my power to help you."

"I know how it ought to have been," she said, in a low voice. "I know very well how it ought to have been. I

should have kept myself free till that time when we met on the braes of Loughlinter, and then all would have

"You do not know! But I know. Of course you have stabbed me with a thousand daggers when you have told

me from time to time of your love for Violet. You have been very cruel needlessly cruel. Men are so

cruel! But for all that I have known that I could have kept you had it not been too late when you spoke to

"Of course you would have been everything to me. I should never have thought of Violet then."

"That is the only kind word you have said to me from that day to this. I try to comfort myself in thinking that

it would have been so. But all that is past and gone, and done. I have had my romance and you have had

yours. As you are a man, it is natural that you should have been disturbed by a double image it is not so

"And yet you can advise me to offer marriage to a woman a woman whom I am to seek merely because

"Yes I do so advise you. You have had your romance and must now put up with reality. Why should I so

advise you but for the interest that I have in you? Your prosperity will do me no good. I shall not even be

here to see it. I shall hear of it only as so many a woman banished out of England hears a distant

misunderstood report of what is going on in the country she has left. But I still have regard enough I will

be bold, and, knowing that you will not take it amiss, will say love enough for you to feel a desire that you

should not be shipwrecked. Since we first took you in hand between us, Barrington and I, I have never

swerved in my anxiety on your behalf. When I resolved that it would be better for us both that we should be

only friends, I did not swerve. When you would talk to me so cruelly of your love for Violet, I did not

swerve. When I warned you from Loughlinter because I thought there was danger, I did not swerve. When I

bade you not to come to me in London because of my husband, I did not swerve. When my father was hard

upon you, I did not swerve then. I would not leave him till he was softened. When you tried to rob Oswald of

his love, and I thought you would succeed for I did think so I did not swerve. I have ever been true to

you. And now that I must hide myself and go away, and be seen no more, I am true still."

"Ah, no!" she said, speaking with no touch of anger, but all in sorrow "it must not be like that. There is no

room for that. Nor do you mean it. I do not think so ill of you. But there may not be even words of affection

"You are my friend," he said, stretching out his hand to her as he turned away his face. "You are my friend,

He put his hand into his pocket, and had the letter between his fingers with the purport of showing it to her.

But at the moment the thought occurred to him that were he to do so, then, indeed, he would be bound for

ever. He knew that he was bound for ever bound for ever to his own Mary; but he desired to have the

privilege of thinking over such bondage once more before he proclaimed it even to his dearest friend. He had

told her that she tempted him, and she stood before him now as a temptress. But lest it might be possible that

she should not tempt in vain that letter in his pocket must never be shown to her. In that case Lady Laura

He left her without any assured purpose without, that is, the assurance to her of any fixed purpose. There

yet wanted a week to the day on which Mr Monk's bill was to be read or not to be read the second

time; and he had still that interval before he need decide. He went to his club, and before he dined he strove

to write a line to Mary but when he had the paper before him he found that it was impossible to do so.

Though he did not even suspect himself of an intention to be false, the idea that was in his mind made the

effort too much for him. He put the paper away from him and went down and eat his dinner.

It was a Saturday, and there was no House in the evening. He had remained in Portman Square with Lady

Laura till near seven o'clock, and was engaged to go out in the evening to a gathering at Mrs Gresham's

house. Everybody in London would be there, and Phineas was resolved that as long as he remained in

London he would be seen at places where everybody was seen. He would certainly be at Mrs Gresham's

gathering; but there was an hour or two before he need go home to dress, and as he had nothing to do, he

went down to the smokingroom of his club. The seats were crowded, but there was one vacant; and before

he had looked about him to scrutinise his neighbourhood, he found that he had placed himself with Bonteen

on his right hand and Ratler on his left. There were no two men in all London whom he more thoroughly

They instantly attacked him, first on one side and then on the other. "So I am told you are going to leave us,"

"The whispers are very loud, I can tell you," said Ratler. "I think I know already pretty nearly how every man

"My opinion is," said Bonteen, that a man should be known either as a friend or foe. I respect a declared foe."

"That's all very well," said Ratler, but it means nothing. I've always had a sort of fear about you, Finn, that

you would go over the traces some day. Of course it's a very grand thing to be independent."

"But a man shouldn't be independent and stick to the ship at the same time. You forget the trouble you cause,

"The fact is, Finn," said Bonteen, you are made of clay too fine for office. I've always found it has been so

with men from your country. You are the grandest horses in the world to look at out on a prairie, but you

"And the sound of a whip over our shoulders sets us kicking does it not, Ratler?"

"I shall show the list to Gresham tomorrow," said Ratler, "and of course he can do as he pleases; but I don't

"Don't you be in a hurry," said Bonteen. I'll bet you a sovereign Finn votes with us yet. There's nothing like

being a little coy to set off a girl's charms. I'll bet you a sovereign, Ratler, that Finn goes out into the lobby

Phineas, not being able to stand any more of this most unpleasant raillery, got up and went away. The club

was distasteful to him, and he walked off and sauntered for a while about the park. He went down by the

Duke of York's column as though he were going to his office, which of course was closed at this hour, but

turned round when he got beyond the new public buildings buildings which he was never destined to use

in their completed state and entered the gates of the enclosure, and wandered on over the bridge across the

water. As he went his mind was full of thought. Could it be good for him to give up everything for a fair

face? He swore to himself that of all women whom he had ever seen Mary was the sweetest and the dearest

and the best. If it could be well to lose the world for a woman, it would be well to lose it for her. Violet, with

all her skill, and all her strength, and all her grace, could never have written such a letter as that which he still

held in his pocket. The best charm of a woman is that she should be soft, and trusting, and generous; and who

ever had been more soft, more trusting, and more generous than his Mary? Of course he would be true to her,

But to yield such a triumph to the Ratlers and Bonteens whom he left behind him to let them have their

will over him to know that they would rejoice scurrilously behind his back over his downfall! The feeling

was terrible to him. The last words which Bonteen had spoken made it impossible to him now not to support

his old friend Mr Monk. It was not only what Bonteen had said, but that the words of Mr Bonteen so plainly

indicated what would be the words of all the other Bonteens. He knew that he was weak in this. He knew that

had he been strong, he would have allowed himself to be guided if not by the firm decision of his own

spirit by the counsels of such men as Mr Gresham and Lord Cantrip, and not by the sarcasms of the

Bonteens and Ratlers of official life. But men who sojourn amidst savagery fear the mosquito more than they

do the lion. He could not bear to think that he should yield his blood to such a one as Bonteen.

And he must yield his blood, unless he could vote for Mr Monk's motion, and hold his ground afterwards

among them all in the House of Commons. He would at any rate see the session out, and try a fall with Mr

Bonteen when they should be sitting on different benches if ever fortune should give him an opportunity.

And in the meantime, what should he do about Madame Goesler? What a fate was his to have the handsomest

woman in London with thousands and thousands a year at his disposal! For so he now swore to himself

Madame Goesler was the handsomest woman in London, as Mary Flood Jones was the sweetest girl in the

He had not arrived at any decision so fixed as to make him comfortable when he went home and dressed for

Mrs Gresham's party. And yet he knew he thought that he knew that he would be true to Mary Flood

The rooms and passages and staircases at Mrs Gresham's house were very crowded when Phineas arrived

there. Men of all shades of politics were there, and the wives and daughters of such men; and there was a

streak of royalty in one of the saloons, and a whole rainbow of foreign ministers with their stars, and two blue

ribbons were to be seen together on the first landingplace, with a stout lady between them carrying

diamonds enough to load a pannier. Everybody was there. Phineas found that even Lord Chiltern was come,

as he stumbled across his friend on the first footground that he gained in his ascent towards the rooms.

"Halloa you here?" said Phineas. "Yes, by George!" said the other, but I am going to escape as soon as

possible. I've been trying to make my way up for the last hour, but could never get round that huge

promontory there. Laura was more persevering." "Is Kennedy here? Phineas whispered. "I do not know," said

A little higher up for Phineas was blessed with more patience than Lord Chiltern possessed he came

"Oh dear yes and we have just been having a most friendly conversation about you. What a man he is! He

knows everything. He is so accurate; so just in the abstract and in the abstract so generous!"

"He has been very generous to me in detail as well as in abstract," said Phineas.

"Ah, yes; I am not thinking of individuals exactly. His want of generosity is to large masses to a party, to

classes, to a people; whereas his generosity is for mankind at large. He assumes the god, affects to nod, and

seems to shake the spheres. But I have nothing against him. He has asked me here tonight, and has talked to

me most familiarly about Ireland." "What do you think of your chance of a second reading?" asked Phineas.

"Nor I, till I heard what Daubeny said at the first reading. They will all vote for the bill en masse hating it

"It is the way with them always. They do all our work for us sailing either on one tack or the other. That is

their use in creation, that when we split among ourselves, as we always do, they come in and finish our job

for us. It must be unpleasant for them to be always doing that which they always say should never be done at

"Wherever the gift horse may come from, I shall not look it in the mouth," said Mr Monk. "There is only one

man in the House whom I hope I may not see in the lobby with me, and that is yourself."

Phineas could not tell his friend that a question of so great magnitude to him had been decided by the last

sting which he had received from an insect so contemptible as Mr Bonteen, but he expressed the feeling as

well as he knew how to express it. "Oh, I shall be with you. I know what you are going to say, and I know

how good you are. But I could not stand it. Men are beginning already to say things which almost make me

get up and kick them. If I can help it, I will give occasion to no man to hint anything to me which can make

me be so wretched as I have been today. Pray do not say anything more. My idea is that I shall resign

"Then I hope that we may fight the battle side by side," said Mr Monk, giving him his hand.

After that he pushed his way still higher up the stairs, having no special purpose in view, not dreaming of any

such success as that of reaching his host or hostess merely feeling that it should be a point of honour with

him to make a tour through the rooms before he descended the stairs. The thing, he thought, was to be done

with courage and patience, and this might, probably, be the last time in his life that he would find himself in

the house of a Prime Minister. Just at the turn of the balustrade at the top of the stairs, he found Mr Gresham

in the very spot on which Mr Monk had been talking with him. "Very glad to see you," said Mr Gresham,

It did not suit Mr Gresham to understand this, so he changed the subject. "Have you seen the news from

"Ah, you have such faith in a combination of British colonies, properly backed in Downing Street, as to think

them strong against a world in arms. In your place I should hold to the same doctrine hold to it stoutly."

"Well yes I am not downhearted. But I confess to a feeling that the world would go on even though we

had nothing to say to a single province in North America. But that is for your private ear. You are not to

whisper that in Downing Street." Then there came up somebody else, and Phineas went on upon his slow

course. He had longed for an opportunity to tell Mr Gresham that he could go to Downing Street no more, but

For a long time he found himself stuck close by the side of Miss Fitzgibbon Miss Aspasia Fitzgibbon

who had once relieved him from terrible pecuniary anxiety by paying for him a sum of money which was due

by him on her brother's account. "It's a very nice thing to be here, but one does get tired of it," said Miss

"Of course it is a part of your duty, Mr Finn. You are on your promotion and are bound to be here. When I

asked Laurence to come, he said there was nothing to be got till the cards were shuffled again."

"Whatever colour comes up, you'll hold trumps, I know," said the lady. "Some hands always hold trumps."

He could not explain to Miss Fitzgibbon that it would never again be his fate to hold a single trump in his

He said a word as he went to half a dozen friends as friends went with him. He was detained for five

minutes by Lady Baldock, who was very gracious and very disagreeable. She told him that Violet was in the

room, but where she did not know. "She is somewhere with Lady Laura, I believe; and really, Mr Finn, I do

not like it." Lady Baldock had heard that Phineas had quarrelled with Lord Brentford, but had not heard of

the reconciliation. "Really, I do not like it. I am told that Mr Kennedy is in the house, and nobody knows

"One cannot tell. And when I hear that a woman is separated from her husband, I always think that she must

have been imprudent. It may be uncharitable, but I think it is most safe so to consider."

"As far as I have heard the circumstances, Lady Laura was quite right," said Phineas.

"It may be so. Gentlemen will always take the lady's part of course. But I should be very sorry to have a

Phineas, who had nothing now to gain from Lady Baldock's favour, left her abruptly, and went on again. He

had a great desire to see Lady Laura and Violet together, though he could hardly tell himself why. He had not

seen Miss Effingham since his return from Ireland, and he thought that if he met her alone he could hardly

have talked to her with comfort; but he knew that if he met her with Lady Laura, she would greet him as a

friend, and speak to him as though there were no cause for embarrassment between them. But he was so far

disappointed, that he suddenly encountered Violet alone. She had been leaning on the arm of Lord Baldock,

and Phineas saw her cousin leave her. But he would not be such a coward as to avoid her, especially as he

"Look. There is Mr Kennedy. We had heard that it was possible, and Laura made me promise that I would

not leave her." Phineas turned his head, and saw Mr Kennedy standing with his back bolt upright against a

doorpost, with his brow as black as thunder. "She is just opposite to him, where he can see her," said Violet.

"Pray take me to her. He will think nothing of you, because I know that you are still friends with both of

them. I came away because Lord Baldock wanted to introduce me to Lady Mouser. You know he is going to

Phineas, not caring much about Lord Baldock and Miss Mouser, took Violet's hand upon his arm, and very

slowly made his way across the room to the spot indicated. There they found Lady Laura alone, sitting under

the upastree influence of her husband's gaze. There was a concourse of people between them, and Mr

Kennedy did not seem inclined to make any attempt to lessen the distance. But Lady Laura had found it

"No it will do no good. I cannot stay. His carriage is there, I know waiting for me." Phineas

immediately started off to have the carriage called, and promised to return with as much celerity as he could

use. As he went, making his way much quicker through the crowd than he had done when he had no such

object for haste, he purposely avoided the door by which Mr Kennedy had stood. It would have been his

nearest way, but his present service, he thought, required that he should keep aloof from the man. But Mr

"Well. Yes. I dare say she may before long. I shall look for Lord Brentford's carriage by and by."

"Tell her she need not go because of me. I shall not return. I shall not annoy her here. It would have been

much better that a woman in such a plight should not have come to such an assembly."

"I would wish her to come back to the home that she has left, and, if there be any law in the land, she shall be

made to do so. You tell her that I say so." Then Mr Kennedy fought his way down the stairs, and Phineas

About half an hour afterwards Phineas returned to the two ladies with tidings that the carriage would be at

"And what did he say?" And then, in the presence of Violet, Phineas gave the message. He thought it better

that it should be given; and were he to decline to deliver it now, it would never be given. "Whether there be

law in the land to protect me or whether there be none, I will never live with him," said Lady Laura. "Is a

woman like a head of cattle, that she can be fastened in her crib by force? I will never live with him though

Phineas thought much of all this as he went to his solitary lodgings. After all, was not the world much better

with him than it was with either of those two wretched married beings? And why? He had not, at any rate as

yet, sacrificed for money or social gains any of the instincts of his nature. He had been fickle, foolish, vain,

uncertain, and perhaps covetous but as yet he had not been false. Then he took out Mary's last letter and

It would, perhaps, be difficult to decide between Lord Chiltern and Miss Effingham which had been

most wrong, or which had been nearest to the right, in the circumstances which had led to their separation.

The old lord, wishing to induce his son to undertake work of some sort, and feeling that his own efforts in

this direction were worse than useless, had closeted himself with his intended daughterinlaw, and had

obtained from her a promise that she would use her influence with her lover. "Of course I think it right that he

should do something," Violet had said. "And he will if you bid him," replied the Earl. Violet expressed a

great doubt as to this willingness of obedience; but, nevertheless, she promised to do her best, and she did her

best. Lord Chiltern, when she spoke to him, knit his brows with an apparent ferocity of anger which his

countenance frequently expressed without any intention of ferocity on his part. He was annoyed, but was not

savagely disposed to Violet. As he looked at her, however, he seemed to be very savagely disposed. "What is

"Not that by preference, I should say; but that if you please." When her lover had frowned at her, Violet had

resolved had strongly determined, with inward assertions of her own rights that she would not be

"You might might do anything. You ought to do something. You know that you ought. You know that

"That is easily asserted, Violet; but it would, I think, be better that you should take my part than my father's,

"You know that I intend to be your wife; but would you wish that I should respect my husband?"

Then Violet looked into his face and saw that the frown was blacker than ever. The great mark down his

forehead was deeper and more like an ugly wound than she had ever seen it; and his eyes sparkled with

anger; and his face was red as with fiery wrath. If it was so with him when she was no more than engaged to

him, how would it be when they should be man and wife? At any rate, she would not fear him not now at

least. "No, Oswald," she said. If you resolve upon being an idle man, I shall not respect you. It is better that I

Then she again resolved that she would not fear him. "It will be discreditable," she said.

"It shall not discredit you," he replied. I will not bring disgrace on one I have loved so well. Violet, after what

you have said, we had better part." She was still proud, still determined, and they did part. Though it nearly

broke her heart to see him leave her, she bid him go. She hated herself afterwards for her severity to him; but,

nevertheless, she would not submit to recall the words which she had spoken. She had thought him to be

wrong, and, so thinking, had conceived it to be her duty and her privilege to tell him what she thought. But

she had no wish to lose him no wish not to be his wife even, though he should be as idle as the wind. She

was so constituted that she had never allowed him or any other man to be master of her heart till she had

with a full purpose given her heart away. The day before she had resolved to give it to one man, she might, I

think, have resolved to give it to another. Love had not conquered her, but had been taken into her service.

Nevertheless, she could not now rid herself of her servant, when she found that his services would stand her

no longer in good stead. She parted from Lord Chiltern with an assent, with an assured brow, and with much

dignity in her gait; but as soon as she was alone she was a prey to remorse. She had declared to the man who

was to have been her husband that his life was discreditable and, of course, no man would bear such

language. Had Lord Chiltern borne it, he would not have been worthy of her love.

She herself told Lady Laura and Lord Brentford what had occurred and had told Lady Baldock also. Lady

Baldock had, of course, triumphed and Violet sought her revenge by swearing that she would regret for

ever the loss of so inestimable a gentleman. "Then why have you given him up, my dear?" demanded Lady

Baldock. "Because I found that he was too good for me," said Violet. It may be doubtful whether Lady

Baldock was not justified, when she declared that her niece was to her a care so harassing that no aunt known

Lord Brentford had fussed and fumed, and had certainly made things worse. He had quarrelled with his son,

and then made it up, and then quarrelled again swearing that the fault must all be attributed to Chiltern's

stubbornness and Chiltern's temper. Latterly, however, by Lady Laura's intervention, Lord Brentford and his

son had again been reconciled, and the Earl endeavoured manfully to keep his tongue from disagreeable

words, and his face from evil looks, when his son was present. "They will make it up," Lady Laura had said,

"if you and I do not attempt to make it up for them. If we do, they will never come together." The Earl was

convinced, and did his best. But the task was very difficult to him. How was he to keep his tongue off his son

while his son was daily saying things of which any father any such father as Lord Brentford could not

but disapprove? Lord Chiltern professed to disbelieve even in the wisdom of the House of Lords, and on one

occasion asserted that it must be a great comfort to any Prime Minister to have three or four old women in the

Cabinet. The father, when he heard this, tried to rebuke his son tenderly, strove even to be jocose. It was the

one wish of his heart that Violet Effingham should be his daughterinlaw. But even with this wish he found

When Lady Laura discussed the matter with Violet, Violet would always declare that there was no hope.

"The truth is," she said on the morning of that day on which they both went to Mrs Gresham's, "that though

we like each other love each other, if you choose to say so we are not fit to be man and wife." "And

"We are too much alike. Each is too violent, too headstrong, and too masterful."

"I know how difficult it is for me to advise, seeing to what a pass I have brought myself."

"Do not say that, dear or rather do say it, for we have, both of us, brought ourselves to what you call a

pass to such a pass that we are like to be able to live together and discuss it for the rest of our lives. The

difference is, I take it, that you have not to accuse yourself and that I have."

"I cannot say that I have not to accuse myself," said Lady Laura. "I do not know that I have done much wrong

to Mr Kennedy since I married him; but in marrying him I did him a grievous wrong."

"We will not talk of vengeance. I believe he is wretched, and I know that I am and that has come of the

"I mean that, and I mean much more. I say that I will make no man wretched. Your brother is not the only

"Yes, there is Lord Fawn, certainly. Perhaps I should not do him much harm; but then I should do him no

"Yes there is Mr Finn. I will tell you something, Laura. The only man I ever saw in the world whom I

have thought for a moment that it was possible that I should like like enough to love as my husband

"Quite over. Is he not going to marry Madame Goesler? I suppose all that is fixed by this time. I hope she will

be good to him, and gracious, and let him have his own way, and give him his tea comfortably when he

comes up tired from the House; for I confess that my heart is a little tender towards Phineas still. I should not

like to think that he had fallen into the hands of a female Philistine." "I do not think he will marry Madame

"I can hardly tell you but I do not think he will. And you loved him once eh, Violet?"

"Not quite that, my dear. It has been difficult with me to love. The difficulty with most girls, I fancy, is not to

love. Mr Finn, when I came to measure him in my mind, was not small, but he was never quite tall enough.

One feels oneself to be a sort of recruiting sergeant, going about with a standard of inches. Mr Finn was just

half an inch too short. He lacks something in individuality. He is a little too much a friend to everybody."

"It was too late, when I was so sure of it as to wish that I had never seen Mr Kennedy. I felt it coming on me,

and I argued with myself that such a marriage would be bad for us both. At that moment there was trouble in

"At any rate, I had nothing and he had nothing. How could I have dared to think even of such a

"Well yes. He thought of it. I had come to some foolish, halfsentimental resolution as to friendship,

believing that he and I could be knit together by some adhesion of fraternal affection that should be void of

offence to my husband; and in furtherance of this he was asked to Loughlinter when I went there, just after I

had accepted Robert. He came down, and I measured him too, as you have done. I measured him, and I found

that he wanted nothing to come up to the height required by my standard, I think I knew him better than you

"Can one help such things? He came to me one day as I was sitting up by the Linter. You remember the

"I remember it very well." "So do I. Robert had shown it me as the fairest spot in all Scotland."

"I do not know what he told me then; but I know that I told him that I was engaged; and I felt when I told him

so that my engagement was a sorrow to me. And it has been a sorrow from that day to this."

"Yes. You would have hated me, had he become my husband? And you will hate Madame Goesler when she

"Not in the least. I am no dog in the manger. I have even gone so far as almost to wish, at certain moments,

"Was I not to forgive him I, who had turned myself away from him with a fixed purpose the moment that

I found that he had made a mark upon my heart? I could not wipe off the mark, and yet I married. Was he not

"It seems that he wiped it off very quickly and since that he has wiped off another mark. One doesn't

know how many marks he has wiped off. They are like the innkeeper's score which he makes in chalk. A

"There should be a little notch on the stick to remember by," said Violet. "Not that I complain, you know.

"A man like Mr Finn has his life to deal with to make the most of it, and to divide it between work,

pleasure, duty, ambition, and the rest of it as best he may. If he have any softness of heart, it will be necessary

to him that love should bear a part in all these interests. But a man will be a fool who will allow love to be the

master of them all. He will be one whose mind is so illbalanced as to allow him to be the victim of a single

wish. Even in a woman passion such as that is evidence of weakness, and not of strength." "It seems, then,

"And if I am, does that condemn him? He is a man, if I judge him rightly, who will be constant as the sun,

"That is what I mean and that you or I, had either of us chosen to take his name, might have been quite

"You are unjust, and unkind, Violet. So unjust and unkind that it is clear to me he has just gratified your

vanity, and has never touched your heart. What would you have had him do, when I told him that I was

"That seems to be the proper thing to do. But even that does not adjust things finally does it?" Then

When Phineas Finn left Mr Gresham's house he had quite resolved what he would do. On the next morning

he would tell Lord Cantrip that his resignation was a necessity, and that he would take that nobleman's advice

as to resigning at once, or waiting till the day on which Mr Monk's Irish Bill would be read for the second

"So do I. I regret to leave office, which I like and which indeed I want. I regret specially to leave this

office, as it has been a thorough pleasure to me; and I regret, above all, to leave you. But I am convinced that

Phineas could only smile, and shrug his shoulders, and say that even though Mr Monk were at Bath it would

not probably make much difference. When he tendered his letter of resignation, Lord Cantrip begged him to

withdraw it for a day or two. He would, he said, speak to Mr Gresham. The debate on the second reading of

Mr Monk's bill would not take place till that day week, and the resignation would be in time if it was tendered

before Phineas either spoke or voted against the Government. So Phineas went back to his room, and

endeavoured to make himself useful in some work appertaining to his favourite Colonies.

That conversation had taken place on a Friday, and on the following Sunday, early in the day, he left his

rooms after a late breakfast a prolonged breakfast, during which he had been studying tenantright

statistics, preparing his own speech, and endeavouring to look forward into the future which that speech was

to do so much to influence and turned his face towards Park Lane. There had been a certain understanding

between him and Madame Goesler that he was to call in Park Lane on this Sunday morning, and then declare

to her what was his final resolve as to the office which he held. "It is simply to bid her adieu," he said to

himself, "for I shall hardly see her again." And yet, as he took off his morning easy coat, and dressed himself

for the streets, and stood for a moment before his lookingglass, and saw that his gloves were fresh and that

his boots were properly polished, I think there was a care about his person which he would have hardly taken

had he been quite assured that he simply intended to say goodbye to the lady whom he was about to visit. But

if there were any such conscious feeling, he administered to himself an antidote before he left the house. On

returning to the sittingroom he went to a little desk from which he took out the letter from Mary which the

reader has seen, and carefully perused every word of it. "She is the best of them all," he said to himself, as he

refolded the letter and put it back into his desk. I am not sure that it is well that a man should have any large

number from whom to select a best; as, in such circumstances, he is so very apt to change his judgment from

hour to hour. The qualities which are the most attractive before dinner sometimes become the least so in the

The morning was warm, and he took a cab. It would not do that he should speak even his last farewell to such

a one as Madame Goesler with all the heat and dust of a long walk upon him. Having been so careful about

his boots and gloves he might as well use his care to the end. Madame Goesler was a very pretty woman, who

spared herself no trouble in making herself as pretty as Nature would allow, on behalf of those whom she

favoured with her smiles; and to such a lady some special attention was due by one who had received so

many of her smiles as had Phineas. And he felt, too, that there was something special in this very visit. It was

to be made by appointment, and there had come to be an understanding between them that Phineas should tell

her on this occasion what was his resolution with reference to his future life. I think that he had been very

wise in fortifying himself with a further glance at our dear Mary's letter, before he trusted himself within

Yes Madame Goesler was at home. The door was opened by Madame Goesler's own maid, who, smiling,

explained that the other servants were all at church. Phineas had become sufficiently intimate at the cottage in

Park Lane to be on friendly terms with Madame Goesler's own maid, and now made some little halffamiliar

remark as to the propriety of his visit during church time. "Madame will not refuse to see you, I am thinking,"

said the girl, who was a German. "And she is alone?" asked Phineas. Alone? Yes of course she is alone.

Who should be with her now?" Then she took him up into the drawingroom; but, when there, he found that

Madame Goesler was absent, "She shall be down directly," said the girl. "I shall tell her who is here, and she

It was a very pretty room. It may almost be said that there could be no prettier room in all London. It looked

out across certain small private gardens which were as bright and gay as money could make them when

brought into competition with London smoke right on to the park. Outside and inside the window, flowers

and green things were so arranged that the room itself almost looked as though it were a bower in a garden.

And everything in that bower was rich and rare; and there was nothing there which annoyed by its rarity or

was distasteful by its richness. The seats, though they were costly as money could buy, were meant for

sitting, and were comfortable as seats. There were books for reading, and the means of reading them. Two or

three gems of English art were hung upon the walls, and could be seen backwards and forwards in the

mirrors. And there were precious toys lying here and there about the room toys very precious, but placed

there not because of their price, but because of their beauty. Phineas already knew enough of the art of living

to be aware that the woman who had made that room what it was had charms to add a beauty to everything

she touched. What would such a life as his want, if graced by such a companion such a life as his might

be, if the means which were hers were at his command? It would want one thing, he thought the

selfrespect which he would lose if he were false to the girl who was trusting him with such sweet trust at

In a very few minutes Madame Goesler was with him, and, though he did not think about it, he perceived that

she was bright in her apparel, that her hair was as soft as care could make it, and that every charm belonging

to her had been brought into use for his gratification. He almost told himself that he was there in order that he

might ask to have all those charms bestowed upon himself. He did not know who had lately come to Park

Lane and been a suppliant for the possession of those rich endowments; but I wonder whether they would

have been more precious in his eyes had he known that they had so moved the heart of the great Duke as to

have induced him to lay his coronet at the lady's feet. I think that had he known that the lady had refused the

"I am so sorry to have kept you waiting," she said, as she gave him her hand. "I was an owl not to be ready

"No but a bird of paradise to come to me so sweetly, and at an hour when all the other birds refuse to

"And you you feel like a naughty boy, do you not, in thus coming out on a Sunday morning?"

"Yes just a little so. I do not know that I should care for everybody to hear that I received visitors or

worse still, a visitor at this hour on this day. But then it is so pleasant to feel oneself to be naughty! There

is a Bohemian flavour of picnic about it which, though it does not come up to the rich gusto of real

wickedness, makes one fancy that one is on the border of that delightful region in which there is none of the

constraint of custom where men and women say what they like, and do what they like."

"That is just it. Of course decency, morality, and propriety, all made to suit the eye of the public; are the

things which are really delightful. We all know that, and live accordingly as well as we can. I do at least."

"I know nothing about that, Mr Finn, and want to ask no questions. But if you do, I am sure you agree with

me that you often envy the improper people the Bohemians the people who don't trouble themselves

about keeping any laws except those for breaking which they would be put into nasty, unpleasant prisons. I

"The most cabined, cribbed, and confined creature in the world! I have been fighting my way up for the last

four years, and have not allowed myself the liberty of one flirtation not often even the recreation of a

natural laugh. And now I shouldn't wonder if I don't find myself falling back a year or two, just because I

have allowed you to come and see me on a Sunday morning. When I told Lotta that you were coming, she

shook her head at me in dismay. But now that you are here, tell me what you have done."

"Nothing as yet, Madame Goesler." "I thought it was to have been settled on Friday?"

"It was settled before Friday. Indeed, as I look back at it all now, I can hardly tell when it was not settled.

It is impossible, and has been impossible, that I should do otherwise. I still hold my place, Madame Goesler,

"And what next?" Madame Goesler, as she thus interrogated him, was leaning across towards him from the

sofa on which she was placed, with both her elbows resting on a small table before her. We all know that look

of true interest which the countenance of a real friend will bear when the welfare of his friend is in question.

There are doubtless some who can assume it without feeling as there are actors who can personate all the

passions. But in ordinary life we think that we can trust such a face, and that we know the true look when we

see it. Phineas, as he gazed into Madame Goesler's eyes, was sure that the lady opposite him was not acting.

She at least was anxious for his welfare, and was making his cares her own. "What next?" said she, repeating

"I do not know that there will be any next. As far as public life is concerned, there will be no next for me,

"The reality is this. I shall keep my seat to the end of the session, as I think I may be of use. After that I shall

"The chances are, I think, that there will be another dissolution. If they hold their own against Mr Monk's

motion, then they will pass an Irish Reform Bill. After that I think they must dissolve."

"And, besides that, I am well aware that my only chance at my old profession is to give up all idea of

Parliament. The two things are not compatible for a beginner at the law. I know it now, and have bought my

"Anything honest in a barrister's way that may be brought to me. I hope that I may never descend below that."

"You will stand up for all the blackguards, and try to make out that the thieves did not steal?"

"And you will wrangle, as though your very soul were in it, for somebody's twenty pounds?"

"You have already made a name in the greatest senate in the world, and have governed other countries larger

"I tell you, my friend, that you cannot do it. It is out of the question. Men may move forward from little work

to big work; but they cannot move back and do little work, when they have had tasks which were really great.

I tell you, Mr Finn, that the House of Parliament is the place for you to work in. It is the only place that

"And will you not credit me when I tell you this? What do you fear, that you should run away? You have no

wife no children. What is the coming misfortune that you dread?" She paused a moment as though for an

answer, and he felt that now had come the time in which it would be well that he should tell her of his

engagement with his own Mary. She had received him very playfully; but now within the last few minutes

there had come upon her a seriousness of gesture, and almost a solemnity of tone, which made him conscious

that he should in no way trifle with her. She was so earnest in her friendship that he owed it to her to tell her

everything. But before he could think of the words in which his tale should be told, she had gone on with her

"No I do deny it." As she said this not loudly but with much asis she came and stood before him

where he was sitting. And as he looked at her he could perceive that there was a strength about her of which

he had not been aware. She was stronger, larger, more robust physically than he had hitherto conceived. "I do

deny it," she said. "Money is neither god nor devil, that it should make one noble and another vile, It is an

accident, and, if honestly possessed, may pass from you to me, or from me to you, without a stain. You may

take my dinner from me if I give it you, my flowers, my friendship, my my my everything, but my

money! Explain to me the cause of the phenomenon. If I give to you a thousand pounds, now this moment,

and you take it, you are base but if I leave it you in my will and die you take it, and are not base.

"It is because you are a woman, and young, and beautiful, that no man may take wealth from your hands."

"If I were a man you might take it, though I were young and beautiful as the morning?"

"No presents of money are always bad. They stain and load the spirit, and break the heart."

"It seems so to me. But I cannot argue of it. Do not let us talk of it any more."

"Nor can I argue. I cannot argue, but I can be generous very generous. I can deny myself for my friend

can even lower myself in my own esteem for my friend. I can do more than a man can do for a friend. You

"Take the hand then first. When it and all that it holds are your own, you can help yourself as you list." So

What man will say that he would not have been tempted? Or what woman will declare that such temptation

should have had no force? The very air of the room in which she dwelt was sweet in his nostrils, and there

hovered around her a halo of grace and beauty which greeted all his senses. She invited him to join his lot to

hers, in order that she might give to him all that was needed to make his life rich and glorious. How would

the Ratlers and the Bonteens envy him when they heard of the prize which had become his! The Cantrips and

the Greshams would feel that he was a friend doubly valuable, if he could be won back; and Mr Monk would

greet him as a fitting ally an ally strong with the strength which he had before wanted. With whom would

he not be equal? Whom need he fear? Who would not praise him? The story of his poor Mary would be

known only in a small village, out beyond the Channel. The temptation certainly was very strong.

But he had not a moment in which to doubt. She was standing there with her face turned from him, but with

her hand still stretched towards him. Of course he took it. What man so placed could do other than take a

"I will be called friend by you no more," she said. "You must call me Marie, your own Marie, or you must

never call me by any name again. Which shall it be, sir?" He paused a moment, holding her hand, and she let

it lie there for an instant while she listened. But still she did not look at him, "Speak to me! Tell me! Which

"It cannot be as you have hinted to me," he said at last. His words did not come louder than a low whisper;

"Sir; I say yes! If you will allow me I will leave you. You will, I know, excuse me if I am abrupt to you."

Then she strode out of the room, and was no more seen of the eyes of Phineas Finn.

He never afterwards knew how he escaped out of that room and found his way into Park Lane. In after days

he had some memory that he remained there, he knew not how long, standing on the very spot on which she

had left him; and that at last there grew upon him almost a fear of moving, a dread lest he should be heard, an

inordinate desire to escape without the sound of a footfall, without the clicking of a lock. Everything in that

house had been offered to him. He had refused it all, and then felt that of all human beings under the sun none

had so little right to be standing there as he. His very presence in that drawingroom was an insult to the

But at length he was in the street, and had found his way across Piccadilly into the Green Park. Then, as soon

as he could find a spot apart from the Sunday world, he threw himself upon the turf, and tried to fix his

thoughts upon the thing that he had done. His first feeling, I think, was one of pure and unmixed

disappointment of disappointment so bitter, that even the vision of his own Mary did not tend to comfort

him. How great might have been his success, and how terrible was his failure! Had he taken the woman's

hand and her money, had he clenched his grasp on the great prize offered to him, his misery would have been

ten times worse the first moment that he would have been away from her. Then, indeed it being so that he

was a man with a heart within his breast there would have been no comfort for him, in his outlooks on any

side. But even now, when he had done right knowing well that he had done right he found that comfort

Miss Effingham's life at this time was not the happiest in the world. Her lines, as she once said to her friend

Lady Laura, were not laid for her in pleasant places. Her residence was still with her aunt, and she had come

to find that it was almost impossible any longer to endure Lady Baldock, and quite impossible to escape from

Lady Baldock. In former days she had had a dream that she might escape, and live alone if she chose to be

alone; that she might be independent in her life, as a man is independent, if she chose to live after that

fashion; that she might take her own fortune in her own hand, as the law certainly allowed her to do, and act

with it as she might please. But latterly she had learned to understand that all this was not possible for her.

Though one law allowed it, another law disallowed it, and the latter law was at least as powerful as the

former. And then her present misery was enhanced by the fact that she was now banished from the second

home which she had formerly possessed. Hitherto she had always been able to escape from Lady Baldock to

the house of her friend, but now such escape was out of the question. Lady Laura and Lord Chiltern lived in

Lady Baldock understood all this, and tortured her niece accordingly. It was not premeditated torture. The

aunt did not mean to make her niece's life a burden to her, and, so intending, systematically work upon a

principle to that effect, Lady Baldock, no doubt, desired to do her duty conscientiously. But the result was

torture to poor Violet, and a strong conviction on the mind of each of the two ladies that the other was the

The aunt, in these days, had taken it into her head to talk of poor Lord Chiltern. This arose partly from a

belief that the quarrel was final, and that, therefore, there would be no danger in aggravating Violet by this

expression of pity partly from a feeling that it would be better that her niece should marry Lord Chiltern

than that she should not marry at all and partly, perhaps, from the general principle that, as she thought it

right to scold her niece on all occasions, this might be best done by taking an opposite view of all questions to

that taken by the niece to be scolded. Violet was supposed to regard Lord Chiltern as having sinned against

her, and therefore Lady Baldock talked of "poor Lord Chiltern." As to the other lovers, she had begun to

perceive that their conditions were hopeless. Her daughter Augusta had explained to her that there was no

chance remaining either for Phineas, or for Lord Fawn, or for Mr Appledom. "I believe she will be an old

maid, on purpose to bring me to my grave," said Lady Baldock. When, therefore, Lady Baldock was told one

day that Lord Chiltern was in the house, and was asking to see Miss Effingham, she did not at once faint

away, and declare that they would all be murdered as she would have done some months since. She was

perplexed by a double duty. If it were possible that Violet should relent and be reconciled, then it would be

her duty to save Violet from the claws of the wild beast. But if there was no such chance, then it would be her

duty to poor Lord Chiltern to see that he was not treated with contumely and illhumour.

"Oh dear, oh dear! I suppose she ought to see him. She has given him so much encouragement!"

"Augusta, how can you talk in that way? Am I to have no control in my own house?" It was, however, soon

"I cannot sit down, aunt not just now. I have sent down to say that I would be with him in a minute. He is

"I wonder that any woman should ever take upon herself the charge of a niece!" said Lady Baldock to her

daughter in a despondent tone, as she held up her hands in dismay. In the meantime, Violet had gone

downstairs with a quick step, and had then boldly entered the room in which her lover was waiting to receive

"I have to thank you for coming to me, Violet," said Lord Chiltern. There was still in his face something of

savagery an expression partly of anger and partly of resolution to tame the thing with which he was angry.

Violet did not regard the anger half so keenly as she did that resolution of taming. An angry lord, she thought,

"Why should I not come?" she said. Of course I came when I was told that you were here. I do not think that

"It shall not do so with me, unless you choose that it shall," said Violet. "Why should we be enemies we

who have known each other since we were children? My dearest friends are your father and your sister. Why

"Because I would not have you think so if I could help it. I did not intend to be rough with you. When you

"I believe that that was your word the harshest word that you could use in all the language."

"I did not mean to be harsh. If I used it, I will beg your pardon. Only let there be an end of it. As we think so

differently about life in general, it was better that we should not be married. But that is settled, and why

should we go back to words that were spoken in haste, and which are simply disagreeable?"

"Certainly. You settled it yourself, Oswald. I told you what I thought myself bound to tell you. Perhaps I used

language which I should not have used. Then you told me that I could not be your wife and I thought you

"I was wrong, quite wrong," he said impetuously. So wrong, that I can never forgive myself, if you do not

relent. I was such a fool, that I cannot forgive myself my folly. I had known before that I could not live

"I think I said that idleness was not respectable, or something like that, taken out of a copybook

probably. But you are a man who do not like rebukes, even out of copybooks. A man so thinskinned as

"I will choose none other!" he said. But still he was savage in his tone and in his gestures. "I made my choice

long since, as you know well enough. I do not change easily. I cannot change in this. Violet, say that you will

"My wish is that my husband should I ever have one should work, not exactly as a coalheaver."

"Come, Violet," he said and now the look of savagery departed from him, and there came a smile over his

face, which, however, had in it more of sadness than of hope or joy "treat me fairly or rather, treat me

"But not since? If it be so, I had better go. Love on one side only is a poor affair at best."

"It is better to bear anything than to try and make out life with that. Some of you women never want to love

"That was what I was saying of myself to Laura but the other day. With some women it is so easy. With

"Oh, with me . But it is better in these matters to confine oneself to generalities. If you please, I will not

"By heavens, and it is mine too. Tell me that you do, and I will go away and leave you at once. I will not ask

his name, and I will trouble you no more. If it is not so, and if it is possible that you should forgive me "

"Oh, Oswald, what a fool you are! Love you! of course I love you. If you can understand anything, you ought

to know that I have never loved anyone else that after what has passed between us, I never shall love

anyone else. I do love you. There. Whether you throw me away from you, as you did the other day with

great scorn, mind you or come to me with sweet, beautiful promises, as you do now, I shall love you all

the same. I cannot be your wife, if you will not have me; can I? When you run away in your tantrums because

I quote something out of the copybook, I can't run after you. It would not be pretty. But as for loving you, if

you doubt that, I tell you, you are a fool." As she spoke the last words she pouted out her lips at him, and

when he looked into her face he saw that her eyes were full of tears. He was standing now with his arm round

"No do not; and, for me, I will not say another word, whether you choose to heave coals or not. You shall

"I do not want to be grand at all, and I never will be wise any more. Only do not frown at me and look

savage." Then she put up her hand to smooth his brow. "I am half afraid of you still, you know. There. That

will do. Now let me go, that I may tell my aunt. During the last two months she has been full of pity for poor

"But now that we have made it up, she will be horrified again at all your wickednesses. You have been a

turtle dove lately now you will be an ogre again. But, Oswald, you must not be an ogre to me."

As soon as she could get quit of her lover, she did tell her tale to Lady Baldock. "You have accepted him

again!" said her aunt, holding up her hands. "Yes I have accepted him again," replied Violet. "Then the

responsibility must be on your own shoulders," said her aunt; "I wash my hands of it. That evening, when she

discussed the matter with her daughter, Lady Baldock spoke of Violet and Lord Chiltern, as though their

The day of the debate had come, and Phineas Finn was still sitting in his room at the Colonial Office. But his

resignation had been sent in and accepted, and he was simply awaiting the coming of his successor. About

noon his successor came, and he had the gratification of resigning his armchair to Mr Bonteen. It is generally

understood that gentlemen leaving offices give up either seals or a portfolio. Phineas had been put in

possession of no seal and no portfolio; but there was in the room which he had occupied a special armchair,

and this with much regret he surrendered to the use and comfort of Mr Bonteen. There was a glance of

triumph in his enemy's eyes, and an exultation in the tone of his enemy's voice, which were very bitter to him.

"So you are really going?" said Mr Bonteen. "Well; I dare say it is all very proper. I don't quite understand

the thing myself, but I have no doubt you are right." "It isn't easy to understand; is it? said Phineas, trying to

laugh. But Mr Bonteen did not feel the intended satire, and poor Phineas found it useless to attempt to punish

the man he hated. He left him as quickly as he could, and went to say a few words of farewell to his late

"Goodbye, Finn," said Lord Cantrip, It is a great trouble to me that we should have to part in this way."

"You should not have gone to Ireland with so dangerous a man as Mr Monk. But it is too late to think of that

"But these terrible rendings asunder never last very long," said Lord Cantrip, "unless a man changes his

opinions altogether. How many quarrels and how many reconciliations we have lived to see! I remember

when Gresham went out of office, because he could not sit in the same room with Mr Mildmay, and yet they

became the fastest of political friends. There was a time when Plinlimmon and the Duke could not stable their

horses together at all; and don't you remember when Palliser was obliged to give up his hopes of office

because he had some bee in his bonnet?" I think, however, that the bee in Mr Palliser's bonnet to which Lord

Cantrip was alluding made its buzzing audible on some subject that was not exactly political. "We shall have

you back again before long, I don't doubt. Men who can really do their work are too rare to be left long in the

comfort of the benches below the gangway." This was very kindly said, and Phineas was flattered and

comforted. He could not, however, make Lord Cantrip understand the whole truth. For him the dream of a

life of politics was over for ever. He had tried it, and had succeeded beyond his utmost hopes; but, in spite of

his success, the ground had crumbled to pieces beneath has feet, and he knew that he could never recover the

That same afternoon he met Mr Gresham in one of the passages leading to the House, and the Prime Minister

put his arm through that of our hero as they walked together into the lobby. "I am sorry that we are losing

"These things will occur in political life," said the leader; "but I think that they seldom leave rancour behind

them when the purpose is declared, and when the subject of disagreement is marked and understood. The

defalcation which creates angry feeling is that which has to be endured without previous warning when a

man votes against his party or a set of men, from private pique or from some cause which is never clear."

Phineas, when he heard this, knew well how terribly this very man had been harassed, and driven nearly wild,

by defalcation, exactly of that nature which he was attempting to describe. "No doubt you and Mr Monk think

"We have given strong evidence that we think so," said Phineas. "We give up our places, and we are, both of

"I think you are wrong, you know, not so much in your views on the question itself which, to tell the truth,

"And will do so very clearly, no doubt. But I think that Mr Monk was wrong in desiring, as a member of a

Government, to force a measure which, whether good or bad, the Government as a body does not desire to

"And therefore he resigned," said Phineas. "Of course. But it seems to me that he failed to comprehend the

only way in which a great party can act together, if it is to do any service in this country. Don't for a moment

"I can assure you, Mr Finn, that we have not regarded you in that light, and I hope that the time may come

Neither on the Treasury bench nor on any other in that House was he to sit again after this fashion! That was

the trouble which was crushing his spirit at this moment, and not the loss of his office! He knew that he could

not venture to think of remaining in London as a member of Parliament with no other income than that which

his father could allow him, even if he could again secure a seat in Parliament. When he had first been

returned for Loughshane he had assured his friends that his duty as a member of the House of Commons

would not be a bar to his practice in the Courts. He had now been five years a member, and had never once

made an attempt at doing any part of a barrister's work. He had gone altogether into a different line of life,

and had been most successful so successful that men told him, and women more frequently than men, that

his career had been a miracle of success. But there had been, as he had well known from the first, this

drawback in the new profession which he had chosen, that nothing in it could be permanent. They who

succeed in it may probably succeed again; but then the success is intermittent, and there may be years of hard

work in opposition, to which, unfortunately, no pay is assigned. It is almost imperative, as he now found, that

they who devote themselves to such a profession should be men of fortune. When he had commenced his

work at the period of his first return for Loughshane he had had no thought of mending his deficiency

in this respect by a rich marriage. Nor had it ever occurred to him that he would seek a marriage for that

purpose. Such an idea would have been thoroughly distasteful to him. There had been no stain of

premeditated mercenary arrangement upon him at any time. But circumstances had so fallen out with him,

that as he won his spurs in Parliament, as he became known, and was placed first in one office and then in

another, prospects of love and money together were opened to him, and he ventured on, leaving Mr Low and

the law behind him because these prospects were so alluring. Then had come Mr Monk and Mary Flood

Jones and everything around him had collapsed. Everything around him had collapsed with, however,

a terrible temptation to him to inflate his sails again, at the cost of his truth and his honour. The temptation

would have affected him not at all, had Madame Goesler been ugly, stupid, or personally disagreeable. But

she was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the most witty, and in many respects the

most charming. She had offered to give him everything that she had, so to place him in the world that

opposition would be more pleasant to him than office, to supply every want, and had done so in a manner that

had gratified all his vanity. But he had refused it all, because he was bound to the girl at Floodborough. My

readers will probably say that he was not a true man unless he could do this without a regret. When Phineas

But there was at the same time a resolve on his part, that if any man had ever loved the girl he promised to

love, he would love Mary Flood Jones. A thousand times he had told himself that she had not the spirit of

Lady Laura, or the bright wit of Violet Effingham, or the beauty of Madame Goesler. But Mary had charms

of her own that were more valuable than them all. Was there one among the three who had trusted him as she

trusted him or loved him with the same satisfied devotion? There were regrets, regrets that were heavy on

his heart for London, and Parliament, and the clubs, and Downing Street, had become dear to him. He

liked to think of himself as he rode in the park, and was greeted by all those whose greeting was the most

worth having. There were regrets sad regrets. But the girl whom he loved better than the parks and the

clubs better even than Westminster and Downing Street, should never know that they had existed.

These thoughts were running through his mind even while he was listening to Mr Monk, as he propounded

his theory of doing justice to Ireland. This might probably be the last great debate in which Phineas would be

able to take a part, and he was determined that he would do his best in it. He did not intend to speak on this

day, if, as was generally supposed, the House would be adjourned before a division could be obtained. But he

would remain on the alert and see how the thing went. He had come to understand the forms of the place, and

was as welltrained a young member of Parliament as any there. He had been quick at learning a lesson that

is not easily learned, and knew how things were going, and what were the proper moments for this question

or that form of motion. He could anticipate a countout, understood the tone of men's minds, and could read

the gestures of the House. It was very little likely that the debate should be over tonight. He knew that; and as

the present time was the evening of Tuesday, he resolved at once that he would speak as early as he could on

the following Thursday. What a pity it was, that with one who had learned so much, all his learning should be

At about two o'clock, he himself succeeded in moving the adjournment of the debate. This he did from a seat

below the gangway, to which he had removed himself from the Treasury bench. Then the House was up, and

he walked home with Mr Monk. Mr Monk, since he had been told positively by Phineas that he had resolved

upon resigning his office, had said nothing more of his sorrow at his friend's resolve, but had used him as one

political friend uses another, telling him all his thoughts and all his hopes as to this new measure of his, and

taking counsel with him as to the way in which the fight should be fought. Together they had counted over

the list of members, marking these men as supporters, those as opponents, and another set, now more

important than either, as being doubtful. From day to day those who had been written down as doubtful were

struck off that third list, and put in either the one or the other of those who were either supporters or

opponents. And their different modes of argument were settled between these two allied orators, how one

should take this line and the other that. To Mr Monk this was very pleasant. He was quite assured now that

opposition was more congenial to his spirit, and more fitting for him than office. There was no doubt to him

as to his future sitting in Parliament, let the result of this contest be what it might. The work which he was

now doing, was the work for which he had been training himself all his life. While he had been forced to

attend Cabinet Councils from week to week, he had been depressed. Now he was exultant, Phineas seeing

and understanding all this, said but little to his friend of his own prospects. As long as this pleasant battle was

raging, he could fight in it shoulder to shoulder with the man he loved. After that there would be a blank.

"I do not see how we are to fail to have a majority after Daubeny's speech tonight," said Mr Monk, as they

"But we know what that means. He is bidding for office, and of course those who want office with him will

vote as he votes. We have already counted those who would go into office, but they will not carry the whole

"There are forty or fifty men on his side of the House, and as many perhaps on ours," said Mr Monk, "who

have no idea of any kind on any bill, and who simply follow the bell, whether into this lobby or that.

Argument never touches them. They do not even look to the result of a division on their own interests, as the

making of any calculation would be laborious to them. Their party leader is to them a Pope whom they do not

dream of doubting. I never can quite make up my mind whether it is good or bad that there should be such

"Exactly so and of speaking members, God knows that we have enough. And I suppose that these

purblind sheep do have some occult weight that is salutary. They enable a leader to be a leader, and even in

"So Ratler told me. Palliser is to speak, and Barrington Erle. And they say that Robson is going to make an

"It will depend on the numbers. Everybody who has spoken to me about it, seems to think that they will

"Of course he will dissolve," said Phineas, speaking of Mr Gresham; "what else can he do?"

"He is very anxious to carry his Irish Reform Bill first, if he can do so. Goodnight, Phineas. I shall not be

down tomorrow as there is nothing to be done. Come to me on Thursday, and we will go to the House

On the Wednesday Phineas was engaged to dine with Mr Low. There was a dinner party in Bedford Square,

and Phineas met halfadozen barristers and their wives men to whom he had looked up as successful

pundits in the law some five or six years ago, but who since that time had almost learned to look up to him.

And now they treated him with that courteousness of manner which success in life always begets. There was

a judge there who was very civil to him; and the judge's wife whom he had taken down to dinner was very

gracious to him. The judge had got his prize in life, and was therefore personally indifferent to the fate of

ministers; but the judge's wife had a brother who wanted a County Court from Lord de Terrier, and it was

known that Phineas was giving valuable assistance towards the attainment of this object. "I do think that you

and Mr Monk are so right," said the judge's wife. Phineas, who understood how it came to pass that the

judge's wife should so cordially approve his conduct, could not help thinking how grand a thing it would be

When the guests were gone he was left alone with Mr and Mrs Low, and remained awhile with them, there

having been an understanding that they should have a last chat together over the affairs of our hero. "Do you

"I do mean it. I may say that I cannot do so. My father is hardly so well able to help me as he was when I

began this game, and I certainly shall not ask him for money to support a canvass."

"In one way I have made it answer. For the last three years I have lived upon what I have earned, and I am

not in debt. But now I must begin the world again. I am afraid I shall find the drudgery very hard."

"It is hard no doubt," said the barrister, who had gone through it all, and was now reaping the fruits of it. "But

"Who can say? I dare say I have. But I did not mean the drudgery of learning, so much as the drudgery of

looking after work of expecting briefs which perhaps will never come. I am thirty years old now, you

"Are you indeed?" said Mrs Low who knew his age to a day. "How the time passes. I'm sure I hope you'll

Neither the lawyer nor his wife repeated any of those sententious admonitions, which had almost become

rebukes, and which had been so common in their mouths. The fall with which they had threatened Phineas

Finn had come upon him, and they were too generous to remind him of their wisdom and sagacity. Indeed,

when he got up to take his leave, Mrs Low, who probably might not see him again for years, was quite

affectionate in her manners to him, and looked as if she were almost minded to kiss him as she pressed his

hand. "We will come and see you," she said, "when you are Master of the Rolls in Dublin."

"We shall see him before then thundering at us poor Tories in the House," said Mr Low. "He will be back

On the Thursday morning before Phineas went to Mr Monk, a gentleman called upon him at his lodgings.

Phineas requested the servant to bring up the gentleman's name, but tempted perhaps by a shilling the girl

brought up the gentleman instead. It was Mr Quintus Slide from the office of the "Banner of the People."

"Mr Finn," said Quintus, with his hand extended, I have come to offer you the calumet of peace." Phineas

certainly desired no such calumet. But to refuse a man's hand is to declare active war after a fashion which

men do not like to adopt except on deliberation. He had never cared a straw for the abuse which Mr Slide had

poured upon him, and now he gave his hand to the man of letters. But he did not sit down, nor did he offer a

seat to Mr Slide. "I know that as a man of sense who knows the world, you will accept the calumet of peace,"

"I don't know why I should be asked particularly to accept war or peace," said Phineas.

"Well, Mr Finn I don't often quote the Bible; but those who are not for us must be against us. You will

agree to that. Now that you've freed yourself from the iniquities of that sink of abomination in Downing

"As a man and also a brother. I suppose you know that I've got the Banner into my own 'ands now." Phineas

was obliged to explain that he had not hitherto been made acquainted with this great literary and political

secret. "Oh dear, yes, altogether so. We've got rid of old Rusty as I used to call him. He wouldn't go the pace,

and so we stripped him. He's doing the West of England Art Journal now, and he 'angs out down at Bristol."

"He'll earn his wages. He's a man who will always earn his wages, but nothing more. Well, now, Mr Finn, I

"Indeed I shall. Dooty is dooty. There was some things printed which were a little rough, but if one isn't a

little rough there ain't no flavour. Of course I wrote 'em. You know my 'and, I dare say."

"Just so. But mud don't break any bones; does it? When you turned against us I had to be down on you, and I

was down upon you that's just about all of it. Now you're coming among us again, and so I come to you

"Yes you are, Finn, and bringing Monk with you." It was now becoming very disagreeable, and Phineas was

beginning to perceive that it would soon be his turn to say something rough. "Now I'll tell you what my

proposition is. If you'll do us two leaders a week through the session, you shall have a cheque for �16 on the

last day of every month. If that's not honester money than what you got in Downing Street, my name is not

"If we are to come to business, drop the Mister. It makes things go so much easier."

"We are not to come to business, and I do not want things to go easy. I believe you said some things of me in

"I did not regard it in the least. You are quite welcome to continue it. I don't doubt but you will continue it.

"I said lies lies lies!" And Phineas walked over at him as though he were going to pitch him instantly

out of the window. "You may go and write as many more as you like. It is your trade, and you must do it or

starve. But do not come to me again." Then he opened the door and stood with it in his hand.

"Exactly. But if you please you'll go and do your punishment at the office of the Banner unless you like to

try it here. You want to kick me and spit at me, but you will prefer to do it in print."

"Yes, sir," said Quintus Slide. I shall prefer to do it in print though I must own that the temptation to adopt

the manual violence of a ruffian is great, very great, very great indeed." But he resisted the temptation and

Mr Quintus Slide did not so much impede the business of his day but what Phineas was with Mr Monk by

two, and in his place in the House when prayers were read at four. As he sat in his place, conscious of the

work that was before him, listening to the presentation of petitions, and to the formal reading of certain

notices of motions, which with the asking of sundry questions occupied over half an hour, he looked back and

remembered accurately his own feelings on a certain night on which he had intended to get up and address

the House. The ordeal before him had then been so terrible, that it had almost obliterated for the moment his

senses of hearing and of sight. He had hardly been able to perceive what had been going on around him, and

had vainly endeavoured to occupy himself in recalling to his memory the words which he wished to

pronounce. When the time for pronouncing them had come, he had found himself unable to stand upon his

legs. He smiled as he recalled all this in his memory, waiting impatiently for the moment in which he might

rise. His audience was assured to him now, and he did not fear it. His opportunity for utterance was his own,

and even the Speaker could not deprive him of it. During these minutes he thought not at all of the words that

he was to say. He had prepared his matter but had prepared no words. He knew that words would come

readily enough to him, and that he had learned the task of turning his thoughts quickly into language while

standing with a crowd of listeners around him as a practised writer does when seated in his chair. There

was no violent beating at his heart now, no dimness of the eyes, no feeling that the ground was turning round

under his feet. If only those weary vain questions would get themselves all asked, so that he might rise and

begin the work of the night. Then there came the last thought as the House was hushed for his rising. What

was the good of it all, when he would never have an opportunity of speaking there again?

But not on that account would he be slack in his endeavour now. He would be listened to once at least, not as

a subaltern of the Government but as the owner of a voice prominent in opposition to the Government. He

had been taught by Mr Monk that that was the one place in the House in which a man with a power of

speaking could really enjoy pleasure without alloy. He would make the trial once, if never again. Things

had so gone with him that the rostrum was his own, and a House crammed to overflowing was there to listen

to him. He had given up his place in order that he might be able to speak his mind, and had become aware

that many intended to listen to him while he spoke. He had observed that the rows of strangers were thick in

the galleries, that peers were standing in the passages, and that over the reporter's head, the ribbons of many

ladies were to be seen through the bars of their cage. Yes for this once he would have an audience.

He spoke for about an hour, and while he was speaking he knew nothing about himself, whether he was doing

it well or ill. Something of himself he did say soon after he had commenced not quite beginning with it, as

though his mind had been laden with the matter. He had, he said, found himself compelled to renounce his

happy allegiance to the First Lord of the Treasury, and to quit the pleasant company in which, humble as had

been his place, he had been allowed to sit and act, by his unfortunate conviction in this great subject. He had

been told, he said, that it was a misfortune in itself for one so young as he to have convictions. But his Irish

birth and Irish connection had brought this misfortune of his country so closely home to him that he had

found the task of extricating himself from it to be impossible. Of what further he said, speaking on that

terribly unintelligible subject, a tenantright proposed for Irish farmers, no English reader will desire to know

much. Irish subjects in the House of Commons are interesting or are dull, are debated before a crowded

audience composed of all who are leaders in the great world of London, or before empty benches, in

accordance with the importance of the moment and the character of the debate. For us now it is enough to

know that to our hero was accorded that attention which orators love which will almost make an orator if

it can be assured. A full House with a promise of big type on the next morning would wake to eloquence the

Phineas did not stir out of the House till the division was over, having agreed with Mr Monk that they two

would remain through it all and hear everything that was to be said. Mr Gresham had already spoken, and to

Mr Palliser was confided the task of winding up the argument for the Government. Mr Robson spoke also,

greatly enlivening the tedium of the evening, and to Mr Monk was permitted the privilege of a final reply. At

two o'clock the division came, and the Ministry were beaten by a majority of twentythree. "And now," said

Mr Monk, as he again walked home with Phineas, "the pity is that we are not a bit nearer tenantright than

"In one sense, yes. Such a debate and such a majority will make men think. But no think is too high a

word; as a rule men don't think. But it will make them believe that there is something in it. Many who before

regarded legislation on the subject as chimerical, will now fancy that it is only dangerous, or perhaps not

more than difficult. And so in time it will come to be looked on as among the things possible, then among the

things probable and so at last it will be ranged in the list of those few measures which the country requires

"It is no loss of time," said Phineas, to have taken the first great step in making it."

"The first great step was taken long ago," said Mr Monk "taken by men who were looked upon as

revolutionary demagogues, almost as traitors, because they took it. But it is a great thing to take any step that

Two days after this Mr Gresham declared his intention of dissolving the House because of the adverse

division which had been produced by Mr Monk's motion, but expressed a wish to be allowed to carry an Irish

Reform Bill through Parliament before he did so. He explained how expedient this would be, but declared at

the same time that if any strong opposition were made, he would abandon the project. His intention simply

was to pass with regard to Ireland a measure which must be passed soon, and which ought to be passed before

a new election took place. The bill was ready, and should be read for the first time on the next night, if the

House were willing. The House was willing, though there were very many recalcitrant Irish members. The

Irish members made loud opposition, and then twitted Mr Gresham with his promise that he would not go on

with his bill, if opposition were made. But, nevertheless, he did go on, and the measure was hurried through

the two Houses in a week. Our hero who still sat for Loughshane, but who was never to sit for Loughshane

again, gave what assistance he could to the Government, and voted for the measure which deprived

"And very dirty conduct I think it was," said Lord Tulla, when he discussed the subject with his agent. "After

being put in for the borough twice, almost free of expense, it was very dirty." It never occurred to Lord Tulla

that a member of Parliament might feel himself obliged to vote on such a subject in accordance with his

This Irish Reform Bill was scrambled through the two Houses, and then the session was over. The session

was over, and they who knew anything of the private concerns of Mr Phineas Finn were aware that he was

about to return to Ireland, and did not intend to reappear on the scene which had known him so well for the

"And it makes me sad too," said Phineas. I try to shake off the melancholy, and tell myself from day to day

"Everybody tells me so; and yet I feel quite certain that I shall never come back never come back with a

seat in Parliament. As my old tutor, Low, has told me scores of times, I began at the wrong end. Here I am,

thirty years of age, and I have not a shilling in the world, and I do not know how to earn one."

"Only for me you would still be receiving ever so much a year, and all would be pleasant," said Mr Monk.

"But how long would it have lasted? The first moment that Daubeny got the upper hand I should have fallen

lower than I have fallen now. If not this year, it would have been the next. My only comfort is in this that

I have done the thing myself, and have not been turned out." To the very last, however, Mr Monk continued

to express his opinion that Phineas would come back, declaring that he had known no instance of a young

man who had made himself useful in Parliament, and then had been allowed to leave it in early life.

Among those of whom he was bound to take a special leave, the members of the family of Lord Brentford

were, of course, the foremost. He had already heard of the reconciliation of Miss Effingham and Lord

Chiltern, and was anxious to offer his congratulation to both of them. And it was essential to him that he

should see Lady Laura. To her he wrote a line, saying how much he hoped that he should be able to bid her

adieu, and a time was fixed for his coming at which she knew that she would meet him alone. But, as chance

ruled it, he came upon the two lovers together, and then remembered that he had hardly ever before been in

the same room with both of them at the same time. "Oh, Mr Finn, what a beautiful speech you made. I read

"And I didn't even look at it, old fellow," said Chiltern, getting up and putting his arm on the other's shoulder

in a way that was common with him when he was quite intimate with the friend near him.

"Laura went down and heard it," said Violet. I could not do that, because I was tied to my aunt. You can't

"She says so. She arranges everything in concert with my father. When I threw up the sponge, I simply

asked for a long day. "A long day, my lord," I said. But my father and Violet between them refused me any

"Not a word. If I did he would want to see me on the coast of Flanders again, I don't doubt. I have come to

"Thank you, Mr Finn," said Violet, taking his hand with hearty kindness. "I should not have been quite happy

"I shall try and make the best of it," said Chiltern. "But, I say, you'll come over and ride Bonebreaker again.

He's down there at the Bull, and I've taken a little box close by. I can't stand the governor's county for

"Of course she will, and ride to hounds a great deal closer than I can ever do. Mind you come, and if there's

Then Phineas had to explain that he had come to bid them farewell, and that it was not at all probable that he

should ever be able to see Willingford again in the hunting season. "I don't suppose that I shall make either of

you quite understand it, but I have got to begin again. The chances are that I shall never see another foxhound

"Not unless I should have to examine one as a witness. I have nothing before me but downright hard work;

"But you are so clever," said Violet. Of course it will come quickly." "I do not mean to be impatient about it,

"Altogether. I shall stick to one club Brooks's; but I shall take my name off all the others."

"I have no doubt you will be very happy," said Violet; "and you'll be a Lord Chancellor in no time. But you

"You will return. You must be here for our wedding indeed you must. I will not be married unless you

Even this, however, was impossible. He must go on Sunday, and must return no more. Then he made his little

farewell speech, which he could not deliver without some awkward stuttering. He would think of her on the

day of her marriage, and pray that she might be happy. And he would send her a little trifle before he went,

"She shall wear it, whatever it is, or I'll know the reason why," said Chiltern.

"Hold your tongue, you rough bear!" said Violet. Of course I'll wear it. And of course I'll think of the giver. I

shall have many presents, but few that I will think of so much." Then Phineas left the room, with his throat so

"He is still brokenhearted about you," said the favoured lover as soon as his rival had left the room.

"It is not that," said Violet. He is brokenhearted about everything. The whole world is vanishing away from

him. I wish he could have made up his mind to marry that German woman with all the money." It must be

understood, however, that Phineas had never spoken a word to anyone as to the offer which the German

It was on the morning of the Sunday on which he was to leave London that he saw Lady Laura. He had asked

that it might be so, in order that he might then have nothing more upon his mind. He found her quite alone,

and he could see by her eyes that she had been weeping. As he looked at her, remembering that it was not yet

six years since he had first been allowed to enter that room, he could not but perceive how very much she was

altered in appearance. Then she had been threeandtwenty, and had not looked to be a day older. Now she

might have been taken to be nearly forty, so much had her troubles preyed upon her spirit, and eaten into the

vitality of her youth. "So you have come to say goodbye," she said, smiling as she rose to meet him.

"No, not for ever. At any rate, we will not think so." Then she paused; but he was silent, sitting with his hat

dangling in his two hands, and his eyes fixed upon the floor. "Do you know, Mr Finn," she continued, "that

"It is because I fear that I have done much to injure you. From the first day that I knew you do you

remember, when we were talking here, in this very room, about the beginning of the Reform Bill from

"Who can say whether it has been for good or evil? But of this I am sure you will be certain that I am very

grateful to you for all the goodness you have shown me." Then again he was silent.

She did not know what it was that she wanted, but she did desire some expression from his lips that should be

warmer than an expression of gratitude. An expression of love of existing love she would have felt to

be an insult, and would have treated it as such. Indeed, she knew that from him no such insult could come.

But she was in that morbid, melancholy state of mind which requires the excitement of more than ordinary

sympathy, even though that sympathy be all painful; and I think that she would have been pleased had he

referred to the passion for herself which he had once expressed. If he would have spoken of his love, and of

her mistake, and have made some halfsuggestion as to what might have been their lives had things gone

differently though she would have rebuked him even for that still it would have comforted her. But at

this moment, though he remembered much that had passed between them, he was not even thinking of the

Braes of Linter. All that had taken place four years ago and there had been so many other things since

which had moved him even more than that! "You have heard what I have arranged for myself?" she said at

"Your father has told me that you are going to Dresden." "Yes he will accompany me coming home of

course for Parliament. It is a sad breakup, is it not? But the lawyer says that if I remain here I may be

subject to very disagreeable attempts from Mr Kennedy to force me to go back again. It is odd, is it not, that

"I believe so. But he becomes more stern every day to those who are with him. And then, why should I

remain here? What is there to tempt me? As a woman separated from her husband I cannot take an interest in

those things which used to charm me. I feel that I am crushed and quelled by my position, even though there

"Ah; you are a man and will get over it, and you have many years before you will begin to be growing old. I

am growing old already. Yes, I am. I feel it, and know it, and see it. A woman has a fine game to play; but

"But he can try his hand again." Then there was another pause. "I had thought, Mr Finn, that you would have

"Because I saw that she liked you, and because such a marriage would have been so suitable. She has all that

"That the Duke of Omnium offered to make her his wife, and that she refused him for your sake."

"There is nothing that people won't say nothing on earth," said Phineas. Then he got up and took his leave

of her. He also wanted to part from her with some special expression of affection, but he did not know how to

choose his words. He had wished that some allusion should be made, not to the Braes of Linter, but to the

close confidence which had so long existed between them; but he found that the language to do this properly

was wanting to him. Had the opportunity arisen he would have told her now the whole story of Mary Flood

Jones; but the opportunity did not come, and he left her, never having mentioned the name of his Mary or

having hinted at his engagement to any one of his friends in London. "It is better so," he said to himself. "My

life in Ireland is to be a new life, and why should I mix two things together that will be so different?"

He was to dine at his lodgings, and then leave them for good at eight o'clock. He had packed up everything

before he went to Portman Square, and he returned home only just in time to sit down to his solitary mutton

chop. But as he sat down he saw a small note addressed to himself lying on the table among the crowd of

books, letters, and papers, of which he had still to make disposal. It was a very small note in an envelope of a

peculiar tint of pink, and he knew the handwriting well. The blood mounted all over his face as he took it up,

and he hesitated for a moment before he opened it. It could not be that the offer should be repeated to him.

Slowly, hardly venturing at first to look at the enclosure, he opened it, and the words which it contained were

"I learn that you are going today, and I write a word which you will receive just as you are departing. It is to

say merely this that when I left you the other day I was angry, not with you, but with myself. Let me wish

you all good wishes and that prosperity which I know you will deserve, and which I think you will win.

Should he put off his journey and go to her this very evening and claim her as his friend? The question was

asked and answered in a moment. Of course he would not go to her. Were he to do so there would be only

one possible word for him to say, and that word should certainly never be spoken. But he wrote to her a reply,

"Thanks, dear friend. I do not doubt but that you and I understand each other thoroughly, and that each trusts

"I write these as I am starting. When he had written this, he kept it till the last moment in his hand, thinking

that he would not send it. But as he slipped into the cab, he gave the note to his late landlady to post.

At the station Bunce came to him to say a word of farewell, and Mrs Bunce was on his arm.

"Well done, Mr Finn, well done," said Bunce. I always knew there was a good drop in you."

"You always told me I should ruin myself in Parliament, and so I have," said Phineas.

"Not at all. It takes a deal to ruin a man if he's got the right sperrit. I've better hopes of you now than ever I

had in the old days when you used to be looking out for Government place and Mr Monk has tried that

too. I thought he would find the iron too heavy for him." "God bless you, Mr Finn, said Mrs Bunce with her

handkerchief up to her eyes. "There's not one of 'em I ever had as lodgers I've cared about half as much as I

did for you." Then they shook hands with him through the window, and the train was off.

We are told that it is a bitter moment with the Lord Mayor when he leaves the Mansion House and becomes

once more Alderman Jones, of No. 75, Bucklersbury. Lord Chancellors going out of office have a great fall

though they take pensions with them for their consolation. And the President of the United States when he

leaves the glory of the White House and once more becomes a simple citizen must feel the change severely.

But our hero, Phineas Finn, as he turned his back upon the scene of his many successes, and prepared himself

for permanent residence in his own country, was, I think, in a worse plight than any of the reduced divinities

to whom I have alluded. They at any rate had known that their fall would come. He, like Icarus, had flown up

towards the sun, hoping that his wings of wax would bear him steadily aloft among the gods. Seeing that his

wings were wings of wax, we must acknowledge that they were very good. But the celestial lights had been

too strong for them, and now, having lived for five years with lords and countesses, with Ministers and

orators, with beautiful women and men of fashion, he must start again in a little lodging in Dublin, and hope

that the attorneys of that litigious city might be good to him. On his journey home he made but one

resolution. He would make the change, or attempt to make it, with manly strength. During his last month in

London he had allowed himself to be sad, depressed, and melancholy. There should be an end of all that now.

Nobody at home should see that he was depressed. And Mary, his own Mary, should at any rate have no

cause to think that her love and his own engagement had ever been the cause to him of depression. Did he not

value her love more than anything in the world? A thousand times he told himself that he did.

She was there in the old house at Killaloe to greet him. Her engagement was an affair known to all the

county, and she had no idea that it would become her to be coy in her love. She was in his arms before he had

spoken to his father and mother, and had made her little speech to him very inaudibly indeed while he

was covering her sweet face with kisses. "Oh, Phineas, I am so proud of you; and I think you are so right, and

I am so glad you have done it." Again he covered her face with kisses. Could he ever have had such

On the first night of his arrival he sat for an hour downstairs with his father talking over his plans. He felt

he could not but feel that he was not the hero now that he had been when he was last at Killaloe when

he had come thither with a Cabinet Minister under his wing. And yet his father did his best to prevent the

growth of any such feeling. The old doctor was not quite as well off as he had been when Phineas first started

with his high hopes for London. Since that day he had abandoned his profession and was now living on the

fruits of his life's labour. For the last two years he had been absolved from the necessity of providing an

income for his son, and had probably allowed himself to feel that no such demand upon him would again be

made. Now, however, it was necessary that he should do so. Could his son manage to live on two hundred a

year? There would then be four hundred a year left for the wants of the family at home. Phineas swore that he

could fight his battle on a hundred and fifty, and they ended the argument by splitting the difference. He had

been paying exactly the same sum of money for the rooms he had just left in London; but then, while he held

those rooms, his income had been two thousand a year. Tenantright was a very fine thing, but could it be

"I have not spoken to her about it, but your mother says that Mrs Flood Jones is very averse to a long

"What can I do? She would not wish me to marry her daughter with no other income than an allowance made

"Your mother says that she has some idea that you and she might live together that if they let

Floodborough you might take a small house in Dublin. Remember, Phineas, I am not proposing it myself."

Then Phineas bethought himself that he was not even yet so low in the world that he need submit himself to

terms dictated to him by Mrs Flood Jones. "I am glad that you do not propose it, sir."

"Why so, Phineas?" "Because I should have been obliged to oppose the plan even if it had come from you.

"And I never will try it. I am quite sure that Mary does not expect any such thing, and that she is willing to

wait. If I can shorten the term of waiting by hard work, I will do so." The decision to which Phineas had

come on this matter was probably made known to Mrs Flood Jones after some mild fashion by old Mrs Finn.

Nothing more was said to Phineas about a joint household; but he was quite able to perceive from the manner

of the lady towards him that his proposed motherinlaw wished him to understand that he was treating her

daughter very badly. What did it signify? None of them knew the story of Madame Goesler, and of course

none of them would know it. None of them would ever hear how well he had behaved to his little Mary.

But Mary did know it all before he left her to go up to Dublin. The two lovers allowed themselves or were

allowed by their elders, one week of exquisite bliss together; and during this week, Phineas told her, I think,

everything. He told her everything as far as he could do so without seeming to boast of his own successes.

How is a man not to tell such tales when he has on his arm, close to him, a girl who tells him her little

everything of life, and only asks for his confidence in return? And then his secrets are so precious to her and

so sacred, that he feels as sure of her fidelity as though she were a very goddess of faith and trust. And the

temptation to tell is so great. For all that he has to tell she loves him the better and still the better. A man

desires to win a virgin heart, and is happy to know or at least to believe that he has won it. With a

woman every former rival is an added victim to the wheels of the triumphant chariot in which she is sitting.

"All these has he known and loved, culling sweets from each of them. But now he has come to me, and I am

the sweetest of them all." And so Mary was taught to believe of Laura and of Violet and of Madame Goesler

that though they had had charms to please, her lover had never been so charmed as he was now while she

was hanging to his breast. And I think that she was right in her belief. During those lovely summer evening

walks along the shores of Lough Derg, Phineas was as happy as he had ever been at any moment of his life.

"I shall never be impatient never," she said to him on the last evening. "All I want is that you should write

"Then you must come down and see me. When you do come they will be happy, happy days for me. But of

"I will say anything that you like you will know what I mean just as well. And, Phineas, I must tell you

one thing though it makes me sad to think of it, and will make me sad to speak of it."

"I must say it. I am beginning to understand how much you have given up for me."

"If I had not been at Killaloe when Mr Monk was here, and if we had not had not oh dear, if I had not

loved you so very much, you might have remained in London, and that lady would have been your wife."

"Would she not? She must not be your wife now, Phineas. I am not going to pretend that I will give you up."

"Oh, well; you may say what you please. If that is unkind, I am unkind. It would kill me to lose you."

Had he done right? How could there be a doubt about it? How could there be a question about it? Which of

them had loved him, or was capable of loving him as Mary loved him? What girl was ever so sweet, so

gracious, so angelic, as his own Mary? He swore to her that he was prouder of winning her than of anything

he had ever done in all his life, and that of all the treasures that had ever come in his way she was the most

precious. She went to bed that night the happiest girl in all Connaught, although when she parted from him

But she did see him again before the summer was over, and the manner of their meeting was in this wise.

Immediately after the passing of that scrambled Irish Reform Bill, Parliament, as the reader knows, was

dissolved. This was in the early days of June, and before the end of July the new members were again

assembled at Westminster. This session, late in summer, was very terrible; but it was not very long, and then

it was essentially necessary. There was something of the year's business which must yet be done, and the

country would require to know who were to be the Ministers of the Government. It is not needed that the

reader should be troubled any further with the strategy of one political leader or of another, or that more

should be said of Mr Monk and his tenantright. The House of Commons had offended Mr Gresham by

voting in a majority against him, and Mr Gresham had punished the House of Commons by subjecting it to

the expense and nuisance of a new election. All this is constitutional, and rational enough to Englishmen,

though it may be unintelligible to strangers. The upshot on the present occasion was that the Ministers

remained in their places and that Mr Monk's bill, though it had received the substantial honour of a second

All this would not concern us at all, nor our poor hero much, were it not that the great men with whom he had

been for two years so pleasant a colleague, remembered him with something of affectionate regret. Whether it

began with Mr Gresham or with Lord Cantrip, I will not say or whether Mr Monk, though now a political

enemy, may have said a word that brought about the good deed. Be that as it may, just before the summer

session was brought to a close Phineas received the following letter from Lord Cantrip:

"Mr Gresham has been talking to me, and we both think that possibly a permanent Government appointment

may be acceptable to you. We have no doubt, that should this be the case, your services would be very

valuable to the country. There is a vacancy for a poorlaw inspector at present in Ireland, whose residence I

believe should be in Cork. The salary is a thousand ayear. Should the appointment suit you, Mr Gresham

will be most happy to nominate you to the office. Let me have a line at your early convenience.

He received the letter one morning in Dublin, and within three hours he was on his route to Killaloe. Of

course he would accept the appointment, but he would not even do that without telling Mary of his new

prospect. Of course he would accept the appointment. Though he had been as yet barely two months in

Dublin, though he had hardly been long enough settled to his work to have hoped to be able to see in which

way there might be a vista open leading to success, still he had fancied that he had seen that success was

impossible. He did not know how to begin and men were afraid of him, thinking that he was unsteady,

arrogant, and prone to failure. He had not seen his way to the possibility of a guinea.

"A thousand a year!" said Mary Flood Jones, opening her eyes wide with wonder at the golden future before

What was the nature of the reply to Lord Cantrip the reader may imagine, and thus we will leave our hero an