It was a common error not many years since—it may be that it exists more or less now—for pious people to assume that a dislike of this world, a shutting of the mental eye to all the wonders and glory of it as revealed by the sun that walks by day, and the moon that rules by night, was a sure sign of fitness for another; that maudlin sentimentalism was religion in its purest form, that to be unhealthy and miserable was to be a saint. We have got rid of that folly, at any rate, and a good deal of the credit of it is due to Dr. Andrew Combe, brother of the phrenologist, George Combe, whose popular phrenology and other works did much to arouse and enlighten the public mind. It is not now that to treat the body decently is considered a sign of a low state of spirituality—that we hear it urged as an excuse for neglecting to take care of one’s health, the most precious talent given by God to man, that it is wrong to take any trouble about the flesh in a state of sin and under bondage, and in a few short years to be food for worms. Such talk was pitilessly flouted, if ever Buxton chanced to come within ear-shot of it, and good people, accordingly, in their abounding charity, fancied he was a sceptic, that he denied the faith, and was worse than an infidel. Buxton continued: ‘What can you do, what can anyone do in the House of Commons, but register the people’s will. It is outside the House, not within, that the battle of public opinion is fought. To you or me a Parliamentary struggle is neither more nor less than a trial of the outs to get into office, or of the ins to retain place and power; for, let them call themselves what they will—Tories or Radicals, Advanced Reformers or Obstructionists—no Government can exist in this country that does not represent public opinion, and does not do honest work for its living. It was so in the days of rotten boroughs, of Sir Robert Walpole, of Pitt and Fox, of Castlereagh and Canning and Sidmouth, and is still so now.’ ‘I have said as much to you a thousand times,’ said Wentworth, smiling. ‘Of course you have. Like myself, you are a man of sense. If you were a barrister, I would say, Get into Parliament by all means. If you did not do any good for your country, you might get a good place for yourself. If you were a parson you could get a living.’ ‘Ah,’ said Wentworth, ‘that reminds me of a good story; you recollect Thompson, who edited the _Political Pioneer_?’ ‘Of course I do.’