prudence. The leaders of the people, now, generally follow. The truth is,
the peers were in a fright. 'Twas a pity; there is scarcely a less
dignified entity than a patrician in a panic.

Among the most intimate companions of Coningsby at Eton, was Lord Henry
Sydney, his kinsman. Coningsby had frequently passed his holydays of late
at Beaumanoir, the seat of the Duke, Lord Henry's father. The Duke sat
next to Lord Monmouth during the debate on the enfranchising question, and
to while away the time, and from kindness of disposition, spoke, and spoke
with warmth and favour, of his grandson. The polished Lord Monmouth bowed
as if he were much gratified by this notice of one so dear to him. He had
too much tact to admit that he had never yet seen his grandchild; but he
asked some questions as to his progress and pursuits, his tastes and
habits, which intimated the interest of an affectionate relative.

Nothing, however, was ever lost upon Lord Monmouth. No one had a more
retentive memory, or a more observant mind. And the next day, when he
received Mr. Rigby at his morning levee, Lord Monmouth performed this
ceremony in the high style of the old court, and welcomed his visitors in
bed, he said with imperturbable calmness, and as if he had been talking of
trying a new horse, 'Rigby, I should like to see the boy at Eton.'

There might be some objection to grant leave to Coningsby at this moment;
but it was a rule with Mr. Rigby never to make difficulties, or at least
to persuade his patron that he, and he only, could remove them. He
immediately undertook that the boy should be forthcoming, and
notwithstanding the excitement of the moment, he went off next morning to
fetch him.

They arrived in town rather early; and Rigby, wishing to know how affairs