‘As how?’ he faintly said.
I could have stopped for pity, but Victoria smiled at me from behind his chair. Then, I shut my eyes and struck on.
‘Rather humdrum, you know. No spirit, no careers; one man as good as another, and not even a good deal better, as the saying goes.’
‘It never troubled me,’ he meekly said.
‘Yet you are the Chief Magistrate!’
‘Well, if we are in fault, sir, I shall be glad to hear of it. What’s amiss?’
‘Not very much, perhaps; only I think you want variety of formation, that’s all.’
‘We shall get it right, sir, I dare say, if it is to be got right. Please go on. You have travelled; you are able to speak.’
‘Well, by variety of formation I mean the division of classes. Look at the beautiful gradation at home—an aristocracy for the fine art of life; a middle class for the moral qualities, which are not fine art, but only helps to it; a lower for the mere drudgery outside of both art and morals. The great mark of all progressive nations is that struggle of each man to make some other do his dirty work for him, which is commonly known as aspiration for the higher life. A few live in dignity, unhaste, affluence, and wear the fine flower of manners; but, to sustain the costly show, and help them so to live, the many give up all hope of these things on their own account, sometimes forming perfect castes, who do the dirty work from father to son, as others fill the office of Earl Marshal.’
‘I do assure you, sir, we’ve nothing of that sort here.’