genteel--which is nevertheless the very one which, in '32,
swore bodily that Wellington could neither read nor write, and devised an
ingenious plan for teaching him how to read.

Now, after the above statement no one will venture to say, if the writer
should be disposed to bear hard upon Radicals, that he would be
influenced by a desire to pay court to princes, or to curry favour with
Tories, or from being a blind admirer of the Duke of Wellington; but the
writer is not going to declaim against Radicals, that is, real
Republicans, or their principles; upon the whole, he is something of an
admirer of both. The writer has always had as much admiration for
everything that is real and honest as he has had contempt for the
opposite. Now, real Republicanism is certainly a very fine thing, a much
finer thing than Toryism, a system of common robbery, which is,
nevertheless, far better than Whiggism {368}--a compound of petty
larceny, popular instruction, and receiving of stolen goods. Yes, real
Republicanism is certainly a very fine thing, and your real Radicals and
Republicans are certainly very fine fellows, or rather were fine fellows,
for the Lord only knows where to find them at the present day--the writer
does not. If he did he would at any time go five miles to invite one of
them to dinner, even supposing that he had to go to a workhouse in order
to find the person he wished to invite. Amongst the real Radicals of
England, those who flourished from the year '16 to '20, there were
certainly extraordinary characters, men partially insane, perhaps, but
honest and brave--they did not make a market of the principles which they
professed, and never intended to do so; they believed in them, and were
willing to risk their lives in endeavouring to carry them out. The
writer wishes to speak in particular of two of these men, both of whom
perished on the scaffold--their names were Thistlewood and Ings. {369}
Thistlewood, the best known of them, was a brave soldier, and had served
with distinction as an officer in the French service; he was one of the
excellent swordsmen of Europe; had fought several duels in France, where
it is no child's play to fight a duel; but had never unsheathed his sword
for single combat, but in defence of the feeble and insulted. He was
kind and open-hearted, but of too great simplicity; he had once ten
thousand pounds left him, all of which he lent to a friend, who
disappeared and never returned him