‘_We ought now to be convinced, if not before_,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘_that what Plato has said is strictly true, that there will be no end of human misery till governors become philosophers or philosophers governors_; and that all the evils which this country suffers, and, I fear, will suffer to a much greater extent, from the bursting of this fatal bubble of paper-money—this chimerical symbol of imaginary riches—_are owing to the want of philosophy and true political wisdom in our rulers, by which they might have seen things in their causes, not felt them only in their effects, as even the most vulgar man does: and by which foresight, all the mischiefs that are befalling us might have been prevented_.’[77] ‘Very hard,’ said an old soldier, ‘very, very hard:—a poor five pounds, laid up for a rainy day,—hardly got, and closely kept—very, very hard.’ ‘Poor man!’ said Mr. Forester, who was interested in the soldier’s physiognomy, ‘let me repair your loss. Here is better paper for you; but get gold and silver for it as soon as you can.’ ‘God bless your honour,’ said the soldier, ‘and send as much power as goodwill to all such generous souls. Many is the worthy heart that this day’s work will break, and here is more damage than one man can mend. God bless your honour.’ A respectable-looking female approached the crowd, and addressing herself to Mr. Fax, who seemed most at leisure to her, asked him what chance there seemed to be for the creditors of Messieurs Smokeshadow, Airbubble, Hopthetwig, and Company. ‘By what I can gather from the people around me,’ said Mr. Fax, ‘none whatever.’ The lady was in great distress at this intelligence, and said they were her bankers, and it was the second misfortune of the kind that had happened to her. Mr. Fax expressed his astonishment that she should have been twice the victim of the system of paper-coinage, which seemed to contradict the old adage about a burnt child; and said it was for his part astonishing to him how any human being could be so deluded after the perils of the system had been so clearly pointed out, and amongst other things, in a pamphlet of his own on the Insubstantiality of Smoke. ‘Indeed,’ she said, ‘she had something better to do than to trouble herself about politics, and wondered he should insult her in her distress by talking of such stuff to her.’ ‘Was ever such infatuation?’ said Mr. Fax, as the lady turned away. ‘This is one of those persons who choose to walk blindfold on the edge of a precipice, because it is too much trouble to see, and quarrel with their best friends for requesting them to make use of their eyes. There are many such, who think they have no business with politics; but they find to their cost that politics will have business with them.’