'
And so on--the kind of thing may be multiplied indefinitely. What Mrs.
Trollope did sixty years ago might be done again.
But, if I had the time, I would write the companion volume--that of
the American in England--in which it should be proved, after the same
fashion, that this poor old country is in the last stage of decay,
because we have compartment carriages on the railway; no checks for
the luggage; no electric trolleys in the street; at the hotels no
elaborate menu, but only a simple dinner of fish and roast-beef; no
iced water, an established Church (the clergy all bursting with
fatness); a House of Lords (all profligates); and a Queen who chops
off heads when so disposed. It would also be noted, as proving the
contemptible decay of the country, that a large proportion of the
lower classes omit the aspirate; that rough holiday-makers laugh and
sing and play the accordion as they take their trips abroad; that the
factory girls wear hideous hats and feathers; that all classes drink
beer, and that men are often seen rolling drunk in the streets. Nor
would the American traveller in Great Britain fail to observe, with
the scorn of a moralist, the political corruption of the time; he
would hold up to the contempt of the world the statesman who with the
utmost vehemence condemns a movement one day which, on the following
day, in order to gain votes and recover power, he adopts, and with
equal vehemence advocates; he would ask what can be the moral
standards of a country where a great party turns right round, at the
bidding of their leader, and follows him like a flock of sheep,
applauding, voting, advocating as he bids them, to-day,
this--to-morrow, its opposite.
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