“Or ye might render it this way,” said Billy,—
“If ye 've money enough and to spare in the bank,
The world will give ye both beauty and rank.
And I 've nothing to say agin it,” continued he. “The raal stimulus to industhry in life, is to make wealth powerful. Gettin' and heapin' up money for money's sake is a debasin' kind of thing; but makin' a fortune, in order that you may extind your influence, and mowld the distinies of others,—that's grand.”
“And see what comes of it!” cried the youth, bitterly. “Mark the base and unworthy subserviency it leads to; see the race of sycophants it begets.”
“I have you there, too,” cried Billy, with all the exultation of a ready debater. “Them dirty varmint ye speak of is the very test of the truth I 'm tellin' ye. 'T is because they won't labor—because they won't work—that they are driven to acts of sycophancy and meanness. The spirit of industhry saves a man even the excuse of doin' anything low!”
“And how often, from your own lips, have I listened to praises at your poor humble condition; rejoicings that your lot in life secured you against the cares of wealth and grandeur!”
“And you will again, plaze God! if I live, and you pre-sarve your hearin'. What would I be if I was rich, but an ould—an ould voluptuary?” said Billy, with great emphasis on a word he had some trouble in discovering. “Atin' myself sick with delicacies, and drinkin' cordials all day long. How would I know the uses of wealth? Like all other vulgar creatures, I 'd be buyin' with my money the respect that I ought to be buyin' with my qualities. It's the very same thing you see in a fair or a market,—the country girls goin' about, hobbled and crippled with shoes on, that, if they had bare feet, could walk as straight as a rush. Poverty is not ungraceful itself. It's tryin' to be what isn't natural, spoils people entirely.”
“I think I hear voices without. Listen!” cried the youth.
“It 's only the river; it's risin' every minute.”
“No, that was a shout. I heard it distinctly. Ay, the boatmen hear it now!”