I said that the whole Parliamentary system would in time lose all credit, even with the public, through such senseless attacks and votes. It brought everything to a standstill, but was itself unable to produce anything better. “The effect of the recent debates,” I went on, “is already here and there observable. This morning I met Thile, who stopped me and asked what I thought of the Parliamentary struggle. He was immensely pleased with the attitude you had adopted. A friend of his, whom he did not wish to name, but who was an admirer of the new era, though up to the present by no means favourable to you, had said that the manner in which you spoke and repelled the attacks of the Opposition was simply magnificent, and excited universal admiration. And women speak with disgust of the way in which you were hounded down and personally insulted by the Progressists and Lasker. A Hanoverian lady, of Guelph sympathies, spoke to my wife yesterday in this sense. This disgust and this pity for you will gradually affect the men, and help to bring about a change in the present tendency. I myself feel no pity, I only foresee your triumph. Pray excuse me for comparing you to an animal, but you remind me of the picture of a noble stag, which time after time shakes off the snarling pack, and then, proud and unhurt, regains the shelter of his forest, crowned by his branching antlers.” “Yes,” he said, “one might take another animal, the wild boar, which gores the hounds and tosses them away from him.”