"You mistake, Mr. Tyrrel; I am minding my own business. If I see you
fall into a pit, it is my business to draw you out and save your life.
If I see you pursuing a wrong mode of conduct, it is my business to set
you right and save your honour."

"Zounds, sir, do not think to put your conundrums upon me! Is not the
man my tenant? Is not my estate my own? What signifies calling it mine,
if I am not to have the direction of it? Sir, I pay for what I have: I
owe no man a penny; and I will not put my estate to nurse to you, nor
the best he that wears a head."

"It is very true," said Mr. Falkland, avoiding any direct notice of the
last words of Mr. Tyrrel, "that there is a distinction of ranks. I
believe that distinction is a good thing, and necessary to the peace of
mankind. But, however necessary it may be, we must acknowledge that it
puts some hardship upon the lower orders of society. It makes one's
heart ache to think, that one man is born to the inheritance of every
superfluity, while the whole share of another, without any demerit of
his, is drudgery and starving; and that all this is indispensable. We
that are rich, Mr. Tyrrel, must do every thing in our power to lighten
the yoke of these unfortunate people. We must not use the advantage that
accident has given us with an unmerciful hand. Poor wretches! they are
pressed almost beyond bearing as it is; and, if we unfeelingly give
another turn to the machine, they will be crushed into atoms."

This picture was not without its effect, even upon the obdurate mind of
Mr. Tyrrel.--"Well, sir, I am no tyrant. I know very well that tyranny
is a bad thing. But you do not infer from thence that these people are
to do as they please, and never meet with their deserts?"