The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, bart., M.P., formerly known as "Tommy Upmore"Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, bart., M.P., formerly known as "Tommy Upmore"
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Fiction; Satire
This had made his life thus far most happy, enabling him to despise all
people who differed in any way from him, as well as to enlarge himself,
without any compulsion to pay for it. And he might have gone on in this
easy way, calling upon the people behind him to rob the people in front
of him, if he had not undergone the bad luck to be robbed himself. When
he came to speak of this, among his friends, not one of them failed to
express deep sorrow, and to assure him that such things must happen,
whenever the Conservatives were in office. At the same time they
intimated gently, that when he made so much money out of working men, it
served him right to lose some of it.
His feelings were hurt by this sometimes; especially when the suggestion
came from gentlemen, who had attained that degree, by adulterating the
victuals of the working man. However, he smothered his common sense, as
the first duty is of Liberals; till his body and mind came thump upon a
stumbling-block, and no mistake.
Arising in a vast hall of Reform, to second a motion that all men are
equal, and must have the same money for their work (whether they do it,
or leave it undone), and must not do more than six hours in a day--for
fear of imparting infection to the rest--with his mouth full of reason,
and his heart full of hope [that none of his men might be there to hear
him], my dear father gave a stamp, and found it fall upon something soft
and dull. He felt himself more at home through this, having so much soft
stuff round his vats, and his eloquence mounted to full swell, till he
wanted to jump to give emphasis. This he attempted to do with a clap of
his hands, to complete a grand sentence, when up came something between
his legs, and got stuck on the top of his highlows. With laudable
agility, my father stooped, while the audience cheered lustily,
supposing him to be in quest of some word big enough to express his
sentiments.
These, however, demanded outlet, in a very short one, when he found in
his hand his own lost hat, with a hole in the brim from the stamp of his
heel, and the crown chock-full of heads for speech, and demolitionist
statistics. He examined his hat, and descried B. U. just in under the
tuck of the lining, where a Liberal always puts his mark, on the
Vote-by-ballot principle.
This alone was enough to shake his confidence in his party; though all
the gentlemen around him looked quite incapable of doing anything. And
he might, as he said to my mother, have believed that his old hat had
come down from heaven, if only his new hat, bought last Friday, had been
left for him to go home with. That, however, was not the case; his new
hat managed to leave that great assembly upon the head of some eminent
Liberal; and my father went home with his old hat on, greasy, and dirty,
and showing signs of conflict, but containing a head that would be
Radical no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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