It has been taught in every nation--Rome, Greece, Egypt. The people will suffer long and much, but the resentment occasioned by “caste” and social distinction far outweighs any advantages that money can buy them.
November 8, 1892, showed that the workmen couldn’t be bought, the farmer couldn’t be bought, the veteran couldn’t be bought, the negro couldn’t be bought, by all the fair promises held out by the party of Protection, because this cup of nectar was poisoned by the deadly essence of “caste,” which means extinction of all that the people hold dear. Should the Democratic party create, cause, or have arise under its administration, and become attached to that party, any set, or “caste,” claiming any superiority over their fellow-citizens, the Democratic party would be killed, though the eternal sun might never shine again upon America should that party be defeated.
The purpose and object for which this book is written is not for the instruction of the people as to how they _are_ to do, but it is, if possible, to put notes to the music that has been singing in the hearts of the Common People,--for we are all Common People. That song which echoes our own sentiments, even though we cannot sing the song, is always the sweetest. The man who tells the story we have thought and felt, is the greatest writer to us. Dickens is dear to the hearts of us all because he echoes and puts in words the sentiments of our own souls. If this book tell, in words, that which has been throbbing in the breasts of the people, it but articulates that which they have spoken silently for themselves. The author is one of the people, but he has felt what he believes others have felt. The book is not intended to aid or to harm either the Democratic or the Republican party. The writer is a supporter of ANY party, call it what you will, that represents the BEST INTERESTS, THE HONOR, DIGNITY, VIRTUE, of AMERICANS and American homes.
“Is there, for honest poverty That hangs his head, and a’ that; The coward-slave, we pass him by. We dare be poor, for a’ that; For a’ that, and a’ that, Our toil’s obscure, and a’ that, The rank is but the guinea’s stamp; The man’s the gowd for a’ that.
“What though on homely fare we dine, A prince can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a’ that; But an honest man’s aboon his might Guid faith he manna fa’ that, For a’ that, and a’ that, The pith o’ sense and pride o’ worth Are higher ranks than a’ that.