It was allowed by Mr. Blenkinsop that either alternative presented considerable difficulty.
“Was it in the good old times that Harold fell at Hastings, and William the Conqueror enslaved England? Were those blissful years the ages of monkery; of Odo and Dunstan, bearding monarchs and branding queens? Of Danish ravage and slaughter? Or were they those of the Saxon Heptarchy, and the worship of Thor and Odin? Of the advent of Hengist and Horsa? Of British subjugation by the Romans? Or, lastly, must we go back to the Ancient Britons, Druidism, and human sacrifices; and say that those were the real, unadulterated, genuine, good old times when the true-blue natives of this island went naked, painted with woad?”
“Upon my word, Sir,” replied Mr. Blenkinsop, “after the observations that I have heard from you this night, I acknowledge that I _do_ feel myself rather at a loss to assign a precise period to the times in question.”
“Shall I do it for you?” asked the Statue.
“If you please, Sir. I should be very much obliged if you would,” replied the bewildered Blenkinsop, greatly relieved.
“The best times, Mr. Blenkinsop,” said the Statue, “are the oldest. They are wisest; for the older the world grows the more experience it acquires. It is older now than ever it was. The oldest and best times the world has yet seen are the present. These, so far as we have yet gone, are the genuine good old times, Sir.”
“Indeed, Sir?” ejaculated the astonished Alderman.
“Yes, my good friend. These are the best times that we know of--bad as the best may be. But in proportion to their defects they afford room for amendment. Mind that, Sir, in the future exercise of your municipal and political wisdom. Don’t continue to stand in the light which is gradually illuminating human darkness. The Future is the date of that happy period which your imagination has fixed in the Past. It will arrive when all shall do what is right; hence none shall suffer what is wrong. The true good old times are yet to come.”
“Have you any idea when, Sir?” Mr. Blenkinsop inquired, modestly.
“That is a little beyond me,” the Statue answered. “I cannot say how long it will take to convert the Blenkinsops. I devoutly wish you may live to see them. And with that, I wish you good night, Mr. Blenkinsop.”