‘Thank you, I will. Then think of what you have to go through to into the House—the trouble you must take; the time you must waste; the money you must spend; the speeches you must make; the lies you must utter. You will have to tell the voters they are intelligent—you know the mass of them are nothing of the kind. You must make them believe that, if they do not strain every nerve to get you into Parliament, the sun will refuse to shine and the earth to yield her fruit. At any rate, if you do not say that, you will have to say something very much like it. You have got to make the voter feel that his vote will do away with the wrongs of ages, when you and I well know that in this land of ours nothing is done in a hurry if it is done well, and that, as Tennyson writes, ‘“Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent.” The time is coming when the only chance for anyone to get into Parliament will be either that he is a working man and can secure the votes of his class, or that he shall be some large employer of labour with a certain number of votes under his thumb, and Parliament will be little better than a parish vestry.’ ‘Well, we have not come to that yet, and a man may do a great deal of good even in Parliament.’ ‘Yes, he may, but he can do it better outside. It was an outside organization that carried the repeal of the Corn Laws, that carried reform in Parliament, that repealed the taxes on knowledge, that abolished West Indian slavery.’ ‘Of course you mean the press.’ ‘Of course I do, my boy. I repeat daily to myself the words of old Marvell, “Oh, printing, printing, how hast thou disturbed the peace of mankind! That lead, when moulded into bullets, is not so mortal as when formed into letters. There was a mistake, sure, in the story of Cadmus, and the serpent’s teeth which he sowed were nothing but the letters he invented.” Stick to the press, my boy, and don’t lower yourself by descending into the Parliamentary arena. It is long since the House of Commons was the best club in London, which conferred on a man _prestige_. It is now a place where the work is mostly dull, and always hard and unsatisfactory, and the company rather queer. Shall we give up to party what is meant for mankind?” Shall the blessed sun of day prove a Micker and eat blackberries?” Shall we harness Pegasus or Bucephalus to a common dray? Never, my boy, never!’ ‘I hear you, Buxton, and the worst of it is that what you say is true.’ ‘I am glad to hear you say so. Come back with me to town. Leave the borough to those who have nursed it. The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib. An election is a matter of £ s. d. It is all very well to talk bunkum on the platform, but the wire-pullers want cash for themselves and to work with. When the masses are better educated, they will be proud to return a man like you.’ ‘Well,’ said Wentworth, ‘I am of your opinion, and we’ll go back to town together.’