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Page 62
There might be truth in this, there might be depth of reasoning;
but Englishmen did not see enough in the argument to induce them
to withdraw their confidence from the present arrangements of the
government, and Dr Anticant's monthly pamphlet on the decay of the
world did not receive so much attention as his earlier works. He did
not confine himself to politics in these publications, but roamed at
large over all matters of public interest, and found everything bad.
According to him nobody was true, and not only nobody, but nothing; a
man could not take off his hat to a lady without telling a lie;--the
lady would lie again in smiling. The ruffles of the gentleman's
shirt would be fraught with deceit, and the lady's flounces full of
falsehood. Was ever anything more severe than that attack of his on
chip bonnets, or the anathemas with which he endeavoured to dust the
powder out of the bishops' wigs?
The pamphlet which Tom Towers now pushed across the table was entitled
"Modern Charity," and was written with the view of proving how much in
the way of charity was done by our predecessors,--how little by the
present age; and it ended by a comparison between ancient and modern
times, very little to the credit of the latter.
"Look at this," said Towers, getting up and turning over the pages of
the pamphlet, and pointing to a passage near the end. "Your friend
the warden, who is so little selfish, won't like that, I fear." Bold
read as follows--
Heavens, what a sight! Let us with eyes wide open see the
godly man of four centuries since, the man of the dark ages;
let us see how he does his godlike work, and, again, how the
godly man of these latter days does his.
Shall we say that the former is one walking painfully
through the world, regarding, as a prudent man, his worldly
work, prospering in it as a diligent man will prosper, but
always with an eye to that better treasure to which thieves
do not creep in? Is there not much nobility in that old
man, as, leaning on his oaken staff, he walks down the High
Street of his native town, and receives from all courteous
salutation and acknowledgment of his worth? A noble old
man, my august inhabitants of Belgrave Square and such like
vicinity,--a very noble old man, though employed no better
than in the wholesale carding of wool.
This carding of wool, however, did in those days bring with
it much profit, so that our ancient friend, when dying,
was declared, in whatever slang then prevailed, to cut up
exceeding well. For sons and daughters there was ample
sustenance with assistance of due industry; for friends and
relatives some relief for grief at this great loss; for aged
dependents comfort in declining years. This was much for
one old man to get done in that dark fifteenth century. But
this was not all: coming generations of poor wool-carders
should bless the name of this rich one; and a hospital
should be founded and endowed with his wealth for the
feeding of such of the trade as could not, by diligent
carding, any longer duly feed themselves.
'Twas thus that an old man in the fifteenth century did his
godlike work to the best of his power, and not ignobly, as
appears to me.
We will now take our godly man of latter days. He shall no
longer be a wool-carder, for such are not now men of mark.
We will suppose him to be one of the best of the good, one
who has lacked no opportunities. Our old friend was, after
all, but illiterate; our modern friend shall be a man
educated in all seemly knowledge; he shall, in short, be
that blessed being,--a clergyman of the Church of England!
And now, in what perfectest manner does he in this lower
world get his godlike work done and put out of hand?
Heavens! in the strangest of manners. Oh, my brother! in a
manner not at all to be believed, but by the most minute
testimony of eyesight. He does it by the magnitude of his
appetite,--by the power of his gorge; his only occupation is
to swallow the bread prepared with so much anxious care for
these impoverished carders of wool,--that, and to sing
indifferently through his nose once in the week some psalm
more or less long,--the shorter the better, we should be
inclined to say.
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