and the friends of Members
of Parliament, are apt to teach themselves that it means nothing;
that Lord This does not hate Mr That, or think him a traitor to his
country, or wish to crucify him; and that Sir John of the Treasury
is not much in earnest when he speaks of his noble friend at the
"Foreign Office" as a god to whom no other god was ever comparable in
honesty, discretion, patriotism, and genius. But the outside Briton
who takes a delight in politics,--and this description should include
ninety-nine educated Englishmen out of every hundred,--should not be
desirous of peeping behind the scenes. No beholder at any theatre
should do so. It is good to believe in these friendships and these
enmities, and very pleasant to watch their changes. It is delightful
when Oxford embraces Manchester, finding that it cannot live without
support in that quarter; and very delightful when the uncompromising
assailant of all men in power receives the legitimate reward of his
energy by being taken in among the bosoms of the blessed.

But although the outer world was so sure that the existing Chancellor
of the Exchequer had ceased to exist, when the House of Commons met
that gentleman took his seat on the Treasury Bench. Mr Palliser, who
had by no means given a general support to the Ministry in the last
Session, took his seat on the same side of the House indeed, but low
down, and near to the cross benches. Mr Bott sat close behind him,
and men knew that Mr Bott was a distinguished member of Mr Palliser's
party, whatever that party might be. Lord Cinquebars moved the
Address, and I must confess that he did it very lamely. He was
once accused by Mr Maxwell, the brewer, of making a great noise in
the hunting-field. The accusation could not be repeated as to his
performance on this occasion, as no one could hear a word that he
said. The Address was seconded by Mr Loftus Fitzhoward, a nephew of
the Duke of St Bungay, who spoke as though he were resolved to trump
poor Lord Cinquebars in every sentence which he pronounced,--as we
so often hear the second clergyman from the Communion Table trumping
his weary predecessor, who has just finished the Litany not in the
clearest or most audible voice. Every word fell from Mr Fitzhoward
with the elaborate accuracy of a separate pistol-shot; and as he
became pleased with himself in his progress, and warm with his work,
he accented his words sharply, made rhetorical pauses, even moved his
hands ab