Westbury, A Nasty Odious Rotten-borough, A Really

The Very Hirelings Of The Press, Whose Trade It Is To Buoy Up The Spirits Of The People... Have Uttered Falsehoods So Long, They Have Played Off So Many Tricks, That Their Budget Seems, At Last, To Be Quite Empty.

When, From The Top Of Any High Hill, One Looks Round The Country, And Sees The Multitude Of Regularly Distributed Spires, One Not Only Ceases To Wonder That Order And Religion Are Maintained, But One Is Astonished That Any Such Thing As Disaffection Or Irreligion Should Prevail.

You May Twist The Word Freedom As Long As You Please, But At Last It Comes To Quiet Enjoyment Of Your Own Property, Or It Comes To Nothing. Why Do Men Want Any Of Those Things That Are Called Political Rights And Privileges? Why Do They, For Instance, Want To Vote At Elections For Members Of Parliament? Oh! Because They Shall Then Have An Influence Over The Conduct Of Those Members. And Of What Use Is That? Oh! Then They Will Prevent The Members From Doing Wrong.

Good Government Is Known From Bad Government By This Infallible Test: That Under The Former The Labouring People Are Well Fed And Well Clothed, And Under The Latter, They Are Badly Fed And Badly Clothed.

The Town Of Guildford, Which (taken With Its Environs) I, Who Have Seen So Many, Many Towns, Think The Prettiest, And, Taken All Together, The Most Agreeable And Most Happy-looking, That I Ever Saw In My Life.