"Roly," I said, when I had kept my "Master's term," and enjoyed it rarely among old friends, without a stroke of work; "you will never get a bit of good out of me. I am not eloquent, I have no gift of speech; I tried it at the Union once, and when everybody cried out, 'Bravo, Tommy!' I could only laugh, and thank them, and sit down. If my father had been a Rad, when he brought me up, (as he had been in his early days) no doubt I should have been a sound Rad too. And for that matter, so would you, I do believe, if you had been brought up to it. I know at least a dozen very honourable Rads, some of them very clever fellows too; who would no more think of doing anything mean, if they had the government of the Country, than you would yourself, if you had it all your own way. Then, why should we cry out, before we are hurt?" "Because it's too late to cry out, when we are. What you say is true enough, my good Tommy. Those friends of yours are all honourable enough, individually, I dare say--though the less you have to do with them the better--but when they fall under the dominance of party, what becomes of all their scruples? They sink their own wills, they efface themselves--according to the expression now in vogue--they fall under one imperious mind; and no difference is left between black and white. My father kept hounds, as you have heard me say; and when I was a small boy, I rode my pony with them. There was one most obstinate old stager of the pack, who had a wonderful nose while he was young, and had taken the lead of all of them. But when he grew old he went all abroad; yet the rest had to follow him all the same, on a false scent, more often than a true one. At his dictation, all the younger ones, from habit, sank their own better perceptions, and loyally rushed after sheep, or donkeys, or anything he gave tongue to. But all these things we can talk of better, when you come down; as you must, next month. You have only been once to us, since you lost your father, more than five years ago. And my mother always says, when I go home, 'Have you brought Ariel with you, at last?'" "How wonderfully kind she has always been to me!" I answered, liking soft thoughts, better than the hard flash of politics; "if she wishes to see me again, my duty is to go to her." "Well, that is one way of putting it! A painful duty, my dear Tommy? We will try to make it a pleasant one. You can't shoot; though people shoot at you, when you take a flying fit. Come down in July, and stay three months, and I'll make you a first-rate shot, by the time the partridges are ready. You learn everything, like smoke, you see. I'll back you to beat Counterpagne on the first; though he has been at it all his life." "You forget one important point," I answered, hoping that the objection might not prove fatal. "When a gun goes off, it kicks very hard, they tell me. And it seems too probable, that it would kick me over."