ets and twenty per cent profits in his gift is the
devil that England has most to fear from. 'Because of unrighteous
dealings, and riches gotten by deceit the kingdom is translated
from one people to another,' said the wise man. Think of that
opium war the other day. I don't believe we can get over many
more such businesses as that. Grey falls back on the Church, you
see, to save the nation; but the Church he dreams of will never
do it. Is there any that can? There _must_ be surely, or we have
believed a lie. But this work of making trade righteous, of
Christianizing trade, looks like the very hardest the Gospel has
ever had to take in hand--in England at any rate."

Hardy spoke slowly and doubtfully, and paused as if asking for
Tom's opinion.

"I never heard it put in that way. I know very little of politics
or the state of England. But come, now; the putting down the
slave-trade and compensating our planters, _that_ shows that we
are not sold to the trade devil yet, surely."

"I don't think we are. No, thank God, there are plenty of signs
that we are likely to make a good fight of it yet."

They talked together for another hour, drawing their chairs round
to the fire, and looking dreamingly into the embers, as is the
wont of men who are throwing out suggestions, and helping one
another to think, rather than arguing. At the end of that time,
Tom left Hardy to his books, and went away laden with several new
ideas, one of the clearest of which was that he was awfully
ignorant of the contemporary history of his own country, and that
it was the thing of all others which he ought to be best informed
on, and thinking most about. So, being of an impetuous turn of
mind, he went straight to his rooms to commence his new study,
where, after diligent hunting, the only food of the kind he
required which turned up was the last number of _Bell's Life_
from the pocket of his great coat. Upon this he fell to work, in
default of anything better, and was soon deep in the P. R.
column, which was full of interesting speculations as to the
chances of Bungaree, in his forthcoming campaign against the
British middleweights. By the time he had skimmed through the
well-known sheets, he was satisfied that the columns of his old
acquaintance were not the place, except in the police reports,
where much could be learnt about the present state or future
prospects of England. Then, the first evening of term being a
restless place, he wandered