"All his grumblings through this book of American Notes, all his shrieking satire in Martin Chuzzlewit, are expressions of a grave and reasonable fear he had touching the future of democracy."
But the humanitarianism itself is sounded in a harmonious
chord, whose overtone is a ridicule, more grim than
gay, of the delinquents;—those who lack the spirit of humanity,
yet are the very ones, on the principle of noblesse
oblige, in whom it should well up most abundantly. If
they fail through that ignorance and mental limitation
from which not even the aristocracy are always exempt,
the blow is tempered accordingly; but it falls more
heavily when the roots of the evil are the black ones of
selfishness and perversity.
Lady Lufton, for instance, is a kind soul, who would have made an excellent Providence, though scarcely adequate to cope with the mismanagement of the Providence already installed over human affairs:[1]
"She liked cheerful, quiet, well-to-do people, who loved their
Church, their country, and their Queen, and who were not too
anxious to make a noise in the world. She desired that all the
farmers round her should be able to pay their rents without
trouble, that all the old women should have warm flannel petticoats,
that the workingmen should be saved from rheumatism
by healthy food and dry houses, that they should all be obedient
to their pastors and masters—temporal as well as spiritual.
That was her idea of loving her country. She desired also that
the copses should be full of pheasants, the stubble-field of partridges,
and the gorse covers of foxes; in that way, also, she
loved her country."
These are as amiable sentiments for a lady as Victor
Radnor's for a gentleman. He is introduced as regretting
- ↑ Framley Parsonage, 14.
