“And Beecher,--poor Beecher?” broke in Lizzy. And there was a blended pity and tenderness in the tone that made it very difficult to say what her question really implied. “Why do you call him poor Beecher?” asked he, quickly. “He ain't so poor in one sense of the word.” “It was in no allusion to his fortune I spoke. I was thinking of him solely with reference to his character.” “And he is poor Beecher, is he, then?” asked Davis, half sternly. If she did not reply, it was rather in the fear of offending her father, whose manner, so suddenly changing, apprised her of an interest in the subject she had never suspected. “Look here, Lizzy,” said he, drawing her arm more closely to his side, while he bespoke her attention; “men born in Beecher's class don't need to be clever; they have no necessity for the wiles and schemes and subtleties that--that fellows like myself, in short, must practise. What they want is good address, pleasing manners,--all the better if they be good-looking. It don't require genius to write a check on one's banker; there is no great talent needed to say 'Yes,' or 'No,' in the House of Lords. The world--I mean their own world--likes them all the more if they have n't got great abilities. Now Beecher is just the fellow to suit them.” “He is not a peer, surely?” asked she, hastily. “No, he ain't yet, but he may be one any day. He is as sure of the peerage as--I am not! and then, poor Beecher--as you called him awhile ago--becomes the Lord Viscount Lackington, with twelve or fourteen thousand a year! I tell you, girl, that of all the trades men follow, the very best, to enjoy life, is to be an English lord with a good fortune.” “And is it true, as I have read,” asked Lizzy, “that this high station, so fenced around by privileges, is a prize open to all who have talent or ability to deserve it,--that men of humble origin, if they be gifted with high qualities, and devote them ardently to their country's service, are adopted, from time to time, into that noble brotherhood?” “All rubbish; don't believe a word of it. It's a flam and a humbug,--a fiction like the old story about an Englishman's house being his castle, or that balderdash, 'No man need criminate himself.' They 're always inventing 'wise saws' like these in England, and they get abroad, and are believed, at last, just by dint of repeating. Here 's the true state of the case,” said he, coming suddenly to a halt, and speaking with greater emphasis. “Here I stand, Christopher Davis, with as much wit under the crown of my hat as any noble lord on the woolsack, and I might just as well try to turn myself into a horse and be first favorite for the Oaks, as attempt to become a peer of Great Britain. It ain't to be done, girl,--it ain't to be done!” “But, surely, I have heard of men suddenly raised to rank and title for the services--”