“With a deficiency that made the nation scratch their head, and stare agin.”
“I could go through the details with you, as far as my imperfect information extends, or more imperfect memory would let me; but it is all the same, and always will be, here, in France, with us, in the colonies, and everywhere else. Whenever property, talent, and virtue are all on one side, and only ignorant numbers, with a mere sprinkling of property and talent to agitate ‘em and make use of ‘em, or misinformed or mistaken virtue to sanction ‘em on the other side, no honest man can take long to deliberate which side he will choose.
“As to those conservatives, I don’t know what to say, Sam; I should like to put you right if I could. But I’ll tell you what puzzles me. I ask myself what is a Tory? I find he is a man who goes the whole figur’ for the support of the monarchy, in its three orders, of king, lords, and commons, as by law established; that he is for the connexion of Church and State and so on; and that as the wealthiest man in England, he offers to prove his sincerity, by paying the greatest part of the taxes to uphold these things. Well, then I ask what is Consarvitism? I am told that it means, what it imports, a conservation of things as they are. Where, then, is the difference? If there is no difference, it is a mere juggle to change the name: if there is a difference, the word is worse than a juggle, for it don’t import any.”
“Tell you what,” said Mr. Slick, “I heerd an old critter to Halifax once describe ‘em beautiful. He said he could tell a man’s politicks by his shirt. ‘A Tory, Sir,’ said he, for he was a pompious old boy was old Blue-Nose; ‘a Tory, Sir,’ said he, ‘is a gentleman every inch of him, stock, lock, and barrel; and he puts a clean frill shirt on every day. A Whig, Sir,’ says he, ‘is a gentleman every other inch of him, and he puts an onfrilled one on every other day. A Radical, Sir, ain’t no gentleman at all, and he only puts one on of a Sunday. But a Chartist, Sir, is a loafer; he never puts one on till the old one won’t hold together no longer, and drops off in, pieces.’”
“Pooh!” said Mr. Hopewell, “now don’t talk nonsense; but as I was a-goin’ to say, I am a plain man, and a straightforward man, Sam; what I say, I mean; and what I mean, I say. Private and public life are subject to the same rules; and truth and manliness are two qualities that will carry you through this world much better than policy, or tact, or expediency, or any other word that ever was devised to conceal, or mystify a deviation from the straight line. They have a sartificate of character, these consarvitives, in having the support of the Tories; but that don’t quite satisfy me. It may, perhaps, mean no more than this, arter all—they are the best sarvants we have; but not as good as we want. However, I shall know more about it soon; and when I do, I will give you my opinion candidly. One thing, however, is certain, a change in the institutions of a country I could accede to, approve, and support, if necessary and good; but I never can approve of either an individual or a party—‘changing a name.’”
CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT.
The following day being dry, we walked out to view the wonders of this great commercial city of England, Liverpool. The side-paths were filled with an active and busy population, and the main streets thronged with heavily-laden waggons, conveying to the docks the manufactures of the country, or carrying inward the productions of foreign nations. It was an animating and busy scene.
“This,” said Mr. Hopewell, “is solitude. It is in a place like this, that you feel yourself to be an isolated being, when you are surrounded by multitudes who have no sympathy with you, to whom you are not only wholly unknown, but not one of whom you have ever seen before.
“The solitude of the vast American forest is not equal to this. Encompassed by the great objects of nature, you recognise nature’s God every where; you feel his presence, and rely on his protection. Every thing in a city is artificial, the predominant idea is man; and man, under circumstances like the present, is neither your friend nor protector. You form no part of the social system here. Gregarious by nature, you cannot associate; dependent, you cannot attach yourself; a rational being, you cannot interchange ideas. In seeking the wilderness you enter the abode of solitude, and are naturally and voluntarily alone. On visiting a city, on the contrary, you enter the residence of man, and if you are forced into isolation there, to you it is worse than a desert.