There was too much filthiness and drunkenness went on in the old war-times, not to leave a taint behind it, for many a generation.

The prosperity of fools shall destroy them!' 'Oh!' thought Lancelot, 'for some young sturdy Lancashire or Lothian blood, to put new life into the old frozen South Saxon veins! Even a drop of the warm enthusiastic Celtic would be better than none.

Perhaps this Irish immigration may do some good, after all.' Perhaps it may, Lancelot.

Let us hope so, since it is pretty nearly inevitable.
Sadder and sadder, Lancelot tried to listen to the conversation of the men round him.

To his astonishment he hardly understood a word of it.