‘You are very outspoken, Mr. Wentworth—more so than is politic, I fear,’ said the reverend Father, with a bitter smile. ‘We have many Irish voters in this borough, and I fear they will be unable to give you their support; and Irish support is a matter of some consequence. In many borough elections they can turn the scale.’ ‘Alas! I am quite aware of that; but I hold my opinion, nevertheless. The demand for an Irish Parliament independent of an Imperial one will come to the front, the Liberal Party will find themselves compelled to support it—’ ‘And then we shall have peace.’ ‘No a bit of it! Then we shall have civil war. It was only a week or two since I was talking to a porter at the Limerick Station. He said to me: “The people want Home Rule. Let ’em have it, and there won’t be many of ’em left.” And I fear the porter was right.’ ‘Why, who will there be to fight?’ ‘The men of the North. I have no sympathy with Orangemen: they are hard and bigoted, and have done immense mischief in Ireland; but they will never be content with a Home Rule measure which will hand them over to their foes. Things are bad enough now, with England keeping both parties, to a certain extent, from flying at each other. What Ireland will be under Home Rule such as will be accepted by the Nationalists I shudder to contemplate.’ ‘You are easily alarmed,’ said the priest, as he took his leave. ‘We shall have Home Rule, and for once Ireland will be at peace.’ ‘I hope so, I am sure,’ said Mr. Wentworth, as the reverend gentleman left him alone. CHAPTER XIX. WENTWORTH RETIRES. Just as the Irish ‘praste’ walked out, a gentleman rushed in, breathless and unannounced. ‘Ah, my dear boy,’ said he, ‘in the language of Scripture I ask, What doest thou here, Elijah?’ ‘Ask as much as you like,’ said Wentworth; ‘but I do not know that I am bound to answer.’ ‘Wentworth, you are making an ass of yourself. You may think the language rather strong, but it is true, nevertheless. You know I am a candid friend, and I tell you this is not your place.’ ‘I am almost of the same opinion.’ ‘Let us look at the thing seriously. What is Parliamentary life but the dreariest drudgery going?—worse than that of the treadmill. The House meets at four, and rises God knows when. In any civilized community the House would meet in the day, and the business would be got through in a creditable manner. In that House you must remain night after night, never out of the sound of the division-bell or the call of the whip. There is a nice smoking-room, I own, but as it is, I believe you smoke too much. There is a fine library, but it is not so convenient for you as your own in Clifford’s Inn. I believe the dinners are not bad; but you are a philosopher, and prefer your roast potato and your mutton-bone— ‘“A hollow tree, A crust of bread and liberty.”