fellow at the classics, and walks on stilts to any length. He's one of the new Conservatives. Old Sir Maximus doesn't understand him at all."
"That won't do at the hustings," said Harold. "He'll get knocked off his stilts pretty quickly there."
"Bless me! it's astonishing how well you're up in the affairs of the country, my boy. But rub up a few quotations—'Quod turpe bonis decebat Crispinum'—and that sort of thing—just to show Debarry what you could do if you liked. But you want to ride on?"
"Yes; I have an appointment at Treby. Good-bye."
"He's a cleverish chap," muttered the Vicar, as Harold rode away. "When he's had plenty of English exercise, and brought out his knuckle a bit, he'll be a Lingon again as he used to be. I must go and see how Arabella takes his being a Radical. It's a little awkward; but a clergyman must keep peace in a family. Confound it! I'm not bound to love Toryism better than my own flesh and blood, and the manor I shoot over. That's a heathenish, Brutus-like sort of thing, as if Providence couldn't take care of the country without my quarrelling with my own sister's son!"
