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There is a Tory tradition in America that runs against the grain of establishment Liberalism, embracing home, hearth, community, family, church, nature, and the moral realities of everyday life, and opposed to individualism, unlimited free markets, libertarianism, secularism, and the rootless loneliness of global modernity. This tradition comes from within America, not without.

One day in the late nineteenth century, as the great English literary critic and professor George Saintsbury walked over an English bridge, two passersby looked at back him, one saying to the other, “There goes the biggest Tory in England.” Saintsbury, a proud and outspoken Tory, took it as flattery, even though his observers certainly did not intend it that way. Today, “Tory” has lost its specificity. “Tory” is now a byword most often synonymous with the British Conservative Party, covering all its factions. It lost much of its meaning in Canada decades ago, and in the United States it is used to label Loyalists hostile to the American Revolution. Yet today, the whole idea of western “Conservatism,” a movement built in the unique pressures of the Cold War, is metamorphosing into new forms. The Cold War is long over. New considerations based on new circumstances are emerging on the Right—in the United Kingdom, Canada, and the United States—that closely resemble those of Saintsbury’s Toryism, long overshadowed but now reemerging. Tory principles have a genealogy from which to draw. They emerged in Britain and were planted in the imperial lands of the British Empire over centuries, including Canada and America. There is a Tory Tradition in the Anglosphere, from which Liberalism’s critics can draw both insight and precedent.[1]

The term “Tory” began as a seventeenth-century pejorative appended to Stuart loyalists, that in the original Gaelic meant “Irish robbers.” As often happens, the derogatory name was adopted by its adherents, and “Tory” stuck, soon labeling one of two political parties (the other being “Whig”) in the United Kingdom. The historical inspiration for Toryism also dates from the 1600s, in their identification with Royalism and the cause of King Charles I in the English Civil War. “The traceable origin of Toryism is the doctrine of the Divine Right of Kings as heads of a National Church,” wrote Maurice Henry Woods, private secretary to the Tory press baron Lord Beaverbrook, in 1924. “From the blood shed at Whitehall on that cold wintry morning went up a thin vapor which spread like a miasma over the later period of the Commonwealth.” After 1688, this royalism morphed into a loose political party united around loyalty to the Crown (oftentimes as protection against the depredations of the aristocracy) and Church, and largely populated by rural landowners, citizenry of the smaller cities and towns, and the Anglican clergy. As Lord Birkenhead described it:

[W]hile it is not contended that Toryism can point to a logical and consistent past, it is none the less believed that in the majority of instances its actions may be obscurely traced to the sluggish operation of ground ideas. The first and most influential of these ideas was undoubtedly loyalty to the Crown; the second was devotion to the Church; the last, which was perhaps only a generalization from the two former, may be stated as an appreciation of the necessity of subordination, or, as a modern Radical might express it, of the doctrine of the parson and the squire.

These village fealties led Tories to look fondly upon the social coherence and political unity of medieval feudalism and the guild system, not in the sense of re-creation, but of inspiration and an “inheritance from the past.”[2]

Toryism, however, is not an ideology to be measured with exactitude. It also does not always rest comfortably with the label “conservative,” a “wishy-washy word,” Saintsbury grumbled. Instead, it has been described variously as “a way of life and not a doctrine,” “a mold of thought or a psychological matrix,” “a cluster of intuitions,” and “an instinctive attitude of mind rather than a formal creed.” The historian John W. Osborne once remarked that “Systems of thought are not highly regarded” by Tories, which meant the Tory sensibility emerged in a host of professions. “Into it may be poured the disturbing ardor of the philanthropist no less than the defensive apprehensions of the satisfied,” one biographer explained. This led Tories to look at politics as instrumental and secondary to the “social state.” “Politics is seldom seen by the Tory as an end in itself but rather as a means of preserving what he cherishes,” Osborne wrote. “Of course, Tory politicians work hard, but in general the Tory response to politics is casual, Trollopian. Like Fabians, Tories shape society by permeation, hoping that politicians will eventually respond.”[3]

Above all, the Tory is joyful with what life brings and mystified by the right angles and hard edges, “sullenness and solemnity,” of the ideologues on the Left and Right. Walter Bagehot, in his roasting of the Whig historian Thomas Babington Macaulay, declared:

The essence of Toryism is enjoyment. Talk of the ways of spreading a wholesome Conservatism throughout this country; give painful lectures, distribute weary tracts (and perhaps this as well—you may be able to give an argumentative answer to a few objections, you may diffuse a distinct notion of the dignified dullness of politics); but as far as communicating and establishing your creed are concerned—try a little pleasure. The way to keep up old customs is, to enjoy old customs; the way to be satisfied with the present state of things is, to enjoy that state of things. Over the ‘Cavalier’ mind this world passes with a thrill of delight; there is an exultation in a daily event, zest in the ‘regular thing,’ joy at an old feast.

Romanticism buffeted this joy, be it in the poetry of Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge, or the music of Edward Elgar, Tories all.[4]

None of this indicates Toryism represented a lack of ideas or principle—far from it. Flexibility, rather than ideological rigidity, meant that Tory instincts adapted to situations and provided solutions tailored to the moment. Toryism was at once “extraordinarily tenacious and amazingly flexible,” Woods wrote—“it will always be ready to turn old tools to new uses, to melt the sword into a ploughshare or beat the ploughshare back into a sword. For it knows that the metal is the same.” It combined the solidity of conviction with the prudence of application, a “moral imagination” of natural law and human creativity, to steal a phrase from the Tories’ favorite Whig, Edmund Burke. Liberalism, on the other hand, was unbending, its “fatal defect.” “The history and destiny of mankind decline to be ruled by a mental yard measure, however highly polished.” In this, Tories followed the lead of Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas, while Whigs and Liberals followed Plato. With inductive reasoning, a Tory “will always be testing his past facts, and, judging by proved experience alone, he will decline entirely to be guided by brilliant generalisations which may not pass the ultimate tests of observation.” For Whigs and Liberals, “Truth is reached by a purely deductive process of human reasoning which can be carried on in vacuo,” explained Woods. “Out of the throes of logic there will be born the shining goddesses of Abstract Truth, Abstract Beauty, Abstract Liberty, Abstract Man, figures unchangeable and unalterable.” Men and institutions were but clay molded into the shape of a priori theories, in ignorance or contempt of lived experience.[5]

A central part of Toryism was an abiding awareness of human imperfection and imperfectability. History demonstrated as much barbarity as hope, an oft-bloody record of human aspiration disconnected from moral restraint rooted in natural law or the humble awareness of human limitations. “People will always have the knack of doing the wrong thing,” Osborne quipped. “Tories are not afraid to talk openly of human nature, which they believe is complex and apt to be weak. It is constant and not relative. Thus laws that are based on an assumption of man’s flexible nature often produce contrary results. To the Tory, change must go with the grain of human nature and not cut across it. In this, habit and tradition are useful teachers.” Men do not create themselves or define their own existence. Reality exists and we can know it. The Canadian philosopher Ron Dart reminds that there “are ideals worth knowing and aspiring to; there is an order worth knowing and attuning oneself to, and a vision worth remembering and living.” But as weak, imperfect, and vulnerable, we depend upon the guiding hands of our collective past, the institutions that grow from our collective experience, and the moral law that experience reveals.[6]

Imperfection demands interdependence, and Tories expressed a “concern for the wholeness of society,” what John Ruskin called “an integrated Toryism.” In all corners of human life, reality must be seen and maintained in its wholeness, like a family. Classes stand together rather than hostile and opposed, each realizing and embracing its particular role in the organic whole. Lord Henry Cavendish Bentinck described a Tory commonwealth: “The Government we need is a Government which shall give expression to an idea, the Christian idea, that Society is a community, not a mere aggregation of individuals, not an arena where classes and interests struggle for domination, but an organism within which each man can play his part, and be enabled to render service to his fellows, and in return receive service from them.” Tories rejected all notions of class-consciousness, as it contradicted the foundations of an organic society.[7]

Class-consciousness—the materialist rejection of social organicism and the pitting of one class against another—eroded the social bonds of interdependence and affection, yet so did liberal individualism. Individuality and individualism were different from one another, mirroring a distinction made by James Fitzjames Stephen between originality and eccentricity in his Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. Originality worked within the inheritance given it, and through constructive creativity, built upon past achievements and developed new expressions of old truths. Eccentricity merely desired to be different for the sake of immature contradiction. T.S. Eliot, Irving Babbitt, and Barrett Wendell, Tories all, made similar distinctions in their works. Babbitt wrote of originality as “a hardy growth, and usually gains more than it loses by striking deep root into the literature of the past.” Likewise, individuality expressed itself within social institutions like family and community, emerging from them, amplifying their benefits, and demonstrating their strength and hold. “The individual truly becomes a person as they find their place in the whole,” Dr. Dart writes. “Thus, the Tory notion of our being connected with one another comes as a challenge and affront to the liberal notion of the primacy of the individual and their freedom to shape their future as they choose.” Individuality implies the healthy balance between self and society, person and community, the expression of “I” with the reality of “us.”[8]

Individualism, on the other hand, expressed itself at the expense of society. It put emphasis on getting and spending and self-expression at the cost of social feeling. It also prioritized social mobility as a means of expression, which “weakens the coherence of the group, thus sapping the psychological foundations of Tory power.” Much like eccentricity, it sought liberation from constraint. The historian Cecil Driver, writing of the Tory philanthropist and reformer Robert Oastler, described the constraints individualism sought to break:

[Toryism’s] source is to be found in the attitudes and sentiments of men living as parts of an established order: in an awareness, that is to say, of the organic nature of society begotten of the immemorial routines—plowing and sowing, hayzel and harvest—as well as in a feeling for the continuity of institutions maintained by the very loyalties they evoke. The whole emphasis of the Tory was upon the going concern as the legacy he had inherited from history. And this in turn involved a stress upon the concreteness of duties and obligations, which that inheritance implied. The Tory thus viewed the State as the ultimate totality of a myriad of social cells. But his immediate attention was focused upon the nearer communities of village, shire, and guild, wherein were developed those attitudes of acceptance that are the deposit of the years: a particular notion of neighborliness and a tacit assertion of the ‘proper’ gradation of men and classes.”

The Spanish Catholic political thinker Juan Donoso Cortes wrote of the family as a social institution: “Duration is here, as in many other things, the measure of perfection.” Liberal individualists saw home and community as the frequent obstacle of dreams. Like Donoso, Tories viewed it as the focal point of a meaningful life.[9]

Liberal individualism left people alone, lonely, and in grief, as the “you can do anything” aspirations preached to them were seldom realized. They most often ended in collective disappointment. As each individual pursued his own happiness, the Tory values of “independence, compassion, kindness, restraint, rationality, morality, and consideration for others” withered away. John Henry Cardinal Newman described the Tory attitude as “loyalty to persons,” and while Liberal politicians celebrated the growth of industrial England, Tories bemoaned the terrible fate of industrial workers. Benjamin Disraeli condemned factory owners who treated workers as “inanimate machines to be paid the lowest possible wages, to be used to the uttermost, to be cast off when used up, to live in a pigsty and die in the workhouse.” The new industrial society eschewed the traditional duty and responsibility to others. The Tory poet Robert Southey deeply lamented the growing poverty of industrial cities and the destruction of the British countryside: “Too long has that foul philosophy prevailed which considers men either as mere machines, or as mere animals, whose animal wants are all that are to be taken in to account of statistic economy.” Where Macaulay saw “progress” as the grand theme of British history and “viewed the future as some continually increasing cotton boom which would never stop,” Tories looked upon a fractured and uncaring society in the throes of a grasping individualism with no belief in human dignity.[10]

Integrated Toryism encompassed the environment, as well. Mining, timbering, rural mills, and the manipulation of waterways for power warped the human relationship with nature. This was not reverence and stewardship, but exploitation. The Tory conception of nature, much like its vision of social order, was “informed by a strong sense of responsibility in the management and distribution of scarce resources, to be attentive to its own ideas of social cohesion, and to assume continuing obligations to the past and the future,” historian Nigel Everett wrote. Many current-day “conservatives,” blinkered by the allure of perpetual economic development, harbor little enthusiasm for historic or environmental preservation. Burke wrote that for revolutionaries “at the end of every vista, you see nothing but the gallows”; for many “conservatives,” at the end of every vista, they see nothing but shopping plazas. They understand open spaces and historic sites for their economic value, not their central place in the “generational reciprocity” of caring for nature. There is no Toryism in a quantitative society that substitutes quick riches for reverence and leaves “little room for subtle notions of responsibility, continuity, and balance” in the treatment of nature.[11]

Tory environmentalism and dislike of industrial society led to a thoroughgoing anti-materialism. Property rights, while a historically based traditional English right (rather than an airy philosophical “natural right” touted by Whiggery and Liberalism), were never absolute and always subject to concerns for the common good. Property should never be an end in itself, but subject to the restraints of just proportion and the balance of concomitant moral duties as delineated in natural law. “Tories recognize that a minimum of tangible goods is essential,” Osborne wrote, “yet they sympathize with Saint Paul’s assertion that things seen are transient but things unseen are permanent.” The main driver for rapid profit and property accumulation in the time of Ruskin, Southey, and Disraeli was the rising British middle class. This new class drove for greater political power to protect what it acquired and to shape laws allowing future acquisition. The Tory barrister Robert M. Heron warned in 1862 that the British middle class focused too intensely on making the “trading principle” the calculus of all decision-making. “Society is taught to view material pleasures as the pearl of all price, enjoyment has its spring in selfishness rather than in sympathy, and every year the national policy grows more narrow and individual in its conception by the public men who profess to be the leaders and apostles of our time.” Middle-class commercial absolutism replaced divine right absolutism. For the Tory, at least the latter had the onus of social duty and moral responsibility upon it; the former pursued a duty only to itself.[12]

Tories believed liberal individualism evinced a lack of religious perception, and they promoted the unifying role of religion and the advisability of an established church as an antidote. They rallied to the cause of Anglicanism and fiercely denounced any attempts at disestablishing the church. The arch-Tory Lord Eldon declared, “I shall ever assert that an established religion is a great benefit to a people—that the object of such an establishment is not to make the Church political, but to make the State religious.” Southey concurred that “nothing but religion can preserve our social system from putrescence and dissolution.” Tory criticism of Roman Catholicism (both Eldon and Southey were outspoken anti-Catholics) was self-defeating, however, as English nationalism bested their moral sense. Catholic principles corresponded with Toryism, and Rome consistently opposed the individualistic liberal modernity Tories hated. “The Roman Catholic theory tends to compactness and order in the nation,” John M. Kennedy explained in his 1911 Tory Democracy. “The Protestant theory tends to unrestrained individualism.” At the heart of the Tory idea was “the hierarchical and anti-individualistic spirit which one is usually safe in associating with the spirit formed and developed by the Church of Rome.” The feudal inspiration that lay behind Tory ideas of organic “wholeness” found no better defender than Catholic Church. Catholics make great Tories.[13]

Finally, Tories recoiled from the revolutionary idols of liberty, equality, fraternity, and democracy. Circumstances conditioned liberty, and by doing so, kept it from becoming a “doing as one likes” license. Liberty was like fire, wonderful when keeping one warm on a cold winter’s night, but less so when burning one’s house down. As the Canadian Tory philosopher George Grant noted, modern understandings of liberty denied the existence of common good:

It is the very signature of modern man to deny reality to any conception of good that imposes limits on human freedom. To modern political theory, man’s essence is his freedom. Nothing must stand in the way of our absolute freedom to create the world as we want it. There must be no conceptions of good that put limitations on human action. This definition of man as freedom constitutes the heart of the age of progress.

Necessarily limited by duty and the responsibility to pursue moral truth, liberty was not a universal good. “[Toryism] is the claim of duty, the recognition that even liberty is not an abstract and unconditional right,” Woods counseled, “but something only to be gained and retained at the cost of self-sacrifice and at the price of service, a gift exercised under a rigid and continuous self-control.” For example, Tories believed liberty of the press, far from being a universal good, should be seen in the light of circumstances. William Wordsworth, decidedly Tory later in life, defended a free press as “the only safeguard of liberty… But the press, so potent for good, is scarcely less so for evil.” Liberty in anything extends only so far as the virtues of the people. Seeing a lack thereof in England, he declared, “I am therefore for vigorous restrictions.” Liberty’s efficacy was measured by its tendency toward the good and true.[14]

The experience of reality did not reveal equality, but a substantial inequality. Once past equality of souls in God’s eyes, the world splintered into a constellation of differences. Saintsbury wrote in his first Scrap Book that Toryism was “a political creed which can stand the tests of rational examination of the physical and historical facts of life. It rests, in the first place, on the recognition of the facts that all men and women are born unequal; that no men and women are born free.” Hierarchy of ability and responsibility was healthy. The good society allowed for the identification and promotion of excellence to the benefit of all. Burke warned that attempts to level “never equalize”—hierarchy will always exist. “‘Why should there be kings?’ Because there are always kings,” Saintsbury declared, “whether by Divine Right, as in some cases, or by Diabolic Selection, as in others.” Fraternity too ran counter to social reality, in its attempts to force the creation of “universal humanity” and global citizenship, the latter a contradiction in terms as citizenship implies particularity. To the call “Think global, act local,” the Tory replies, “think local, act local,” and fulfill your moral duties to community, friends, and family.[15]

Tories did not believe democracy was everywhere and always bad in all its manifestations, only that pure democracy unleavened by the balance of aristocracy and monarchy led to tyranny. Public opinion and mere majority consent governed policy, “as the weather-cock is by the wind,” Southey complained. Middle-class public opinion, untutored in history and driven by the pursuit of propertied happiness, never kept the common good its goal, only the good of their class. The witty Jacobite Tory R. Duncombe Jewell looked at Victorian-era politics and observed a dominant middle class who “apparently believe[s] that the Archangels are elected by universal suffrage, that Heaven itself is periodically devastated by a general election, and that entrance thereto will be regulated by competitive examination.” Integrated Toryism looked upon democratic public opinion as an erupting volcano crying for immediate attention. Prudent decision-making came only after the eruption stopped, but pure democracy tolerated no delays.[16]

In sum, Toryism defended an organic and unified nation, a type of Disraelian “one nation” conservatism. Maurice Woods remarked that Disraeli’s central focus “might be summed up as unity in loyalty—all classes working with each other under the Crown and endeavouring to carry out the duties which Providence had placed upon them.” This concentration on unity partially motivated Tory opposition to Irish and American independence, although many Tories looked at the American Revolution as a Whig war. Americans did not hold grievances against King George III until late in the colonial crisis, aiming the bulk of their complaints at Parliament. In fact, the colonists claimed they were under Crown authority and pleaded with the King for aid. Woods notes,

It was certainly a view to which no sound Tory of any period could object, for it places the Crown in that central position in the constitution of kingdom or Empire which underlies all Tory beliefs through the centuries, and justifies itself by its works more completely year by year in the evolution and devolution of Imperial authority.

Harvard scholar Eric Nelson recently noted this American colonial tendency toward Tory royalism in his book Royalist Revolution.[17]

Toryism grew fruitful in the United Kingdom and made home in Canada. But finding Toryism in the United States poses challenges, despite colonial royalist flirtations. Toryism does not emerge from the fresh and new, but from the old and tried, and although colonial habits of mind existed before, through, and after independence, the break of revolution inhibited its development. Osborne lamented that without “wholesome permanent institutions to respect, people are apt to become impatient and deracinated. The rawness and violence that have marked the American experience are products of a society that lacks sufficient healthy roots.” Whiffs of Toryism can be found in the anti-revolutionary writings of John Adams and Alexander Hamilton, and the High Federalism of Fisher Ames and Jonathan Jackson, but they remained sporadic and immature. It took until the 1830s and the revulsion against Andrew Jackson’s democratic populism for a more coherent Tory argument, latent in the American experience, to emerge and critique the antebellum republic. Among others, the pantheon of American Toryism includes the New England statesmen Daniel Webster, Rufus Choate, and Robert Winthrop, the architect Ralph Adams Cram, and writers like Richard Henry Dana, Sr., Sara Josepha Hale, James Russell Lowell, Edith Wharton, Henry Adams, Agnes Repplier, and Joseph Crosby Lincoln. Essays on the Toryism of these men and women will appear in upcoming essays at The Imaginative Conservative.[18]

The aim of showing the American face of Toryism is simple. The old Louis Hartz argument, that America is a fundamentally liberal nation, has reemerged in different garb. In the 1950s, Hartz painted a monochromatic liberal nation to lament the failure of European-style socialism in the United States. Current criticisms of American liberalism, its claims of procedural neutrality versus the Trojan horse reality of its substantive hostility to natural law—criticisms the author finds compelling—have led some post-liberal critics to despair that America is beyond redemption. They mourn the lack of moral substance or consensus in that same monochromatic American liberal ethos. One is reminded of John Buchan’s novel Mountain Meadow, in which an American character complains:

Our old American society is really in dissolution. All of us have got to find a new way of life. You’re lucky in England, for you’ve been at the job for a long time, and you make your revolutions so slowly and so quietly that you don’t notice them—or anybody else… We’re a great people, but we’re only by fits and starts a nation. You’re fortunate in your British Empire. You may have too few folk, and these few scattered over big spaces, but they’re all organically connected, like the separate apples on a tree. Our huge population is more like a collection of pebbles in a box. It’s only the containing walls of the box that keep them together.

There is a Tory tradition in America that runs against the grain of establishment Liberalism, embracing home, hearth, community, family, church, nature, and the moral realities of everyday life, opposed to individualism, unlimited free markets, libertarianism, secularism, and the rootless loneliness of global modernity. This tradition comes from within America, not without. It did not envision or celebrate the nation as pebbles in a box, but something more organic and unified. It was patriotic and loved the home it defended. It attacked the foundations of liberal individualism and pointed to their disastrous consequences as a detour and betrayal. As the post-liberal critique continues to develop, a patriotic appeal to the American Tory tradition is necessary to strengthen their enterprise.[18]

This essay first appeared here in July 2020.

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[1] Russell Kirk. The Conservative Mind (Washington, DC, 2001) 414; Russell Kirk. The Roots of American Order (Washington, DC, 1991) 294-295.

[2] Maurice Henry Woods. A History of the Tory Party in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (London, 1924) 2, 24; Frederick E. Smith (Lord Birkenhead). Toryism (New York, 1903) iii; Wilkinson. Tory Democracy (New York, 1925) 13.

[3] George Saintsbury. Earl of Derby (London, 1906) 15; John Osborne, “Toryism,” Modern Age (Fall 1984) 331-332, 336; Richard Oastler. Tory Radical: The Life of Richard Oastler (London, 1946) 32; Woods, History, 364.

[4] Osborne, “Toryism,” 332; Walter Bagehot, “Thomas Babington Macaulay” in Works of Walter Bagehot, Vol. I (Hartford, CT, 1889) 70.

[5] Woods, History, 355-357, 362-364.

[6] Osborne, “Toryism,” 332-333; Ron Dart. The North American High Tory Tradition (New York, 2016) xxviii.

[7] John Osborne, “Ruskin’s Unto This Last (1862): A Reconsideration,” Modern Age (Winter 1992) 159; Henry Cavendish Bentinck. Tory Democracy (London, 1918) 5.

[8] James Fitzjames Stephen. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity (Cambridge, 1967) 83-84; Irving Babbitt. Literature and the American College (Washington, DC, 1986) 194; Dart, High Tory Tradition, xxv.

[9] Driver, Tory Radical, 31; Juan Donoso Cortes. Essays on Catholicism, Liberalism, and Socialism (Dublin, 1879) 34.

[10] Osborne, “Toryism,” 333; John Henry Newman. Dr. John Henry Newman’s Reply to Mr. Gladstone’s Pamphlet (Toronto, 1875) 48; Woods, History, 362, 417-419; R. W. Harris. Romanticism and the Social Order, 1780-1830 (London, 1969) 266-270.

[11] Nigel Everett. The Tory View of Landscape (London, 1994) 211; Edmund Burke, Reflection on the Revolution in France (Indianapolis, 1987) 68.

[12] Osborne, “Toryism,” 331; Robert M. Heron. Active Conservatism (London, 1862) 8.

[13] Smith, Toryism, 124; Harris, Romanticism, 277-278; J. M. Kennedy, Tory Democracy (London, 1911) 24, 27.

[14] George Grant. Lament for a Nation: The Defeat of Canadian Nationalism (Montreal, 2007) 55; Woods, History, 449; Harris, Romanticism, 203.

[15] George Saintsbury. A Scrap Book (London, 1922) 45-46.

[16] Harris, Romanticism, 277; R. Duncombe Jewell, “The True Jacobitism: A Survival,” Albemarle Review (July 1892) 32.

[17] Woods, History, 252, 417-419; Eric Nelson. The Royalist Revolution: Monarchy and the American Revolution (Cambridge, MA, 2014).

[18] Osborne, “Toryism,” 337.

[19] John Buchan. Mountain Meadow (New York, 1941) 43.

The featured image is a detail from The Copley Family (1776/1777) by John Singleton Copley (1738–1815), who is depicted in the portrait with his wife, children, and father-in-law, Richard Clarke, one of the Tory merchants whose investments had been dumped overboard at the Boston Tea Party. It is in the public domain and appears here, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

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