“It is an infamous scandal on the nation,” cries the doctor; “and I am heartily sorry it can be said even with a colour of truth.”
“How can it be otherwise?” says the peer. “Do you think it is possible to provide for all men of merit?”
“Yes, surely do I,” said the doctor; “and very easily too.”
“How, pray?” cries the lord. “Upon my word, I shall be glad to know.”
“Only by not providing for those who have none. The men of merit in any capacity are not, I am afraid, so extremely numerous that we need starve any of them, unless we wickedly suffer a set of worthless fellows to eat their bread.”
“This is all mere Utopia,” cries his lordship; “the chimerical system of Plato’s commonwealth, with which we amused ourselves at the university; politics which are inconsistent with the state of human affairs.”
“Sure, my lord,” cries the doctor, “we have read of states where such doctrines have been put in practice. What is your lordship’s opinion of Rome in the earlier ages of the commonwealth, of Sparta, and even of Athens itself in some periods of its history?”
“Indeed, doctor,” cries the lord, “all these notions are obsolete and long since exploded. To apply maxims of government drawn from the Greek and Roman histories to this nation is absurd and impossible. But, if you will have Roman examples, fetch them from those times of the republic that were most like our own. Do you not know, doctor, that this is as corrupt a nation as ever existed under the sun? And would you think of governing such a people by the strict principles of honesty and morality?”
“If it be so corrupt,” said the doctor, “I think it is high time to amend it: or else it is easy to foresee that Roman and British liberty will have the same fate; for corruption in the body politic as naturally tends to dissolution as in the natural body.”
“I thank you for your simile,” cries my lord; “for, in the natural body, I believe, you will allow there is the season of youth, the season of manhood, and the season of old age; and that, when the last of these arrives, it will be an impossible attempt by all the means of art to restore the body again to its youth, or to the vigour of its middle age. The same periods happen to every great kingdom. In its youth it rises by arts and arms to power and prosperity. This it enjoys and flourishes with a while; and then it may be said to be in the vigour of its age, enriched at home with all the emoluments and blessings of peace, and formidable abroad with all the terrors of war. At length this very prosperity introduces corruption, and then comes on its old age. Virtue and learning, art and industry, decay by degrees. The people sink into sloth and luxury and prostitution. It is enervated at home—becomes contemptible abroad; and such indeed is its misery and wretchedness, that it resembles a man in the last decrepit stage of life, who looks with unconcern at his approaching dissolution.”