Shantsee, poets of some note, who used to see visions of Utopia,
and pure republics beyond the Western deep: but, finding that
these El Dorados brought them no revenue, they turned their vision-
seeing faculty into the more profitable channel of espying all
sorts of virtues in the high and the mighty, who were able and
willing to pay for the discovery.

CAPTAIN FITZCHROME. I do not fancy these virtue-spyers.

LADY CLARINDA. Next to Mr. Skionar sits Mr. Chainmail, a good-
looking young gentleman, as you see, with very antiquated tastes.
He is fond of old poetry, and is something of a poet himself. He
is deep in monkish literature, and holds that the best state of
society was that of the twelfth century, when nothing was going
forward but fighting, feasting, and praying, which he says are the
three great purposes for which man was made. He laments bitterly
over the inventions of gunpowder, steam, and gas, which he says
have ruined the world. He lives within two or three miles, and has
a large hall, adorned with rusty pikes, shields, helmets, swords,
and tattered banners, and furnished with yew-tree chairs, and two
long old worm-eaten oak tables, where he dines with all his
household, after the fashion of his favourite age. He wants us all
to dine with him, and I believe we shall go.

CAPTAIN FITZCHROME. That will be something new, at any rate.

LADY CLARINDA. Next to him is Mr. Toogood, the co-operationist,
who will have neither fighting nor praying; but wants to parcel out
the world into squares like a chess-board, with a community on
each, raising everything for one another, with a great steam-engine