Even twelve
months ago, when I was beginning to think of standing for
Tankerville, I believed that on our side the men were
patriotic angels, and that Daubeny and his friends were
all fiends or idiots,--mostly idiots, but with a strong
dash of fiendism to control them. It has all come now to
one common level of poor human interests. I doubt whether
patriotism can stand the wear and tear and temptation of
the front benches in the House of Commons. Men are flying
at each other's throats, thrusting and parrying, making
false accusations and defences equally false, lying and
slandering,--sometimes picking and stealing,--till they
themselves become unaware of the magnificence of their own
position, and forget that they are expected to be great.
Little tricks of sword-play engage all their skill. And
the consequence is that there is no reverence now for any
man in the House,--none of that feeling which we used to
entertain for Mr. Mildmay.
Of course I write--and feel--as a discontented man; and
what I say to you I would not say to any other human
being.
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