I lifted up my head. I felt
somewhat dizzy and bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn itself
from me. And now once more I drank of the jug; this second draught did
not produce an overpowering effect upon me--it revived and strengthened
me--I felt a new man.

I looked around me; the kitchen had been deserted by the greater part of
the guests; besides myself, only four remained; these were seated at the
farther end. One was haranguing fiercely and eagerly; he was abusing
England, and praising America. At last he exclaimed, 'So when I gets to
New York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the King.'

That man must be a Radical, thought I.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII

A Radical--Simple-looking man--Church of England--The
President--Aristocracy--Gin and water--Mending the roads--Persecuting
Church--Simon de Montfort--Broken bells--Get up--Not for the Pope--Quay
of New York--Mumpers' Dingle--No wish to fight--First draught--A poor
pipe--Half-a-crown broke.

The individual whom I supposed to be a Radical, after a short pause,
again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built fellow of about
thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white hat on his head, a
snuff-coloured coat on his back, and when he was not speaking, a pipe in
his mouth. 'Who would live in such a country as England?' he shouted.

'There is no country like America,' said his nearest neighbour, a man
also in a white hat, and of a very ill-favoured countenance--'there is no
country like America,' said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth; 'I
think I shall--' and here he took a draught from a jug, the contents of
which he appeared to have in common with the other,--'go to America one
of these days myself.'

'Poor old England is not such a bad country, after all,' said a third, a
simple-looking man in a labouring dress, who sat smoking a pipe without
anything before him. 'If there was but a little more work to be got, I
should have nothing to say against her; I hope, however--'

'You hope! who cares what you hope?' interrupted the first, in a savage
tone; 'you are one of those sneaking hounds who are satisfied with dogs'
wages--a bit of bread and a kick. Work, indeed! who, with the spirit of
a man, would work for a country where there is neither liberty of speech
nor of action? a land full of beggarly aristocracy, hungry
borough-mongers, insolent parsons, and "their . . . wives and daughters,"
as William Cobbett says, in his "Register."'