Well, these are races; men and bodies of men influenced in their conduct by their particular organisation, and which must enter into all the calculations of a statesman. But what do they mean by the Latin race? Language and religion do not make a race--there is only one thing which makes a race, and that is blood.” “But the prince,” said Endymion inquiringly; “he seemed much interested in what M. de Vallombrosa was saying; I should like to know what his opinions are about the Latin race.” “The prince rarely gives an opinion,” said the baron. “Indeed, as you well know, he rarely speaks; he thinks and he acts.” “But if he acts on wrong information,” continued Endymion, “there will probably be only one consequence.” “The prince is very wise,” said the baron; “and, trust me, knows as much about mankind, and the varieties of mankind, as any one. He may not believe in the Latin race, but he may choose to use those who do believe in it. The weakness of the prince, if he have one, is not want of knowledge, or want of judgment, but an over-confidence in his star, which sometimes seduces him into enterprises which he himself feels at the time are not perfectly sound.” CHAPTER LVII The interest of the town was now divided between the danger of the government and the new preacher who electrified the world at St. Rosicrucius. The Rev. Nigel Penruddock was not at all a popular preacher according to the vulgar acceptation of the term. He disdained all cant and clap-trap. He preached Church principles with commanding eloquence, and he practised them with unceasing devotion. His church was always open, yet his schools were never neglected; there was a perfect choir, a staff of disciplined curates, young and ascetic, while sacred sisters, some of patrician blood, fearless and prepared for martyrdom, were gliding about all the back slums of his ferocious neighbourhood. How came the Whigs to give such a church to such a person? There must have been some mistake. But how came it that all the Whig ladies were among the most devoted of his congregation? The government whips did not like it; at such a critical period too, when it was necessary to keep the Dissenters up to the mark! And there was Lady Montfort and Lady Roehampton never absent on a Sunday, and their carriages, it was whispered, were often suspiciously near to St. Rosicrucius on week-days. Mr. Sidney Wilton too was frequently in Lady Roehampton’s pew, and one day, absolutely my lord himself, who unfortunately was rarely seen at church--but then, as is well known, critical despatches always arrive on a Sunday morning--was successfully landed in her pew by Lady Roehampton, and was very much struck indeed by what he heard. “The fact is,” as he afterwards observed, “I wish we had such a fellow on our bench in the House of Commons.”