class in the nation, in one great harmony, will be seeking the common good; when oppression and ignorance and, if it pleases God, vice itself shall be taken away from all classes alike, and all shall stand equal, whatever be the form of government, in the common weal.1 When that which is called the Great Charter was granted, it was an affair principally between the king and the barons; in Charles I.'s time it was a strife between the king and the middle classes; but the present generation has seen a successful struggle on behalf of the working classes, and we for our part have thoroughly learnt to recognise that the future is theirs. 3 How is that? In the first place, the franchise 2 has virtually been granted to everybody living in a borough. In the next place, education, which had been long regarded by the wiser part of the nation as the healer of our evils and the remedy for our vices, has now been recognised as such by the whole nation. It has been decided by the Legislature, that it is the right of every child to be educated, and the duty of every parent to see that his children enjoy that right. The State has said it, and you are the main part of the State. You have passed the law, and you must carry it out; and, henceforth, there shall be no ignorant man in England, unless indeed by some mere mischance, for the system is prepared by which knowledge shall be imparted to every child. And since knowledge is power, and you working men form the majority of the nation, therefore, I say, "The future is yours." I am not quite sure how the working man is going to deal with us in the future. There are two opposite principles of action-the selfish principle and the loving principle (or that which has regard to the welfare of others as well as our own); and it is a momentous question on which of these principles you shall in the main base your future conduct. We know that our religion calls upon us to act on the unselfish principle; and I say that religion was intended not for the end of life, but for the whole of life, not only to prepare us for another world, but to teach us how to live in this one. Religion, to my mind, is not the carrying to a dying man a kind of comfort which he has never had when he was living; it is not the trying to make him feel that he has lived on one principle during his whole life, and that now he must die on another. That is not my notion of religion. Religion is heavenly; and it begins here with the love of God in the heart of man. It can begin in the child of two; it can go with the boy or girl to school, and with the young man to his work; it can help the married man bring up his family in comfort; it can make the home happy and sweet; it can make a man at peace with his fellows, and render them mutually helpful and friendly. I put it to you, as men of good sense, does the selfish principle or the loving principle answer the best? Take this, for example. Here is a man who says, "I earn my 25s. or 30s. a week, and I must have my drink every day; and as mine is very hard work, I want a good deal of it. Besides that, I have a dog of rare qualities, and I can't train him on nothing." Then he says, "I scarcely know one end of a racehorse from the other, but there is a great attraction in betting. I never saw these horses, with their poetical and mythological names, but I can make a bet as well as my betters, and I enjoy this sort of thing." Perhaps you do, my friend; but you are a married man, or intend to be one, and you may make a less selfish use of your money. There are often a wife and three or four little ones at home, and they must be content with the mouse's share of the earnings, while the lion's share goes in self-indulgence. Now, my friends, is it not a clear case in regard to that man, that he is on the wrong track altogether? Let us look at another point. It has been mentioned on this platform already, that the traffic in drink costs the country 145 millions a year. That is such an enormous sum, that a measure is needed to enable you to realise its amount. Now the whole expense of the government of this country-its army, its navy, its civil establishment, from the Crown down to the lowest exciseman-costs somewhere about fifty millions, not counting the twenty odd millions paid as interest on the National Debt. So that we spend about three times as much in drink as is necessary for carrying on the whole machinery of government. What a field is here for saving expense! Self-denial in this matter of drink will enable thousands of working men to redeem wretched and pinched homes, and serve as a powerful lever to lift themselves from all that is low and grovelling to what is high and noble. We are never tired of singing, "Britons never will be slaves," and the drunkard himself is always ready to join in that patriotic chorus; but it is pitiful to hear him sing of freedom. The free drunkard is the worst of slaves he can seldom do anything except remain in the fetters he has forged for himself. Adapted. 'Common weal, the well-being of the whole nation. 2 Franchise, the right of voting for a member of Parliament. This has been "virtually," or in effect, granted to everybody; for every householder in a borough who has paid his rates and taxes can vote. 3 Legislature, lit. the law-making assembly. It consists of the Sovereign, the House of Lords, and the House of Commons. 4 Mythological names, such as ficient money in taxes to pay the expenses of the army and navy, &c., it has borrowed money on the promise to pay a certain sum annually as interest. More than twenty millions are now required every year to pay this interest. JOHN JOHN BULL. 'OHN BULL,1 to all appearance, is a plain, downright, matter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than rich prose. There is little of romance in his nature, but a vast deal of strong natural feeling. He excels in humour more than in wit; 2 is jolly rather than gay; melancholy rather than morose; can easily be moved to a sudden tear, or surprised into a broad laugh; but he loathes sentiment, and has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon companion, if you allow him to have his humour, and to talk about himself; and he will stand by a friend in a quarrel with life and purse, however soundly he may be cudgelled. 4 In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propensity to be somewhat too ready. He is a busyminded personage, who thinks not merely for himself and family, but for all the country round; and is most generously disposed to be everybody's champion. He is continually volunteering his services to settle his neighbour's affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon if they engage in any matter of consequence without asking his advice; though he seldom engages in any friendly office of the kind without finishing by getting into a squabble with all parties, and then railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He unluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble science of defence, and having accomplished himself in the use of his limbs and his weapons, and become a perfect master at boxing and cudgel-play, he has had a troublesome life of it ever since. He cannot hear of a quarrel between the most distant of his neighbours, but he begins incontinently 5 to fumble with the head of his cudgel, and consider whether his interest or honour does not require that he should meddle in the broil. Indeed, he has extended his relations of pride and policy so completely over the whole country, that no event can take place without infringing some of his finely-spun rights and dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these filaments" stretching forth in every direction, he is like some choleric, bottle-bellied old spider, who has woven his web over a whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow, without startling his repose, and causing him to sally forth wrathfully from his den. Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fellow at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of contention. It is one of his peculiarities, however, that he only relishes the beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight with alacrity, but comes out of it grumbling, even when victorious; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to carry a contested point, yet, when the battle is over, and he comes to the reconciliation,' he is so much taken up with the mere shaking of hands, that he is apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they have been quarrelling about. It is not, therefore, fighting that he ought so much to be on his guard against, as making friends. It is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing, but put him in a good humour, and you may bargain him out of all the money in his pocket. He is like a stout ship, which will weather the roughest storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in the succeeding calm. |