at aldermen's tables, and lay a foundation-stone--as Jorian
says--with the facility of a hen-mother: that should not suffice them.
'Tis not sufficient for me. I lay my stone, eat my dinner, make my
complimentary speech--and that is all that is expected of us; but I am
fully aware we should do more. We must lead, or we are lost. Ay, and--to
quote you a Lord Mayor's barge is a pretty piece of gilt for the festive
and luxurious to run up the river Thames in and mark their swans. I am
convinced there is something deep in that. But what am I to do? Would you
have me frown upon the people? Richie, it is prudent--I maintain it
righteous, nay, it is, I affirm positively, sovereign wisdom--to
cultivate every flower in the British bosom. Riposte me--have you too
many? Say yes, and you pass my guard. You cannot. I fence you there. This
British loyalty is, in my estimation, absolutely beautiful. We grow to a
head in our old England. The people have an eye! I need no introduction
to them. We reciprocate a highly cordial feeling when they line the
streets and roads with respectful salutations, and I acknowledge their
demonstrative goodwill. These things make us a nation. By heaven, Richie,
you are, on this occasion, if your dad may tell you so, wrong. I ask
pardon for my bluntness; but I put it to you, could we, not travelling as
personages in our well-beloved country, count on civility to greet us
everywhere? Assuredly not. My position is, that by consenting to their
honest enthusiasm, we the identical effect you are perpetually crying out
for--we civilize them, we civilize them. Goodness!--a Great Britain
without Royalty!'

He launched on a series of desolate images. In the end, he at least
persuaded himself that he had an idea in his anxiety to cultivate the
primary British sentiment.

We moved from town to town along the South coast; but it was vain to hope
we might be taken for simple people. Nor was he altogether to blame,
except in allowing the national instinct for 'worship and reverence' to
air itself unrebuked. I fled to the island. Temple ran down to meet me
there, and I heard that Janet had written to him for news of me. He
entered our hotel a private person; when he passed out, hats flew off
before him. The modest little fellow went along a double line of
attentive observers on the pier, and came back, asking me in astonishment
who he was supposed to be.

'I petitioned for privacy here!' exclaimed my father. It account