no longer sigh for "the good old days." The
most confirmed grumbler is compelled to admit that, bad as things now
are, they were far worse a few generations back. Macaulay, in this
elaborate and carefully prepared chapter, has done a good service to
humanity in disabusing well-intentioned ignorance of the melancholy
notion that the world is growing worse, and in putting to silence the
cant of blind, unreasoning conservatism.

In 1685 the entire population of England our author estimates at from
five millions to five millions five hundred thousand. Of the eight
hundred thousand families at that period, one half had animal food twice
a week. The other half ate it not at all, or at most not oftener than
once a week. Wheaten, loaves were only seen at the tables of the
comparatively wealthy. Rye, barley, and oats were the food of the vast
majority. The average wages of workingmen was at least one half less
than is paid in England for the same service at the present day. One
fifth of the people were paupers, or recipients of parish relief.
Clothing and bedding were scarce and dear. Education was almost unknown
to the vast majority. The houses and shops were not numbered in the
cities, for porters, coachmen, and errand-runners could not read. The
shopkeeper distinguished his place of business by painted signs and
graven images. Oxford and Cambridge Universities were little better than
modern grammar and Latin school in a provincial village. The country
magistrate used on the bench language too coarse, brutal, and vulgar for
a modern tap-room. Fine gentlemen in London vied with each other in the
lowest ribaldry and the grossest profanity. The poets of the time, from
Dryden to Durfey, ministered to the popular licentiousness. The most
shameless indecency polluted their pages. The theatre and the brothel
were in strict unison. The Church winked at the vice which opposed
itself to the austere morality or hypocrisy of Puritanism. The superior
clergy, with a few noble exceptions, were self-seekers and courtiers; the
inferior were idle, ignorant hangerson upon blaspheming squires and
knights of the shire. The domestic chaplain, of all men living, held the
most unenviable position. "If he was permitted to dine with the family,
he was expected to content himself with the plainest fare. He might fill
himself with the corned beef and carrots; but as soon as the tarts and
cheese-cakes made their appearance he quitted