'The fact is, you Government people don't want an independent candidate.

Is not that so?' asked Wentworth.

'Why, you see, my dear friend, the circ.u.mstances of the case are somewhat peculiar. We are rather hard pushed, as you know, in the House; parties are evenly balanced. Now, Sir Watkin has a good chance here, and his connections are very numerous in this part of the world. He is of an old Whig family.'

'Yes, I understand; he is to win the borough, and then to be repaid by a Government appointment. And if I throw him out?'

'Why, then we lose a safe man. You are a very good fellow, Wentworth, but, then, you are only to be depended on when the Government is right.

You would desert us to-morrow if we went wrong.'

'I believe I should.'

'And if you go to the poll you let in a Tory. Think of that. Our party will never forgive you. There will be a mark against your name as long as you live.'

'I have an idea that there is something more important than the triumph of a party.'

'What is that?'

'The triumph of principle.'

'Ah, that is so like you, Wentworth!' said the Hon. Smithson, laughing.

'Men like you are always in the clouds. We wire-pullers are the only practical men.'

'And a pretty mess you've made of it. Now you've a Liberal Government on its last legs that four years ago had nearly a majority of a hundred.'

'I own it-and I own it with sorrow. But I am here on business. I have a proposition to make.'

'What is that?'

'That you arbitrate.'

'I am quite willing; but the question is, how to arbitrate, and that is rather a difficult one.'

'Not at all; it is the easiest thing in the world. Get a public meeting, admit an equal number of the supporters of each candidate, and abide by the result.'

'Which, if there has been fair play-if one party has not taken a mean advantage of the other-will leave matters just as they are.'

'Well, then, let the meeting be an open one, and let the best man win.'

'That won't do. The richer man will be sure to pack it with his supporters.'

'Well, then, refer it to a London committee.'

'A committee of wealthy men, who are sure to favour the wealthiest candidate, with whom, possibly, they may be on friendly terms; and a rich man, with the deceitful returns of his paid canva.s.sing, can always make out a more plausible case than a poor man. I have a plan,' continued the speaker, 'which might solve the difficulty.'

'What is it?'

'Let as many candidates go to the poll as like. Let them be ranged as Liberal or Conservative-for we have in reality no Tories now-let the votes all together be cast up, and let the man who has the highest number of votes on the winning side be the elected candidate. One advantage of such a system would be that it would create more interest in an election.

The difficulty is at present to get people to take an intelligent interest in politics at all.'

'Very good; but that is a question for the future.'

'In the meanwhile,' said Wentworth, 'arbitration is a farce.'

Just before the visitor could ransack his brain for a fitting reply, the waiter (he was an Irishman and a comic genius in his way), in a tone of awe and eagerness, interrupted the _tete-a-tete_ by announcing the arrival of Father O'Bourke.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE IRISH PRASTE.

There are three distinct cla.s.ses of Roman Catholic priests-the ascetic and spiritual, the jolly and intellectual, the brutal and Botian. Of the first Cardinal Manning is the type. The second was presented to us in the person of Cardinal Wiseman, who made the Romanist priest as famous in his day as Cardinal Manning in ours. Of the third cla.s.s you may see specimens every day in every Belgian town, and in many parts of England and Ireland. Father O'Bourke was a combination of the two latter types-a man of humour, a plausible speaker, a tremendous orator, and a man whose great art was to be conciliatory to all. He could be very rollicking over a gla.s.s of whisky-and-water, but his power was more physical than spiritual. He had something of a domineering tone, the result chiefly of his mixing with the low Irish who emigrate to England, where, like the Gibeonites of old, they become chiefly hewers of stone and drawers of water.

Mr. Wentworth received the priest with all due politeness, as he explained that he had come for a friendly chat.

'I am delighted to hear it,' said Wentworth. 'I have been much in Ireland.'

'And you learnt there, sir,' said the priest, 'that England is a very cruel country.'

'I don't see that, exactly,' said Mr. Wentworth; 'for fifty years we English have been trying to do all the good we can for Ireland.'

'Ah, so you think, but I a.s.sure you, sir, that it is quite otherwise; yet all that we ask from England is justice. England is rich and powerful, and uses her riches and her power to oppress poor Ireland.'

'How so?'

'Sir, allow me to refer you to the history of my unfortunate country.

There was a time when Ireland had a flourishing linen trade, but England, in her jealousy of Ireland, destroyed it.'

'Well,' said Wentworth, 'I have been in Belfast, and was struck with the prosperity of the place, the respectability of its shops, the size of its warehouses, the extent of its harbours. I saw a large population all seemingly well employed, well dressed, and well fed, with no end of public inst.i.tutions and newspapers, and all in consequence of that linen trade which you tell me the English have destroyed.'

'Oh, sir,' said the priest, 'one swallow does not make a summer. If one town is fairly well off, that is no reply to the charge of poverty produced by the English. You've seen our harbour in Galway?'

'I have been there, and, undoubtedly, it is a fine harbour.'

'Indeed, sir, it is,' replied the priest; 'and, as you are probably aware, at one time it was intended to be the seat for a great Transatlantic trade.'

'Yes, we all know that. We have, unfortunately, all heard of the collapse of the Galway Line. It is a sad sight to see the great warehouse standing there empty. I believe a good deal of money was lost by too confiding shareholders?'

'Indeed, sir, you're right; but what was the reason?'

'Well, I really don't recollect at this particular moment.'

'Sir, the reason was the jealousy of the Liverpool shipowners. What do you think they did?'

'I really can't say.'

'Well, as soon as the Liverpool shipowners saw the line was going to be a success, they came over to Galway and bribed the pilot to run the ship on the only rock there was in the harbour, and there was the end of the Galway Transatlantic Line.'