“Be easy with the bishops,” added the Squire. “They have to scheme a bit in order to get the most out of both worlds. They scorn to answer the people according to their idols. They are politically right.”

“No, sir,” said Edgar. “Whatever is morally wrong cannot be politically right. The church is well represented by the clergy; they have generally sympathised with the people. One of them, indeed, called Smith–Sydney Smith–made a speech at Taunton, three days after our defeat, that has gone like wild-fire throughout the length and breadth of England;” and Edgar took a paper out of his pocket, and read, with infinite delight and appreciation, the pungent wit which made “Mrs. Partington” famous throughout Christendom:–

“As for the possibility of the House of Lords preventing a reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the most absurd notion that ever entered into human imagination. I do not mean to be disrespectful, but the attempt of the Lords to stop the progress of Reform reminds me very forcibly of the great storm at Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that town; the waves rushed in upon the houses; and everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington–who lived upon the beach–was seen at the door of her house, with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused. Mrs. Partington’s spirit was up; but I need not tell you, the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was excellent at a slop or a puddle; but she should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your ease, be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington.”[[2]]

[2]

Speech at Taunton by Sydney Smith, October 12, 1831.

“It was not respectful to liken the Lords of England to an old woman, now was it, Mother?” asked the Squire.

But Mrs. Atheling only laughed the more, and the conversation drifted so completely into politics that Kitty and Annie grew weary of it, and said they wished to go to their rooms. And as they left the parlour together, Edgar suddenly stayed Kitty a moment, and said, “I had nearly forgotten to tell you something. Miss Vyner is to be married, on the second of December, to Cecil North. I am going to London in time for the wedding.”

And Kitty said, “I am glad to hear it, Edgar,” and quickly closed the door. But she lay long awake, wondering what influence this event would have upon Piers and his future, until, finally, the wonder passed into a little verse which they had learned together; and with it singing in her heart, she fell asleep:–

“Thou art mine! I am thine!