“_But_,” said the High-Churchman, “_I_ might preach such things, Mr. Clare, for I have no wife and children dependent on me; and, as for our friends here,”—he indicated the evangelist and the lecturer,—“the multitudes would flock to hear them. But there is many a poor preacher would starve if he acted as you would have him; for, remember, the laity hold the purse-strings.” “Let him starve, then, in God’s name,” said Mr. Clare passionately; “have we not just heard how the things of earth are as dust beside the things of heaven? And if the first kingdom has its martyrs, shall not also the second? But I do not believe,” he went on more quietly, “that such a course, whatever loss or want it might entail, whatever sacrifices of one’s own personal likings and idiosyncrasies, would involve absolute starvation. The money is not _all_ in the pockets of the capitalists as yet, and a man who lost one pulpit would find another, poorer, perhaps, but more powerful. Besides, what I want—the only thing of real use—is not a sermon here or there, but a general advance all along the line; a proclamation by the divines of every shade of opinion that God Almighty takes an interest in politics.” “It would be an evangelical alliance worth having,” said the High-Churchman. “It would be a power,” said Mr. Clare. “The clerical vote, if it were solid, would be worth buying up,” said the lecturer. And the evangelist added, “But what steps would you take to organize your new alliance, and what would you call it?” “Oh! don’t accuse me of trying to found a party,” said Mr. Clare. “I have no idea of the kind, I assure you; neither party nor partisans. _My_ party is ‘all those who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity;’ my emblem is the Cross; and the counter-sign, ‘Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.’” “I’m glad you don’t want to wave the red flag,” said the lecturer; “the old Stars and Stripes are good enough for me.” “Long may they wave,” said Mr. Clare. “No. I don’t feel drawn towards the red flag; it is too distinctive, and would be a beacon rather than a standard to most people. If I were to change my colors at all,” he went on, smiling, “though I hope never to do so, I should adopt these.” He took up a china flower-pot, very prettily decorated by Annie Rolf’s own hand, wherein were growing large, richly colored purple and gold pansies. “The gold of love and the purple of self-devotion—of martyrdom at need,” he said. “‘The language of flowers I know not, But pansies speak to me Of hope for earth-born toilers, In _time_ and eternity.’ Gentlemen, will you wear my heart’s-ease?”