saying that something was 'Vulgar?' 'Do you know what
is the meaning of the word vulgar? It is only common; and nothing that
is common, except wickedness, can deserve to be spoken of in terms of
contempt: and when you have lived to my years, you will be disposed to
agree with me in thanking God that nothing really worth having or caring
about in this world is _uncommon_.'"

"When I said ordinary, every-day people, don't mistake me; I meant only
those who, from class and condition, follow a peculiar ritual, and live
after a certain rubric of fashion; and who, hiding themselves under a
common garment, whose cut, colour, and mode are the same, are really
undistinguishable, save on great and trying occasions.

"Kings, for instance! whom great diplomatic folks are supposed to see a
great deal of, and know in all the terms of an easy intimacy.

"But how do we see them? In an armour of reserve and caution, never
assumed to any one else. The ease you speak of is all assumed. It is the
conventional politeness accorded to a certain station. Kings, so far as
I have seen, are never really engaging, save to a great minister out
of power. Then their manner assumes all its attractiveness; on
the principle, perhaps, that Curran paid his homage to the antique
Hercules,--that _his_ day might yet come uppermost, and he would not
forget the friend who visited him in adversity."

"Well, to come back, tell us a story. Let it be what you will, or of
where and whom you please, so that it last while we are rowing homeward.
Monologue is always better than conversation by moonlight.

"But stay; what are the lights we see yonder, glancing from amid the
trees? And there, now, see the bright blaze that has sprung up, and
is reflected red and lurid on the lake below. It is a 'Festa' of the
Church; for hear, the bells are ringing merrily from the mountain-top,
and there go the people in procession, climbing the steep path towards
the summit."

Wonderful superstition! that has fashioned itself to every phase and
form of human nature--now, sending its aid to the darkest impulses of
passion, as we see in Ireland--now, conforming to the most simple tastes
of an unthinking people; for these peasants here are not imbued with the
piety of the Church--they only love its gauds. It is to the Tyrol you
must go to witness the real devotional feeling of a people.

"Well, shall I tell you a story?"

"No; I am weaving one, now, for myself!"

CHAPTER