CHAPTER XL. FAIR COUNSEL.
"Of all truths, the surest is the truth well established by the behaviour of Britons for many years now,—one man may steal a horse and canter away, with every hat (even the owner's) tossed up, in applause of the brilliant proceeding; while the same man's first cousin, (who peeped through the hedge, at the dew on grass, or the daisies) lies groaning in the stocks, and perhaps touches his hat to the luck, which rides over everything. If any other man, of any English era, from Heptarchy to Hecatarchy, (that last child of Hecate) had stolen from his happy mead, and lashed into foam, and thrown upon his knees, with his strong back broken, that fine old nag the British Constitution; after the horse he would have had the cart—which is not his own order of placing them—and the cart would have been the one that drives to Tyburn."
Thus said Sir Roland. But owning no land, and no sentiments (therewith transmitted, and tripled at every other generation) I scarcely knew who had been stealing the horse, and only hoped that the nag would come home again. For a horse is the most sacred of all property, infinitely dearer than house, wife, or child—according to the precedents of English law—and very likely he deserves it.
But what did I care about horses, or hedges, or the clever man who made the horse jump the hedge, (ready-saddled that he might steal him) or even the state of the British Constitution, which passes through so many horse-chanting hands? My convictions were solid, and their grounds of the same character; all grouted in with concrete, and pointed with best Portland cement, and not a bit of lime-blow anywhere, nor any sign of job-work to be found in them. Yet I am not ashamed to say,—because I shall secure all honest sympathies—that if my orders had been to make tea for the man who stole the horse, and a bran-mash and litter, for the animal thus stolen, and to whistle to both of them, while they did their duties; the teapot, and the bucket, and the other necessaries, would not have been out of the reach of my arm.
But, why? As everybody has taken to ask now. "Why do you do this? And why don't you do that?" The last thing that any man should have to explain; because it leads him into a tremendous lot of lies. He has not the least idea, why he did a single one of them. But he can't say that; and he sets to with after-thoughts, like a man who builds his house of the chimney-pots.
In my case, however, there is no hard why. To the youngest, (or even the oldest) intelligence, the flexibility of my principles, (though granitic as above) needs no explanation, when I set before them Laura.
"Dear Tommy, don't be made a party man;" she said to me, just before Parliament met, and while I was holding a skein of floss-silk (which is difficult stuff to manage) that she might wind it for some lovely work.
"You are the party that makes me one;" I answered, with a sigh, to earn some gratitude; "can anybody question the purity of my motives, when he looks at you, dear?"
"I don't want compliments, instead of common sense, Tommy. Of politics I know next to nothing, although I hear so much every day. But all I hear is upon one side so much, that I cannot help thinking, what the other side may be; and sometimes I should like you to try it."
"Darling, have you any thought, that has not its image, and counterpart with me? Whatever passes through your most beautiful mind, at the very same moment comes through mine. Only yours is so very superior."
"No, Tommy, no. You must never say that, because I shall fear that you are laughing at me. Now, don't drop the silk—no, I don't look entrancing; and there was nothing whatever in the situation, to compel you to do it, or me to allow it. You keep on manufacturing excuses of that sort. And a rising Statesman should be above such conduct. Where was I? You have quite deranged my thoughts. Oh, about the present state of the nation, to be sure! Roly is a great alarmist; but I cannot see any harm at all going on; and I do hate wars, and faction-fights. Why need you go up, to take your seat at all? My father was in Parliament continually; but he took care never to go near it."
"Neither would I, if I could help it, Laura. But the times are very different now. I have not the least chance, dear, of ever attaining what I long for most in all the world, except by going up; and more than that, doing something to satisfy your dear brother."
"Well, promise me one thing. Make beautiful speeches, (as you ought to do, after all your practice, in saying fine things to me every day) and so become a leader of great principles; but try not to be harsh with any one. It would spoil your nature, which is so sweet, and cheerful. Remember that the gentlemen, you disagree with, have a right to their own opinions, and a claim to be treated as gentlemen; instead of being abused—oh, in shocking language! Sometimes Roland makes me stare."
"He is very hot indeed," I could not help admitting, as I smiled at the horror on the sweet kind face. "But remember, dearest, that they give him reason; for they care very little what they say themselves. And much worse than that, is what they do; at least in his honest opinion. He believes them to be ruining his Country. Can a warm-hearted young man be expected to sprinkle rose-water on the destroyers of his Country?"
"That is the opposite extreme;" she insisted, with more common sense than could be gainsaid. "Surely he might express what he feels, in forcible language; without imputing bad motives, and all sorts of wickedness, to people who may be doing harm, but are not doing it on purpose. At any rate, Tommy,—though he is past cure, and soon puts me down, if I dare to say a word—I shall cease to believe, that you care for me, if I hear of your going on so."
Well, here was a cleft stick for me to be in! If I should fail to prove myself a red-hot Tory Sir Roland would have none of me. Whereas, if I won his good-will in that way, his sister would throw me over. Not that she put it so coarsely as that; but when a girl says, that she will not believe in a man's affection for her, it generally means that her own for him will be in still greater danger. My fortune is, always to get into scrapes; and my nature, to get out of them.
When I returned to "Placid Bower," as the elected of Larkmount-on-the-Hill, (for paper had not the least chance against soap) I found my dear mother in a state of much excitement, and ready to believe almost anything.
Now, why does excitement so multiply the powers of faith, when it ought to do the opposite? However, so it does; and the slaves of "pure reason" are as credulous as any, in their ardour for it.
But my dear mother, (though the kindest-hearted, and most liberal-minded of nearly all women) always considered it an insult, to have pure reason, in any form, applied to her. And right she was, when the premises were hers, and she had bought out even the Ground-landlord.
"Tommy," she said, "I am always most particular, in my expressions about the Government. Your father took some excellent Government contracts, through his heroism with the three-inch hose; otherwise how could we have bought this house? It is useless for you to talk, as if that Government was not the same as this one. That may be true; but it proves nothing. A Government must be the Government; and the Government it was, that paid us so much money. So that I will hear no complaints against them, for this trifle, or for that; because of all things, I have such a scorn for ingratitude. We may not like everything they do, about cards, and Policemen, and Railway Stations, and preventing my Evening Primroses, because of the great abilities of Lord Beaconsfield. But we must not be selfish, my dear son, nor expect to have everything to our liking. In a penny evening paper, which seems to be clever, and writes about everything, I have found out everything they mean to do; and I quite agreed with him, that stupid people may misunderstand it. For instance, I don't like giving up the fleet; though no doubt it is a most expensive thing, and your dear Uncle William is now no more. But the first, and greatest of the Acts they mean to do, appears to me like a sign-post, with the finger of Providence upon it. Not that I should ever feel the very least desire. And nothing could come of it, in my time, of course. But it would be so beautiful for you, my dear!"
It took me some time, to discover what this meant. And my mother was not very anxious to explain. But at last I found out, that the sign-post pointed to my possession of the Twentifold estates, if Sir Roland were prohibited from having any heirs! That one of the best and simplest of her sex should have strayed into the snare of covetousness, (set by all measures, that dabble with property) determined me at once, to fight that measure to the utmost.
Bill Chumps was come back from his wedding tour (having been called to the bar, and the altar, one day after each other) but not as yet called into Parliament, by the voice of Sir Roland Twentifold. His father gave a dinner at "The Best End of the Scrag," because his own house was not large enough; and no man, who was there, ever tastes a fine joint, without saying—"Ah, but you should have had a cut from the baron, and the saddle of old Chumps, that day. I have often tasted fine meat; but by George, sir, I never knew what velvet was till then!" There was not a foreign kickshaw handed round; but any man, who wanted unintelligible compounds, might go and fill his spoon, at the sideboard.
Sir Roland was there, and made the speech of the evening, a great deal better than Bill's—for Bill got his at the back of his tongue beforehand, and then forgot every word of it; and his heart (being meant to play second fiddle) refused to come up, and take first one. But Roly did really roll it out, in a style which gave me great hopes, that he might upset most of the seven Bills of the enemy, without calling upon my poor resources. And we had a jolly evening, I can assure you; though there is no time to say any more about it now.
In return, I invited (with mother's good leave) a snug little party of loyal, enlightened, and truly large-hearted Conservatives to dinner, at our humble "Placid Bower," on the Monday evening, with the Session beginning on the following day. Mr. Windsor was there, and my old friend Jack (now growing very partial to Belinda Chumps), as well as Mr. Peelings, the great potato-dealer, Mr. Blewitt of the Indigo factory, and of course Mr. Chumps, and his son William, and several other gentlemen, one of whom was the owner of "The Pratt Street Express," a sound and influential journal. The object of the dinner was in the foremost place to dine; and then to deliver, for my comfort and direction, the safest, most practical, and constitutional counsels, ever yet vouchsafed to any youthful representative.
Of all these gentlemen, Jack included, there was not one but regarded me as sent into Parliament for his own use and benefit, as well as for a high example of wisdom, after following his advice. But the worst of it was, that no two of them gave me the same advice, beyond general precepts—to look sharp, to be cautious, to keep my pluck up. As soon as I wanted to thread my needle, and make my coat with their furnishing—behold, it was not even yarn, or I might say wool, grown long enough for combing. They had thought out none of the things they talked of; and the round-hand lessons in a copy-book would serve me as good a turn as theirs.
However, they all agreed in condemning all the seven great measures of the Government; although upon widely diverse grounds, disagreeing very warmly, as to what their badness was. And this made me doubt, when I came to dwell upon it, whether after all they could be so very bad. When a dog is tail-piped, sympathy arises in every bosom that has tails behind it; as soon as he is pelted, his merits grow on every one, who cannot find a stone to throw at him; but let him have sticks, bottles, tiles, flints, brickbats, each expressive of a different stand point, yet all promiscuously hurled at him,—and to every candid mind, that cannot get the window open, what is he, before he turns the corner? Why, a hero, a martyr, a saint of a dog.