Flamson flaming in his coach with a million? And is not
even the honest jockey at Horncastle, who offers a fair price to
Lavengro for his horse, entitled to more than the scoundrel lord,
who attempts to cheat him of one-fourth of its value?
Millions, however, seem to think otherwise, by their servile
adoration of people whom without rank, wealth, and fine clothes
they would consider infamous, but whom possessed of rank, wealth,
and glittering habiliments they seem to admire all the more for
their profligacy and crimes. Does not a blood-spot, or a lust-
spot, on the clothes of a blooming emperor, give a kind of zest to
the genteel young god? Do not the pride, superciliousness, and
selfishness of a certain aristocracy make it all the more regarded
by its worshippers? and do not the clownish and gutter-blood
admirers of Mr. Flamson like him all the more because they are
conscious that he is a knave? If such is the case --and, alas! is
it not the case?--they cannot be too frequently told that fine
clothes, wealth, and titles adorn a person in proportion as he
adorns them; that if worn by the magnanimous and good they are
ornaments indeed, but if by the vile and profligate they are merely
san benitos, and only serve to make their infamy doubly apparent;
and that a person in seedy raiment and tattered hat, possessed of
courage, kindness, and virtue, is entitled to more respect from
those to whom his virtues are manifested than any cruel profligate
emperor, selfish aristocrat, or knavish millionaire in the world.
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