Indeed there is no fear of my thinking you the owner of a cold heart. I
am more than three parts disposed, however, to be ferocious with you for
ever writing down such a preposterous truism.
My satire is against those who see figures and averages, and nothing
else--the representatives of the wickedest and most enormous vice of
this time--the men who, through long years to come, will do more to
damage the real useful truths of political economy than I could do (if I
tried) in my whole life; the addled heads who would take the average of
cold in the Crimea during twelve months as a reason for clothing a
soldier in nankeens on a night when he would be frozen to death in fur,
and who would comfort the labourer in travelling twelve miles a day to
and from his work, by telling him that the average distance of one
inhabited place from another in the whole area of England, is not more
than four miles. Bah! What have you to do with these?
I shall put the book upon a private shelf (after reading it) by "Once
upon a Time." I should have buried my pipe of peace and sent you this
blast of my war-horn three or four days ago, but that I have been
reading to a little audience of three thousand five hundred at Bradford.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]