of man. Actually we are all so much alike
that not very long since in Madrid a journeyman tailor was mistaken for a
Prince. It is not always that such extreme cases happen; but the
tendency of civilization, as we have it now, is to work us all up into
one common, unmeaning whole--to confound all the old distinctions by
which classes were marked--to mix up the peasant and the prince, more by
bringing down the latter than elevating the former; and thus we all
become unmeaning, and monotonous, and common-place. The splendid livery
in which "Jeames" rejoices may show that he is footman to a family that
dates from the Conquest: it may be that he is footman to the keeper of
the ham and beef shop near London Bridge. The uninitiated cannot tell
the difference. A man says he is a lord; otherwise we should not take
him for one of the nobles of the earth. A man puts on a black gown, and
says he is a religious teacher: otherwise we should not take him for one
who could understand and enlighten the anxious yearnings of the human
heart. The old sublime faith in God and heaven is gone. We have had
none of it since the days of old Noll: it went out when Charles and his
mistresses came in. But instead, we have a world of propriety and
conventionalism. We have a universal worshipping of Mrs. Grundy. A
craven fear sits in the hearts of all. Men dare not be generous,
high-minded, and true. A man dares not act otherwise than the class by
which he is surrounded: he must conform to their regulations or die;
outside the pale there is no hope. If he would not be as others are, it
were better that a millstone were hung round his neck and that he were
cast into the sea. If, as a tradesman, he will not devote his energies
to money-making--if he will not rise up early and sit up late--if he will
not starve the mind--if he will not violate the conditions by which the
physical and mental powers are sustained--he will find that in Christian
England, in the nineteenth century, there is no room for such as he. The
externals which men in their ignorance have come to believe essential to
happiness, he will see another's. Great city "feeds"--white-bait dinners
at Blackwall, and "genteel residences," within a few miles of the Bank or
the bridges--fat coachmen and fiery steeds--corporation honours and
emoluments,--a man may seek in vain if he will not take first, the ledger
for his Gospel, and mammon for his God. It is just the same with the