gument would see us each entrenched in his party.
Suppose me to be telling your Radical friend such truisms as that we
English have not grown in a day, and were not originally made free and
equal by decree; that we have grown, and must continue to grow, by the
aid and the development of our strength; that ours is a fairly legible
history, and a fair example of the good and the bad in human growth;
that his landowner and his peasant have no clear case of right and wrong
to divide them, one being the descendant of strong men, the other of
weak ones; and that the former may sink, the latter may rise--there is
no artificial obstruction; and if it is difficult to rise, it is easy
to sink. Your Radical friend, who would bring them to a level by
proclamation, could not adopt a surer method for destroying the manhood
of a people: he is for doctoring wooden men, and I for not letting our
stout English be cut down short as Laplanders; he would have them in
a forcing house, and I in open air, as hitherto. Do you perceive a
discussion? and you apprehend the nature of it. We have nerves. That is
why it is better for men of extremely opposite opinions not to meet. I
dare say Radicalism has a function, and so long as it respects the
laws I am ready to encounter it where it cannot be avoided. Pardon my
prosing.'

'Recommend me some hard books to study through the Winter,' said
Cecilia, refreshed by a discourse that touched no emotions, as by a
febrifuge. Could Nevil reply to it? She fancied him replying, with that
wild head of his--wildest of natures. She fancied also that her wish was
like Mr. Austin's not to meet him. She was enjoying a little rest.

It was not quite generous in Mr. Austin to assume that 'her Radical
friend' had been prompting her. However, she thanked him in her heart
for the calm he had given her. To be able to imagine Nevil Beauchamp
intellectually erratic was a tonic satisfaction to the proud young
lady, ashamed of a bondage that the bracing and pointing of her critical
powers helped her to forget. She had always preferred the society of men
of Mr. Austin's age. How old was he? Her father would know. And why was
he unmarried? A light frost had settled on the hair about his temples;
his forehead was lightly wrinkled; but his mouth and smile, and his
eyes, were lively as a young man's, with more in them. His age must be
something less than fifty. O for peace! she sighed. When he stepped into
his carriage, and stoo