Whatever may have passed elsewhere concerning it, the House of Lords is wise and independent.
Intaminatis fulget honoribus;
Nec sumit aut ponit secures
Arbitrio popularis auræ.”
Such was the hollow and feeble sophistry of such men as Mr. James Boswell, and so fondly and foolishly did they talk.
But not of his opinion was our own noble and immortal Roscoe, who devoted a long life to the cause of philanthropy, and battled for freedom for the slave in every variety of ways, beginning with his poem of “Mount Pleasant,” and ending with his vote for abolition in the House of Commons. But not of his opinion were the Wilberforces, and Clarksons, and Macaulays, and Croppers, and Rathbones, and Rushtons, and Curries, who fought the great battle of outraged humanity, at first, against mighty and tremendous odds, but still struggling on,
“Like a thundercloud streaming against the wind.”
until the popularis aura, public opinion, pronounced in their favour. Then was heard the sic volo, sic jubeo, of the British people; and truly, in this instance, we may say it was vox populi, vox Dei. Justice triumphed. The foulest blot which ever darkened the name of England was removed. The slave-trade was abolished. And what became of Liverpool? Were the melancholy predictions of her prophets fulfilled? Were her docks turned into fish-ponds? Did the mower cut hay, or the reaper gather in his harvest, in her deserted streets? Look round, and see. Compare what she was then with what she is now. Then we counted her inhabitants by tens, now by hundreds, of thousands. Then we talked of her acres, now of her miles, of docks. New channels of commerce sprung up, new fields of adventure and enterprise were discovered in the East and the West, and the far off South. Steam gave an additional impulse to the gigantic energies of trade, the manufacturing districts soared to the miraculous point of prosperity which they have attained, and Liverpool was the main artery through which all the imports and exports of these busy hives of industry unceasingly flowed.
What a different place the town is now from what it was when first we old stagers knew it, and were acquainted with every face which flitted through its streets! So changed, so altered is it! Old streets and old buildings gone, and new ones occupying their places; streets where once were fields; docks where of old were strand, and shore, and forts, and baths; retired villages swallowed up by the insatiable and still growing town; trees, gardens, meadows, corn land, all yielding to the spread of brick and mortar. So marvellous are all these things, that, as we wander through the transmuted scene, losing and finding our way by turns, we know not how to describe the feelings which swell within us;
“We see, we recognise, and almost deem
The present dubious, or the past a dream!”
And what of the future of Liverpool? Has she reached the meridian height of her glory and prosperity? or is she yet in her dawn and beginning? Shall we moralise upon the fate of Tyre, of Carthage, of Genoa, and Venice, and other marts of commerce in bygone days? It was not for such a purpose that we took up our pen. We do not aspire to be prophets. But as yet no cloud is in the sky. All is bright and clear above the horizon; all is fair, promising, hopeful. And when we contemplate “the good old town,” in which we have spent so many happy years, and to which we are bound by so many ties of friendship and affection, we take leave of her with the prayer of the Italian for his country—
“Esto Perpetua.”