's. Then came the evening with all its crash and glare;
the banquet, the opera, and the ball.

The Duke of St. James took the oaths and his seat. He was introduced
by Lord Fitz-pompey. He heard a debate. We laugh at such a thing,
especially in the Upper House; but, on the whole, the affair is
imposing, particularly if we take part in it. Lord Ex-Chamberlain
thought the nation going on wrong, and he made a speech full of currency
and constitution. Baron Deprivyseal seconded him with great effect,
brief but bitter, satirical and sore. The Earl of Quarterday answered
these, full of confidence in the nation and in himself. When the debate
was getting heavy, Lord Snap jumped up to give them something light. The
Lords do not encourage wit, and so are obliged to put up with pertness.
But Viscount Memoir was very statesmanlike, and spouted a sort
of universal history. Then there was Lord Ego, who vindicated his
character, when nobody knew he had one, and explained his motives,
because his auditors could not understand his acts. Then there was a
maiden speech, so inaudible that it was doubted whether, after all, the
young orator really did lose his virginity. In the end, up started the
Premier, who, having nothing to say, was manly, and candid, and liberal;
gave credit to his adversaries and took credit to himself, and then the
motion was withdrawn.

While all this was going on, some made a note, some made a bet, some
consulted a book, some their ease, some yawned, a few slept; yet, on the
whole, there was an air about the assembly which can be witnessed in no
other in Europe. Even the most indifferent looked as if he would come
forward if the occasion should demand him, and the most imbecile as if
he could serve his country if it required him. When a man raises his
eyes from his bench and sees his ancestor in the tapestry, he begins to
understand the pride of blood.

The young Duke had not experienced many weeks of his career before he
began to sicken of living in an hotel. Hitherto he had not reaped any of
the fruits of the termination of his minority. He was a _cavalier seul_,
highly considered, truly, but yet a mere member of society. He had been
this for years. This was not the existence to enjoy which he had hurried
to England. He aspired to be society itself. In a word, his tastes were
of the most magnificent description, and he sighed to be surrounded by
a court. As Hauteville House, even with Sir Carte's extraordinary