Mr.Cullen rises to such a point of fury that one dreads the consequences--to himself.

Already the chairman is on his feet, intimating in dumb show that the allowed ten minutes have elapsed; there is no making the orator hear.

At length his friend who sits by him fairly grips his coat-tails and brings him to a sitting posture, amid mirthful tumult.

Mr.Cullen joins in the mirth, looks as though he had never been angry in his life.
And till next Sunday comes round he will neither speak nor think of the social question.
Mr.Cowes is unopposed.

After the preceding enthusiast, the voice of Mr.Cowes falls soothingly as a stream among the heather.