A. L. But I thought the clergy were doing so much to help the poor. At least, I hear all the dissenting ministers grumbling at their continual interference.
Mr. C. Ay, educating them to make them slaves and bigots. They don’t teach them what they teach their own sons.
A. L. But there are countless stories of great Englishmen who have risen from the lowest ranks.
Mr. C. Ay; but where are the stories of those who have not risen? Dead men tell no tales; and this old whited sepulcher, society, ain’t going to turn informer against itself.
A. L. I trust and hope that if God intends me to rise he will open the way for me. Perhaps the very struggles and sorrows of a poor genius may teach him more than ever wealth and prosperity could.
Mr. C. True, Alton, my boy, and that’s my only comfort. It does make men of us, this bitter battle of life. We workingmen, when we do come out of the furnace, come out steel and granite, and woe to the papier-maché gentleman that runs against us!
Metaphysics.
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