"And wot a blessing he gave His Grace, Archbishop Manning, though?" "Well," said an ardent Irishman, "I niver heard such a lambeastin as the heretics got to night." "You might well say that, Pether, and didn't he scald Martin Luther with the holy wather, though," said an honest looking, hard working fellow who sat smoking a pipe. [Sidenote: FARCE AND TRAGEDY.] One thing struck me in all this wilderness of argument and polemic discussion. While the two principals nearly argued their jaws off in the heat of discussion, they failed miserably to convert any of the opposite party, who sat the debate out with a heroic stupidity, understanding with much difficulty about one-third of what was said, and perhaps caring very little for the matter in hand, but sticking to their prejudices to the last, with a partisan fidelity not to be convinced by all the harangues that will take place from that night until the Day of Judgment. And yet I could not enter a place of this kind in all London, from Temple Bar to Hammersmith, without hearing this same everlasting religious warfare of controversy. And to add to the joke, hardly one of five of these persons who attend such discussions, were ever in a church of either the Catholic or Protestant persuasion. Such is life--part farce, part tragedy. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. THE CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OF LONDON. WE cannot conceive of any greater contrast than that which exists between the wretchedness and squalor of the lodging houses, and the splendor and refined elegance, combined with comfort of the Club houses of London, which are chiefly situated in Pall Mall, St. James street, and the neighborhood of lower Regent street. Club life has attained its greatest perfection in London. No city upon the Continent can compare with it for the number of its club houses, the splendor of their architecture, their luxurious furniture, and the standing in society of their members. [Sidenote: INTERESTING STATISTICS.]