ions on him,
would shake his head over the unprecedented majority of the government,
and sigh while he acknowledged that the Tories absolutely did not now
command one fifth of the House of Commons; his shakes and sighs were
equally disregarded by her, and she persisted in her dreams of riding
upon elephants.

After all Mrs. Ferrars was right. There is nothing more remarkable in
political history than the sudden break-up of the Whig party after their
successful revolution of 1832. It is one of the most striking instances
on record of all the elements of political power being useless without a
commanding individual will. During the second year of their exile in the
Berkshire hills, affairs looked so black that it seemed no change could
occur except further and more calamitous revolution. Zenobia went to
Vienna that she might breathe the atmosphere of law and order, and
hinted to Mrs. Ferrars that probably she should never return--at least
not until Parliament met, when she trusted the House of Lords, if they
were not abolished in the interval, would save the country. And yet at
the commencement of the following year an old colleague of Mr. Ferrars
apprised him, in the darkest and deepest confidence, that "there was a
screw loose," and he must "look out for squalls."

In the meantime Mr. Ferrars increased and established his claims on his
party, if they ever did rally, by his masterly articles in their great
Review, which circumstances favoured and which kept up that increasing
feeling of terror and despair which then was deemed necessary for the
advancement of Conservative opinions.

At home a year or more had elapsed without change. The occasional
appearance of Nigel Penruddock was the only event. It was to all a
pleasing, and to some of the family a deeply interesting one. Nigel,
though a student and devoted to the holy profession for which he was
destined, was also a sportsman. His Christianity was muscular, and
Endymion, to whom he had taken a fancy, became the companion of his
pastimes. All the shooting of the estate was at Nigel's command, but as
there were no keepers, it was of course very rough work. Still it was a
novel and animating life for Endymion; and though the sport was slight,
the pursuit was keen. Then Nigel was a great fisherman, and here their
efforts had a surer return, for they dwelt in a land of trout streams,
and in their vicinity was a not inconsiderable river. It was an
adventure of delight to