cry to loosen floods. It was too
late to think of an operation to divide them. They held the heart of the
cause between them, were bound fast together, and had to go on.
Beauchamp, with a furious tug of Radicalism, spoken or performed, pulled
Cougham on his beam-ends. Cougham, to right himself, defined his
Liberalism sharply from the politics of the pit, pointed to France and
her Revolutions, washed his hands of excesses, and entirely overset
Beauchamp. Seeing that he stood in the Liberal interest, the junior could
not abandon the Liberal flag; so he seized it and bore it ahead of the
time, there where Radicals trip their phantom dances like shadows on a
fog, and waved it as the very flag of our perfectible race. So great was
the impetus that Cougham had no choice but to step out with him
briskly--voluntarily as a man propelled by a hand on his coat-collar. A
word saved him: the word practical. 'Are we practical?' he inquired, and
shivered Beauchamp's galloping frame with a violent application of the
stop abrupt; for that question, 'Are we practical?' penetrates the bosom
of an English audience, and will surely elicit a response if not.
plaudits. Practical or not, the good people affectingly wish to be
thought practical. It has been asked by them.

If we're not practical, what are we?--Beauchamp, talking to Cougham
apart, would argue that the daring and the far-sighted course was often
the most practical. Cougham extended a deprecating hand: 'Yes, I have
gone over all that.' Occasionally he was maddening.

The melancholy position of the senior and junior Liberals was known
abroad and matter of derision.

It happened that the gay and good-humoured young Lord Palmet, heir to the
earldom of Elsea, walking up the High Street of Bevisham, met Beauchamp
on Tuesday morning as he sallied out of his hotel to canvass. Lord Palmet
was one of the numerous half-friends of Cecil Baskelett, and it may be a
revelation of his character to you, that he owned to liking Beauchamp
because of his having always been a favourite with the women. He began
chattering, with Beauchamp's hand in his: 'I've hit on you, have I? My
dear fellow, Miss Halkett was talking of you last night. I slept at Mount
Laurels; went on purpose to have a peep. I'm bound for Itchincope.
They've some grand procession in view there; Lespel wrote for my team; I
suspect he's for starting some new October races. He talks of
half-a-dozen drags. He must have lots of women