Free Empire by Edward Cline Page A

gracious as to second my motion?”
    An inarticulate groan emanated from the burgess’s throat, sounding like a hiccup. Reece Vishonn merely blinked.
    Hugh chuckled. “Thank you, sir.” He reached down and took a last sip of his tea, then sat down again behind his desk. “But, fear not, sirs. You know that in both Parliament and our own House, no quorum-approved measure is ever countenanced by vote without it first being dissected by a committee. And when good, unprecedented ideas are referred to a committee, they either suffer death in it, or are subjected to the unguent of
moderation
. It is a matter of unimaginative men faced with the inconceivable, the unthinkable, the unthought-of. Committees, I am told, by their nature usually settle for the familiar. If they are assigned the unenviable task ofhow best to frame an unfamiliar measure — such as a formal protest against an action of the Board of Trade, or an Order in Council, or a Parliamentary law — a committee must answer the question of which style of protest would serve their purpose, yet not embolden the wolf lurking in the woods that border their pastured minds. There are only two styles open to them: the fire-ships of staunch outrage, or servile pleas for mercy and amity. Should they risk provoking an immediate attack by disputing the wolf’s appetite, power, and purpose, or meekly grant him humble license and leave to make unopposed forays to gnaw on our innards at his riskless leisure?”
    Hugh rose again to pace before his visitors, and spoke as though he were thinking out loud. “Of course, the issue I cite here is a moot one.
Colonial
representation in Parliament is an inadmissible incongruity, and will bedevil the man who attempts to champion it. The redundant, disabling term in it is
colonial
. I would not fault the first minister or secretary of state who expounded on the impracticality of the notion. Colonial representation is as much an oxymoron as a crutched horse. For, you see, the colony that secured representation in Parliament would cease being a colony, and instead be recognized as a county, or an extraordinary borough.” He sighed, and glanced at the worried expressions on his visitors’ faces, though he did note in them a dim comprehension of his point. “But what turmoil such a prospect would cause in men’s minds! Even the dullest members of that body would be tossed and buffeted by squalls of thought! Why, Parliament would be obliged to redefine itself, and in the course of that momentous task, be forced to contemplate the abandonment of certain ancient and burdensome aspects of its character…. ”
    Then he seemed to remember his visitors, and turned to them. “Well, sirs, I hope that my rehearsal has not frightened you. Am I still your preferred candidate?”
    Reece Vishonn, after a moment to recover from the onslaught of words, nodded. “You are, sir. Most certainly. While you offered a brace of novel ideas — some of which I have heard discussed before — you have proven yourself a model of realistic moderation.”
    Edgar Cullis cleared his throat. “I agree with Mr. Vishonn. You would make an excellent voice for moderation. You are able to convey the terrible aspects of an ogre — or a wolf, as you call it — yet still communicate, to those disturbed by it, what a fraudulent phantasm it is.”
    “A phantasm, Mr. Cullis?” replied Hugh. “Hardly that. Last week Ireceived letters from my father and some acquaintances about the passage of two new acts.”
    His visitors sat up in their chairs with new interest.
    Hugh said, “Obviously, news of their enactment has not yet arrived here. One act reduces the levy on sugar from six to three pence, but adds a number of items to the enumerated list — various spirits, cloths, and finished goods from regions not within the Crown’s realm. It also removes from colonial courts all jurisdiction over customs suits and places it under a vice-admiralty court in Halifax, and the new