th this view he betook himself from the attorneys'
office to that laboratory where, with amazing chemistry, Tom Towers
compounded thunderbolts for the destruction of all that is evil, and
for the furtherance of all that is good, in this and other
hemispheres.

Who has not heard of Mount Olympus,--that high abode of all the powers
of type, that favoured seat of the great goddess Pica, that wondrous
habitation of gods and devils, from whence, with ceaseless hum of
steam and never-ending flow of Castalian ink, issue forth fifty
thousand nightly edicts for the governance of a subject nation?

Velvet and gilding do not make a throne, nor gold and jewels a
sceptre. It is a throne because the most exalted one sits there,--and
a sceptre because the most mighty one wields it. So it is with Mount
Olympus. Should a stranger make his way thither at dull noonday, or
during the sleepy hours of the silent afternoon, he would find no
acknowledged temple of power and beauty, no fitting fane for the
great Thunderer, no proud facades and pillared roofs to support
the dignity of this greatest of earthly potentates. To the
outward and uninitiated eye, Mount Olympus is a somewhat humble
spot,--undistinguished, unadorned,--nay, almost mean. It stands
alone, as it were, in a mighty city, close to the densest throng
of men, but partaking neither of the noise nor the crowd; a small
secluded, dreary spot, tenanted, one would say, by quite unambitious
people at the easiest rents. "Is this Mount Olympus?" asks the
unbelieving stranger. "Is it from these small, dark, dingy buildings
that those infallible laws proceed which cabinets are called upon to
obey; by which bishops are to be guided, lords and commons controlled,
judges instructed in law, generals in strategy, admirals in naval
tactics, and orange-women in the management of their barrows?"
"Yes, my friend--from these walls. From here issue the only known
infallible bulls for the guidance of British souls and bodies.
This little court is the Vatican of England. Here reigns a
pope, self-nominated, self-consecrated,--ay, and much stranger
too,--self-believing!--a pope whom, if you cannot obey him, I would
advise you to disobey as silently as possible; a pope hitherto afraid
of no Luther; a pope who manages his own inquisition, who punishes
unbelievers as no most skilful inquisitor of Spain ever dreamt of
doing;--one who can excommunicate thoroughly, fearfully, radically;
put you beyo