The feudal1 character of the English state, now that it is getting obsolete2, glares a little, in contrast with the democratic tendencies. The inequality of power and property shocks republican nerves. Palaces, halls, villas4, walled parks, all over England, rival the splendor5 of royal seats. Many of the halls, like Haddon, or Kedleston, are beautiful desolations. The proprietor6 never saw them, or never lived in them. Primogeniture built these sumptuous7 piles, and, I suppose, it is the sentiment of every traveller, as it was mine, ‘Twas well to come ere these were gone. Primogeniture is a cardinal8 rule of English property and institutions. Laws, customs, manners, the very persons and faces, affirm it.
The frame of society is aristocratic, the taste of the people is loyal. The estates, names, and manners of the nobles flatter the fancy of the people, and conciliate the necessary support. In spite of broken faith, stolen charters, and the devastation9 of society by the profligacy10 of the court, we take sides as we read for the loyal England and King Charles’s “return to his right” with his Cavaliers, — knowing what a heartless trifler he is, and what a crew of God-forsaken robbers they are. The people of England knew as much. But the fair idea of a settled government connecting itself with heraldic names, with the written and oral history of Europe, and, at last, with the Hebrew religion, and the oldest traditions of the world, was too pleasing a vision to be shattered by a few offensive realities, and the politics of shoemakers and costermongers. The hopes of the commoners take the same direction with the interest of the patricians12. Every man who becomes rich buys land, and does what he can to fortify14 the nobility, into which he hopes to rise. The Anglican clergy15 are identified with the aristocracy. Time and law have made the joining and moulding perfect in every part. The Cathedrals, the Universities, the national music, the popular romances, conspire16 to uphold the heraldry, which the current politics of the day are sapping. The taste of the people is conservative. They are proud of the castles, and of the language and symbol of chivalry17. Even the word lord is the luckiest style that is used in any language to designate a patrician13. The superior education and manners of the nobles recommend them to the country.
The Norwegian pirate got what he could, and held it for his eldest18 son. The Norman noble, who was the Norwegian pirate baptized, did likewise. There was this advantage of western over oriental nobility, that this was recruited from below. English history is aristocracy with the doors open. Who has courage and faculty19, let him come in. Of course, the terms of admission to this club are hard and high. The selfishness of the nobles comes in aid of the interest of the nation to require signal merit. Piracy20 and war gave place to trade, politics, and letters; the war-lord to the law-lord; the law-lord to the merchant and the mill-owner; but the privilege was kept, whilst the means of obtaining it were changed.
The foundations of these families lie deep in Norwegian exploits by sea, and Saxon sturdiness on land. All nobility in its beginnings was somebody’s natural superiority. The things these English have done were not done without peril21 of life, nor without wisdom and conduct; and the first hands, it may be presumed, were often challenged to show their right to their honors, or yield them to better men. “He that will be a head, let him be a bridge,” said the Welsh chief Benegridran, when he carried all his men over the river on his back. “He shall have the book,” said the mother of Alfred, “who can read it;” and Alfred won it by that title: and I make no doubt that feudal tenure22 was no sinecure23, but baron24, knight25, and tenant26, often had their memories refreshed, in regard to the service by which they held their lands. The De Veres, Bohuns, Mowbrays, and Plantagenets were not addicted27 to contemplation. The middle age adorned28 itself with proofs of manhood and devotion. Of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, the Emperor told Henry V. that no Christian29 king had such another knight for wisdom, nurture30, and manhood, and caused him to be named, “Father of curtesie.” “Our success in France,” says the historian, “lived and died with him.” 13
13 Fuller’s Worthies31. II. p. 472.
The war-lord earned his honors, and no donation of land was large, as long as it brought the duty of protecting it, hour by hour, against a terrible enemy. In France and in England, the nobles were, down to a late day, born and bred to war: and the duel32, which in peace still held them to the risks of war, diminished the envy that, in trading and studious nations, would else have pried33 into their title. They were looked on as men who played high for a great stake.
Great estates are not sinecures34, if they are to be kept great. A creative economy is the fuel of magnificence. In the same line of Warwick, the successor next but one to Beauchamp, was the stout35 earl of Henry VI. and Edward IV. Few esteemed36 themselves in the mode, whose heads were not adorned with the black ragged37 staff, his badge. At his house in London, six oxen were daily eaten at a breakfast; and every tavern38 was full of his meat; and who had any acquaintance in his family, should have as much boiled and roast as he could carry on a long dagger39.
The new age brings new qualities into request, the virtues40 of pirates gave way to those of planters, merchants, senators, and scholars. Comity41, social talent, and fine manners, no doubt, have had their part also. I have met somewhere with a historiette, which, whether more or less true in its particulars, carries a general truth. “How came the Duke of Bedford by his great landed estates? His ancestor having travelled on the continent, a lively, pleasant man, became the companion of a foreign prince wrecked44 on the Dorsetshire coast, where Mr. Russell lived. The prince recommended him to Henry VIII., who, liking45 his company, gave him a large share of the plundered46 church lands.”
The pretence47 is that the noble is of unbroken descent from the Norman, and has never worked for eight hundred years. But the fact is otherwise. Where is Bohun? where is De Vere? The lawyer, the farmer, the silkmercer lies perdu under the coronet, and winks48 to the antiquary to say nothing; especially skilful49 lawyers, nobody’s sons, who did some piece of work at a nice moment for government, and were rewarded with ermine.
The national tastes of the English do not lead them to the life of the courtier, but to secure the comfort and independence of their homes. The aristocracy are marked by their predilection50 for country-life. They are called the county-families. They have often no residence in London, and only go thither51 a short time, during the season, to see the opera; but they concentrate the love and labor52 of many generations on the building, planting and decoration of their homesteads. Some of them are too old and too proud to wear titles, or, as Sheridan said of Coke, “disdain to hide their head in a coronet;” and some curious examples are cited to show the stability of English families. Their proverb is, that, fifty miles from London, a family will last a hundred years; at a hundred miles, two hundred years; and so on; but I doubt that steam, the enemy of time, as well as of space, will disturb these ancient rules. Sir Henry Wotton says of the first Duke of Buckingham, “He was born at Brookeby in Leicestershire, where his ancestors had chiefly continued about the space of four hundred years, rather without obscurity, than with any great lustre53.” 14 Wraxall says, that, in 1781, Lord Surrey, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, told him, that when the year 1783 should arrive, he meant to give a grand festival to all the descendants of the body of Jockey of Norfolk, to mark the day when the dukedom should have remained three hundred years in their house, since its creation by Richard III. Pepys tells us, in writing of an Earl Oxford54, in 1666, that the honor had now remained in that name and blood six hundred years.
14 Reliquiae Wottonianae, p. 208.
This long descent of families and this cleaving55 through ages to the same spot of ground captivates the imagination. It has too a connection with the names of the towns and districts of the country.
The names are excellent, — an atmosphere of legendary56 melody spread over the land. Older than all epics57 and histories, which clothe a nation, this undershirt sits close to the body. What history too, and what stores of primitive58 and savage59 observation it infolds! Cambridge is the bridge of the Cam; Sheffield the field of the river Sheaf; Leicester the castra or camp of the Lear or Leir (now Soar); Rochdale, of the Roch; Exeter or Excester, the castra of the Ex; Exmouth, Dartmouth, Sidmouth, Teignmouth, the mouths of the Ex, Dart60, Sid, and Teign rivers. Waltham is strong town; Radcliffe is red cliff; and so on: — a sincerity61 and use in naming very striking to an American, whose country is whitewashed62 all over by unmeaning names, the cast-off clothes of the country from which its emigrants63 came; or, named at a pinch from a psalm-tune. But the English are those “barbarians” of Jamblichus, who “are stable in their manners, and firmly continue to employ the same words, which also are dear to the gods.”
‘Tis an old sneer64, that the Irish peerage drew their names from playbooks. The English lords do not call their lands after their own names, but call themselves after their lands; as if the man represented the country that bred him; and they rightly wear the token of the glebe that gave them birth; suggesting that the tie is not cut, but that there in London, — the crags of Argyle, the kail of Cornwall, the downs of Devon, the iron of Wales, the clays of Stafford, are neither forgetting nor forgotten, but know the man who was born by them, and who, like the long line of his fathers, has carried that crag, that shore, dale, fen11, or woodland, in his blood and manners. It has, too, the advantage of suggesting responsibleness. A susceptible65 man could not wear a name which represented in a strict sense a city or a county of England, without hearing in it a challenge to duty and honor.
The predilection of the patricians for residence in the country, combined with the degree of liberty possessed66 by the peasant, makes the safety of the English hall. Mirabeau wrote prophetically from England, in 1784, “If revolution break out in France, I tremble for the aristocracy: their chateaux will be reduced to ashes, and their blood spilt in torrents67. The English tenant would defend his lord to the last extremity68.” The English go to their estates for grandeur69. The French live at court, and exile themselves to their estates for economy. As they do not mean to live with their tenants70, they do not conciliate them, but wring71 from them the last sous. Evelyn writes from Blois, in 1644, “The wolves are here in such numbers, that they often come and take children out of the streets: yet will not the Duke, who is sovereign here, permit them to be destroyed.”
In evidence of the wealth amassed72 by ancient families, the traveller is shown the palaces in Piccadilly, Burlington House, Devonshire House, Lansdowne House in Berkshire Square, and, lower down in the city, a few noble houses which still withstand in all their amplitude73 the encroachment74 of streets. The Duke of Bedford includes or included a mile square in the heart of London, where the British Museum, once Montague House, now stands, and the land occupied by Woburn Square, Bedford Square, Russell Square. The Marquis of Westminster built within a few years the series of squares called Belgravia. Stafford House is the noblest palace in London. Northumberland House holds its place by Charing75 Cross. Chesterfield House remains76 in Audley Street. Sion House and Holland House are in the suburbs. But most of the historical houses are masked or lost in the modern uses to which trade or charity has converted them. A multitude of town palaces contain inestimable galleries of art.
In the country, the size of private estates is more impressive. From Barnard Castle I rode on the highway twenty-three miles from High Force, a fall of the Tees, towards Darlington, past Raby Castle, through the estate of the Duke of Cleveland. The Marquis of Breadalbane rides out of his house a hundred miles in a straight line to the sea, on his own property. The Duke of Sutherland owns the county of Sutherland, stretching across Scotland from sea to sea. The Duke of Devonshire, besides his other estates, owns 96,000 acres in the County of Derby. The Duke of Richmond has 40,000 acres at Goodwood, and 300,000 at Gordon Castle. The Duke of Norfolk’s park in Sussex is fifteen miles in circuit. An agriculturist bought lately the island of Lewes, in Hebrides, containing 500,000 acres. The possessions of the Earl of Lonsdale gave him eight seats in Parliament. This is the Heptarchy again: and before the Reform of 1832, one hundred and fifty-four persons sent three hundred and seven members to Parliament. The borough-mongers governed England.
These large domains77 are growing larger. The great estates are absorbing the small freeholds. In 1786, the soil of England was owned by 250,000 corporations and proprietors78; and, in 1822, by 32,000. These broad estates find room in this narrow island. All over England, scattered79 at short intervals80 among ship-yards, mills, mines, and forges, are the paradises of the nobles, where the livelong repose81 and refinement82 are heightened by the contrast with the roar of industry and necessity, out of which you have stepped aside.
I was surprised to observe the very small attendance usually in the House of Lords. Out of 573 peers, on ordinary days, only twenty or thirty. Where are they? I asked. “At home on their estates, devoured83 by ennui84, or in the Alps, or up the Rhine, in the Harz Mountains, or in Egypt, or in India, on the Ghauts.” But, with such interests at stake, how can these men afford to neglect them? “O,” replied my friend, “why should they work for themselves, when every man in England works for them, and will suffer before they come to harm?” The hardest radical85 instantly uncovers, and changes his tone to a lord. It was remarked, on the 10th April, 1848, (the day of the Chartist demonstration,) that the upper classes were, for the first time, actively86 interesting themselves in their own defence, and men of rank were sworn special constables87, with the rest. “Besides, why need they sit out the debate? Has not the Duke of Wellington, at this moment, their proxies88, — the proxies of fifty peers in his pocket, to vote for them, if there be an emergency?”
It is however true, that the existence of the House of Peers as a branch of the government entitles them to fill half the Cabinet; and their weight of property and station give them a virtual nomination89 of the other half; whilst they have their share in the subordinate offices, as a school of training. This monopoly of political power has given them their intellectual and social eminence90 in Europe. A few law lords and a few political lords take the brunt of public business. In the army, the nobility fill a large part of the high commissions, and give to these a tone of expense and splendor, and also of exclusiveness. They have borne their full share of duty and danger in this service; and there are few noble families which have not paid in some of their members, the debt of life or limb, in the sacrifices of the Russian war. For the rest, the nobility have the lead in matters of state, and of expense; in questions of taste, in social usages, in convivial91 and domestic hospitalities. In general, all that is required of them is to sit securely, to preside at public meetings, to countenance92 charities, and to give the example of that decorum so dear to the British heart.
If one asks, in the critical spirit of the day, what service this class have rendered? — uses appear, or they would have perished long ago. Some of these are easily enumerated93, others more subtle make a part of unconscious history. Their institution is one step in the progress of society. For a race yields a nobility in some form, however we name the lords, as surely as it yields women.
The English nobles are high-spirited, active, educated men, born to wealth and power, who have run through every country, and kept in every country the best company, have seen every secret of art and nature, and, when men of any ability or ambition, have been consulted in the conduct of every important action. You cannot wield94 great agencies without lending yourself to them, and, when it happens that the spirit of the earl meets his rank and duties, we have the best examples of behavior. Power of any kind readily appears in the manners; and beneficent power, le talent de bien faire, gives a majesty95 which cannot be concealed96 or resisted.
These people seem to gain as much as they lose by their position. They survey society, as from the top of St. Paul’s, and, if they never hear plain truth from men, they see the best of every thing, in every kind, and they see things so grouped and amassed as to infer easily the sum and genius, instead of tedious particularities. Their good behavior deserves all its fame, and they have that simplicity97, and that air of repose, which are the finest ornament98 of greatness.
The upper classes have only birth, say the people here, and not thoughts. Yes, but they have manners, and, ‘tis wonderful, how much talent runs into manners: — nowhere and never so much as in England. They have the sense of superiority, the absence of all the ambitious effort which disgusts in the aspiring99 classes, a pure tone of thought and feeling, and the power to command, among their other luxuries, the presence of the most accomplished100 men in their festive101 meetings.
Loyalty102 is in the English a sub-religion. They wear the laws as ornaments103, and walk by their faith in their painted May-Fair, as if among the forms of gods. The economist104 of 1855 who asks, of what use are the lords? may learn of Franklin to ask, of what use is a baby? They have been a social church proper to inspire sentiments mutually honoring the lover and the loved. Politeness is the ritual of society, as prayers are of the church; a school of manners, and a gentle blessing105 to the age in which it grew. ‘Tis a romance adorning106 English life with a larger horizon; a midway heaven, fulfilling to their sense their fairy tales and poetry. This, just as far as the breeding of the nobleman really made him brave, handsome, accomplished, and great-hearted.
On general grounds, whatever tends to form manners, or to finish men, has a great value. Every one who has tasted the delight of friendship, will respect every social guard which our manners can establish, tending to secure from the intrusion of frivolous107 and distasteful people. The jealousy108 of every class to guard itself, is a testimony109 to the reality they have found in life. When a man once knows that he has done justice to himself, let him dismiss all terrors of aristocracy as superstitions110, so far as he is concerned. He who keeps the door of a mine, whether of cobalt, or mercury, or nickel, or plumbago, securely knows that the world cannot do without him. Every body who is real is open and ready for that which is also real.
Besides, these are they who make England that strongbox and museum it is; who gather and protect works of art, dragged from amidst burning cities and revolutionary countries, and brought hither out of all the world. I look with respect at houses six, seven, eight hundred, or, like Warwick Castle, nine hundred years old. I pardoned high park-fences, when I saw, that, besides does and pheasants, these have preserved Arundel marbles, Townley galleries, Howard and Spenserian libraries, Warwick and Portland vases, Saxon manuscripts, monastic architectures, millennial111 trees, and breeds of cattle elsewhere extinct. In these manors112, after the frenzy113 of war and destruction subsides114 a little, the antiquary finds the frailest115 Roman jar, or crumbling116 Egyptian mummy-case, without so much as a new layer of dust, keeping the series of history unbroken, and waiting for its interpreter, who is sure to arrive. These lords are the treasurers117 and librarians of mankind, engaged by their pride and wealth to this function.
Yet there were other works for British dukes to do. George Loudon, Quintinye, Evelyn, had taught them to make gardens. Arthur Young, Bakewell, and Mechi, have made them agricultural. Scotland was a camp until the day of Culloden. The Dukes of Athol, Sutherland, Buccleugh, and the Marquis of Breadalbane have introduced the rape-culture, the sheep-farm, wheat, drainage, the plantation118 of forests, the artificial replenishment119 of lakes and ponds with fish, the renting of game-preserves. Against the cry of the old tenantry, and the sympathetic cry of the English press, they have rooted out and planted anew, and now six millions of people live, and live better on the same land that fed three millions.
The English barons120, in every period, have been brave and great, after the estimate and opinion of their times. The grand old halls scattered up and down in England, are dumb vouchers121 to the state and broad hospitality of their ancient lords. Shakspeare’s portraits of good duke Humphrey, of Warwick, of Northumberland, of Talbot, were drawn122 in strict consonance with the traditions. A sketch123 of the Earl of Shrewsbury, from the pen of Queen Elizabeth’s archbishop Parker; 15 Lord Herbert of Cherbury’s autobiography124; the letters and essays of Sir Philip Sidney; the anecdotes125 preserved by the antiquaries Fuller and Collins; some glimpses at the interiors of noble houses, which we owe to Pepys and Evelyn; the details which Ben Jonson’s masques (performed at Kenilworth, Althorpe, Belvoir, and other noble houses,) record or suggest; down to Aubrey’s passages of the life of Hobbes in the house of the Earl of Devon, are favorable pictures of a romantic style of manners. Penshurst still shines for us, and its Christmas revels126, “where logs not burn, but men.” At Wilton House, the “Arcadia” was written, amidst conversations with Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, a man of no vulgar mind, as his own poems declare him. I must hold Ludlow Castle an honest house, for which Milton’s “Comus” was written, and the company nobly bred which performed it with knowledge and sympathy. In the roll of nobles, are found poets, philosophers, chemists, astronomers127, also men of solid virtues and of lofty sentiments; often they have been the friends and patrons of genius and learning, and especially of the fine arts; and at this moment, almost every great house has its sumptuous picture-gallery.
15 Dibdin’s Literary Reminiscences, vol. 1, xii.
Of course, there is another side to this gorgeous show. Every victory was the defect of a party only less worthy128. Castles are proud things, but ‘tis safest to be outside of them. War is a foul129 game, and yet war is not the worst part of aristocratic history. In later times, when the baron, educated only for war, with his brains paralyzed by his stomach, found himself idle at home, he grew fat and wanton, and a sorry brute130. Grammont, Pepys, and Evelyn, show the kennels131 to which the king and court went in quest of pleasure. Prostitutes taken from the theatres, were made duchesses, their bastards132 dukes and earls. “The young men sat uppermost, the old serious lords were out of favor.” The discourse133 that the king’s companions had with him was “poor and frothy.” No man who valued his head might do what these pot-companions familiarly did with the king. In logical sequence of these dignified134 revels, Pepys can tell the beggarly shifts to which the king was reduced, who could not find paper at his council table, and “no handkerchers” in his wardrobe, “and but three bands to his neck,” and the linen-draper and the stationer were out of pocket, and refusing to trust him, and the baker135 will not bring bread any longer. Meantime, the English Channel was swept, and London threatened by the Dutch fleet, manned too by English sailors, who, having been cheated of their pay for years by the king, enlisted136 with the enemy.
The Selwyn correspondence in the reign43 of George III., discloses a rottenness in the aristocracy, which threatened to decompose137 the state. The sycophancy138 and sale of votes and honor, for place and title; lewdness139, gaming, smuggling140, bribery141, and cheating; the sneer at the childish indiscretion of quarrelling with ten thousand a year; the want of ideas; the splendor of the titles, and the apathy143 of the nation, are instructive, and make the reader pause and explore the firm bounds which confined these vices144 to a handful of rich men. In the reign of the Fourth George, things do not seem to have mended, and the rotten debauchee let down from a window by an inclined plane into his coach to take the air, was a scandal to Europe which the ill fame of his queen and of his family did nothing to retrieve145.
Under the present reign, the perfect decorum of the Court is thought to have put a check on the gross vices of the aristocracy yet gaming, racing146, drinking, and mistresses, bring them down, and the democrat3 can still gather scandals, if he will. Dismal147 anecdotes abound148, verifying the gossip of the last generation of dukes served by bailiffs, with all their plate in pawn149; of great lords living by the showing of their houses; and of an old man wheeled in his chair from room to room, whilst his chambers150 are exhibited to the visitor for money; of ruined dukes and earls living in exile for debt. The historic names of the Buckinghams, Beauforts, Marlboroughs, and Hertfords, have gained no new lustre, and now and then darker scandals break out, ominous151 as the new chapters added under the Orleans dynasty to the “Causes Celebres” in France. Even peers, who are men of worth and public spirit, are over-taken and embarrassed by their vast expense. The respectable Duke of Devonshire, willing to be the Mecaenas and Lucullus of his island, is reported to have said, that he cannot live at Chatsworth but one month in the year. Their many houses eat them up. They cannot sell them, because they are entailed152. They will not let them, for pride’s sake, but keep them empty, aired, and the grounds mown and dressed, at a cost of four or five thousand pounds a year. The spending is for a great part in servants, in many houses exceeding a hundred.
Most of them are only chargeable with idleness, which, because it squanders153 such vast power of benefit, has the mischief154 of crime. “They might be little Providences on earth,” said my friend, “and they are, for the most part, jockeys and fops.” Campbell says, “acquaintance with the nobility, I could never keep up. It requires a life of idleness, dressing155, and attendance on their parties.” I suppose, too, that a feeling of self-respect is driving cultivated men out of this society, as if the noble were slow to receive the lessons of the times, and had not learned to disguise his pride of place. A man of wit, who is also one of the celebrities156 of wealth and fashion, confessed to his friend, that he could not enter their houses without being made to feel that they were great lords, and he a low plebeian157. With the tribe of artistes, including the musical tribe, the patrician morgue keeps no terms, but excludes them. When Julia Grisi and Mario sang at the houses of the Duke of Wellington and other grandees158, a cord was stretched between the singer and the company.
When every noble was a soldier, they were carefully bred to great personal prowess. The education of a soldier is a simpler affair than that of an earl in the nineteenth century. And this was very seriously pursued; they were expert in every species of equitation, to the most dangerous practices, and this down to the accession of William of Orange. But graver men appear to have trained their sons for civil affairs. Elizabeth extended her thought to the future; and Sir Philip Sidney in his letter to his brother, and Milton and Evelyn, gave plain and hearty159 counsel. Already too, the English noble and squire160 were preparing for the career of the country-gentleman, and his peaceable expense. They went from city to city, learning receipts to make perfumes, sweet powders, pomanders, antidotes161, gathering162 seeds, gems163, coins, and divers164 curiosities, preparing for a private life thereafter, in which they should take pleasure in these recreations.
All advantages given to absolve165 the young patrician from intellectual labor are of course mistaken. “In the university, noblemen are exempted166 from the public exercises for the degree, &c., by which they attain167 a degree called honorary. At the same time, the fees they have to pay for matriculation, and on all other occasions, are much higher.” 16 Fuller records “the observation of foreigners, that Englishmen, by making their children gentlemen, before they are men, cause they are so seldom wise men.” This cockering justifies168 Dr. Johnson’s bitter apology for primogeniture, “that it makes but one fool in a family.”
16 Huber. History of English Universities.
The revolution in society has reached this class. The great powers of industrial art have no exclusion169 of name or blood. The tools of our time, namely, steam, ships, printing, money, and popular education, belong to those who can handle them: and their effect has been, that advantages once confined to men of family, are now open to the whole middle class. The road that grandeur levels for his coach, toil170 can travel in his cart.
This is more manifest every day, but I think it is true throughout English history. English history, wisely read, is the vindication171 of the brain of that people. Here, at last, were climate and condition friendly to the working faculty. Who now will work and dare, shall rule. This is the charter, or the chartism, which fogs, and seas, and rains proclaimed,— that intellect and personal force should make the law; that industry and administrative172 talent should administer; that work should wear the crown. I know that not this, but something else is pretended. The fiction with which the noble and the bystander equally please themselves is, that the former is of unbroken descent from the Norman, and so has never worked for eight hundred years. All the families are new, but the name is old, and they have made a covenant173 with their memories not to disturb it. But the analysis of the peerage and gentry174 shows the rapid decay and extinction175 of old families, the continual recruiting of these from new blood. The doors, though ostentatiously guarded, are really open, and hence the power of the bribe142. All the barriers to rank only whet42 the thirst, and enhance the prize. “Now,” said Nelson, when clearing for battle, “a peerage, or Westminster Abbey!” “I have no illusion left,” said Sydney Smith, “but the Archbishop of Canterbury.” “The lawyers,” said Burke, “are only birds of passage in this House of Commons,” and then added, with a new figure, “they have their best bower176 anchor in the House of Lords.”
Another stride that has been taken, appears in the perishing of heraldry. Whilst the privileges of nobility are passing to the middle class, the badge is discredited177, and the titles of lordship are getting musty and cumbersome178. I wonder that sensible men have not been already impatient of them. They belong, with wigs179, powder, and scarlet180 coats, to an earlier age, and may be advantageously consigned181, with paint and tattoo182, to the dignitaries of Australia and Polynesia.
A multitude of English, educated at the universities, bred into their society with manners, ability, and the gifts of fortune, are every day confronting the peers on a footing of equality, and outstripping183 them, as often, in the race of honor and influence. That cultivated class is large and ever enlarging. It is computed184 that, with titles and without, there are seventy thousand of these people coming and going in London, who make up what is called high society. They cannot shut their eyes to the fact that an untitled nobility possess all the power without the inconveniences that belong to rank, and the rich Englishman goes over the world at the present day, drawing more than all the advantages which the strongest of his kings could command.
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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splendor
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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10
profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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11
fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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12
patricians
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| n.（古罗马的）统治阶层成员( patrician的名词复数 )；贵族，显贵 | |
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13
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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14
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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15
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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16
conspire
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| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
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17
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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18
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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19
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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20
piracy
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| n.海盗行为，剽窃，著作权侵害 | |
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21
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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22
tenure
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| n.终身职位；任期；(土地)保有权，保有期 | |
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23
sinecure
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| n.闲差事，挂名职务 | |
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24
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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25
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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26
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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27
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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28
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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29
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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30
nurture
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| n.养育，照顾，教育；滋养，营养品；vt.养育，给与营养物，教养，扶持 | |
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31
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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32
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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33
pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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34
sinecures
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| n.工作清闲但报酬优厚的职位，挂名的好差事( sinecure的名词复数 ) | |
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36
esteemed
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|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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37
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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38
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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39
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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40
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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41
comity
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| n.礼让，礼仪；团结，联合 | |
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42
whet
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| v.磨快，刺激 | |
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43
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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44
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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45
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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46
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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48
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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49
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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50
predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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51
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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52
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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53
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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54
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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55
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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56
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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57
epics
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| n.叙事诗( epic的名词复数 )；壮举；惊人之举；史诗般的电影（或书籍） | |
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58
primitive
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|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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59
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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60
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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61
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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62
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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64
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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65
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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66
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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67
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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68
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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69
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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70
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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71
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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72
amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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74
encroachment
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| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
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75
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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76
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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77
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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78
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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79
scattered
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|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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80
intervals
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|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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81
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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82
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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83
devoured
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|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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84
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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85
radical
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|
| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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86
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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87
constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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88
proxies
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| n.代表权( proxy的名词复数 )；（测算用的）代替物；（对代理人的）委托书；（英国国教教区献给主教等的）巡游费 | |
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89
nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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90
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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91
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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92
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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93
enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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95
majesty
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|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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96
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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97
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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98
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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99
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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100
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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101
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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102
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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103
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104
economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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105
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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106
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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107
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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108
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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109
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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110
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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111
millennial
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| 一千年的，千福年的 | |
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112
manors
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| n.庄园（manor的复数形式） | |
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113
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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114
subsides
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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115
frailest
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| 脆弱的( frail的最高级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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116
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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117
treasurers
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| （团体等的）司库，财务主管( treasurer的名词复数 ) | |
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118
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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119
replenishment
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| n.补充(货物) | |
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120
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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121
vouchers
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| n.凭证( voucher的名词复数 )；证人；证件；收据 | |
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122
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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123
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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124
autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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125
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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126
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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127
astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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128
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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129
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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130
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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131
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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132
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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133
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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134
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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135
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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136
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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137
decompose
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| vi.分解；vt.（使）腐败，（使）腐烂 | |
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138
sycophancy
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| n.拍马屁，奉承，谄媚；吮痈舐痔 | |
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139
lewdness
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| n. 淫荡, 邪恶 | |
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140
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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141
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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142
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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143
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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144
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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145
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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146
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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147
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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148
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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149
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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150
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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151
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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152
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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153
squanders
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的第三人称单数 ) | |
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154
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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155
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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156
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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157
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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158
grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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159
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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160
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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161
antidotes
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| 解药( antidote的名词复数 )； 解毒剂； 对抗手段； 除害物 | |
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162
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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163
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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164
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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165
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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166
exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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168
justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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169
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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170
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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171
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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172
administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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173
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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174
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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175
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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176
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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177
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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178
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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179
wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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180
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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181
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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182
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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183
outstripping
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的现在分词 ) | |
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184
computed
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| adj.[医]计算的，使用计算机的v.计算，估算( compute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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