The name has been bestowed on me by several Christian gentlemen as
a reproach, but to my ears it has a quaint and not unpleasing sound.
Infidel! "The notorious infidel editor of the _Clarion_" is the form
used by one True Believer. The words recurred to my mind suddenly,
while I was taking my favourite black pipe for a walk along "the
pleasant Strand," and I felt a smile glimmer within as I repeated them.
Which is worse, to be a Demagogue or an Infidel? I am both. For
while many professed Christians contrive to serve both God and Mammon,
the depravity of my nature seems to forbid my serving either.
It was a mild day in mid-August, not cold for the time of year. I had
been laid up for a few days, and my back was unpropitious, and I was
tired. But I felt very happy, for so bad a man, since the sunshine
was clear and genial, and my pipe went as easily as a dream.
Besides, one's fellow-creatures are so amusing: especially in the
Strand. I had seen a proud and gorgeously upholstered lady lolling
languidly in a motor car, and looking extremely pleased with herself--