He himself, reeling at his own dazzling elevation, grasped the great lustre chandelier that depended from the ceiling, which, flaring magnificently, gave way with him, so that he fell with it amongst the wine-glasses; and whilst they plucked splinters of broken glass from the lower end of him, he whimsically owned his contrition at having tempted Providence by not sitting anchored to the good seat that had been assigned to him. Still, said he, commerce must follow the army; and the Major had the habit of forlorn hopes, having acquired in youth and on the tented field the taste for “withering fires” and “bloody engagements”--he said this with all apologies--hiccup--to any churchwardens who might be present--hiccup--but he _meant_ bloody engagements. As a fact, these commercial gentlemen adored the army and navy--never were such fire-eaters as they. A tale of carnage, as long as the old flag came out a-top, thrilled them and roused their maddest enthusiasms. They thundered applause upon the heels of the bloodthirsty sentiment. They were ready to die, so they averred hiccuping, in their very cups for the divine right of their king and the infallibility of the upper classes. Was never such service of devotion as they swore to the “Thin Red Line” and the “Handy Man.” Gods, it made the blood leap to hear them--they were thirsting for self-sacrifice--each one of them. Indeed for the dear old flag they were prepared to fling away Christianity--riches--suburban villa--happy home--everything. The glasses leaped to the thunder of their emotions. Here, indeed, were they all aristocrat--hating the democracy with a bitter hatred. The lord mayor’s coach drove at the slow trot through all their varied ambitions, its golden caparisoned horses making it to glitter a fixed star to their designs, a guide to their hopes--and, from that, the ultimate step into the peerage, riches, powdered footmen, and marble halls. It was all tucked away tight behind the bloodshot eyes, in their secret imaginations. When they went to bed at night, took off their trousers, and blew out the light, the dream of these things passed in pageant along the top of their foot-rails. To be a Nob--so they put it with vulgar lip, when confessing to their own souls--that was the Ultimate Thing. They believed in their God--a little hesitantly on occasions; but their belief knew no wavering in the divine inspiration of the statesmanship of the House of Lords. The polygamous draper but echoed the general sentiment when he condemned the vulgarity of the masses.