But in England the feeling is altogether more selfish.

Everyone consults his own sordid self-interest and is rather glad to see a social favourite come to grief: not a hand is stretched out to help him.

Suddenly, Tyrrell broke in upon my exposition: "I don't know whether my name is of any good to you," he said, "but I agree with all you have said, and my name might be classed with that of Churton Collins, though, of course, I've no right to speak for literature," and without more ado he signed the petition, adding, "Regius Professor of Greek at Trinity College, Dublin." "When you next see Oscar," he continued, "please tell him that my wife and I asked after him.

We both hold him in grateful memory as a most brilliant talker and writer, and a charming fellow to boot.

Confusion take all their English Puritanism." Merely living in Ireland tends to make an Englishman more humane; but one name was not enough, and Tyrrell's was the only one I could get.