dy remains unaltered. Let any one imagine
to himself a five-act drama, preceded by a telegraphic intimation of
all its incidents--how insupportable would the slow procession of events
become after such a revelation! Up to this, Ministers performed a sort
of Greek chorus, chanting in ambiguous phrase the woes that invaded
those who differed from them, and the heart-corroding sorrows that sat
below the "gangway." There has come an end to all this. All the dramatic
devices of those days are gone, and we live in an age in which many
men are their own priests, their lawyers, and their doctors, and where,
certes, each man is his own prophet.

These reflections have been much impressed upon me by a ramble I
took yesterday in company with one of the most agreeable of all our
diplomatists--one of those men who seem to weld into their happy natures
all the qualities which make good companionship, and blend with the
polished manners of a courtier the dash of an Eton boy and the deep
reflectiveness of a man of the world--a man to whom nothing comes wrong,
and whom you would be puzzled to say whether he was more in his element
at a cabinet council, or one of a shooting-party in the Highlands.

"I say, O'Dowd," cried he, after a pause of some time in our
conversation, "has it never struck you that those tall poles and wires
are destined to be the end of both your trade and mine, and that within
a very few years neither of our occupations will have a representative
left? Take my word for it," said he, more solemnly, "in less than
ten years from the present date a penny-a-liner will be as rare as
a posthorse, and a post-shay not more a curiosity than a
minister-plenipotentiary."

"Do you really think so?"

"I am certain of it. People nowadays won't travel eight miles an hour,
or be satisfied to hear of events ten days after they've happened. Life
is too short for all this now, and, as we can't lengthen our days, we
must shorten our incidents. We are all more or less like that gentleman
Mathews used to tell us of at Boulogne, who said to the waiter, 'Let me
have some-thing expensive; I am only here for an hour.' Have you ever
thought seriously on the matter?"

"Never," said I.

"You ought, then," said he. "I tell you again, we are all in the same
category with flint locks and wooden ships--we belong to the past. Don't
you know it? Don't you feel it?"

"I don't like to feel it," said I, peevishly.

"Nonsense!" cried he, laughin