At Sloville there passed away not only the stately home, but the family that lorded it long. Thus time changes and we change with it. Thus old things pass away and all things become new. Thus we may look for a new heaven and earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness—a righteousness inconsistent with a civilization that pampered the rich and depressed the poor, that desolated the cottage to add to the splendour of the hall. It is of the many, not of the few, that we have to think in these democratic days.
And the young heir, what became of him? He was little disappointed when it was hinted to him that he was heir to a bankrupt estate and a dishonoured name. He was young, active, healthy, stout-hearted, perfectly willing to fight the battle of life to the best of his ability. He was fond of his profession, had been successful in it, and was in no hurry to relinquish it. He had seen a little of aristocratic life at a distance, and he was not enamoured of it; it seemed to him unnatural and mischievous. They had many lads from our public schools and men from our universities on board ship, and it seemed to him that they were extravagant, thoughtless, fond of pleasure, frivolous, and useless, and brought up in an altogether wrong way. If they did nothing else he held that they smoked and drank and ate more than was good for them, that they wasted a good deal of time in gambling and dissipation, in reading French novels, in the music-hall and the theatre. He did not believe that society was in a good state when the few were born rich and the many poor. All healthy life seemed to him to be founded on hard work; the curse had been changed into a blessing, and man was only happy and kept out of mischief as he lived by the sweat of his brow. A lazy life had no charm for him, even though he lived in a fine mansion, had servants to wait on him, was clad in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day. A gentleman in the conventional sense of the term he could never, and would never, be; that, at any rate, was clear.
‘Well, my boy,’ said the actress, as they met in Liverpool, where they had both come on purpose, ‘what do you think? Would you like to be a gentleman, and lead such a life as your father?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I like hard work. I am comfortable as I am. I am fond of the sea, and if I live to be a captain my utmost ambition will be fulfilled. I have seen a good many gentlemen, on board ship and when I have been to the theatre, and they seem to be a poor, helpless lot, as if they did not know what to do with themselves, with their eyeglasses and their high collars.’
‘But they don’t all wear high collars and eye-glasses.’
‘No, but most of them do.’
‘Think of what you give up—the society of high life—your position in the county.’
‘I have, and I don’t care about it. Swells don’t suit me, and I shan’t suit them. I don’t want to be a landlord where the farmers cannot afford to pay any rent. I don’t want to be bothered with a lot of servants who will be most respectful in my presence, and who will laugh at me behind my back. I don’t want to be stuck up as a mark for needy adventurers and fawning parasites. I cannot believe that society in England will last long in its present position; that the wealth of the country shall be in the hands of the few, who toil not, neither do they spin, and that the men who make that wealth, without whom it could not exist, shall be stowed away in unhealthy cities to live, and breed, and die in such bitterness of poverty as can be found nowhere else. Does not James the Apostle tell the rich man to go to and howl? and I believe that end is near; that is, as soon as the working man has his political rights—a boon that now cannot be long delayed. No, property of the kind you speak of has no charms for me; rather give me