cullers, County
Electors, and House of Commons celebrities,--all snobs!

O'Shea then tried the Turf,--disparagingly, as a great moralist ought.
They were, as he said, a "bad lot;" but he knew them well, and they
"could n't hurt _him_." He had a variety of curious stories about racing
knaveries, and could clear up several mysterious circumstances, which
all the penetration of the "Ring" had never succeeded in solving.
Heathcote, however, was unappeasable; and these, too,--trainers,
jockeys, judges, and gentlemen,--they were all snobs!

It was only two o'clock, and there were two more mortal hours to get
through before dinner. With a bright inspiration he bethought him of
bitter beer. Oh, Bass! ambrosia of the barrack-room, thou nectar of the
do-nothings in this life, how gracefully dost thou deepen dulness into
drowsiness, making stupidity but semi-conscious! What a bond of union
art thou between those who have talked themselves out, and would without
thy consoling froth, become mutually odious! Instead of the torment of
suggestiveness which other drinks inspire, how gloriously lethargic are
all thy influences, how mind-quelling, and how muddling!

There is, besides, a vague notion prevalent with your beer-drinker, that
there is some secret of health in his indulgence,--that he is undergoing
a sort of tonic regimen, something to make him more equal to the ascent
of Mont Blanc, or the defeat of the Zouaves, and he grows in self-esteem
as he sips. It is not the boastful sentiment begotten of champagne, or
the defiant courage of port, but a dogged, resolute, resistant spirit,
stout in its nature and bitter to the last!

And thus they sipped, and smoked, and said little to each other, and the
hours stole over, and the wintry day darkened apace, and, at last, out
of a drowsy nap over the fire, the waiter awoke them, to say dinner was
on the table.

"You were asleep!" said O'Shea, to his companion.

"Yes, 'twas your snoring set me off!" replied Heathcote, stretching
himself, as he walked to the window. "Raining Just as hard as ever!"

"Come along," said the other, gayly. "Let us see what old Fan has done
for us."

CHAPTER XXI. MR. O'SHEA UPON POLITICS, AND THINGS IN GENERAL

It was a most appetizing little dinner that was now set before the
O'Shea and Charles Heathcote. The trout from Castellano and the mutton
from Pistoja were each admirable; and a brace of woodcocks, shot in the
first snowstorm on the Carrara