Volume Ii Part 10 (1/2)

'Why, then things would be no better than they are now. There would be the same excitement and bitterness. The new M.P. would be remiss in his attendance the first or second year, while in the last session his only aim would be to gain the goodwill of the electors of his district.

Again,' added Mr. Wentworth, 'as a rule the people are indifferent to politics. You only move them from their torpor at the time of a General Election. When that is over they become indifferent and apathetic again.

With an election once a year you would have the people anxiously discussing political questions. It would be an education for them. It would ensure all the advantages without the disadvantages of the present system.'

'Upon my word,' said the parson, 'there is a good deal in what you say, though I never thought of it before. An election would then be a very commonplace affair.'

'And then,' said Wentworth, 'under such an arrangement the people would be better educated. As it is, it is hard work to get them to the poll at all. Practically, England never gives a verdict-never expresses her political opinions. And I mean by England, Scotland, where the people are better educated than they are here, and Wales, where the people are far more religious. We have a Tory or a Liberal Government in office in consequence of the support of the Irish M.P.'s returned by illiterate voters under the rule of the Roman Catholic priest-who hates England, because it is a prosperous and Protestant nation. The Irish ”praste,” as his people call him, creates all the bad blood that has done so much mischief in Ireland. If the Tories are in power, they can only maintain their position by pandering to the Irish members, and if the Liberals are in power they have to do just the same. This difficulty arises from the fact that, whether as regards property or population, Ireland is over-represented. If Sir Robert Peel had had his way, and been able to pension the Irish priests, we should have had no such wretched state of affairs. The ”praste” would have taken jolly good care that the Irish M.P. was loyal to the Government that granted him an independent income.'

'But Peel could not have done so had he wished. You forget the English Evangelicals, with their hatred of Popery in any shape, and the Scotch Presbyterians, and the English Dissenters, who object on principle to any State support of religion.'

'Alas! I know it too well,' replied Wentworth; 'yet had Peel or Pitt had their way, we should have had no Irish difficulty. As it is, Ireland has her revenge. It is she who decides the fate of parties, the rise and fall of ministries, the policy of our great empire, with its conflicting interests in every corner of the globe. Oh that the Green Isle were a thousand miles away! The difficulty would be removed if Ireland had only her fair share of representation, but that is an impossible reform.'

A curious character was that old parson; professedly a Presbyterian, and calling himself such, he and his people were Unitarians. He lived on an endowment left by Lady Hewlett, whose charities were such a bitter bone of contention between the Unitarians and the orthodox Dissenters; but Parliament interfered, and a Bill was carried to render all further litigation impossible. He preached in a grand old red-brick chapel in the busiest part of the town. He had an old-fas.h.i.+oned pulpit with an old-fas.h.i.+oned sounding-board above, and in front of him were great square pews lined with green baize; while behind, in the little red-brick vestry, there were quaint portraits of old divines, of whom no one knew anything. Now, in his meeting-house, with its memorial tablets of departed workers, the wors.h.i.+ppers were few and far between. Once there had been life there, but that was a long time ago; and now his hearers were chiefly old, gray-headed men and women, whose fathers and mothers had taken them there in early childhood, and whose talk, when they did talk, which was but rarely, was of Drs. Price and Priestley, and Mr.

Belsham, and of Mrs. Barbauld and other ornaments of their expiring creed. It was hard work to preach to such; nevertheless the little parson was a happy man, as he thought of the G.o.d of love, of whom once a week he loved to speak. No one interfered with him. To no religious gathering in the town was he ever invited. Churchmen and Dissenters alike gave him the cold shoulder. But he upheld the standard of a Church with no creeds; was content to receive such as could not subscribe to other dogmas, and to believe in a Christian charity which was to cover a mult.i.tude of sins. He d.a.m.ned n.o.body, he frightened n.o.body, he was n.o.body's enemy. His was a voice crying in the wilderness. Once a year he went to the a.s.sembly of his denomination in Ess.e.x Street Chapel, London, and heard how the cause with which he was connected was advancing, and the day-dawn of a national Christianity was at hand, and then he came back to Sloville to vegetate for another year, while sensational preachers filled the other chapels.

He had his garden, and that was a constant source of happiness, and as he was a vegetarian and his garden supplied all his needs, it mattered little that his salary was a scanty pittance, such as a respectable working mechanic would turn up his nose at. His wife was a lady who did not hesitate to do all the household work herself. Modern life in its rush and roar has left such people far behind. But one loves to remember them, and their peaceful ways, their cheerful solitude, their plain living and high thinking.

CHAPTER XVII.

QUIET TALKS.

On the day of the public meeting, just as Wentworth had retired to his head-quarters at the Red Lion, one of the few old-fas.h.i.+oned public-houses which survive to tell us how truly Shenstone wrote when he told us that the warmest welcome he found was at an inn-and how wise were men of the Johnson era in recognising that fact-he heard a tap at the door, after he had taken off his boots and had lit his cigar.

'Come in,' he cried.

The new visitor availed himself of the invitation. He was a tremendous fellow to look at, with something of an animal expression, with a loud voice, and a little bloated about the face, as if he took rather more beer than was good for him. His hands were rather grimy, his clothes were the worse for wear, and he had a short pipe in his mouth, which he was about to put out, but did not, as he saw Wentworth was smoking himself.

'Your name, sir?' said Wentworth.

'My name-you know me well enough. My name is Johnson-I was at your meeting to-night, and you and I have met before.'

'Yes, you were there, as you say-one of my noisiest opponents, I believe-and now I think of it, when I was at Sloville, you were one of the Chartists who tried to put me down.'

'You're right, Mr. Wentworth.'

'Happy to renew the acquaintance. To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?'

'Well, you see, we are in now for an election, and I flatter myself the winning candidate will be the man for whom I vote.'

'Is that so?'

'True as the Gospel.'

'Well, you did not seem very favourable to-night.'

'No, and that's why I am here. My party won't think much of me unless I act an independent part, and there's a good many of us; we wish to have a bit of a literary man. It is my belief, as I tells 'em, that there is nothing like eddication and the gift of the gab.'

'Upon my word, you're right, Mr. Johnson, though when one looks at Ireland and England, too, one is inclined to feel that we may have too much of a good thing, and that we should be all the better if we had a little less talk and a little more work.'