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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
113
In
a
new
world,
beyond
the
ocean,
there
grew
up
a
new
race,
a
scion
of
England,
which
shaped
its
life
without
regard
to
the
principle
of
hereditary
lordship;
and
in
course
of
time
this
triumphant
Republic
began
to
shake
the
ideals
of
the
Motherland.
Its
civilization,
spite
of
superficial
resemblances,
is
not
English;
let
him
who
will
think
it
superior;
all
one
cares
to
say
is
that
it
has
already
shown
in
a
broad
picture
the
natural
tendencies
of
English
blood
when
emancipated
from
the
old
cult.
Easy
to
understand
that
some
there
are
who
see
nothing
but
evil
in
the
influence
of
that
vast
commonwealth.
If
it
has
done
us
good,
assuredly
the
fact
is
not
yet
demonstrable.
In
old
England,
democracy
is
a
thing
so
alien
to
our
traditions
and
rooted
sentiment
that
the
line
of
its
progress
seems
hitherto
a
mere
track
of
ruin.
In
the
very
word
is
something
from
which
we
shrink;
it
seems
to
signify
nothing
less
than
a
national
apostasy,
a
denial
of
the
faith
in
which
we
won
our
glory.
The
democratic
Englishman
is,
by
the
laws
of
his
own
nature,
in
parlous
case;
he
has
lost
the
ideal
by
which
he
guided
his
rude,
prodigal,
domineering
instincts;
in
place
of
the
Right
Honourable,
born
to
noble
things,
he
has
set
up
the
mere
Plebs,
born,
more
likely
than
not,
for
all
manner
of
baseness.
And,
amid
all
his
show
of
loud
self-confidence,
the
man
is
haunted
with
misgiving.
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