awford, and I sent it to
Chesterfield Street in time for George to wear to the Duchess's. He has
been twice to Piccadilly after me, and twice here, and swears he will
have my heart. And I believe he is now gone to Matson in a funk."

After that they fell upon politics. I knew that Mr. Fox was already
near the head of the King's party, and that he had just received a
substantial reward at his Majesty's hands; and I went not far to guess
that every one of these easy-going, devil-may-care macaronies was a
follower or sympathizer with Lord North's policy. But what I heard was
a revelation indeed. I have dignified it by calling it politics. All was
frankness here amongst friends. There was no attempt made to gloss over
ugly transactions with a veneer of morality. For this much I honoured
them. But irresistibly there came into my mind the grand and simple
characters of our own public men in America, and it made me shudder to
think that, while they strove honestly for our rights, this was the type
which opposed them. Motives of personal spite and of personal gain were
laid bare, and even the barter and sale of offices of trust took place
before my very eyes. I was silent, though my tongue burned me, until one
of the gentlemen, thinking me neglected, said:

"What a-deuce is to be done with those unruly countrymen of yours, Mr.
Carvel? Are they likely to be pacified now that we have taken off all
except the tea? You who are of our party must lead a sorry life among
them. Tell me, do they really mean to go as far as rebellion?"

The blood rushed to my face.

"It is not a question of tea, sir," I answered hotly; "nor yet of
tuppence. It is a question of principle, which means more to Englishmen
than life itself. And we are Englishmen."

I believe I spoke louder than I intended, for a silence followed my
words. Fox glanced at Comyn, who of all of them at the table was not
smiling, and said:

"I thought you came of a loyalist family, Mr. Carvel."

"King George has no more loyal servants than the Americans, Mr. Fox, be
they Tory or Whig. And he has but to read our petitions to discover it,"
I said.

I spoke calmly, but my heart was thumping with excitement and
resentment. The apprehension of the untried is apt to be sharp at
such moments, and I looked for them to turn their backs upon me for an
impertinent provincial. Indeed, I think they would have, all save Comyn,
had it not been for Fox himself. He lighted a pipe, smiled,