“Shall I trouble you too much,” I said, “if I ask you to explain what you mean by ‘the Theory of Political Dichotomy’?” “No trouble at all!” was Mein Herr’s most courteous reply. “I quite enjoy talking, when I get so good a listener. What started the thing, with us, was the report brought to us, by one of our most eminent statesmen, who had stayed some time in England, of the way affairs were managed there. It was a political necessity (so he assured us, and we believed him, though we had never discovered it till that moment) that there should be _two_ Parties, in every affair and on every subject. In _Politics_, the two Parties, which you had found it necessary to institute, were called, he told us, ‘Whigs’ and ‘Tories’.” “That must have been some time ago?” I remarked. “It _was_ some time ago,” he admitted. “And this was the way the affairs of the British Nation were managed. (You will correct me if I misrepresent it. I do but repeat what our traveler told us.) These two Parties—which were in chronic hostility to each other—took turns in conducting the Government; and the Party, that happened _not_ to be in power, was called the ‘Opposition’, I believe?” “That is the right name,” I said. “There have always been, so long as we have had a Parliament at all, _two_ Parties, one ‘in’, and one ‘out’.” “Well, the function of the ‘Ins’ (if I may so call them) was to do the best they could for the national welfare—in such things as making war or peace, commercial treaties, and so forth?” “Undoubtedly,” I said. “And the function of the ‘Outs’ was (so our traveller assured us, though we were very incredulous at first) to _prevent_ the ‘Ins’ from succeeding in any of these things?” “To _criticize_ and to _amend_ their proceedings,” I corrected him. “It would be _unpatriotic_ to _hinder_ the Government in doing what was for the good of the Nation! We have always held a _Patriot_ to be the greatest of heroes, and an _unpatriotic_ spirit to be one of the worst of human ills!” “Excuse me for a moment,” the old gentleman courteously replied, taking out his pocket-book. “I have a few memoranda here, of a correspondence I had with our tourist, and, if you will allow me, I’ll just refresh my memory—although I quite agree with you—it is, as you say, one of the worst of human ills—” And, here Mein Herr began singing again:— But oh, the worst of human ills (Poor Tottles found) are ‘little bills’! And, with no balance in the Bank, What wonder that his spirits sank? Still, as the money flowed away, He wondered how on earth she spent it. “You cost me twenty pounds a day, _At least_!” cried Tottles (and he meant it). She sighed. “Those Drawing Rooms, you know! I really never thought about it: Mamma declared we ought to go— We should be Nobodies without it. That diamond-circlet for my brow— I quite believed that _she_ had sent it, Until the Bill came in just now——” “_Viper_!” cried Tottles (and he meant it).