And no respect for the feelings of gentlemen, either! Why, would you believe it, Cumberground--we used to call you Cumberground at Charterhouse, I remember, or was it Fig Tree ?--I happened to get a bit lively in the Haymarket last week, after a rattling good supper, and the chap at the police court--old cove with a squint--positively proposed to send me to prison, WITHOUT THE OPTION OF A FINE!--I'll trouble you for that--send ME to prison just--for knocking down a common brute of a bobby.

There's no mistake about it; England's NOT a country now for a gentleman to live in." "Then why not mark your sense of the fact by leaving it ?" I inquired, with a smile.
He shook his head.

"What?
Emigrate?
No, thank you! I'm not taking any.
None of your colonies for ME, IF you please.

I shall stick to the old ship.

I'm too much attached to the Empire." "And yet imperialists," I said, "generally gush over the colonies--the Empire on which the sun never sets." "The Empire in Leicester Squire!" he responded, gazing at me with unspoken contempt.