My country, oh! my country! it is for thee, for thee alone, I live; and
for thee, my country, will I at any time cheerfully die--(Who’s that
calling out fudge?) Nearest my heart is the wish for thy welfare. To see
thee happy is the one only desire of my soul, and that thou mayest be so,
is my constant prayer.
Night and day dost thou engross my thoughts, and all, all would I
sacrifice to thy welfare! My private interests are as dust in the
balance--(Who’s that again calling fudge?--turn him out, turn him
out)--My private interests are as dust in the balance; and shame, shame,
oh! eternal shame to the sordid wretch, unworthy to live, who should for
a moment prefer his individual aggrandisement to his country’s good.
Perish his name--perish the name of the miserable miscreant!
Wealth! what is wealth to me, my country, compared to thy happiness?
Station! what is station, unless thou, too, art advanced? Power! what is
power, unless the power of doing thee good? Oh, my country! My country,
oh!--(Oh! oh! oh! from various parts of the house.) The patriot sits
down, wiping his patriotic forehead with a white handkerchief, amidst
thunders of applause.
* * * * *
Before going farther with our Illustrations--indeed we don’t know whether
we shall go any farther with them at all or not, as we rather think we
have given quite enough of them--before going farther, then, with any
thing in the more direct course of our subject, we may pause a moment to
remark how carefully every one who comes before the public to claim its
patronage, conceals the real object of his doing so. How remote he keeps
from this very delicate point! He never whispers its name--never breathes
it. How cautiously he avoids all allusion to his own particular interest
in the matter! From the unction with which he speaks of the excellences
of the thing he has to dispose of, be it what it may, a Dutch cheese or
a treatise on philosophy, the enthusiasm with which he dwells on them,
you would imagine that he spoke out of a pure feeling of admiration of
these excellences. You would never dream--for this he carefully conceals
from you--that his sole object is to get hold of as much of your cash
as he can; the Dutch cheese or the treatise on philosophy being a mere
instrument to accomplish the desired transfer.
It is rather a curious feature this in the social character: every thing
offered for sale is so offered through a pure spirit of benevolence,
either for the public good or individual benefit; nothing for the sake of
mere filthy lucre, or the particular interest of the seller--not at all.
He, good soul, has no such motive--not he, indeed.
We said a little while since that we doubted whether we would give any
farther illustrations of the great science of humbug. We have now made
up our minds that we shall not. Although we could easily give fifty more,
it is unnecessary.
We confess, however, to be under strong temptations to give “the
candidate’s humbug”--to exhibit that gentleman _doing_ over the
constituency, making them, whether he be whig or tory, swallow the
grossest fudge that ever was thrust down an unsuspecting gullet; but we
refrain. We refrain also, in the meantime, from giving what we would call
“the liberty and equality humbug;” together with several other humbugs
equally instructive and edifying.
And now we think we hear our readers exclaim of ourselves, what a humbug!
By no means, gentle readers; there are exceptions to every general rule.
We have sketched the great mass of mankind, but we have no doubt that
there are some truly sincere persons--few indeed--in all the classes we
have sketched; and we trust that we ourselves shall be reckoned amongst
the number.