_P.S._--I blush for myself, that I had almost forgotten to tell you that Dr Wolff has come back safe and sound from the innermost part of India, where he went to try to save the lives of two Englishmen, Stoddart and Conolly. It was like going into a tiger’s den to take the flesh from the wild beast. And yet the stout-hearted man went! Such an act makes us forget the meanness and folly of a whole generation! Captain Grover--a heart of gold that--has published a book on the matter called “The Bokhara Victims.” As no doubt the New York publishers--in their anxiety to diffuse knowledge--have already published it for some five cents, do not fail to read it. As for Dr Wolff, I wonder what Englishmen will do for him? If he’d come back from India after cutting twenty thousand throats, why, he might have had a round of dinners, diamond-hilted swords, wine-coolers as big as buckets, and so on; as it is, I fear nothing _can_ be done for him. However, we shall see. LETTER XIV.--_To Mrs Hedgehog of New York._ DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--England’s still above water: the sea doesn’t yet roll over Dover cliffs; nevertheless, the Maynooth Grant that I wrote to you about, is gone through the House of Commons, and in a very few weeks the Papists, as you love to call them, will have the money. Sir Culling Eardley Smith, Mr Plumptre, and others of their kidney, may possibly for a month or two appear in the streets in sackcloth and ashes, and with beards like Jew rabbis--first to show their respect for the departed constitution; but after a decent time of mourning, they will, no doubt, be open to consolation, and take their dinners with their usual appetite. I shouldn’t wonder if in six months the Rev. Mr M’Neile (of sulphurous principles) consents to eat and drink like anybody else; and shall be by no means surprised if Dr Croly is found to have regained, at least, all the flesh that anxiety and grief for the Church in danger have so deplorably deprived him of. It’s wonderful to think how certain saints and patriots get lean and fat as sudden as rabbits! Wonderful to think, when the whole world, according to their declaration, has gone to bits, how well and contentedly they still continue to live upon the pieces! But, dear grandmother, what a blessing is Exeter Hall! What a safety-valve it is for the patriotism, and indignation, and scorn, and hatred--and all other sorts of public virtues--that but for it, or some such place, would fairly burst so many excellent folks, if they couldn’t go and relieve their swelling souls in a bit of talk! As it is, they speechify and are saved! Only suppose there had been no place whereat worthy people could have abused the Maynooth Grant--no place wherein to air their own particular Christianity to the condemnation of the religion of everybody else--what would have been the consequence? Why, they must have exploded--burst like the frog in the fable. Day after day Mr Wakley and his brother coroners would have been sitting on the body