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No single influence ever brought its ideas and its propaganda so forcibly and clearly before the public mind as Mr. Edward Bellamy's brilliant novel, "Looking Backward," published some thirty years ago. The task was arduous. Social and economic theory is heavy to the verge of being indigestible. There is no such thing as a gay book on political economy for reading in a hammock. Yet Mr.
To give myself a countenance, as well as to have all ready for the road when I should find occasion, I turned to quit scores with Bellamy's two postillions. They had not the least claim on me, but one of which they were quite ignorant that I was a fugitive. It is the worst feature of that false position that every gratuity becomes a case of conscience.
"This is Bellamy's 'Looking Backward' with a vengeance," cried one of the prospectors a sally that was heartily appreciated by the whole of the company, with the exception of myself. I began to think that if this was the reception civilisation had for me, it were better for me to have remained among my faithful savages.
Yet to Amaryllis it was perhaps the raffish green imitation-velours Homburg hat which did most to alter Dick Bellamy's aspect; so that she would wait for a glance of his eyes to assure herself that this was indeed her wonderful friend and champion, and no new man nor changed spirit. But Pépe, its one honest and unpretentious person, had made the whole trio bizarre and incredible.
"That's my brother's argument," said Randal, adding his word of comfort. There was a tap at the door, and a constable entered. "Sir Randal Bellamy's chauffeur, sir," he said to Finucane. "He has brought this letter. Says it's from Mr. Richard Bellamy." Randal glanced at the note and then read aloud: "Melchard's the man we want. Get his address. 'Phone cut outside. Wire me address P.D.Q."
It happened that that great man was gone to bed when the message arrived with this news; however it was carried up and Jonathan with an air of generosity bid the fellow return and inform his people that he would take Mr. Bellamy's word, and that he might meet him with safety the next morning at his levee.
I told her that, if Arthur is married, I would think of it." "Well, Angela, to be frank, I do not believe in Lady Bellamy's magic, and, if its practice brings people to what she is, I think it is best left alone; indeed, I expect that the whole thing is a delusion arising from her condition.
A seventeen-year-old boy from the country, making his first visit to the Woolworth building in New York, and riding in the subway when it is not too crowded, might be persuaded by an eloquent city relative that this is Bellamy's New Jerusalem. A soul with a greater insight is H.G. Wells. But he too, in spite of his humanitarian heart, has, in a great mass of his work, the laboratory imagination.
Waldershare was very kind to Endymion, and used to take him to the House of Commons on interesting evenings, and, if he succeeded in getting Endymion a place under the gallery, would come and talk to him in the course of the night, and sometimes introduce him to the mysteries of Bellamy's, where Endymion had the satisfaction of partaking of a steak in the presence of statesmen and senators.
Like Lysander, he loved plotting, yet neglected self-interest. There was not a man less open, or more honest. This character, so rare in all countries, is especially so in England. Your blunt squires, your politicians at Bellamy's, do not comprehend it. They saw in Vernon the arts which deceive enemies, and they dreaded lest, though his friends, they themselves should be deceived.
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