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diff --git a/11874-h/11874-h.htm b/11874-h/11874-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..349e7df --- /dev/null +++ b/11874-h/11874-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11947 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hodge and His Masters, by Richard Jefferies</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {background:#ffffff; + color:black; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + font-size:14pt; + margin-top:100; + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align:justify} + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size:9pt;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11874 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Hodge and His Masters, by Richard Jefferies</h1> +</pre> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size="5" noshade> +<br> +<br> +<center> +<h2>HODGE AND HIS MASTERS</h2> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>RICHARD JEFFERIES</h2> +<h4>AUTHOR OF<br> +'THE GAMEKEEPER AT HOME' 'WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY' 'THE +AMATEUR POACHER' 'ROUND ABOUT A GREAT ESTATE' ETC.</h4> +</center> +<br> +<hr> +<h3>PREFACE</h3> +The papers of which this volume is composed originally appeared in +the <i>Standard</i>, and are now republished by permission of the +Editor. +<p>In manners, mode of thought, and way of life, there is perhaps +no class of the community less uniform than the agricultural. The +diversities are so great as to amount to contradictions. +Individuality of character is most marked, and, varying an old saw, +it might be said, so many farmers so many minds.</p> +<p>Next to the tenants the landowners have felt the depression, to +such a degree, in fact, that they should perhaps take the first +place, having no one to allow them in turn a 20 per cent, reduction +of their liabilities. It must be remembered that the landowner will +not receive the fruits of returning prosperity when it comes for +some time after they have reached the farmer. Two good seasons will +be needed before the landowner begins to recoup.</p> +<p>Country towns are now so closely connected with agriculture that +a description of the one would be incomplete without some mention +of the other. The aggregate capital employed by the business men of +these small towns must amount to an immense sum, and the +depreciation of their investments is of more than local +concern.</p> +<p>Although the labourer at the present moment is a little in the +background, and has the best of the bargain, since wages have not +much fallen, if at all; yet he will doubtless come to the front +again. For as agriculture revives, and the sun shines, the +organisations by which he is represented will naturally display +fresh vigour.</p> +<p>But the rapid progress of education in the villages and outlying +districts is the element which is most worthy of thoughtful +consideration. On the one hand, it may perhaps cause a powerful +demand for corresponding privileges; and on the other, counteract +the tendency to unreasonable expectations. In any case, it is a +fact that cannot be ignored. Meantime, all I claim for the +following sketches is that they are written in a fair and impartial +spirit.</p> +<p>RICHARD JEFFERIES.</p> +<hr> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +CHAPTER +<p> +I. <a href="#chap1">THE FARMERS' PARLIAMENT</a><br> +II. <a href="#chap2">LEAVING HIS FARM</a><br> +III. <a href="#chap3">A MAN OF PROGRESS</a><br> +IV. <a href="#chap4">GOING DOWNHILL</a><br> +V. <a href="#chap5">THE BORROWER AND THE GAMBLER</a><br> +VI. <a href="#chap6">AN AGRICULTURAL GENIUS—OLD STYLE</a><br> +VII. <a href="#chap7">THE GIG AND THE FOUR-IN-HAND. A BICYCLE +FARMER</a><br> +VIII. <a href="#chap8">HAYMAKING. 'THE JUKE'S COUNTRY'</a><br> +IX. <a href="#chap9">THE FINE LADY FARMER. COUNTRY GIRLS</a><br> +X. <a href="#chap10">MADEMOISELLE, THE GOVERNESS</a><br> +XI. <a href="#chap11">FLEECEBOROUGH. A 'DESPOT'</a><br> +XII. <a href="#chap12">THE SQUIRE'S 'ROUND ROBIN'</a><br> +XIII. <a href="#chap13">AN AMBITIOUS SQUIRE</a><br> +XIV. <a href="#chap14">THE PARSON'S WIFE</a><br> +XV. <a href="#chap15">A MODERN COUNTRY CURATE</a><br> +XVI.<a href="#chap16">THE SOLICITOR</a><br> +XVII. <a href="#chap17">'COUNTY COURT DAY'</a><br> +XVIII.<a href="#chap18">THE BANK. THE OLD NEWSPAPER</a><br> +XIX. <a href="#chap19">THE VILLAGE FACTORY. VILLAGE VISITORS. +WILLOW-WORK</a><br> +XX. <a href="#chap20">HODGE'S FIELDS</a><br> +XXI. <a href="#chap21">A WINTER'S MORNING</a><br> +XXII. <a href="#chap22">THE LABOURER'S CHILDREN, COTTAGE GIRLS</a><br> +XXIII. <a href="#chap23">THE LOW 'PUBLIC' IDLERS</a><br> +XXIV. <a href="#chap24">THE COTTAGE CHARTER, FOUR-ACRE FARMERS</a><br> +XXV. <a href="#chap25">LANDLORDS' DIFFICULTIES, THE LABOURER AS A +POWER. MODERN CLERGY</a><br> +XXVI. <a href="#chap26">A WHEAT COUNTRY</a><br> +XXVII. <a href="#chap27">GRASS COUNTRIES</a><br> +XXVIII. <a href="#chap28">HODGE'S LAST MASTERS, CONCLUSION</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br></p> +<h2>HODGE AND HIS MASTERS</h2> +<br> +<h3><a name="chap1" id="chap1">CHAPTER I</a></h3> +<h3>THE FARMERS' PARLIAMENT</h3> +The doorway of the Jason Inn at Woolbury had nothing particular to +distinguish it from the other doorways of the same extremely narrow +street. There was no porch, nor could there possibly be one, for an +ordinary porch would reach half across the roadway. There were no +steps to go up, there was no entrance hall, no space specially +provided for crowds of visitors; simply nothing but an ordinary +street-door opening directly on the street, and very little, if +any, broader or higher than those of the private houses adjacent. +There was not even the usual covered way or archway leading into +the courtyard behind, so often found at old country inns; the +approach to the stables and coach-houses was through a separate and +even more narrow and winding street, necessitating a detour of some +quarter of a mile. The dead, dull wall was worn smooth in places by +the involuntary rubbings it had received from the shoulders of +foot-passengers thrust rudely against it as the market-people came +pouring in or out, or both together. +<p>Had the spot been in the most crowded district of the busiest +part of the metropolis, where every inch of ground is worth an +enormous sum, the buildings could not have been more jammed +together, nor the inconvenience greater. Yet the little town was in +the very midst of one of the most purely agricultural counties, +where land, to all appearance, was plentiful, and where there was +ample room and 'verge enough' to build fifty such places. The +pavement in front of the inn was barely eighteen inches wide; two +persons could not pass each other on it, nor walk abreast. If a +cart came along the roadway, and a trap had to go by it, the +foot-passengers had to squeeze up against the wall, lest the box of +the wheel projecting over the kerb should push them down. If a +great waggon came loaded with wool, the chances were whether a +carriage could pass it or not; as for a waggon-load of straw that +projected from the sides, nothing could get by, but all must +wait—coroneted panel or plain four-wheel—till the huge +mass had rumbled and jolted into the more open market-place.</p> +<p>But hard, indeed, must have been the flag-stones to withstand +the wear and tear of the endless iron-shod shoes that tramped to +and fro these mere ribbons of pavements. For, besides the through +traffic out from the market-place to the broad macadamised road +that had taken the place and the route of an ancient Roman road, +there were the customers to the shops that lined each side of the +street. Into some of these you stepped from the pavement down, as +it were, into a cave, the level of the shop being eight or ten +inches below the street, while the first floor projected over the +pavement quite to the edge of the kerb. To enter these shops it was +necessary to stoop, and when you were inside there was barely room +to turn round. Other shops were, indeed, level with the street; but +you had to be careful, because the threshold was not flush with the +pavement, but rose a couple of inches and then fell again, a very +trap to the toe of the unwary. Many had no glass at all, but were +open, like a butcher's or fishmonger's. Those that had glass were +so restricted for space that, rich as they might be within in the +good things of the earth, they could make no 'display.' All the +genius of a West-end shopman could not have made an artistic +arrangement in that narrow space and in that bad light; for, though +so small below, the houses rose high, and the street being so +narrow the sunshine rarely penetrated into it.</p> +<p>But mean as a metropolitan shopman might have thought the spot, +the business done there was large, and, more than that, it was +genuine. The trade of a country market-town, especially when that +market-town, like Woolbury, dates from the earliest days of English +history, is hereditary. It flows to the same store and to the same +shop year after year, generation after generation, century after +century. The farmer who walks into the saddler's here goes in +because his father went there before him. His father went in +because his father dealt there, and so on farther back than memory +can trace. It might almost be said that whole villages go to +particular shops. You may see the agricultural labourers' wives, +for instance, on a Saturday leave the village in a bevy of ten or a +dozen, and all march in to the same tradesman. Of course in these +latter days speculative men and 'co-operative' prices, +industriously placarded, have sapped and undermined this +old-fashioned system. Yet even now it retains sufficient hold to be +a marked feature of country life. To the through traffic, +therefore, had to be added the steady flow of customers to the +shops.</p> +<p>On a market-day like this there is, of course, the incessant +entry and exit of carts, waggons, traps, gigs, four-wheels, and a +large number of private carriages. The number of private carriages +is, indeed, very remarkable, as also the succession of gentlemen on +thoroughbred horses—a proof of the number of resident gentry +in the neighbourhood, and of its general prosperity. Cart-horses +furbished up for sale, with straw-bound tails and glistening skins; +'baaing' flocks of sheep; squeaking pigs; bullocks with their heads +held ominously low, some going, some returning, from the auction +yard; shouting drovers; lads rushing hither and thither; dogs +barking; everything and everybody crushing, jostling, pushing +through the narrow street. An old shepherd, who has done his +master's business, comes along the pavement, trudging thoughtful +and slow, with ashen staff. One hand is in his pocket, the elbow of +the arm projecting; he is feeling a fourpenny-piece, and +deliberating at which 'tap' he shall spend it. He fills up the +entire pavement, and stolidly plods on, turning ladies and all into +the roadway; not from intentional rudeness, but from sheer +inability to perceive that he is causing inconvenience.</p> +<p>Unless you know the exact spot it is difficult in all this crowd +and pushing, with a nervous dread of being gored from behind by a +bull, or thrown off your feet by a sudden charge of sheep, to +discover the door of the Jason Inn. That door has been open every +legitimate and lawful hour this hundred years; but you will very +likely be carried past it and have to struggle back. Then it is not +easy to enter, for half a dozen stalwart farmers and farmers' sons +are coming out; while two young fellows stand just inside, close to +the sliding bar-window, blocking up the passage, to exchange +occasional nods and smiles with the barmaid.</p> +<p>However, by degrees you shuffle along the sanded passage, and +past the door of the bar, which is full of farmers as thick as they +can stand, or sit. The rattle of glasses, the chink of spoons, the +hum of voices, the stamping of feet, the calls and orders, and +sounds of laughter, mingle in confusion. Cigar-smoke and the steam +from the glasses fill the room—all too small—with a +thick white mist, through which rubicund faces dimly shine like the +red sun through a fog.</p> +<p>Some at the tables are struggling to write cheques, with +continual jogs at the elbow, with ink that will not flow, pens that +scratch and splutter, blotting-paper that smudges and blots. Some +are examining cards of an auction, and discussing the prices which +they have marked in the margin in pencil. The good-humoured uproar +is beyond description, and is increased by more farmers forcing +their way in from the rear, where are their horses or +traps—by farmers eagerly inquiring for dealers or friends, +and by messengers from the shops loaded with parcels to place in +the customer's vehicle.</p> +<p>At last you get beyond the bar-room door and reach the end of +the passage, where is a wide staircase, and at the foot a tall +eight-day clock. A maid-servant comes tripping down, and in answer +to inquiry replies that that is the way up, and the room is ready, +but she adds with a smile that there is no one there yet. It is +three-quarters of an hour after the time fixed for the reading of a +most important paper before a meeting specially convened, before +the assembled Parliament of Hodge's masters, and you thought you +would be too late. A glance at the staircase proves the truth of +the maid's story. It has no carpet, but it is white as +well-scrubbed wood could well be. There is no stain, no dust, no +foot-mark on it; no heavy shoe that has been tramping about in the +mud has been up there. But it is necessary to go on or go back, and +of the two the first is the lesser evil.</p> +<p>The staircase is guarded by carved banisters, and after going up +two flights you enter a large and vacant apartment prepared for the +meeting of the farmers' club. At the farther end is a small +mahogany table, with an armchair for the president, paper, pens, +ink, blotting-paper, and a wax candle and matches, in case he +should want a light. Two less dignified chairs are for the +secretary (whose box, containing the club records, books of +reference, &c., is on the table), and for the secretary's +clerk. Rows of plain chairs stretch across the room, rank after +rank; these are for the audience. And last of all are two long +forms, as if for Hodge, if Hodge chooses to come.</p> +<p>A gleam of the afternoon sun—as the clouds part +awhile—attracts one naturally to the window. The thickness of +the wall in which it is placed must be some two or three feet, so +that there is a recess on which to put your arms, if you do not +mind the dust, and look out. The window is half open, and the +sounds of the street come up, 'baaing' and bellowing and squeaking, +the roll of wheels, the tramp of feet, and, more distant, the +shouting of an auctioneer in the market-place, whose stentorian +tones come round the corner as he puts up rickcloths for sale. +Noise of man and animal below; above, here in the chamber of +science, vacancy and silence. Looking upwards, a narrow streak of +blue sky can be seen above the ancient house across the way.</p> +<p>After awhile there comes the mellow sound of bells from the +church which is near by, though out of sight; bells with a soft, +old-world tone; bells that chime slowly and succeed each other +without haste, ringing forth a holy melody composed centuries ago. +It is as well to pause a minute and listen to their voice, even in +this railroad age of hurry. Over the busy market-place the notes go +forth, and presently the hum comes back and dwells in the recess of +the window. It is a full hour after the time fixed, and now at +last, as the carillon finishes, there are sounds of heavy boots +upon the staircase. Three or four farmers gather on the landing; +they converse together just outside. The secretary's clerk comes, +and walks to the table; more farmers, who, now they have company, +boldly enter and take seats; still more farmers; the secretary +arrives; finally the president appears, and with him the lecturer. +There is a hum of greeting; the minutes are read; the president +introduces the professor, and the latter stands forth to read his +paper—'Science, the Remedy for Agricultural Depression.'</p> +<p>Farmers, he pointed out, had themselves only to blame for the +present period of distress. For many years past science had been +like the voice crying in the wilderness, and few, a very few only, +had listened. Men had, indeed, come to the clubs; but they had gone +away home again, and, as the swine of the proverb, returned to +their wallowing in the mire. One blade of grass still grew where +two or even three might be grown; he questioned whether farmers had +any real desire to grow the extra blades. If they did, they had +merely to employ the means provided for them. Everything had been +literally put into their hands; but what was the result? Why, +nothing—in point of fact, nothing. The country at large was +still undrained. The very A B C of progress had been neglected. He +should be afraid to say what proportion of the land was yet +undrained, for he should be contradicted, called ill names, and +cried down. But if they would look around them they could see for +themselves. They would see meadows full of rank, coarse grass in +the furrows, which neither horse nor cattle would touch. They would +see in the wheat-fields patches of the crop sickly, weak, feeble, +and altogether poor; that was where the water had stood and +destroyed the natural power of the seed. The same cause gave origin +to that mass of weeds which was the standing disgrace of arable +districts.</p> +<p>But men shut their eyes wilfully to these plain facts, and cried +out that the rain had ruined them. It was not the rain—it was +their own intense dislike of making any improvement. The <i>vis +inertiæ</i> of the agricultural class was beyond the limit of +language to describe. Why, if the land had been drained the rain +would have done comparatively little damage, and thus they would +have been independent of the seasons. Look, again, at the hay crop; +how many thousand tons of hay had been wasted because men would not +believe that anything would answer which had not been done by their +forefathers! The hay might have been saved by three distinct +methods. The grass might have been piled against hurdles or light +frame-work and so dried by the wind; it might have been pitted in +the earth and preserved still green; or it might have been dried by +machinery and the hot blast. A gentleman had invented a machine, +the utility of which had been demonstrated beyond all doubt. But +no; farmers folded their hands and watched their hay rotting.</p> +<p>As for the wheat crop, how could they expect a wheat crop? They +had not cleaned the soil—there were horse-hoes, and every +species of contrivances for the purpose; but they would not use +them. They had not ploughed deeply: they had merely scratched the +surface as if with a pin. How could the thin upper crust of the +earth—the mere rind three inches thick—be expected to +yield crop after crop for a hundred years? Deep ploughing could +only be done by steam: now how many farmers possessed or used +steam-ploughs? Why, there were whole districts where such a thing +was unknown. They had neglected to manure the soil; to restore to +it the chemical constituents of the crops. But to speak upon +artificial manure was enough to drive any man who had the power of +thought into temporary insanity. It was so utterly dispiriting to +see men positively turning away from the means of obtaining good +crops, and then crying out that they were ruined. With drains, +steam-ploughs, and artificial manure, a farmer might defy the +weather.</p> +<p>Of course, continued the professor, it was assumed that the +farmer had good substantial buildings and sufficient capital. The +first he could get if he chose; and without the second, without +capital, he had no business to be farming at all. He was simply +stopping the road of a better man, and the sooner he was driven out +of the way the better. The neglect of machinery was most +disheartening. A farmer bought one machine, perhaps a +reaping-machine, and then because that solitary article did not +immediately make his fortune he declared that machinery was +useless. Could the force of folly farther go? With machinery they +could do just as they liked. They could compel the earth to yield, +and smile at the most tropical rain, or the most continuous +drought. If only the voice of science had been listened to, there +would have been no depression at all. Even now it was not too +late.</p> +<p>Those who were wise would at once set to work to drain, to +purchase artificial manure, and set up steam power, and thereby to +provide themselves with the means of stemming the tide of +depression. By these means they could maintain a head of stock that +would be more than double what was now kept upon equal acreage. He +knew full well one of the objections that would be made against +these statements. It would be said that certain individuals had +done all this, had deep ploughed, had manured, had kept a great +head of valuable stock, had used every resource, and yet had +suffered. This was true. He deeply regretted to say it was +true.</p> +<p>But why had they suffered? Not because of the steam, the +machinery, the artificial manure, the improvements they had set on +foot; but because of the folly of their neighbours, of the +agricultural class generally. The great mass of farmers had made no +improvements; and, when the time of distress came, they were beaten +down at every point. It was through these men and their failures +that the price of stock and of produce fell, and that so much +stress was put upon the said individuals through no fault of their +own. He would go further, and he would say that had it not been for +the noble efforts of such individuals—the pioneers of +agriculture and its main props and stays—the condition of +farming would have been simply fifty times worse than it was. They, +and they alone, had enabled it to bear up so long against calamity. +They had resources; the agricultural class, as a rule, had none. +Those resources were the manure they had put into the soil, the +deep ploughing they had accomplished, the great head of stock they +had got together, and so on. These enabled them to weather the +storm.</p> +<p>The cry for a reduction of rent was an irresistible proof of +what he had put forth—that it was the farmers themselves who +were to blame. This cry was a confession of their own incompetency. +If you analysed it—if you traced the general cry home to +particular people—you always found that those people were +incapables. The fact was, farming, as a rule, was conducted on the +hand-to-mouth principle, and the least stress or strain caused an +outcry. He must be forgiven if he seemed to speak with unusual +acerbity. He intended no offence. But it was his duty. In such a +condition of things it would be folly to mince matters, to speak +softly while everything was going to pieces. He repeated, once for +all, it was their own fault. Science could supply the remedy, and +science alone; if they would not call in the aid of science they +must suffer, and their privations must be upon their own heads. +Science said, Drain, use artificial manure, plough deeply, keep the +best breed of stock, put capital into the soil. Call science to +their aid, and they might defy the seasons.</p> +<p>The professor sat down and thrust his hand through his hair. The +president invited discussion. For some few minutes no one rose; +presently, after a whispered conversation with his friend, an +elderly farmer stood up from the forms at the very back of the +room. He made no pretence to rounded periods, but spoke much better +than might have been expected; he had a small piece of paper in his +hand, on which he had made notes as the lecture proceeded.</p> +<p>He said that the lecturer had made out a very good case. He had +proved to demonstration, in the most logical manner, that farmers +were fools. Well, no doubt, all the world agreed with him, for +everybody thought he could teach the farmer. The chemist, the +grocer, the baker, the banker, the wine merchant, the lawyer, the +doctor, the clerk, the mechanic, the merchant, the editor, the +printer, the stockbroker, the colliery owner, the ironmaster, the +clergyman, and the Methodist preacher, the very cabmen and railway +porters, policemen, and no doubt the crossing-sweepers—to use +an expressive Americanism, all the whole "jing-bang"—could +teach the ignorant jackass of a farmer.</p> +<p>Some few years ago he went into a draper's shop to bring home a +parcel for his wife, and happened to enter into conversation with +the draper himself. The draper said he was just going to sell off +the business and go into dairy farming, which was the most paying +thing out. That was just when there came over from America a patent +machine for milking cows. The draper's idea was to milk all his +cows by one of these articles, and so dispense with labour. He saw +no more of him for a long time, but had heard that morning that he +went into a dairy farm, got rid of all his money, and was now +tramping the country as a pedlar with a pack at his back. Everybody +thought he could teach the farmer till he tried farming himself, +and then he found his mistake.</p> +<p>One remark of the lecturer, if he might venture to say so, +seemed to him, a poor ignorant farmer of sixty years' standing, not +only uncalled-for and priggish, but downright brutal. It was that +the man with little capital ought to be driven out of farming, and +the sooner he went to the wall the better. Now, how would all the +grocers and other tradesmen whom he had just enumerated like to be +told that if they had not got 10,000<i>l</i>. each they ought to go +at once to the workhouse! That would be a fine remedy for the +depression of trade.</p> +<p>He always thought it was considered rather meritorious if a man +with small capital, by hard work, honest dealing, and self-denial, +managed to raise himself and get up in the world. But, oh no; +nothing of the kind; the small man was the greatest sinner, and +must be eradicated. Well, he did not hesitate to say that he had +been a small man himself, and began in a very small way. Perhaps +the lecturer would think him a small man still, as he was not a +millionaire; but he could pay his way, which went for something in +the eyes of old-fashioned people, and perhaps he had a pound or two +over. He should say but one word more, for he was aware that there +was a thunderstorm rapidly coming up, and he supposed science would +not prevent him from getting a wet jacket. He should like to ask +the lecturer if he could give the name of one single scientific +farmer who had prospered?</p> +<p>Having said this much, the old gentleman put on his overcoat and +busted out of the room, and several others followed him, for the +rain was already splashing against the window-panes. Others looked +at their watches, and, seeing it was late, rose one by one and +slipped off. The president asked if any one would continue the +discussion, and, as no one rose, invited the professor to +reply.</p> +<p>The professor gathered his papers and stood up. Then there came +a heavy rolling sound—the unmistakable boom of distant +thunder. He said that the gentleman who had left so abruptly had +quite misconstrued the tenour of his paper. So far from intending +to describe farmers as lacking in intelligence, all he wished to +show was that they did not use their natural abilities, from a +certain traditionary bowing to custom. They did not like their +neighbours to think that they were doing anything novel. No one +respected the feelings that had grown up and strengthened from +childhood, no one respected the habits of our ancestors, more than +he did; no one knew better the solid virtues that adorned the homes +of agriculturists. Far, indeed, be it from him to say +aught—[Boom! and the rattling of rain against the +window]—aught that could—but he saw that gentlemen were +anxious to get home, and would conclude.</p> +<p>A vote of thanks was hurriedly got over, and the assembly broke +up and hastened down the staircase. They found the passage below so +blocked with farmers who had crowded in out of the storm that +movement was impossible. The place was darkened by the overhanging +clouds, the atmosphere thick and close with the smoke and the +crush. Flashes of brilliant lightning seemed to sweep down the +narrow street, which ran like a brook with the storm-water; the +thunder seemed to descend and shake the solid walls. 'It's rather +hard on the professor,' said one farmer to another. 'What would +science do in a thunderstorm?' He had hardly spoken when the hail +suddenly came down, and the round white globules, rebounding from +the pavement, rolled in at the open door. Each paused as he lifted +his glass and thought of the harvest. As for Hodge, who was +reaping, he had to take shelter how he might in the open fields. +Boom! flash! boom!—splash and hiss, as the hail rushed along +the narrow street.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap2" id="chap2">CHAPTER II</a></h3> +<h3>LEAVING HIS FARM</h3> +A large white poster, fresh and glaring, is pasted on the wall of a +barn that stands beside a narrow country lane. So plain an +advertisement, without any colour or attempt at 'display,' would be +passed unnoticed among the endless devices on a town hoarding. +There nothing can be hoped to be looked at unless novel and +strange, or even incomprehensible. But here the oblong piece of +black and white contrasts sufficiently in itself with red brick and +dull brown wooden framing, with tall shadowy elms, and the glint of +sunshine on the streamlet that flows with a ceaseless murmur across +the hollow of the lane. Every man that comes along stays to read +it. +<p>The dealer in his trap—his name painted in white letters +on the shaft—pulls up his quick pony, and sits askew on his +seat to read. He has probably seen it before in the bar of the +wayside inn, roughly hung on a nail, and swaying to and fro with +the draught along the passage. He may have seen it, too, on the +handing-post at the lonely cross-roads, stuck on in such a manner +that, in order to peruse it, it is necessary to walk round the +post. The same formal announcement appears also in the local weekly +papers—there are at least two now in the smallest +place—and he has read it there. Yet he pauses to glance at it +again, for the country mind requires reiteration before it can +thoroughly grasp and realise the simplest fact. The poster must be +read and re-read, and the printer's name observed and commented on, +or, if handled, the thickness of the paper felt between thumb and +finger. After a month or two of this process people at last begin +to accept it as a reality, like cattle or trees—something +substantial, and not mere words.</p> +<p>The carter, with his waggon, if he be an elderly man, cries +'Whoa!' and, standing close to the wall, points to each letter with +the top of his whip—where it bends—and so spells out +'Sale by Auction.' If he be a young man he looks up at it as the +heavy waggon rumbles by, turns his back, and goes on with utter +indifference.</p> +<p>The old men, working so many years on a single farm, and whose +minds were formed in days when a change of tenancy happened once in +half a century, have so identified themselves with the order of +things in the parish that it seems to personally affect them when a +farmer leaves his place. But young Hodge cares nothing about his +master, or his fellow's master. Whether they go or stay, prosperous +or decaying, it matters nothing to him. He takes good wages, and +can jingle some small silver in his pocket when he comes to the +tavern a mile or so ahead; so 'gee-up' and let us get there as +rapidly as possible.</p> +<p>An hour later a farmer passes on horseback; his horse all too +broad for his short legs that stick out at the side and show some +inches of stocking between the bottom of his trousers and his +boots. A sturdy, thick-set man, with a wide face, brickdust colour, +fringed with close-cut red whiskers, and a chest so broad he seems +compelled to wear his coat unbuttoned. He pulls off his hat and +wipes his partly bald head with a coloured handkerchief, stares at +the poster a few minutes, and walks his horse away, evidently in +deep thought. Two boys—cottagers' children—come home +from school; they look round to see that no one observes, and then +throw flints at the paper till the sound of footsteps alarms +them.</p> +<p>Towards the evening a gentleman and lady, the first middle-aged, +the latter very young—father and daughter—approach, +their horses seeming to linger as they walk through the shallow +stream, and the cool water splashes above their fetlocks. The +shooting season is near at hand, Parliament has risen, and the +landlords have returned home. Instead of the Row, papa must take +his darling a ride through the lanes, a little dusty as the autumn +comes on, and pauses to read the notice on the wall. It is his +neighbour's tenant, not his, but it comes home to him here. It is +the real thing—the fact—not the mere seeing it in the +papers, or the warning hints in the letters of his own steward. +'Papa,' is rather quiet for the rest of the ride. Ever since he was +a lad—how many years ago is that?—he has shot with his +neighbour's party over this farm, and recollects the tenant well, +and with that friendly feeling that grows up towards what we see +year after year. In a day or two the clergyman drives by with his +low four-wheel and fat pony, notes the poster as the pony slackens +at the descent to the water, and tells himself to remember and get +the tithe. Some few Sundays, and Farmer Smith will appear in church +no more.</p> +<p>Farmer Smith this beautiful morning is looking at the wheat, +which is, and is not, his. It would have been cut in an ordinary +season, but the rains have delayed the ripening. He wonders how the +crop ever came up at all through the mass of weeds that choked it, +the spurrey that filled the spaces between the stalks below, the +bindweed that climbed up them, the wild camomile flowering and +flourishing at the edge, the tall thistles lifting their heads +above it in bunches, and the great docks whose red seeds showed at +a distance. He sent in some men, as much to give them something to +do as for any real good, one day, who in a few hours pulled up +enough docks to fill a cart. They came across a number of snakes, +and decapitated the reptiles with their hoes, and afterwards hung +them all up—tied together by the tail—to a bough. The +bunch of headless snakes hangs there still, swinging to and fro as +the wind plays through the oak. Vermin, too, revel in weeds, which +encourage the mice and rats, and are, perhaps, quite as much a +cause of their increase as any acts of the gamekeeper.</p> +<p>Farmer Smith a few years since was very anxious for the renewal +of his lease, just as those about to enter on tenancies desired +leases above everything. All the agricultural world agreed that a +lease was the best thing possible—the clubs discussed it, the +papers preached it. It was a safeguard; it allowed the tenant to +develop his energies, and to put his capital into the soil without +fear. He had no dread of being turned out before he could get it +back. Nothing like a lease—the certain preventative of all +agricultural ills. There was, to appearance, a great deal of truth +in these arguments, which in their day made much impression, and +caused a movement in that direction. Who could foresee that in a +few short years men would be eager to get rid of their leases on +any terms? Yet such was the fact. The very men who had longed so +eagerly for the blessing of security of tenure found it the worst +thing possible for their interest.</p> +<p>Mr. Smith got his lease, and paid for it tolerably stiffly, for +at that period all agricultural prices were inflated—from the +price of a lease to that of a calf. He covenanted to pay a certain +fixed rental for so many acres of arable and a small proportion of +grass for a fixed time. He covenanted to cultivate the soil by a +fixed rotation; not to sow this nor that, nor to be guided by the +change of the markets, or the character of the seasons, or the +appearance of powerful foreign competitors. There was the parchment +prepared with all the niceties of wording that so many generations +of lawyers had polished to the highest pitch; not a loophole, not +so much as a <i>t</i> left uncrossed, or a doubtful interlineation. +But although the parchment did not alter a jot, the times and +seasons did. Wheat fell in price, vast shipments came even from +India, cattle and sheep from America, wool from Australia, horses +from France; tinned provisions and meats poured in by the ton, and +cheese, and butter, and bacon by the thousand tons. Labour at the +same time rose. His expenditure increased, his income decreased; +his rent remained the same, and rent audit came round with the +utmost regularity.</p> +<p>Mr. Smith began to think about his lease, and question whether +it was such an unmixed blessing. There was no getting out of it, +that was certain. The seasons grew worse and worse. Smith asked for +a reduction of rent. He got, like others, ten per cent, returned, +which, he said looked very liberal to those who knew nothing of +farming, and was in reality about as useful as a dry biscuit flung +at a man who has eaten nothing for a week. Besides which, it was +only a gracious condescension, and might not be repeated next year, +unless he kept on his good behaviour, and paid court to the +clergyman and the steward. Unable to get at what he wanted in a +direct way, Smith tried an indirect one. He went at game, and +insisted on its being reduced in number. This he could do according +to the usual terms of agreement; but when it came to the point he +found that the person called in to assess the damage put it at a +much lower figure than he had himself; and who was to decide what +was or was not a reasonable head of game? This attack of his on the +game did him no good whatever, and was not unnaturally borne in +mind—let us not say resented.</p> +<p>He next tried to get permission to sell straw—a permission +that he saw granted to others in moderation. But he was then +reminded of a speech he had made at a club, when, in a moment of +temper (and sherry), he had let out a piece of his mind, which +piece of his mind was duly published in the local papers, and +caused a sensation. Somebody called the landlord's attention to it, +and he did not like it. Nor can he be blamed; we none of us like to +be abused in public, the more especially when, looking at +precedents, we do not deserve it. Smith next went to the assessment +committee to get his taxes reduced, on the ground of a loss of +revenue. The committee sympathised with him, but found that they +must assess him according to his rent. At least so they were then +advised, and only did their duty.</p> +<p>By this time the local bankers had scented a time of trouble +approaching in the commercial and agricultural world; they began to +draw in their more doubtful advances, or to refuse to renew them. +As a matter of fact, Smith was a perfectly sound man, but he had so +persistently complained that people began to suspect there really +was something wrong with his finances. He endeavoured to explain, +but was met with the tale that he had himself started. He then +honestly produced his books, and laid his position bare to the last +penny.</p> +<p>The banker believed him, and renewed part of the advance for a +short period; but he began, to cogitate in this wise: 'Here is a +farmer of long experience, born of a farming family, and a +hardworking fellow, and, more than that, honest. If this man, who +has hitherto had the command of a fair amount of capital, cannot +make his books balance better than this, what must be the case with +some of our customers? There are many who ride about on hunters, +and have a bin of decent wine. How much of all this is genuine? We +must be careful; these are hard times.' In short, Smith, without +meaning it, did his neighbours an immense deal of harm. His very +honesty injured them. By slow degrees the bank got 'tighter' with +its customers. It leaked out—all things leak out—that +Smith had said too much, and he became unpopular, which did not +increase his contentment.</p> +<p>Finally he gave notice that unless the rent was reduced he +should not apply to renew the lease, which would soon expire. He +had not the least intention in his secret mind of leaving the farm; +he never dreamed that his notice would be accepted. He and his had +dwelt there for a hundred years, and were as much part and parcel +of the place as the elm-trees in the hedges. So many farms were in +the market going a-begging for tenants, it was not probable a +landlord would let a good man go for the sake of a few shillings an +acre. But the months went by and the landlord's agents gave no +sign, and at last Smith realised that he was really going to +leave.</p> +<p>Though he had so long talked of going, it came upon him like a +thunderbolt. It was like an attack of some violent fever that +shakes a strong man and leaves him as weak as a child. The farmer, +whose meals had been so hearty, could not relish his food. His +breakfast dwindled to a pretence; his lunch fell off; his dinner +grew less; his supper faded; his spirits and water, the old +familiar 'nightcap,' did him no good. His jolly ringing laugh was +heard no more; from a thorough gossip he became taciturn, and +barely opened his lips. His clothes began to hang about him, +instead of fitting him all too tight; his complexion lost the red +colour and became sallow; his eyes had a furtive look in them, so +different to the old straightforward glance.</p> +<p>Some said he would take to his bed and die; some said he would +jump into the pond one night, to be known no more in this world. +But he neither jumped into the pond nor took to his bed. He went +round his fields just the same as before—perhaps a little +more mechanically; but still the old routine of daily work was gone +through. Leases, though for a short period, do not expire in a day; +after awhile time began to produce its usual effect. The sharpness +of the pain wore off, and he set to work to make the best of +matters. He understood the capacity of each field as well as others +understand the yielding power of a little garden. His former study +had been to preserve something like a balance between what he put +in and what he took out of the soil. Now it became the subject of +consideration how to get the most out without putting anything in. +Artificial manures were reduced to the lowest quantity and of the +cheapest quality, such as was used being, in fact, nothing but to +throw dust, literally, in the eyes of other people. Times were so +bad that he could not be expected, under the most favourable +circumstances, to consume much cake in the stalls or make much +manure in that way.</p> +<p>One by one extra expenditures were cut off. Gates, instead of +being repaired, were propped up by running a pole across. Labour +was eschewed in every possible way. Hedges were left uncut; ditches +were left uncleaned. The team of horses was reduced, and the +ploughing done next to nothing. Cleaning and weeding were gradually +abandoned. Several fields were allowed to become overrun with +grass, not the least attention being paid to them; the weeds sprang +up, and the grass ran over from the hedges. The wheat crop was kept +to the smallest area. Wheat requires more previous labour and care +as to soil than any other crop. Labour and preparation cost money, +and he was determined not to spend a shilling more than he was +absolutely compelled. He contrived to escape the sowing, of wheat +altogether on some part of the farm, leaving it out of the +rotation. That was a direct infringement of the letter of the +agreement; but who was to prove that he had evaded it? The steward +could not recollect the crops on several hundred acres; the +neighbouring tenants, of course, knew very well; but although Smith +had become unpopular, they were not going to tell tales of him. He +sold everything he dared off the farm, and many things that he did +not dare. He took everything out of the soil that it was possible +to take out. The last Michaelmas was approaching, and he walked +round in the warm August sunshine to look at the wheat.</p> +<p>He sat down on an old roller that lay in the corner of the +field, and thought over the position of things. He calculated that +it would cost the incoming tenant an expenditure of from one +thousand two hundred pounds to one thousand five hundred pounds to +put the farm, which was a large one, into proper condition. It +could not be got into such condition under three years of labour. +The new tenant must therefore be prepared to lay out a heavy sum of +money, to wait while the improvement went on, must live how he +could meanwhile, and look forward some three years for the +commencement of his profit. To such a state had the farm been +brought in a brief time. And how would the landlord come off? The +new tenant would certainly make his bargain in accordance with the +state of the land. For the first year the rent paid would be +nominal; for the second, perhaps a third or half the usual sum; not +till the third year could the landlord hope to get his full rental. +That full rental, too, would be lower than previously, because the +general depression had sent down arable rents everywhere, and no +one would pay on the old scale.</p> +<p>Smith thought very hard things of the landlord, and felt that he +should have his revenge. On the other hand, the landlord thought +very hard things of Smith, and not wilhout reason. That an old +tenant, the descendant of one of the oldest tenant-farmer families, +should exhaust the soil in this way seemed the blackest return for +the good feeling that had existed for several generations. There +was great irritation on both sides.</p> +<p>Smith had, however, to face one difficulty. He must either take +another farm at once, or live on his capital. The interest of his +capital—if invested temporarily in Government +securities—would hardly suffice to maintain the comfortable +style of living he and his rather large family of grown-up sons and +daughters had been accustomed to. He sometimes heard a faint, far +off 'still small voice,' that seemed to say it would have been +wiser to stay on, and wait till the reaction took place and farming +recovered. The loss he would have sustained by staying on would, +perhaps, not have been larger than the loss he must now sustain by +living on capital till such time as he saw something to suit him. +And had he been altogether wise in omitting all endeavours to gain +his end by conciliatory means? Might not gentle persuasion and +courteous language have ultimately produced an impression? Might +not terms have been arranged had he not been so vehement? The new +tenant, notwithstanding that he would have to contend with the +shocking state of the farm, had such favourable terms that if he +only stayed long enough to let the soil recover, Smith knew he must +make a good thing of it.</p> +<p>But as he sat on the wooden roller under the shade of a tree and +thought these things, listening to the rustle of the golden wheat +as it moved in the breeze, he pulled a newspaper out of his pocket, +and glanced down a long, long list of farms to let. Then he +remembered that his pass-book at the bank showed a very respectable +row of figures, buttoned up his coat, and strolled homeward with a +smile on his features. The date fixed for the sale, as announced by +the poster on the barn, came round, and a crowd gathered to see the +last of the old tenant. Old Hodge viewed the scene from a distance, +resting against a gate, with his chin on his hand. He was thinking +of the days when he first went to plough, years ago, under Smith's +father. If Smith had been about to enter on another farm old Hodge +would have girded up his loins, packed his worldly goods in a +waggon, and followed his master's fortunes thither. But Smith was +going to live on his capital awhile; and old Hodge had already had +notice to quit his cottage. In his latter days he must work for a +new master. Down at the sale young Hodge was lounging round, hands +in pocket, whistling—for there was some beer going about. The +excitement of the day was a pleasurable sensation, and as for his +master he might go to Kansas or Hong-Kong.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap3" id="chap3">CHAPTER III</a></h3> +<h3>A MAN OF PROGRESS</h3> +The sweet sound of rustling leaves, as soothing as the rush of +falling water, made a gentle music over a group of three persons +sitting at the extremity of a lawn. Upon their right was a +plantation or belt of trees, which sheltered them from the noonday +sun; on the left the green sward reached to the house; from the +open window came the rippling notes of a piano, and now and again +the soft accents of the Italian tongue. The walls of the garden +shut out the world and the wind—the blue sky stretched above +from one tree-top to another, and in those tree-tops the cool +breeze, grateful to the reapers in the fields, played with bough +and leaf. In the centre of the group was a small table, and on it +some tall glasses of antique make, and a flask of wine. By the lady +lay a Japanese parasol, carelessly dropped on the grass. She was +handsome, and elegantly dressed; her long drooping eyelashes +fringed eyes that were almost closed in luxurious enjoyment; her +slender hand beat time to the distant song. Of the two gentlemen +one was her brother—the other, a farmer, her husband. The +brother wore a pith helmet, and his bronzed cheek told of service +under tropical suns. The husband was scarcely less brown; still +young, and very active-looking, you might guess his age at forty; +but his bare forehead (he had thrown his hat on the ground) was +marked with the line caused by involuntary contraction of the +muscles when thinking. There was an air of anxiety, of restless +feverish energy, about him. But just for the moment he was calm and +happy, turning over the pages of a book. Suddenly he looked up, and +began to declaim, in a clear, sweet voice: +<blockquote>'He's speaking now,<br> +Or murmuring, "Where's my serpent of old Nile?"<br> +For so he calls me. Now I feed myself<br> +With most delicious poison!'<br></blockquote> +Just then there came the sharp rattle of machinery borne on the +wind; he recollected himself, shut the volume, and rose from his +seat. 'The men have finished luncheon,' he said; 'I must go and see +how things are getting on.' The Indian officer, after one glance +back at the house, went with him. There was a private footpath +through the plantation of trees, and down this the two disappeared. +Soon afterwards the piano ceased, and a lady came slowly across the +lawn, still humming the air she had been playing. She was the +farmer's sister, and was engaged to the officer. The wife looked up +from the book which she had taken from the table, with a smile of +welcome. But the smile faded as she said—'They have gone out +to the reapers. Oh, this farm will worry him out of his life! How I +wish he had never bought it! Don't let Alick have anything to do +with farms or land, dear, when you are married.' +<p>The girl laughed, sat down, took her hand, and asked if matters +were really so serious.</p> +<p>'It is not so much the money I trouble about,' said the wife. +'It is Cecil himself. His nature is too fine for these dull clods. +You know him, dear; his mind is full of art—look at these +glasses—of music and pictures. Why, he has just been reading +"Antony and Cleopatra," and now he's gone to look after reapers. +Then, he is so fiery and quick, and wants everything done in a +minute, like the men of business in the "City." He keeps his watch +timed to a second, and expects the men to be there. They are so +slow. Everything agricultural is so slow. They say we shall have +fine seasons in two or three years; only think, <i>years</i>. This +is what weighs on Cecil.'</p> +<p>By this time the two men had walked through the plantation, and +paused at a small gate that opened on the fields. The ground fell +rapidly away, sloping down for half a mile, so that every portion +of the fields below was visible at once. The house and gardens were +situate on the hill; the farmer had only to stand on the edge to +overlook half his place.</p> +<p>'What a splendid view!' said the officer. The entire slope was +yellow with wheat—on either hand, and in front the surface of +the crop extended unbroken by hedge, tree, or apparent division. +Two reaping-machines were being driven rapidly round and round, +cutting as they went; one was a self-binder and threw the sheaves +off already bound; the other only laid the corn low, and it had +afterwards to be gathered up and bound by hand-labour. There was +really a small army of labourers in the field; but it was so large +they made but little show.</p> +<p>'You have a first-rate crop,' said the visitor; 'I see no weeds, +or not more than usual; it is a capital crop.'</p> +<p>'Yes,' replied the farmer, 'it is a fine crop; but just think +what it cost me to produce it, and bear in mind, too, the price I +shall get for it.' He took out his pocket-book, and began to +explain.</p> +<p>While thus occupied he looked anything but a farmer. His dress +was indeed light and careless, but it was the carelessness of +breeding, not slovenliness. His hands were brown, but there were +clean white cuffs on his wrist and gold studs; his neck was brown, +but his linen spotless. The face was too delicate, too refined with +all its bronze; the frame was well developed, but too active; it +lacked the heavy thickness and the lumbering gait of the farmer +bred to the plough. He might have conducted a great financial +operation; he might have been the head of a great mercantile house; +he might have been on 'Change; but that stiff clay there, stubborn +and unimpressionable, was not in his style.</p> +<p>Cecil had gone into farming, in fact, as a 'commercial +speculation,' with the view of realising cent. per cent. He began +at the time when it was daily announced that old-fashioned farming +was a thing of the past. Business maxims and business practice were +to be the rule of the future. Farming was not to be farming; it was +to be emphatically 'business,' the same as iron, coal, or cotton. +Thus managed, with steam as the motive power, a fortune might be +made out of the land, in the same way as out of a colliery or a +mine. But it must be done in a commercial manner; there must be no +restrictions upon the employment of capital, no fixed rotation of +crops, no clauses forbidding the sale of any products. Cecil found, +however, that the possessors of large estates would not let him a +farm on these conditions. These ignorant people (as he thought +them) insisted upon keeping up the traditionary customs; they would +not contract themselves out of the ancient form of lease.</p> +<p>But Cecil was a man of capital. He really had a large sum of +money, and this short-sighted policy (as he termed it) of the +landlords only made him the more eager to convince them how +mistaken they were to refuse anything to a man who could put +capital into the soil. He resolved to be his own landlord, and +ordered his agents to find him a small estate and to purchase it +outright. There was not much difficulty in finding an estate, and +Cecil bought it. But he was even then annoyed and disgusted with +the formalities, the investigation of title, the completion of +deeds, and astounded at the length of a lawyer's bill.</p> +<p>Being at last established in possession Cecil set to work, and +at the same time set every agricultural tongue wagging within a +radius of twenty miles. He grubbed up all the hedges, and threw the +whole of his arable land into one vast field, and had it levelled +with the theodolite. He drained it six feet deep at an enormous +cost. He built an engine-shed with a centrifugal pump, which forced +water from the stream that ran through the lower ground over the +entire property, and even to the topmost storey of his house. He +laid a light tramway across the widest part of his estate, and sent +the labourers to and fro their work in trucks. The chaff-cutters, +root-pulpers, the winnowing-machine—everything was driven by +steam. Teams of horses and waggons seemed to be always going to the +canal wharf for coal, which he ordered from the pit wholesale.</p> +<p>A fine set of steam-ploughing tackle was put to work, and, +having once commenced, the beat of the engines never seemed to +cease. They were for ever at work tearing up the subsoil and +bringing it to the surface. If he could have done it, he would have +ploughed ten feet deep. Tons of artificial manure came by canal +boat—positively boat loads—and were stored in the +warehouse. For he put up a regular warehouse for the storage of +materials; the heavy articles on the ground floor, the lighter +above, hoisted up by a small crane. There was, too, an office, +where the 'engineer' attended every morning to take his orders, as +the bailiff might at the back-door of an old farmhouse. Substantial +buildings were erected for the shorthorn cattle.</p> +<p>The meadows upon the estate, like the corn-fields, were all +thrown together, such divisions as were necessary being made by +iron railings. Machines of every class and character were +provided—reaping-machines, mowing-machines, horse-hoes, +horse-rakes, elevators—everything was to be done by +machinery. That nothing might be incomplete, some new and +well-designed cottages were erected for the skilled +artisans—they could scarcely be called labourers—who +were engaged to work these engines. The estate had previously +consisted of several small farms: these were now thrown all into +one, otherwise there would not have been room for this great +enterprise.</p> +<p>A complete system of booking was organised. From the sale of a +bullock to the skin of a calf, everything was put down on paper. +All these entries, made in books specially prepared and +conveniently ruled for the purpose, came under Cecil's eye weekly, +and were by him re-entered in his ledgers. This writing took up a +large part of his time, and the labour was sometimes so severe that +he could barely get through it; yet he would not allow himself a +clerk, being economical in that one thing only. It was a saying in +the place that not a speck of dust could be blown on to the estate +by the wind, or a straw blown off, without it being duly entered in +the master's books.</p> +<p>Cecil's idea was to excel in all things. Some had been famous +for shorthorns before him, others for sheep, and others again for +wheat. He would be celebrated for all. His shorthorns should fetch +fabulous prices; his sheep should be known all over the world; his +wheat should be the crop of the season. In this way he invested his +capital in the soil with a thoroughness unsurpassed. As if to prove +that he was right, the success of his enterprise seemed from the +first assured. His crops of wheat, in which he especially put +faith, and which he grew year after year upon the same land, +totally ignoring the ancient rotations, were the wonder of the +neighbourhood. Men came from far and near to see them. Such was the +effect of draining, turning up the subsoil, continual ploughing, +and the consequent atmospheric action upon the exposed earth, and +of liberal manure, that here stood such crops of wheat as had never +previously been seen. These he sold, as they stood, by auction; and +no sooner had the purchasers cleared the ground than the engines +went to work again, tearing up the earth. His meadow lands were +irrigated by the centrifugal pump, and yielded three crops instead +of one. His shorthorns began to get known—for he spared no +expense upon them—and already one or two profitable sales had +been held. His sheep prospered; there was not so much noise made +about them, but, perhaps, they really paid better than +anything.</p> +<p>Meantime, Cecil kept open house, with wine and refreshments, and +even beds for everybody who chose to come and inspect his place. +Nothing gave him such delight as to conduct visitors over the +estate and to enter into minute details of his system. As for the +neighbouring farmers they were only too welcome. These things +became noised abroad, and people arrived from strange and far-off +places, and were shown over this Pioneer's Farm, as Cecil loved to +call it. His example was triumphantly quoted by every one who spoke +on agricultural progress. Cecil himself was the life and soul of +the farmers' club in the adjacent market town. It was not so much +the speeches he made as his manner. His enthusiasm was contagious. +If a scheme was started, if an experiment was suggested, Cecil's +cheque-book came out directly, and the thing was set on foot +without delay. His easy, elastic step, his bright eye, his warm, +hearty handshake, seemed to electrify people—to put some of +his own spirit into them. The circle of his influence was ever +increasing—the very oldest fogeys, who had prophesied every +kind of failure, were being gradually won over.</p> +<p>Cecil himself was transcendently happy in his work; his mind was +in it; no exertion, no care or trouble, was too much. He worked +harder than any navvy, and never felt fatigue. People said of +him—'What a wonderful man!' He was so genuine, so earnest, so +thorough, men could not choose but believe in him. The sun shone +brightly, the crops ripened, the hum of the threshing-machine +droned on the wind—all was life and happiness. In the summer +evenings pleasant groups met upon the lawn; the song, the jest went +round; now and then an informal dance, arranged with much laughter, +whiled away the merry hours till the stars appeared above the trees +and the dew descended.</p> +<p>Yet to-day, as the two leaned over the little gate in the +plantation and looked down upon the reapers, the deep groove which +continual thought causes was all too visible on Cecil's forehead. +He explained to the officer how his difficulties had come about. +His first years upon the farm or estate—it was really rather +an estate than a farm—had been fairly prosperous, +notwithstanding the immense outlay of capital. A good percentage, +in some cases a high-rate of percentage, had been returned upon the +money put into the soil. The seasons were good, the crops large and +superabundant. Men's minds were full of confidence, they bought +freely, and were launching out in all directions.</p> +<p>They wanted good shorthorn cattle—he sold them cattle; +they wanted sheep—he sold them sheep. They wanted wheat, and +he sold them the standing crops, took the money, and so cleared his +profit and saved himself trouble. It was, in fact, a period of +inflation. Like stocks and shares, everything was going up; +everybody hastening to get rich. Shorthorns with a strain of blue +blood fetched fancy prices; corn crops ruled high; every single +thing sold well. The dry seasons suited the soil of the estate, and +the machinery he had purchased was rapidly repaying its first cost +in the saving of labour. His whole system was succeeding, and he +saw his way to realise his cent. per cent.</p> +<p>But by degrees the dream faded. He attributed it in the first +place to the stagnation, the almost extinction, of the iron trade, +the blowing out of furnaces, and the consequent cessation of the +demand for the best class of food on the part of thousands of +operatives and mechanics, who had hitherto been the farmers' best +customers. They would have the best of everything when their wages +were high; as their wages declined their purchases declined. In a +brief period, far briefer than would be imagined, this shrinking of +demand reacted upon agriculture. The English farmer made his profit +upon superior articles—the cheaper class came from abroad so +copiously that he could not compete against so vast a supply.</p> +<p>When the demand for high-class products fell, the English farmer +felt it directly. Cecil considered that it was the dire distress in +the manufacturing districts, the stagnation of trade and commerce +and the great failures in business centres, that were the chief +causes of low prices and falling agricultural markets. The rise of +labour was but a trifling item. He had always paid good wages to +good men, and always meant to. The succession of wet seasons was +more serious, of course; it lowered the actual yield, and increased +the cost of procuring the yield; but as his lands were well +drained, and had been kept clean he believed he could have +withstood the seasons for awhile.</p> +<p>The one heavy cloud that overhung agriculture, in his opinion +was the extraordinary and almost world-spread depression of trade, +and his argument was very simple. When men prospered they bought +freely, indulged in luxurious living, kept horses, servants, gave +parties, and consumed indirectly large quantities of food. As they +made fortunes they bought estates and lived half the year like +country gentlemen—that competition sent up the price of land. +The converse was equally true. In times of pressure households were +reduced, servants dismissed, horses sold, carriages suppressed. +Rich and poor acted alike in different degrees but as the working +population was so much more numerous it was through the low wages +of the working population in cities and manufacturing districts +that the farmers suffered most.</p> +<p>It was a period of depression—there was no confidence, no +speculation. For instance a year or two since the crop of standing +wheat then growing on the very field before their eyes was sold by +auction, and several lots brought from 16<i>l</i>. to 18<i>l</i>. +per acre. This year the same wheat would not fetch 8<i>l</i>. per +acre; and, not satisfied with that price, he had determined to reap +and thresh it himself. It was the same with the shorthorns, with +the hay, and indeed with everything except sheep, which had been a +mainstay and support to him.</p> +<p>'Yet even now,' concluded Cecil, shutting his pocket-book, 'I +feel convinced that my plan and my system will be a success. I can +see that I committed one great mistake—I made all my +improvements at once, laid out all my capital, and crippled my +self. I should have done one thing at a time. I should, as it were, +have grown my improvements—one this year, one next. As it +was, I denuded myself of capital. Had the times continued +favourable it would not have mattered, as my income would have been +large. But the times became adverse before I was firmly settled, +and, to be plain, I can but just keep things going without a +loan—dear Bella will not be able to go to the sea this year; +but we are both determined not to borrow.'</p> +<p>'In a year or two I am convinced we shall flourish again; but +the waiting, Alick, the waiting, is the trial. You know I am +impatient. Of course, the old-fashioned people, the farmers, all +expect me to go through the Bankruptcy Court. They always said +these new-fangled plans would not answer, and now they are sure +they were right. Well, I forgive them their croaking, though most +of them have dined at my table and drank my wine. I forgive them +their croaking, for so they were bred up from childhood. Were I +ill-natured, I might even smile at them, for they are failing and +leaving their farms by the dozen, which seems a pretty good proof +that their antiquated system is at best no better than mine. But I +can see what they cannot see—signs of improvement. The steel +industry is giving men work; the iron industry is reviving; the +mines are slowly coming into work again; America is purchasing of +us largely; and when other nations purchase of us, part, at least, +of the money always finds its way to the farmer. Next season, too, +the weather may be more propitious.</p> +<p>'I shall hold on, Alick—a depression is certain to be +followed by a rise. That has been the history of trade and +agriculture for generations. Nothing will ever convince me that it +was intended for English agriculturists to go on using wooden +ploughs, to wear smock-frocks, and plod round and round in the same +old track for ever. In no other way but by science, by steam, by +machinery, by artificial manure, and, in one word, by the exercise +of intelligence, can we compete with the world. It is ridiculous to +suppose we can do so by returning to the ignorance and prejudice of +our ancestors. No; we must beat the world by superior intelligence +and superior energy. But intelligence, mind, has ever had every +obstacle to contend against. Look at M. Lesseps and his wonderful +Suez Canal. I tell you that to introduce scientific farming into +England, in the face of tradition, custom, and prejudice, is a far +harder task than overcoming the desert sand.'</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap4" id="chap4">CHAPTER IV</a></h3> +<h3>GOING DOWNHILL</h3> +An aged man, coming out of an arable field into the lane, pauses to +look back. He is shabbily clad, and there is more than one rent in +his coat; yet it is a coat that has once been a good one, and of a +superior cut to what a labourer would purchase. In the field the +ploughman to whom he has been speaking has started his team again. +A lad walks beside the horses, the iron creaks, and the ploughman +holding the handles seems now to press upon them with his weight, +and now to be himself bodily pulled along. A dull November cloud +overspreads the sky, and misty skits of small rain sweep across the +landscape. As the old man looks back from the gate, the chill +breeze whistles through the boughs of the oak above him, tearing +off the brown dry leaves, and shaking out the acorns to fall at his +feet. It lifts his grey hair, and penetrates the threadbare coat. +As he turns to go, something catches his eye on the ground, and +from the mud in the gateway he picks up a cast horse-shoe. With the +rusty iron in his hand he passes slowly down the lane, and, as he +goes, the bitter wind drives the fallen leaves that have been lying +beside the way rustling and dancing after him. +<p>From a farmer occupying a good-sized farm he had descended to be +a farmer's bailiff in the same locality. But a few months since he +was himself a tenant, and now he is a bailiff at 15<i>s</i>. a week +and a cottage. There is nothing dramatic, nothing sensational, in +the history of his descent; but it is, perhaps, all the more full +of bitter human experiences. As a man going down a steep hill, +after a long while finds himself on the edge of a precipitous chalk +pit, and topples in one fall to the bottom, so, though the process +of going downhill occupied so long, the actual finish came almost +suddenly. Thus it was that from being a master he found himself a +servant. He does not complain, nor appeal for pity. His back is a +little more bowed, he feels the cold a little more, his step is yet +more spiritless. But all he says about it is that 'Hard work never +made any money yet.'</p> +<p>He has worked exceedingly hard all his lifetime. In his youth, +though the family were then well-to-do, he was not permitted to +lounge about in idleness, but had to work with the rest in the +fields. He dragged his heavy nailed shoes over the furrows with the +plough; he reaped and loaded in harvest time; in winter he trimmed +the hedgerows, split logs, and looked after the cattle. He enjoyed +no luxurious education—luxurious in the sense of +scientifically arranged dormitories, ample meals, and vacations to +be spent on horseback, or with the breechloader. Trudging to and +fro the neighbouring country town, in wind, and wet, and snow, to +school, his letters were thrashed into him. In holiday time he went +to work—his holidays, in fact, were so arranged as to fall at +the time when the lad could be of most use in the field. If an +occasion arose when a lad was wanted, his lessons had to wait while +he lent a hand. He had his play, of course, as boys in all ages +have had; but it was play of a rude character with the plough lads, +and the almost equally rough sons of farmers, who worked like +ploughmen.</p> +<p>In those days the strong made no pretence to protect the weak, +or to abnegate their natural power. The biggest lad used his thews +and sinews to knock over the lesser without mercy, till the lesser +by degrees grew strong enough to retaliate. To be thrashed, beaten, +and kicked was so universal an experience that no one ever imagined +it was not correct, or thought of complaining. They accepted it as +a matter of course. As he grew older his work simply grew harder, +and in no respect differed from that of the labourers, except that +he directed what should be done next, but none the less assisted to +do it.</p> +<p>Thus the days went on, the weeks, and months, and years. He was +close upon forty years old before he had his own will for a single +day. Up to almost that age he worked on his father's farm as a +labourer among the labourers, as much under parental authority as +when he was a boy of ten. When the old man died it was not +surprising that the son, so long held down in bondage—bondage +from which he had not the spirit to escape—gave way for a +short period to riotous living. There was hard drinking, +horse-racing, and card-playing, and waste of substance +generally.</p> +<p>But it was not for long, for several reasons. In the first +place, the lad of forty years, suddenly broken forth as it were +from school, had gone past the age when youth plunges beyond +recall. He was a grown man, neither wise nor clever; but with a +man's sedateness of spirit and a man's hopes. There was no innate +evil in his nature to lead him into unrighteous courses. Perhaps +his fault rather lay in his inoffensive disposition—he +submitted too easily. Then, in the second place, there was not much +money, and what there was had to meet many calls.</p> +<p>The son found that the father, though reputed a substantial man, +and a man among farmers of high esteem and good family, had been +anything but rich. First there were secret debts that had run on +for fully thirty years—sums of from fifty to one hundred +pounds—borrowed in the days of his youth, when he, too, had +at last been released in a similar manner from similar bondage, to +meet the riotous living in which he also had indulged. In those +earlier days there had been more substance in cattle and corn, and +he had had no difficulty in borrowing ready money from adjoining +farmers, who afterwards helped him to drink it away. These boon +companions had now grown old. They had never pressed their ancient +comrade for the principal, the interest being paid regularly. But +now their ancient comrade was dead they wanted their money, +especially when they saw the son indulging himself, and did not +know how far he might go. Their money was paid, and reduced the +balance in hand materially.</p> +<p>Now came a still more serious matter. The old man, years ago, +when corn farming paid so handsomely, had been induced by the +prospect of profit to take a second and yet larger farm, nearly all +arable. To do this he was obliged, in farming phrase, to 'take +up'—<i>i.e.</i> to borrow—a thousand pounds, which was +advanced to him by the bank. Being a man of substance, well +reputed, and at that date with many friends, the thousand pounds +was forthcoming readily, and on favourable terms. The enterprise, +however, did not prosper; times changed, and wheat was not so +profitable. In the end he had the wisdom to accept his losses and +relinquish the second farm before it ate him up. Had he only +carried his wisdom a little farther and repaid the whole of the +bank's advance, all might yet have been well. But he only repaid +five hundred pounds, leaving five hundred pounds still owing. The +bank having regularly received the interest, and believing the old +gentleman upright—as he was—was not at all anxious to +have the money back, as it was earning fair interest. So the five +hundred remained on loan, and, as it seemed, for no very definite +purpose.</p> +<p>Whether the old gentleman liked to feel that he had so much +money at command (a weakness of human nature common enough), or +whether he thought he could increase the produce of his farm by +putting it in the soil, it is not possible to say. He certainly put +the five hundred out of sight somewhere, for when his son succeeded +him it was nowhere to be found. After repaying the small loans to +his father's old friends, upon looking round the son saw cattle, +corn, hay, and furniture, but no five hundred pounds in ready +money. The ready money had been muddled away—simply muddled +away, for the old man had worked hard, and was not at all +extravagant.</p> +<p>The bank asked for the five hundred, but not in a pressing +manner, for the belief still existed that there was money in the +family. That belief was still further fostered because the old +friends whose loans had been repaid talked about that repayment, +and so gave a colour to the idea. The heir, in his slow way, +thought the matter over and decided to continue the loan. He could +only repay it by instalments—a mode which, to a farmer +brought up in the old style, is almost impossible, for though he +might meet one he would be sure to put off the next—or by +selling stock (equivalent to giving up his place), or by borrowing +afresh. So he asked and obtained a continuation of the loan of the +five hundred, and was accommodated, on condition that some one +'backed' him. Some one in the family did back him, and the fatal +mistake was committed of perpetuating this burden. A loan never +remains at the same sum; it increases if it is not reduced. In +itself the five hundred was not at all a heavy amount for the farm +to carry, but it was the nucleus around which additional burdens +piled themselves up. By a species of gravitation such a burden +attracts others, till the last straw breaks the camel's back. This, +however, was not all.</p> +<p>The heir discovered another secret which likewise contributed to +sober him. It appeared that the farm, or rather the stock and so +on, was really not all his father's. His father's brother had a +share in it—a share of which even the most inquisitive +gossips of the place were ignorant. The brother being the eldest +(himself in business as a farmer at some distance) had the most +money, and had advanced a certain sum to the younger to enable him +to start his farm, more than a generation since. From that day to +this not one shilling of the principal had been repaid, and the +interest only partially and at long intervals. If the interest were +all claimed it would now amount to nearly as much as the principal. +The brother—or, rather, the uncle—did not make himself +at all unpleasant in the matter. He only asked for about half the +interest due to him, and at the same time gave the heir a severe +caution not to continue the aforesaid riotous living. The heir, now +quite brought down to earth after his momentary exaltation, saw the +absolute necessity of acquiescence. With a little management he +paid the interest—leaving himself with barely enough to work +the farm. The uncle, on his part, did not act unkindly; it was he +who 'backed' the heir up at the bank in the matter of the +continuation of the loan of the five hundred pounds. This five +hundred pounds the heir had never seen and never would see: so far +as he was concerned it did not exist; it was a mere figure, but a +figure for which he must pay. In all these circumstances there was +nothing at all exceptional.</p> +<p>At this hour throughout the width and breadth of the country +there are doubtless many farmers' heirs stepping into their +fathers' shoes, and at this very moment looking into their affairs. +It may be safely said that few indeed are those fortunate +individuals who find themselves clear of similar embarrassments. In +this particular case detailed above, if the heir's circumstances +had been rigidly reduced to figures—if a professional +accountant had examined them—it would have been found that, +although in possession of a large farm, he had not got one scrap of +capital.</p> +<p>But he was in possession of the farm, and upon that simple fact +of possession he henceforth lived, like so many, many more of his +class. He returned to the routine of labour, which was a part of +his life. After awhile he married, as a man of forty might +naturally wish to, and without any imputation of imprudence so far +as his own age was concerned. The wife he chose was one from his +own class, a good woman, but, as is said to be often the case, she +reflected the weakness of her husband's character. He now worked +harder than ever—a labourer with the labourers. He thus saved +himself the weekly expense of the wages of a +labourer—perhaps, as labourers do not greatly exert +themselves, of a man and a boy. But while thus slaving with his +hands and saving this small sum in wages, he could not walk round +and have an eye upon the other men. They could therefore waste a +large amount of time, and thus he lost twice what he saved. Still, +his intention was commendable, and his persistent, unvarying labour +really wonderful. Had he but been sharper with his men he might +still have got a fair day's work out of them while working himself. +From the habit of associating with them from boyhood he had fallen +somewhat into their own loose, indefinite manner, and had lost the +prestige which attaches to a master. To them he seemed like one of +themselves, and they were as much inclined to argue with him as to +obey. When he met them in the morning he would say, 'Perhaps we had +better do so and so,' or 'Suppose we go and do this or that.' They +often thought otherwise; and it usually ended in a compromise, the +master having his way in part, and the men in part. This lack of +decision ran through all, and undid all that his hard work +achieved. Everything was muddled from morn till night, from year's +end to year's end. As children came the living indoors became +harder, and the work out of doors still more laborious.</p> +<p>If a farmer can put away fifty pounds a year, after paying his +rent and expenses, if he can lay by a clear fifty pounds of profit, +he thinks himself a prosperous man. If this farmer, after forty +years of saving, should chance to be succeeded by a son as thrifty, +when, he too has carried on the same process for another twenty +years, then the family may be, for village society, wealthy, with +three or even four thousand pounds, besides goods and gear. This is +supposing all things favourable, and men of some ability, making +the most of their opportunities. Now reverse the process. When +children came, as said before, our hard-working farmer found the +living indoors harder, and the labour without heavier. Instead of +saving fifty pounds a year, at first the two sides of the account +(not that he ever kept any books) about balanced. Then, by degrees, +the balance dropped the wrong way. There was a loss, of twenty or +thirty pounds on the year, and presently of forty or fifty pounds, +which could only be made good by borrowing, and so increasing the +payment of interest.</p> +<p>Although it takes sixty years—two generations—to +accumulate a village fortune by saving fifty pounds a year, it does +not occupy so long to reduce a farmer to poverty when half that sum +is annually lost. There was no strongly marked and radical defect +in his system of farming to amount for it; it was the muddling, and +the muddling only, that did it. His work was blind. He would never +miss giving the pigs their dinner, he rose at half-past three in +the morning, and foddered the cattle in the grey dawn, or milked a +certain number of cows, with unvarying regularity. But he had no +foresight, and no observation whatever. If you saw him crossing a +field, and went after him, you might walk close behind, placing +your foot in the mark just left by his shoe, and he would never +know it. With his hands behind his back, and his eyes upon the +ground, he would plod across the field, perfectly unconscious that +any one was following him. He carried on the old rotation of +cropping in the piece of arable land belonging to the farm, but in +total oblivion of any advantage to be obtained by local change of +treatment. He could plan nothing out for next year. He spent +nothing, or next to nothing, on improved implements; but, on the +other hand, he saved nothing, from a lack of resource and +contrivance.</p> +<p>As the years went by he fell out of the social life of the +times; that is, out of the social life of his own circle. He +regularly fed the pigs; but when he heard that the neighbours, were +all going in to the town to attend some important agricultural +meeting, or to start some useful movement, he put his hands behind +his back and said that he should not go; he did not understand +anything about it. There never used to be anything of that sort. So +he went in to luncheon on bread and cheese and small ale. Such a +course could only bring him into the contempt of his fellow-men. He +became a nonentity. No one had any respect for or confidence in +him. Otherwise, possibly, he might have obtained powerful help, for +the memory of what his family had been had not yet died out.</p> +<p>Men saw that he lived and worked as a labourer; they gave him no +credit for the work, but they despised him for the meanness and +churlishness of his life. There was neither a piano nor a decanter +of sherry in his house. He was utterly out of accord with the +times. By degrees, after many years, it became apparent to all that +he was going downhill. The stock upon the farm was not so large nor +of so good a character as had been the case. The manner of men +visibly changed towards him. The small dealers, even the very +carriers along the road, the higglers, and other persons who call +at a farm on petty business, gave him clearly to know in their own +coarse way that they despised him. They flatly contradicted him, +and bore him down with loud tongues. He stood it all meekly, +without showing any spirit; but, on the other hand, without +resentment, for he never said ill of any man behind his back.</p> +<p>It was put about now that he drank, because some busybody had +seen a jar of spirits carried into the house from the wine +merchant's cart. A jar of spirits had been delivered at the house +at intervals for years and years, far back into his father's time, +and every one of those who now expressed their disgust at his +supposed drinking habits had sipped their tumblers in that house +without stint. He did not drink—he did not take one-half at +home what his neighbours imbibed without injury at markets and +auctions every week of their lives. But he was growing poor, and +they called to mind that brief spell of extravagance years ago, and +pointed out to their acquaintances how the sin of the Prodigal was +coming home to him.</p> +<p>No man drinks the bitter cup of poverty to the dregs like the +declining farmer. The descent is so slow; there is time to drain +every drop, and to linger over the flavour. It may be eight, or +ten, or fifteen years about. He cannot, like the bankrupt +tradesman, even when the fatal notice comes, put up his shutters at +once and retire from view. Even at the end, after the notice, six +months at least elapse before all is over—before the farm is +surrendered, and the sale of household furniture and effects takes +place. He is full in public view all that time. So far as his +neighbours are concerned he is in public view for years previously. +He has to rise in the morning and meet them in the fields. He sees +them in the road; he passes through groups of them in the +market-place. As he goes by they look after him, and perhaps +audibly wonder how long he will last. These people all knew him +from a lad, and can trace every inch of his descent. The labourers +in the field know it, and by their manner show that they know +it.</p> +<p>His wife—his wife who worked so hard for so many, many +years—is made to know it too. She is conspicuously omitted +from the social gatherings that occur from time to time. The +neighbours' wives do not call; their well-dressed daughters, as +they rattle by to the town in basket-carriage or dog-cart, look +askance at the shabby figure walking slowly on the path beside the +road. They criticise the shabby shawl; they sneer at the slow step +which is the inevitable result of hard work, the cares of +maternity, and of age. So they flaunt past with an odour of +perfume, and leave the 'old lady' to plod unrecognised.</p> +<p>The end came at last. All this blind work of his was of no avail +against the ocean steamer and her cargo of wheat and meat from the +teeming regions of the West. Nor was it of avail against the fall +of prices, and the decreased yield consequent upon a succession of +bad seasons. The general lack of confidence pressed heavily upon a +man who did not even attempt to take his natural place among his +fellow-men. The loan from the bank had gradually grown from five to +seven or eight hundred by thirties, and forties, and fifties added +to it by degrees; and the bank—informed, perhaps, by the same +busybodies who had discovered that he drank—declined further +assistance, and notified that part, at least, of the principal must +be repaid. The landlord had long been well aware of the state of +affairs, but refrained from action out of a feeling for the old +family. But the land, from the farmer's utter lack of capital, was +now going from bad to worse. The bank having declined to advance +further, the rent began to fall into arrear. The landlord caused it +to be conveyed to his tenant that if he would quit the farm, which +was a large one, he could go into a smaller, and his affairs might +perhaps be arranged.</p> +<p>The old man—for he was now growing old—put his hands +behind his back and said nothing, but went on with his usual +routine of work. Whether he had become dulled and deadened and +cared nothing, whether hope was extinct, or he could not wrench +himself from the old place, he said nothing. Even then some further +time elapsed—so slow is the farmer's fall that he might +almost be excused for thinking that it would never come. But now +came the news that the old uncle who had 'backed' him at the bank +had been found dead in bed of sheer old age. Then the long-kept +secret came out at last. The dead man's executors claimed the money +advanced so many, many years ago.</p> +<p>This discovery finished it. The neighbours soon had food for +gossip in the fact that a load of hay which he had sold was met in +the road by the landlord's agent and turned back. By the strict +letter of his agreement he could not sell hay off the farm; but it +had been permitted for years. When they heard this they knew it was +all over. The landlord, of course, put in his claim; the bank +theirs. In a few months the household furniture and effects were +sold, and the farmer and his aged wife stepped into the highway in +their shabby clothes.</p> +<p>He did not, however, starve; he passed to a cottage on the +outskirts of the village, and became bailiff for the tenant of that +very arable farm to work which years ago his father had borrowed +the thousand pounds that ultimately proved their ruin. He made a +better bailiff than a farmer, being at home with every detail of +practice, but incapable of general treatment. His wife does a +little washing and charing; not much, for she is old and feeble. No +charity is offered to them—they have outlived old +friends—nor do they appeal for any. The people of the village +do not heed them, nor reflect upon the spectacle in their midst. +They are merged and lost in the vast multitude of the agricultural +poor. Only two of their children survive; but these, having early +left the farm and gone into a city, are fairly well-to-do. That, at +least, is a comfort to the old folk.</p> +<p>It is, however, doubtful whether the old man, as he walks down +the lane with his hands behind his back and the dead leaves driven +by the November breeze rustling after, has much feeling of any kind +left. Hard work and adversity have probably deadened his finer +senses. Else one would think he could never endure to work as a +servant upon that farm of all others, nor to daily pass the scenes +of his youth. For yonder, well in sight as he turns a corner of the +lane, stands the house where he dwelt so many, many years; where +the events of his life came slowly to pass; where he was born; +where his bride came home; where his children were born, and from +whose door he went forth penniless.</p> +<p>Seeing this every day, surely that old man, if he have but one +spark of feeling left, must drink the lees of poverty to the last +final doubly bitter dregs.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap5" id="chap5">CHAPTER V</a></h3> +<h3>THE BORROWER AND THE GAMBLER</h3> +'Where do he get the money from, you?' 'It be curious, bean't it; I +minds when his father drove folks' pigs to market.' These remarks +passed between two old farmers, one standing on the sward by the +roadside, and the other talking to him over the low ledge, as a +gentleman drove by in a Whitechapel dog-cart, groom behind. The +gentleman glanced at the two farmers, and just acknowledged their +existence with a careless nod, looking at the moment over their +heads and far away. +<p>There is no class so jealous of a rapid rise as old-fashioned +farming people. They seem to think that if a man once drove pigs to +market he should always continue to do so, and all his descendants +likewise. Their ideas in a measure approximate to those of caste +among the Hindoos. It is a crime to move out of the original +groove; if a man be lowly he must remain lowly, or never be +forgiven. The lapse of time makes not the least difference. If it +takes the man thirty years to get into a fair position he is none +the less guilty. A period equal to the existence of a generation is +not sufficient excuse for him. He is not one whit better than if he +had made his money by a lucky bet on a racehorse. Nor can he ever +hope to live down this terrible social misdemeanour, especially if +it is accompanied by the least ostentation.</p> +<p>Now, in the present day a man who gets money shows off more than +ever was the case. In the olden time the means of luxury were +limited, and the fortunate could do little more than drink, and +tempt others to drink. But to-day the fortunate farmer in the +dog-cart, dressed like a gentleman, drove his thorough-bred, and +carried his groom behind. Frank D——, Esq., in the slang +of the time, 'did the thing grand!' The dog-cart was a first-rate +article. The horse was a high-stepper, such as are not to be bought +for a song; the turn-out was at the first glance perfect. But if +you looked keenly at the groom, there was a suspicion of the plough +in his face and attitude. He did not sit like a man to the manner +born. He was lumpy; he lacked the light, active style +characteristic of the thoroughbred groom, who is as distinct a +breed as the thoroughbred horse. The man looked as if he had been +taken from the plough and was conscious of it. His feet were in +top-boots, but he could not forget the heavy action induced by a +long course of walking in wet furrows. The critics by the hedge +were not capable of detecting these niceties. The broad facts were +enough for them. There was the gentleman in his ulster, there was +the resplendent turn-out, there was the groom, and there was the +thoroughbred horse. The man's father drove their pigs to market, +and they wanted to know where he got the money from.</p> +<p>Meantime Mr. D——, having carelessly nodded, had gone +on. Half a mile farther some of his own fields were contiguous to +the road, yet he did not, after the fashion of the farmer +generally, pause to gaze at them searchingly; he went on with the +same careless glance. This fact, which the old-fashioned folk had +often observed, troubled them greatly. It seemed so unnatural, so +opposite to the old ideas and ways, that a man should take no +apparent interest in his own farm. They said that Frank was nothing +of a farmer; he knew nothing of farming. They looked at his ricks; +they were badly built, and still worse thatched. They examined his +meadows, and saw wisps of hay lying about, evidence of neglect; the +fields had not been properly raked. His ploughed fields were full +of weeds, and not half worked enough. His labourers had acquired a +happy-go-lucky style, and did their work anyhow or not at all, +having no one to look after them. So, clearly, it was not Frank's +good farming that made him so rich, and enabled him to take so high +and leading a position.</p> +<p>Nor was it his education or his 'company' manners. The old folk +noted his boorishness and lack of the little refinements which mark +the gentleman. His very voice was rude and hoarse, and seemed +either to grumble or to roar forth his meaning. They had frequently +heard him speak in public—he was generally on the platform +when any local movement was in progress—and could not +understand why he was put up there to address the audience, unless +it was for his infinite brass. The language he employed was rude, +his sentences disjointed, his meaning incoherent; but he had a +knack of an <i>apropos</i> jest, not always altogether savoury, but +which made a mixed assembly laugh. As his public speeches did not +seem very brilliant, they supposed he must have the gift of +persuasion, in private. He did not even ride well to +hounds—an accomplishment that has proved a passport to a +great landlord's favour before now—for he had an awkward, +and, to the eye, not too secure a seat in the saddle.</p> +<p>Nor was it his personal appearance. He was very tall and +ungainly, with a long neck and a small round head on the top of it. +His features were flat, and the skin much wrinkled; there seemed +nothing in his countenance to recommend him to the notice of the +other sex. Yet he had been twice married; the last time to a +comparatively young lady with some money, who dressed in the height +of fashion.</p> +<p>Frank had two families—one, grown up, by his first wife, +the second in the nursery—but it made no difference to him. +All were well dressed and well educated; the nursery maids and the +infants went out for their airings in a carriage and pair. Mrs. +D——, gay as a Parisian belle, and not without +pretensions to beauty, was seen at balls, parties, and every other +social amusement. She seemed to have the <i>entrée</i> +everywhere in the county. All this greatly upset and troubled the +old folk, whose heads Frank looked over as he carelessly nodded +them good-morning driving by. The cottage people from whose ranks +his family had so lately risen, however, had a very decided opinion +upon the subject, and expressed it forcibly. "'Pend upon it," they +said, "'pend upon it, he have zucked zumbody in zumhow."</p> +<p>This unkind conclusion was perhaps not quite true. The fact was, +that Frank, aided by circumstances, had discovered the ease with +which a man can borrow. That was his secret—his philosopher's +stone. To a certain extent, and in certain ways, he really was a +clever man, and he had the luck to begin many years ago when +farming was on the ascending side of the cycle. The single solid +basis of his success was his thorough knowledge of cattle—his +proficiency in dealership. Perhaps this was learnt while assisting +his father to drive other folks' pigs to market. At all events, +there was no man in the county who so completely understood cattle +and sheep, for buying and selling purposes, as Frank. At first he +gained his reputation by advising others what and when to buy; by +degrees, as people began to see that he was always right, they felt +confidence in him, and assisted him to make small investments on +his own account. There were then few auctioneers, and cattle were +sold in open market. If a man really was a judge, it was as good to +him as a reputation for good ale is to an innkeeper. Men flock to a +barrel of good ale no matter whether the inn be low class or high +class. Men gather about a good judge of cattle, and will back him +up. By degrees D—— managed to rent a small farm, more +for the purpose of having a place to turn his cattle into than for +farming proper—he was, in fact, a small dealer.</p> +<p>Soon afterwards there was an election. During the election, +Frank gained the good-will of a local solicitor and political +agent. He proved himself an active and perhaps a discreetly +unscrupulous assistant. The solicitor thought he saw in Frank +talent of a certain order—a talent through which he (the +solicitor) might draw unto himself a share of other people's money. +The lawyer's judgment of men was as keen as Frank's judgment of +cattle. He helped Frank to get into a large farm, advancing the +money with which to work it. He ran no risk; for, of course, he had +Frank tight in the grasp of his legal fist, and he was the agent +for the landlord. The secret was this—the lawyer paid his +clients four per cent, for the safe investment of their money. +Frank had the money, worked a large farm with it, and speculated in +the cattle markets, and realised some fifteen or perhaps twenty per +cent., of which the lawyer took the larger share. Something of this +sort has been done in other businesses besides farming. Frank, +however, was not the man to remain in a state of tutelage, working +for another. His forte was not saving—simple accumulation was +not for him; but he looked round the district to discover those who +had saved.</p> +<p>Now, it is a fact that no man is so foolish with his money as +the working farmer in a small way, who has put by a little coin. He +is extremely careful about a fourpenny piece, and will wrap a +sovereign up in several scraps of paper lest he should lose it; but +with his hundred or two hundred pounds he is quite helpless. It has +very likely occupied him the best part of his lifetime to add one +five-pound note to another, money most literally earned in the +sweat of his brow; and at last he lends it to a man like Frank, who +has the wit to drive a carriage and ride a thoroughbred. With the +strange inconsistency so characteristic of human nature, a +half-educated, working farmer of this sort will sneer in his rude +way at the pretensions of such a man, and at the same time bow down +before him.</p> +<p>Frank knew this instinctively, and, as soon as ever he began to +get on, set up a blood-horse and a turn-out. By dint of such vulgar +show and his own plausible tongue he persuaded more than one such +old fellow to advance him money. Mayhap these confiding persons, +like a certain Shallow, J.P., have since earnestly besought him in +vain to return them five hundred of their thousand. In like manner +one or two elderly ladies—cunning as magpies in their own +conceit—let him have a few spare hundreds. They thought they +could lay out this money to better advantage than the safe family +adviser 'uncle John,' with his talk of the Indian railways and a +guaranteed five per cent. They thought (for awhile) that they had +done a very clever thing on the sly in lending their spare hundreds +to the great Mr. Frank D—— at a high rate of interest, +and by this time would perhaps be glad to get the money back again +in the tea-caddy.</p> +<p>But Frank was not the man to be satisfied with such small game. +After a time he succeeded in getting at the 'squire.' The squire +had nothing but the rents of his farms to live upon, and was +naturally anxious for an improving tenant who would lay out money +and put capital into the soil. He was not so foolish as to think +that Frank was a safe man, and of course he had legal advice upon +the matter. The squire thought, in fact, that although Frank +himself had no money, Frank could get it out of others, and spend +it upon his place. It did not concern the squire where or how Frank +got his money, provided he had it—he as landlord was secure +in case of a crash, because the law gave him precedence over all +other creditors. So Frank ultimately stepped into one of the +squire's largest farms and cut a finer dash than ever.</p> +<p>There are distinct social degrees in agriculture. The man who +occupies a great farm under a squire is a person of much more +importance than he who holds a little tenancy of a small +proprietor. Frank began to take the lead among the farmers of the +neighbourhood, to make his appearance at public meetings, and to +become a recognised politician—of course upon the side most +powerful in that locality, and most likely to serve his own +interest. His assurance, and, it must be owned, his ready wit, +helped him in coming to the front. When at the front, he was +invited to the houses of really well-to-do country people. They +condoned his bluff manners—they were the mark of the true, +solid British agriculturist. Some perhaps in their hearts thought +that another day they might want a tenant, and this man would serve +their turn. As a matter of fact, Frank took every unoccupied farm +which he could get at a tolerably reasonable rent. He never seemed +satisfied with the acreage he held, but was ever desirous of +extending it. He took farm after farm, till at last he held an area +equal to a fine estate. For some years there has been a disposition +on the part of landlords to throw farms together, making many small +ones into one large one. For the time, at all events, Frank seemed +to do very well with all these farms to look after. Of course the +same old-fashioned folk made ill-natured remarks, and insisted upon +it that he merely got what he could out of the soil, and did not +care in the least how the farming was done. Nevertheless, he +flourished—the high prices and general inflation of the +period playing into his hand.</p> +<p>Frank was now a very big man, the biggest man thereabout. And it +was now that he began to tap another source of supply—to, as +it were, open a fresh cask—<i>i.e.</i> the local bank. At +first he only asked for a hundred or so, a mere bagatelle, for a +few days—only temporary convenience. The bank was glad to get +hold of what really looked like legitimate business, and he +obtained the bagatelle in the easiest manner—so easily that +it surprised him. He did not himself yet quite know how completely +his showy style of life, his large acreage, his speeches, and +politics, and familiarity with great people, had imposed upon the +world in which he lived. He now began to realise that he was +somebody. He repaid the loan to the day, waited awhile and took a +larger one, and from that time the frequency and the amount of his +loans went on increasing.</p> +<p>We have seen in these latter days bank directors bitterly +complaining that they could not lend money at more than 7/8 or even +1/2 per cent., so little demand was there for accommodation. They +positively could not lend their money; they had millions in their +tills unemployed, and practically going a-begging. But here was +Frank paying seven per cent, for short loans, and upon a +continually enlarging amount. His system, so far as the seasons +were concerned, was something like this. He took a loan (or renewed +an old one) at the bank on the security of the first draught of +lambs for sale, say, in June. This paid the labourers and the +working expenses of the hay harvest, and of preparing for the corn. +He took the next upon the second draught of lambs in August, which +paid the reapers. He took a third on the security of the crops, +partly cut, or in process of cutting, for his Michaelmas rent. Then +for the fall of the year he kept on threshing out and selling as he +required money, and had enough left to pay for the winter's work. +This was Frank's system—the system of too many farmers, far +more than would be believed. Details of course vary, and not all, +like Frank, need three loans at least in the season to keep them +going. It is not every man who mortgages his lambs, his ewes (the +draught from a flock for sale), and the standing crops in +succession.</p> +<p>But of late years farming has been carried on in such an +atmosphere of loans, and credit, and percentage, and so forth, that +no one knows what is or what is not mortgaged. You see a flock of +sheep on a farm, but you do not know to whom they belong. You see +the cattle in the meadow, but you do not know who has a lien upon +them. You see the farmer upon his thoroughbred, but you do not know +to whom in reality the horse belongs. It is all loans and debt. The +vendors of artificial manure are said not to be averse sometimes to +make an advance on reasonable terms to those enterprising and +deserving farmers who grow so many tons of roots, and win the +silver cups, and so on, for the hugest mangold grown with their +particular manure. The proprietors of the milk-walks in London are +said to advance money to the struggling dairymen who send them +their milk. And latterly the worst of usurers have found out the +farmers—<i>i.e.</i> the men who advance on bills of sale of +furniture, and sell up the wretched client who does not pay to the +hour. Upon such bills of sale English farmers have been borrowing +money, and with the usual disastrous results. In fact, till the +disastrous results became so conspicuous, no one guessed that the +farmer had descended so far. Yet, it is a fact, and a sad one.</p> +<p>All the while the tradespeople of the market-towns—the +very people who have made the loudest outcry about the depression +and the losses they have sustained—these very people have +been pressing their goods upon the farmers, whom they must have +known were many of them hardly able to pay their rents. Those who +have not seen it cannot imagine what a struggle and competition has +been going on in little places where one would think the very word +was unknown, just to persuade the farmer and the farmer's family to +accept credit. But there is another side to it. The same tradesman +who to-day begs—positively begs—the farmer to take his +goods on any terms, in six months' time sends his bill, and, if it +be not paid immediately, puts the County Court machinery in +motion.</p> +<p>Now this to the old-fashioned farmer is a very bitter thing. He +has never had the least experience of the County Court; his family +never were sued for debt since they can remember. They have always +been used to a year's credit at least—often two, and even +three. To be threatened with public exposure in the County Court +because a little matter of five pounds ten is not settled instantly +is bitter indeed. And to be sued so arbitrarily by the very +tradesman who almost stuffed his goods down their throats is more +bitter still.</p> +<p>Frank D——, Esq.'s coarse grandeur answered very well +indeed so long as prices were high. While the harvests were large +and the markets inflated; while cattle fetched good money; while +men's hearts were full of mirth—all went well. It is +whispered now that the grand Frank has secretly borrowed +25<i>l</i>. of a little cottage shopkeeper in the adjacent +village—a man who sells farthing candles and ounces of +tea—to pay his reapers. It is also currently whispered that +Frank is the only man really safe, for the following +reason—they are all 'in' so deep they find it necessary to +keep him going. The squire is 'in,' the bank is 'in,' the lawyer is +'in,' the small farmers with two hundred pounds capital are 'in,' +and the elderly ladies who took their bank-notes out of their +tea-caddies are 'in.' That is to say, Mr. Frank owes them so much +money that, rather than he should come to grief (when, they must +lose pretty well all), they prefer to keep him afloat. It is a +noticeable fact that Frank is the only man who has not raised his +voice and shouted 'Depression.' Perhaps the squire thinks that so +repellent a note, if struck by a leading man like Frank, might not +be to his interest, and has conveyed that thought to the gentleman +in the dog-cart with the groom behind. There are, however, various +species of the façade farmer.</p> +<p>'What kind of agriculture is practised here?' the visitor from +town naturally asks his host, as they stroll towards the turnips +(in another district), with shouldered guns. 'Oh, you had better +see Mr. X——,' is the reply, 'He is our leading +agriculturist; he'll tell you all about it.' Everybody repeats the +same story, and once Mr. X——'s name is started +everybody talks of him. The squire, the clergyman—even in +casually calling at a shop in the market town, or at the hotel +(there are few inns now)—wherever he goes the visitor hears +from all of Mr. X——. A successful man—most +successful, progressive, scientific, intellectual. 'Like to see +him? Nothing easier. Introduction? Nonsense. Why, he'd be delighted +to see you. Come with me.'</p> +<p>Protesting feebly against intruding on privacy, the visitor is +hurried away, and expecting to meet a solid, sturdy, and somewhat +gruff old gentleman of the John Hull type, endeavors to hunt up +some ideas about shorthorns and bacon pigs. He is a little +astonished upon entering the pleasure grounds to see one or more +gardeners busy among the parterres and shrubberies, the +rhododendrons, the cedar deodaras, the laurels, the pampas grass, +the 'carpet gardening' beds, and the glass of distant hothouses +glittering in the sun. A carriage and pair, being slowly driven by +a man in livery from the door down to the extensive stabling, +passes—clearly some of the family have just returned. On +ringing, the callers are shown through a spacious hall with a +bronze or two on the marble table, into a drawing-room, elegantly +furnished. There is a short iron grand open with a score carelessly +left by the last player, a harp in the corner, half hidden by the +curtains, some pieces of Nankin china on the side tables.</p> +<p>Where are the cow-sheds? Looking out of window a level lawn +extends, and on it two young gentlemen are playing tennis, in +appropriate costume. The laboured platitudes that had been prepared +about shorthorns and bacon pigs are quite forgotten, and the +visitor is just about to ask the question if his guide has not +missed the farm-house and called at the squire's, when Mr. +X—— comes briskly in, and laughs all apology about +intrusion to the winds in his genial manner. He insists on his +friends taking some refreshment, will not take refusal; and such is +the power of his vivacity, that they find themselves sipping +Madeira and are pressed to come and dine in the evening, before one +at least knows exactly where he is. 'Just a homely spread, you +know; pot-luck; a bit of fish and a glass of Moet; now <i>do</i> +come.' This curious mixture of bluff cordiality, with unexpected +snatches of refinement, is Mr. X——'s great charm. +'Style of farming; tell you with pleasure.' [Rings the bell.] +'John' (to the manservant), 'take this key and bring me account +book No. 6 B, Copse Farm; that will be the best way to begin.'</p> +<p>If the visitor knows anything of country life, he cannot help +recollecting that, if the old type of farmer was close and +mysterious about anything, it was his accounts. Not a word could be +got out of him of profit or loss, or revenue: he would barely tell +you his rent per acre, and it was doubtful if his very wife ever +saw his pass-book. Opening account book No. 6 B, the explanation +proceeds.</p> +<p>'My system of agriculture is simplicity itself, sir. It is all +founded on one beautiful commercial precept. Our friends round +about here [with a wave of the hand, indicating the country +side]—our old folks—whenever they got a guinea put it +out of sight, made a hoard, hid it in a stocking, or behind a brick +in the chimney. Ha! ha! Consequently their operations were always +restricted to the same identical locality—no scope, sir, no +expansion. Now my plan is—invest every penny. Make every +shilling pay for the use of half a crown, and turn the half-crown +into seven and sixpence. Credit is the soul of business. There you +have it. Simplicity itself. Here are the books; see for yourself. I +publish my balance half-yearly—like a company. Then the +public see what you are doing. The earth, sir, as I said at the +dinner the other day (the idea was much applauded), the earth is +like the Bank of England—you may draw on it to any extent; +there's always a reserve to meet you. You positively can't overdraw +the account. You see there's such a solid security behind you. The +fact is, I bring commercial principles into agriculture; the result +is, grand success. However, here's the book; just glance over the +figures.'</p> +<p>The said figures utterly bewilder the visitor, who in courtesy +runs his eye from top to bottom of the long columns—farming +accounts are really the most complicated that can be +imagined—so he, meantime, while turning over the pages, +mentally absorbs the personality of the commercial agriculturist. +He sees a tall, thin farmer, a brown face and neck, long restless +sinewy hands, perpetually twiddling with a cigar or a gold +pencil-case—generally the cigar, or rather the extinct stump +of it, which he every now and then sucks abstractedly, in total +oblivion as to its condition. His dress would pass muster in +towns—well cut, and probably from Bond Street. He affects a +frock and high hat one day, and knickerbockers and sun helmet the +next. His pockets are full of papers, letters, etc., and as he +searches amid the mass for some memorandum to show, glimpses may be +seen of certain oblong strips of blue paper with an impressed +stamp.</p> +<p>'Very satisfactory,' says the visitor, handing back No 6 B; 'may +I inquire how many acres you occupy?'</p> +<p>Out comes a note-book. 'Hum! There's a thousand down in the +vale, and fifteen hundred upland, and the new place is about nine +hundred, and the meadows—I've mislaid the meadows—but +it's near about four thousand. Different holdings, of course. Great +nuisance that, sir; transit, you see, costs money. City gentlemen +know that. Absurd system in this country—the land parcelled +out in little allotment gardens of two or three hundred acres. Why, +there's a little paltry hundred and twenty acre freehold dairy farm +lies between my vale and upland, and the fellow won't let my +waggons or ploughing-tackle take the short cut, ridiculous. Time it +was altered, sir. Shooting? Why, yes; I have the shooting. Glad if +you'd come over.'</p> +<p>Then more Madeira, and after it a stroll through the gardens and +shrubberies and down to the sheds, a mile, or nearly, distant. +There, a somewhat confused vision of 'grand shorthorns,' and an +inexplicable jumble of pedigrees, grand-dams, and +'g-g-g-g-g-g-dams,' as the catalogues have it; handsome hunters +paraded, steam-engines pumping water, steam-engines slicing up +roots, distant columns of smoke where steam-engines are tearing up +the soil. All the while a scientific disquisition on ammonia and +the constituent parts and probable value of town sewage as compared +with guano. And at intervals, and at parting, a pressing invitation +to dinner [when pineapples or hot-house grapes are certain to make +their appearance at dessert]—such a flow of genial eloquence +surely was never heard before!</p> +<p>It requires a week at least of calm reflection, and many +questions to his host, before the visitor—quite carried +away—can begin to arrange his ideas, and to come slowly to +the opinion that though Mr. X—— is as open as the day +and frank to a fault, it will take him a precious long time to get +to the bottom of Mr. X——'s system; that is to say, if +there is any bottom at all to it.</p> +<p>Mr. X—— is, in brief, a gambler. Not in a dishonest, +or even suspicious sense, but a pure gambler. He is a gigantic +agricultural speculator; his system is, as he candidly told you, +credit. Credit not only with the bank, but with everybody. He has +actually been making use of you, his casual and unexpected visitor, +as an instrument. You are certain to talk about him; the more he is +talked of the better, it gives him a reputation, which is beginning +to mean a great deal in agriculture as it has so long in other +pursuits. You are sure to tell everybody who ever chooses to +converse with you about the country of Mr. X——, and Mr. +X——'s engines, cattle, horses, profuse hospitality, and +progressive science.</p> +<p>To be socially popular is a part of his system; he sows corn +among society as freely as over his land, and looks to some grains +to take root, and bring him increase a hundred fold, as indeed they +do. Whatever movement is originated in the neighbourhood finds him +occupying a prominent position. He goes to London as the +representative of the local agricultural chamber; perhaps waits +upon a Cabinet Minister as one of the deputation. He speaks +regularly at the local chamber meetings; his name is ever in the +papers. The press are invited to inspect his farms, and are +furnished with minute details. Every now and then a sketch of his +life and doings, perhaps illustrated with a portrait, appears in +some agricultural periodical. At certain seasons of the year +parties of gentlemen are conducted over his place. In parochial or +district matters he is a leading man.</p> +<p>Is it a cottage flower-show, a penny reading, a cricket club, a +benefit society—it does not matter what, his subscriptions, +his name, and his voice are heard in it. He is the life and soul of +it; the energy comes from him, though others higher in the scale +may be the nominal heads. And the nominal heads, knowing that he +can be relied upon politically, are grateful, and give him their +good word freely. He hunts, and is a welcome companion—the +meet frequently takes place at his house, or some of the huntsmen +call for lunch; in fact, the latter is an invariable thing. +Everybody calls for lunch who happens to pass near any day; the +house has a reputation for hospitality. He is the clergyman's right +hand—as in managing the school committee. When the bishop +comes to the confirmation, he is introduced as 'my chief lay +supporter.' At the Rural Diaconal Conference, 'my chief supporter' +is one of the lay speakers. Thus he obtains every man's good word +whose good word is worth anything. Social credit means commercial +credit. Yet he is not altogether acting a part—he really +likes taking the lead and pushing forward, and means a good deal of +what he says.</p> +<p>He is especially quite honest in his hospitality. All the same, +so far as business is concerned, it is pure gambling, which may +answer very well in favourable times, but is not unlikely to end in +failure should the strain of depression become too severe. Personal +popularity, however, will tide him over a great deal. When a man is +spoken highly of by gentry, clergy, literally everybody, the bank +is remarkably accommodating. Such a man may get for his bare +signature—almost pressed on him, as if his acceptance of it +were a favour—what another would have to deposit solid +security for.</p> +<p>In plain language, he borrows money and invests it in every +possible way. His farms are simply the basis of his credit. He buys +blood shorthorns, he buys blood horses, and he sells them again. He +buys wheat, hay, &c., to dispose of them at a profit. If he +chose, he could explain to you the meaning of contango, and even of +that mysterious term to the uninitiated, 'backwardation.' His +speculations for the 'account' are sometimes heavy. So much so, +that occasionally, with thousands invested, he has hardly any ready +money. But, then, there are the crops; he can get money on the +coming crops. There is, too, the live stock money can be borrowed +on the stock.</p> +<p>Here lies the secret reason of the dread of foreign cattle +disease. The increase of our flocks and herds is, of course, a +patriotic cry (and founded on fact); but the secret pinch is +this—if foot-and-mouth, pleuro-pneumonia, or rinderpest +threaten the stock, the tenant-farmer cannot borrow on that +security. The local bankers shake their heads—three cases of +rinderpest are equivalent to a reduction of 25 per cent. in the +borrowing power of the agriculturist. The auctioneers and our +friends have large transactions—'paper' here again. With +certain members of the hunt he books bets to a high amount; his +face is not unknown at Tattersall's or at the race meetings. But he +does not flourish the betting-book in the face of society. He +bets—and holds his tongue. Some folks have an ancient and +foolish prejudice against betting; he respects sincere +convictions.</p> +<p>Far and away he is the best fellow, the most pleasant company in +the shire, always welcome everywhere. He has read widely, is well +educated; but, above all, he is ever jolly, and his jollity is +contagious. Despite his investments and speculations, his brow +never wears that sombre aspect of gloomy care, that knitted +concentration of wrinkles seen on the face of the City man, who +goes daily to his 'office.' The out-of-door bluffness, the cheery +ringing voice, and the upright form only to be gained in the saddle +over the breezy uplands, cling to him still. He wakes everybody up, +and, risky as perhaps some of his speculations are, is socially +enlivening.</p> +<p>The two young gentlemen, by-the-by, observed playing lawn-tennis +from the drawing-room window, are two of his pupils, whose high +premiums and payments assist to keep up the free and generous +table, and who find farming a very pleasant profession. The most +striking characteristic of their tutor is his Yankee-like fertility +of resource and bold innovations—the very antipodes of the +old style of 'clod-compeller.'</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap6" id="chap6">CHAPTER VI</a></h3> +<h3>AN AGRICULTURAL GENIUS—OLD STYLE</h3> +Towards the hour of noon Harry Hodson, of Upcourt Farm, was slowly +ascending the long slope that led to his dwelling. In his left hand +he carried a hare, which swung slightly to and fro as he stepped +out, and the black-tipped ears rubbed now and then against a bunch +of grass. His double-barrel was under his right arm. Every day at +the same hour Harry turned towards home, for he adhered to the ways +of his fathers and dined at half-past twelve, except when the +stress of harvest, or some important agricultural operation, +disturbed the usual household arrangements. It was a beautiful +October day, sunny and almost still, and, as he got on the high +ground, he paused and looked round. The stubbles stretched far away +on one side, where the country rose and fell in undulations. On the +distant horizon a column of smoke, broadening at the top, lifted +itself into the sky; he knew it was from the funnel of a +steam-plough, whose furnace had just been replenished with coal. +The appearance of the smoke somewhat resembled that left by a +steamer at sea when the vessel is just below the horizon. On the +other hand were wooded meadows, where the rooks were +cawing—some in the oaks, some as they wheeled round in the +air. Just beneath him stood a row of wheat ricks—his own. His +gaze finally rested upon their conical roofs with satisfaction, and +he then resumed his walk. +<p>Even as he moved he seemed to bask in the sunshine; the sunshine +pouring down from the sky above, the material sunshine of the +goodly wheat ricks, and the physical sunshine of personal health +and vigour. His walk was the walk of a strong, prosperous +man—each step long, steady, and firm, but quite devoid of +haste. He was, perhaps, forty years of age, in the very prime of +life, and though stooping a little, like so many countrymen, very +tall, and built proportionately broad across the shoulders and +chest. His features were handsome—perhaps there was a trace +of indolence in their good-humoured expression—and he had a +thick black beard just marked with one thin wavy line of grey. That +trace of snow, if anything, rather added to the manliness of his +aspect, and conveyed the impression that he was at the fulness of +life when youth and experience meet. If anything, indeed, he looked +too comfortable, too placid. A little ambition, a little +restlessness, would perhaps have been good for him.</p> +<p>By degrees he got nearer to the house; but it was by degrees +only, for he stayed to look over every gate, and up into almost +every tree. He stopped to listen as his ear caught the sound of +hoofs on the distant road, and again at the faint noise of a gun +fired a mile away. At the corner of a field a team of +horses—his own—were resting awhile as the carter and +his lad ate their luncheon. Harry stayed to talk to the man, and +yet again at the barn door to speak to his men at work within with +the winnowing machine. The homestead stood on an eminence, but was +hidden by elms and sycamores, so that it was possible to pass at a +distance without observing it.</p> +<p>On entering the sitting-room Harry leaned his gun against the +wall in the angle between it and the bureau, from which action +alone it might have been known that he was a bachelor, and that +there were no children about the house to get into danger with +fire-arms. His elderly aunt, who acted as housekeeper, was already +at table waiting for him. It was spread with a snow-white cloth, +and almost equally snow-white platter for bread—so much and +so well was it cleaned. They ate home-baked bread; they were so +many miles from a town or baker that it was difficult to get served +regularly, a circumstance which preserved that wholesome +institution. There was a chine of bacon, small ale, and a plentiful +supply of good potatoes. The farmer did full justice to the sweet +picking off the chine, and then lingered over an old cheese. Very +few words were spoken.</p> +<p>Then, after his dinner, he sat in his arm-chair—the same +that he had used for many years—and took a book. For Harry +rather enjoyed a book, provided it was not too new. He read works +of science, thirty years old, solid and correct, but somewhat +behind the age; he read histories, such as were current in the +early part of the present century, but none of a later date than +the end of the wars of the First Napoleon. The only thing modern he +cared for in literature was a 'society' journal, sent weekly from +London. These publications are widely read in the better class of +farmsteads now. Harry knew something of most things, even of +geology. He could show you the huge vertebræ of some extinct +saurian, found while draining was being done. He knew enough of +archæology to be able to tell any enthusiastic student who +chanced to come along where to find the tumuli and the earthworks +on the Downs. He had several Roman coins, and a fine bronze +spearhead, which had been found upon the farm. These were kept with +care, and produced to visitors with pride. Harry really did possess +a wide fund of solid, if quiet, knowledge. Presently, after reading +a chapter or two, he would drop off into a siesta, till some +message came from the men or the bailiff, asking for +instructions.</p> +<p>The farmstead was, in fact, a mansion of large size, an old +manor-house, and had it been situate near a fashionable suburb and +been placed in repair would have been worth to let as much per +annum as the rent of a small farm. But it stood in a singularly +lonely and outlying position, far from any village of size, much +less a town, and the very highway even was so distant that you +could only hear the horse's hoofs when the current of air came from +that direction. This was his aunt's—the +housekeeper's—great complaint, the distance to the highway. +She grumbled because she could not see the carriers' carts and the +teams go by; she wanted to know what was going on.</p> +<p>Harry, however, seemed contented with the placid calm of the +vast house that was practically empty, and rarely left it, except +for his regular weekly visit to market. After the fashion of a +thoroughbred farmer he was often rather late home on market nights. +There were three brothers, all in farms, and all well to do; the +other two were married, and Harry was finely plagued about being a +bachelor. But the placid life at the old place—he had +succeeded to his father—somehow seemed to content him. He had +visitors at Christmas, he read his books of winter evenings and +after dinner; in autumn he strolled round with his double-barrel +and knocked over a hare or so, and so slumbered away the days. But +he never neglected the farming-everything was done almost exactly +as it had been done by his father.</p> +<p>Old Harry Hodson was in his time one of the characters of that +country side. He was the true founder of the Hodson family. They +had been yeomen in a small way for generations, farming little +holdings, and working like labourers, plodding on, and never heard +of outside their fifty-acre farms. So they might have continued +till this day had not old Harry Hodson arose to be the +genius—the very Napoleon—of farming in that district. +When the present Harry, the younger, had a visitor to his +taste—<i>i.e</i>. one who was not in a hurry—he would, +in the evening, pull out the books and papers and letters of his +late father from the bureau (beside which stood the gun), and +explain how the money was made. The logs crackled and sparkled on +the hearth, the lamp burnt clear and bright; there was a low +singing sound in the chimney; the elderly aunt nodded and worked in +her arm-chair, and woke up and mixed fresh spirits and water, and +went off to sleep again; and still Harry would sit and smoke and +sip and talk. By-and-by the aunt would wish the visitor good-night, +draw up the clock, and depart, after mixing fresh tumblers and +casting more logs upon the fire, for well she knew her nephew's +ways. Harry was no tippler, he never got intoxicated; but he would +sit and smoke and sip and talk with a friend, and tell him all +about it till the white daylight came peeping through the chinks in +the shutters.</p> +<p>Old Harry Hodson, then, made the money, and put two of his sons +in large farms, and paid all their expenses, so that they started +fair, besides leaving his own farm to the third. Old Harry Hodson +made the money, yet he could not have done it had he not married +the exact woman. Women have made the fortunes of Emperors by their +advice and assistance, and the greatest men the world has seen have +owned that their success was owing to feminine counsel. In like +manner a woman made the policy of an obscure farmer a success. When +the old gentleman began to get well to do, and when he found his +teeth not so strong as of yore, and his palate less able to face +the coarse, fat, yellowy bacon that then formed the staple of the +household fare, he actually ventured so far as to have one joint of +butcher's meat, generally a leg of mutton, once a week. It was +cooked for Sunday, and, so far as that kind of meat was concerned, +lasted till the next Sunday. But his wife met this extravagant +innovation with furious opposition. It was sheer waste; it was +something almost unpardonably prodigal. They had eaten bacon all +their lives, often bacon with the bristles thick upon it, and to +throw away money like this was positively wicked. However, the-old +gentleman, being stubborn as a horse-nail, persisted; the wife, +still grumbling, calmed down; and the one joint of meat became an +institution. Harry, the younger, still kept it up; but it had lost +its significance in his day, for he had a fowl or two in the week, +and a hare or a partridge, and, besides, had the choicest hams.</p> +<p>Now, this dispute between the old gentleman and his +wife—this dispute as to which should be most +parsimonious—was typical of their whole course of life. If +one saved cheese-parings, the other would go without cheese at all, +and be content with dry bread. They lived—indeed, harder than +their own labourers, and it sometimes happened that the food they +thought good enough was refused by a cottager. When a strange +carter, or shepherd, or other labourer came to the house from a +distance, perhaps with a waggon for a load of produce or with some +sheep, it was the custom to give them some lunch. These men, +unaccustomed even in their own cottages to such coarse food, often +declined to eat it, and went away empty, but not before delivering +their opinion of the fare, expressed in language of the rudest +kind.</p> +<p>No economy was too small for old Hodson; in the house his wife +did almost all the work. Nowadays a farmer's house alone keeps the +women of one, or even two, cottages fully employed. The washing is +sent out, and occupies one cottage woman the best part of her spare +time. Other women come in to do the extra work, the cleaning up and +scouring, and so on. The expense of employing these women is not +great; but still it is an expense. Old Mrs. Hodson did everything +herself, and the children roughed it how they could, playing in the +mire with the pigs and geese. Afterwards, when old Hodson began to +get a little money, they were sent to a school in a market town. +There they certainly did pick up the rudiments, but lived almost as +hard as at home. Old Hodson, to give an instance of his method, +would not even fatten a pig, because it cost a trifle of ready +money for 'toppings,' or meal, and nothing on earth could induce +him to part with a coin that he had once grasped. He never fattened +a pig (meaning for sale), but sold the young porkers directly they +were large enough to fetch a sovereign a-piece, and kept the +money.</p> +<p>The same system was carried on throughout the farm. The one he +then occupied was of small extent, and he did a very large +proportion of the work himself. He did not purchase stock at all in +the modern sense; he grew them. If he went to a sale he bought one +or two despicable-looking cattle at the lowest price, drove them +home, and let them gradually gather condition. The grass they ate +grew almost as they ate it—in his own words, 'They cut their +own victuals'—<i>i.e.</i> with their teeth. He did not miss +the grass blades, but had he paid a high price then he would have +missed the money.</p> +<p>Here he was in direct conflict with modern farming. The theory +of the farming of the present day is that time is money, and, +according to this, Hodson made a great mistake. He should have +given a high price for his stock, have paid for cake, &c., and +fattened them up as fast as possible, and then realised. The logic +is correct, and in any business or manufacture could not be +gainsaid. But Hodson did just the reverse. He did not mind his +cattle taking a little time to get into condition, provided they +cost him no ready money. Theoretically, the grass they ate +represented money, and might have been converted to a better use. +But in practice the reverse came true. He succeeded, and other men +failed. His cattle and his sheep, which he bought cheap and out of +condition, quietly improved (time being no object), and he sold +them at a profit, from which there were no long bills to deduct for +cake.</p> +<p>He purchased no machinery whilst in this small place—which +was chiefly grass land—with the exception of a second-hand +haymaking machine. The money he made he put out at interest on +mortgage of real property, and it brought in about 4 per cent. It +was said that in some few cases where the security was good he lent +it at a much higher rate to other farmers of twenty times his +outward show. After awhile he went into the great farm now occupied +by his son Harry, and commenced operations without borrowing a +single shilling. The reason was because he was in no hurry. He +slowly grew his money in the little farm, and then, and not till +then, essayed the greater. Even then he would not have ventured had +not the circumstances been peculiarly favourable. Like the present, +it was a time of depression generally, and in this particular case +the former tenant had lived high and farmed bad. The land was in +the worst possible state, the landlord could not let it, and Hodson +was given to understand that he could have it for next to nothing +at first.</p> +<p>Now it was at this crisis of his life that he showed that in his +own sphere he possessed the true attribute of genius. Most men who +had practised rigid economy for twenty years, whose hours, and +days, and weeks had been occupied with little petty details, how to +save a penny here and a fourpenny bit yonder, would have become +fossilised in the process. Their minds would have become as narrow +as their ways. They would have shrunk from any venture, and +continued in the old course to the end of their time.</p> +<p>Old Hodson, mean to the last degree in his way of living, narrow +to the narrowest point where sixpence could be got, nevertheless +had a mind. He saw that his opportunity had come, and he struck. He +took the great corn farm, and left his little place. The whole +country side at once pronounced him mad, and naturally anticipated +his failure. The country side did not yet understand two things. +They did not know how much money he had saved, and they did not +know the capacity of his mind. He had not only saved money, and +judiciously invested it, but he had kept it a profound secret, +because he feared if his landlord learnt that he was saving money +so fast the rent of the little farm would have been speedily +raised. Here, again, he was in direct conflict with the modern +farmer. The modern man, if he has a good harvest or makes a profit, +at once buys a 'turn-out,' and grand furniture, and in every way +'exalts his gate,' When landlords saw their tenants living in a +style but little inferior to that they themselves kept up, it was +not really very surprising that the rents a few years back began to +rise so rapidly. In a measure tenants had themselves to blame for +that upward movement.</p> +<p>Old Hodson carried his money to a long distance from home to +invest, so anxious was he that neither his landlord nor any one +else should know how quickly he was getting rich. So he entered +upon his new venture—the great upland farm, with its broad +cornfields, its expanse of sheep walk and down, its meadows in the +hollow, its copses (the copses alone almost as big as his original +holding), with plenty of money in his pocket, and without being +beholden to bank or lawyer for a single groat. Men thought that the +size of the place, the big manor-house, and so on, would turn his +head. Nothing of the kind; he proceeded as cautiously and prudently +as previously. He began by degrees. Instead of investing some +thousand pounds in implements and machinery at a single swoop, +instead of purchasing three hundred sheep right off with a single +cheque, he commenced with one thing at a time. In this course he +was favoured by the condition of the land, and by the conditions of +the agreement. He got it, as it were, gradually into cultivation, +not all at once; he got his stock together, a score or two at a +time, as he felt they would answer. By the year the landlord was to +have the full rent: the new tenant was quite able to pay it, and +did pay it without hesitation at the very hour it was due. He +bought very little machinery, nothing but what was absolutely +necessary—no expensive steam-plough. His one great idea was +still the same, <i>i.e.</i> spend no money.</p> +<p>Yet he was not bigoted or prejudiced to the customs of his +ancestors—another proof that he was a man of mind. Hodson +foresaw, before he had been long at Upcourt Farm, that corn was not +going in future to be so all in all important as it had been. As he +said himself, 'We must go to our flocks now for our rent, and not +to our barn doors.' His aim, therefore, became to farm into and +through his flock, and it paid him well. Here was a man at once +economical to the verge of meanness, prudent to the edge of +timidity, yet capable of venturing when he saw his chance; and +above all, when that venture succeeded, capable of still living on +bacon and bread and cheese, and putting the money by.</p> +<p>In his earlier days Hodson was as close of speech as of +expenditure, and kept his proceedings a profound secret. As he grew +older and took less active exercise—the son resident at home +carrying out his instructions—he became more garrulous and +liked to talk about his system. The chief topic of his discourse +was that a farmer in his day paid but one rent, to the landlord, +whereas now, on the modern plan, he paid eight rents, and sometimes +nine. First, of course, the modern farmer paid his landlord (1); +next he paid the seedsman (2); then the manure manufacturer (3); +the implement manufacturer (4); the auctioneer (5); the railroad, +for transit (6); the banker, for short loans (7); the lawyer or +whoever advanced half his original capital (8); the schoolmaster +(9).</p> +<p>To begin at the end, the rent paid by the modern farmer to the +schoolmaster included the payment for the parish school; and, +secondly, and far more important, the sum paid for the education of +his own children. Hodson maintained that many farmers paid as much +hard cash for the education of their children, and for the +necessary social surroundings incident to that education, as men +used to pay for the entire sustenance of their households. Then +there was the borrowed capital, and the short loans from the +banker; the interest on these two made two more rents. Farmers paid +rent to the railroad for the transit of their goods. The +auctioneer, whether he sold cattle and sheep, or whether he had a +depôt for horses, was a new man whose profits were derived +from the farmers. There were few or no auctioneers or horse +depositories when he began business; now the auctioneer was +everywhere, and every country town of any consequence had its +establishment for the reception and sale of horses. Farmers sunk +enough capital in steam-ploughs and machinery to stock a small farm +on the old system, and the interest on this sunk capital +represented another rent. It was the same with the artificial +manure merchant and with the seedsman. Farmers used to grow their +own seed, or, at most, bought from the corn dealers or a neighbour +if by chance they were out. Now the seedsman was an important +person, and a grand shop might be found, often several shops, in +every market town, the owners of which shops must likewise live +upon the farmer. Here were eight or nine people to pay rent to +instead of one.</p> +<p>No wonder farming nowadays was not profitable. No wonder farmers +could not put their sons into farms. Let any one look round their +own neighbourhood and count up how many farmers had managed to do +that. Why, they were hardly to be found. Farmers' sons had to go +into the towns to get a livelihood now. Farming was too expensive a +business on the modern system—it was a luxury for a rich man, +who could afford to pay eight or nine landlords at once. The way he +had got on was by paying one landlord only. Old Hodson always +finished his lecture by thrusting both hands into his breeches +pockets, and whispering to you confidentially that it was not the +least use for a man to go into farming now unless he had got ten +thousand pounds.</p> +<p>It was through the genius of this man that his three sons were +doing so well. At the present day, Harry, the younger, took his +ease in his arm-chair after his substantial but plain dinner, with +little care about the markets or the general depression. For much +of the land was on high ground and dry, and the soil there +benefited by the wet. At the same time sheep sold well, and Harry's +flocks were large and noted. So he sauntered round with his gun, +and knocked over a hare, and came comfortably home to dinner, easy +in his mind, body, and pocket.</p> +<p>Harry was not a man of energy and intense concentrated purpose +like his father. He could never have built up a fortune, but, the +money being there, Harry was just the man to keep it. He was +sufficiently prudent to run no risk and to avoid speculation. He +was sufficiently frugal not to waste his substance on riotous +living, and he was naturally of a placid temperament, so that he +was satisfied to silently and gradually accumulate little by +little. His knowledge of farming, imbibed from his father, extended +into every detail. If he seldom touched an implement now, he had in +his youth worked like the labourers, and literally followed the +plough. He was constantly about on the place, and his eye, by +keeping the men employed, earned far more money than his single arm +could have done. Thus he dwelt in the lonely manor-house, a living +proof of the wisdom of his father's system.</p> +<p>Harry is now looking, in his slow complacent way, for a wife. +Being forty years of age, he is not in a great hurry, and is not at +all inclined to make a present of himself to the first pretty face +he meets. He does not like the girl of the period; he fears she +would spend too much money. Nor, on the other hand, does he care +for the country hoyden, whose mind and person have never risen +above the cheese-tub, with red hands, awkward gait, loud voice, and +limited conversation. He has read too much, in his quiet way, and +observed too much, in his quiet way, also, for that. He wants a +girl well educated, but not above her station, unaffected and yet +comely, fond of home and home duties, and yet not homely. And it +would be well if she had a few hundreds—a very small sum +would do—for her dower. It is not that he wants the money, +which can be settled on herself; but there is a vein of the old, +prudent common sense running through Harry's character. He is in no +hurry; in time he will meet with her somewhere.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap7" id="chap7">CHAPTER VII</a></h3> +<h3>THE GIG AND THE FOUR-IN-HAND. A BICYCLE FARMER</h3> +Two vehicles were gradually approaching each other from opposite +directions on a long, straight stretch of country road, which, at +the first glance, appeared level. The glare of the August sunshine +reflected from the white dust, the intense heat that caused a +flickering motion of the air like that which may be seen over a +flue, the monotonous low cropped hedges, the scarcity of trees, and +boundless plain of cornfields, all tended to deceive the eye. The +road was not really level, but rose and fell in narrow, steep +valleys, that crossed it at right angles—the glance saw +across these valleys without recognising their existence. It was +curious to observe how first one and then the other vehicle +suddenly disappeared, as if they had sunk into the ground, and +remained hidden for some time. During the disappearance the vehicle +was occupied in cautiously going down one steep slope and slowly +ascending the other. It then seemed to rapidly come nearer till +another hollow intervened, and it was abruptly checked. The people +who were driving could observe each other from a long distance, and +might naturally think that they should pass directly, instead of +which they did not seem to get much nearer. Some miles away, where +the same road crossed the Downs, it looked from afar like a white +line drawn perpendicularly up the hill. +<p>The road itself was narrow, hardly wider than a lane, but on +either side was a broad strip of turf, each strip quite twice the +width of the metalled portion. On the verge of the dust the red +pimpernel opened its flowers to the bright blue cloudless sky, and +the lowly convolvulus grew thickly among the tall dusty bennets. +Sweet short clover flowers stood but a little way back; still +nearer the hedges the grass was coarser, long, and wire-like. Tall +thistles stood beside the water furrows and beside the ditch, and +round the hawthorn bushes that grew at intervals on the sward +isolated from the hedge. Loose flints of great size lay here and +there among the grass, perhaps rolled aside surreptitiously by the +stone-breakers to save themselves trouble. Everything hot and +dusty. The clover dusty, the convolvulus dusty, the brambles and +hawthorn, the small scattered elms all dusty, all longing for a +shower or for a cool breeze.</p> +<p>The reapers were at work in the wheat, but the plain was so +level that it was not possible to see them without mounting upon a +flint heap. Then their heads were just visible as they stood +upright, but when they stooped to use the hook they disappeared. +Yonder, however, a solitary man in his shirt-sleeves perched up +above the corn went round and round the field, and beside him +strange awkward arms seemed to beat down the wheat. He was driving +a reaping machine, to which the windmill-like arms belonged. Beside +the road a shepherd lingered, leaning on a gate, while his flock, +which he was driving just as fast and no faster than they cared to +eat their way along the sward, fed part on one side and part on the +other. Now and then two or three sheep crossed over with the +tinkling of a bell. In the silence and stillness and brooding heat, +the larks came and dusted themselves in the white impalpable powder +of the road. Farther away the partridges stole quietly to an +anthill at the edge of some barley. By the white road, a white +milestone, chipped and defaced, stood almost hidden among thistles +and brambles. Some white railings guarded the sides of a bridge, or +rather a low arch over a dry watercourse. Heat, dust, a glaring +whiteness, and a boundless expanse of golden wheat on either +hand.</p> +<p>After awhile a towering four-in-hand coach rose out of the +hollow where it had been hidden, and came bowling along the level. +The rapid hoofs beat the dust, which sprang up and followed behind +in a cloud, stretching far in the rear, for in so still an +atmosphere the particles were long before they settled again. White +parasols and light dust coats—everything that could be +contrived for coolness—gay feathers and fluttering fringes, +whose wearers sat in easy attitudes enjoying the breeze created by +the swift motion. Upon such a day the roof of a coach is more +pleasant than the thickest shade, because of that current of air, +for the same leaves that keep off the sun also prevent a passing +zephyr from refreshing the forehead. But the swifter the horses the +sweeter the fresh wind to fan the delicate cheek and drooping +eyelid of indolent beauty. So idle were they all that they barely +spoke, and could only smile instead of laugh if one exerted himself +to utter a good jest. The gentleman who handled the ribbons was the +only one thoroughly awake.</p> +<p>His eyes were downcast, indeed, because they never left his +horses, but his ears were sharply alive to the rhythmic beat of the +hoofs and the faint creak and occasional jingle of the harness. Had +a single shoe failed to send forth the proper sound as it struck +the hard dry road, had there been a creak or a jingle too many, or +too few, those ears would instantly have detected it. The downcast +eyes that looked neither to the right nor left—at the golden +wheat or the broad fields of barley—were keenly watching the +ears of the team, and noting how one of the leaders lathered and +flung white froth upon the dust. From that height the bowed backs +of the reapers were visible in the corn. The reapers caught sight +of the coach, and stood up to look, and wiped their brows, and a +distant hurrah came from the boys among them. In all the pomp and +glory of paint and varnish the tall coach rolled on, gently swaying +from side to side as the springs yielded to the irregularities of +the road. It came with a heavy rumble like far-away thunder over +the low arch that spanned the dry water-course.</p> +<p>Meantime the vehicle approaching from the opposite direction had +also appeared out of a hollow. It was a high, narrow gig of ancient +make, drawn by a horse too low for the shafts and too fat for work. +In the gig sat two people closely pressed together by reason of its +narrow dimensions. The lady wore a black silk dress, of good and +indeed costly material, but white with the dust that had settled +upon it. Her hands were covered with black cotton gloves, and she +held a black umbrella. Her face was hidden by a black veil; thin +corkscrew curls fringed the back of her head. She was stout, and +sat heavily in the gig. The man wore a grey suit, too short in the +trousers—at least they appeared so as he sat with his knees +wide apart, and the toe of one heavy boot partly projecting at the +side of the dash-board. A much-worn straw hat was drawn over his +eyes, and he held a short whip in his red hand. He did not press +his horse, but allowed the lazy animal to go jog-trot at his own +pace. The panels of the gig had lost their original shining polish; +the varnish had cracked and worn, till the surface was rough and +grey. The harness was equally bare and worn, the reins mended more +than once. The whole ramshackle concern looked as if it would +presently fall to pieces, but the horse was in much too good a +condition.</p> +<p>When the four-in-hand had come within about a hundred yards, the +farmer pulled his left rein hard, and drew his gig right out of the +road on to the sward, and then stopped dead, to give the coach the +full use of the way. As it passed he took off his straw hat, and +his wife stooped low as a makeshift for bowing. An outsider might +have thought that the aristocratic coach would have gone by this +extremely humble couple without so much as noticing it. But the +gentleman who was driving lifted his hat to the dowdy lady, with a +gesture of marked politeness, and a young and elegantly-dressed +lady, his sister, nodded and smiled, and waved her hand to her. +After the coach had rolled some fifty yards away, the farmer pulled +into the road, and went on through the cloud of dust it had left +behind it, with a complacent smile upon his hard and weather-worn +features. 'A' be a nice young gentleman, the Honourable be,' said +he presently. 'So be Lady Blanche,' replied his wife, lifting her +veil and looking back after the four-in-hand. 'I'm sure her smile's +that sweet it be a pleasure for to see her.'</p> +<p>Half a mile farther the farmer drew out of the road again, drove +close to the hedge, stopped, and stood up to look over. A +strongly-built young man, who had been driving the reaping machine +in his shirt-sleeves, alighted from his seat and came across to the +hedge.</p> +<p>'Goes very well to-day,' he said, meaning that the machine +answered.</p> +<p>'You be got into a good upstanding piece, John,' replied the old +man sharply in his thin jerky voice, which curiously contrasted +with his still powerful frame. 'You take un in there and try +un'—pointing to a piece where the crop had been beaten down +by a storm, and where the reapers were at work. 'You had better put +the rattletrap thing away, John, and go in and help they. Never +wasted money in all my life over such a thing as that before. What +be he going to do all the winter? Bide and rust, I 'spose. Can you +put un to cut off they nettles along the ditch among they +stones?'</p> +<p>'It would break the knives,' said the son.</p> +<p>'But you could cut um with a hook, couldn't you?' asked the old +man, in a tone that was meant to convey withering contempt of a +machine that could only do one thing, and must perforce lie idle +ten months of the year.</p> +<p>'That's hardly a fair way of looking at it,' the son +ventured.</p> +<p>'John,' said his mother, severely, 'I can't think how you young +men can contradict your father. I'm sure young men never spoke so +in my time; and I'm sure your father has been prospered in his +farming' (she felt her silk dress), 'and has done very well without +any machines, which cost a deal of money—and Heaven knows +there's a vast amount going out every day.'</p> +<p>A gruff voice interrupted her—one of the reapers had +advanced along the hedge, with a large earthenware jar in his +hand.</p> +<p>'Measter,' he shouted to the farmer in the gig, 'can't you send +us out some better tackle than this yer stuff?'</p> +<p>He poured some ale out of the jar on the stubble with an +expression of utter disgust.</p> +<p>'It be the same as I drink myself,' said the farmer, sharply, +and immediately sat down, struck the horse, and drove off.</p> +<p>His son and the labourer—who could hardly have been +distinguished apart so far as their dress went—stood gazing +after him for a few minutes. They then turned, and each went back +to his work without a word.</p> +<p>The farmer drove on steadily homewards at the same jog-trot pace +that had been his wont these forty years. The house stood a +considerable distance back from the road: it was a gabled building +of large size, and not without interest. It was approached by a +drive that crossed a green, where some ducks were waddling about, +and entered the front garden, which was surrounded by a low wall. +Within was a lawn and an ancient yew tree. The porch was overgrown +with ivy, and the trees that rose behind the grey tiles of the roof +set the old house in a frame of foliage. A fine old English +homestead, where any man might be proud to dwell. But the farmer +did not turn up the drive. He followed the road till he came to a +gate leading into the rickyard, and, there getting out of the gig, +held the gate open while the horse walked through. He never used +the drive or the front door, but always came in and went out at the +back, through the rickyard.</p> +<p>The front garden and lawn were kept in good order, but no one +belonging to the house ever frequented it. Had any stranger driven +up to the front door, he might have hammered away with the narrow +knocker—there was no bell—for half an hour before +making any one hear, and then probably it would have been by the +accident of the servant going by the passage, and not by dint of +noise. The household lived in the back part of the house. There was +a parlour well furnished, sweet with flowers placed there fresh +daily, and with the odour of those in the garden, whose scent came +in at the ever open window; but no one sat in it from week's end to +week's end. The whole life of the inmates passed in two back +rooms—a sitting-room and kitchen.</p> +<p>With some slight concessions to the times only, Farmer +M—— led the life his fathers led before him, and farmed +his tenancy upon the same principles. He did not, indeed, dine with +the labourers, but he ate very much the same food as they did. Some +said he would eat what no labourer or servant would touch; and, as +he had stated, drank the same smallest of small beer. His wife made +a large quantity of home-made wine every year, of which she partook +in a moderate degree, and which was the liquor usually set before +visitors. They rose early, and at once went about their work. He +saw his men, and then got on his horse and rode round the farm. He +returned to luncheon, saw the men again, and again went out and +took a turn of work with them. He rode a horse because of the +distance—the farm being large—not for pleasure. Without +it he could not have visited his fields often enough to satisfy +himself that the labourers were going on with their work. He did +not hunt, nor shoot—he had the right, but never exercised it; +though occasionally he was seen about the newly-sown fields with a +single-barrel gun, firing at the birds that congregated in crowds. +Neither would he allow his sons to shoot or hunt.</p> +<p>One worked with the labourers, acting as working +bailiff—it was he who drove the reaping machine, which, after +long argument and much persuasion the farmer bought, only to +grumble at and abuse every day afterwards. The other was +apprenticed as a lad to a builder and carpenter of the market town, +and learned the trade exactly as the rest of the men did there. He +lodged in the town in the cheapest of houses, ate hard bread and +cheese with the carpenters and masons and bricklayers, and was glad +when the pittance he received was raised a shilling a week. Once +now and then he walked over to the farm on Sundays or +holidays—he was not allowed to come too often. They did not +even send him in a basket of apples from the great orchard; all the +apples were carefully gathered and sold.</p> +<p>These two sons were now grown men, strong and robust, and better +educated than would have been imagined—thanks to their own +industry and good sense, and not to any schooling they received. +Two finer specimens of physical manhood it would have been +difficult to find, yet their wages were no more than those of +ordinary labourers and workmen. The bailiff, the eldest, had a +pound a week, out of which he had to purchase every necessary, and +from which five shillings were deducted for lodgings. It may be +that he helped himself to various little perquisites, but his +income from every source was not equal to that of a junior clerk. +The other nominally received more, being now a skilled workman; but +as he had to pay for his lodgings and food in town, he was really +hardly so well off. Neither of these young men had the least chance +of marrying till their father should die; nothing on earth would +induce him to part with the money required to set the one in +business up or the other in a separate farm. He had worked all his +time under his father, and it seemed to him perfectly natural that +his sons should work all their time under him.</p> +<p>There was one daughter, and she, too, was out at work. She was +housekeeper to an infirm old farmer; that is to say, she +superintended the dairy and the kitchen, and received hardly as +much as a cook in a London establishment. Like the sons, she was +finely developed physically, and had more of the manners of a lady +than seemed possible under the circumstances.</p> +<p>Her father's principles of farming were much the same as his +plan of housekeeping and family government. It consisted of never +spending any money. He bought no machines. The reaping machine was +the one exception, and a bitter point with the old man. He entered +on no extensive draining works, nor worried his landlord to begin +them. He was content with the tumble-down sheds till it was +possible to shelter cattle in them no longer. Sometimes he was +compelled to purchase a small quantity of artificial manure, but it +was with extreme reluctance. He calculated to produce sufficient +manure in the stalls, for he kept a large head of fattening cattle, +and sheep to the greatest extent possible. He would rather let a +field lie fallow, and go without the crop from it, till nature had +restored the exhausted fertility, than supply that fertility at the +cost of spending money. The one guiding motto of his life was +'Save, not invest.' When once he got hold of a sovereign he parted +with it no more; not though all the scientific professors in the +world came to him with their analyses, and statistics, and +discoveries. He put it in the bank, just as his father would have +put it into a strong box under his bed. There it remained, and the +interest that accrued, small as it was, was added to it.</p> +<p>Yet it was his pride to do his land well. He manured it well, +because he kept cattle and sheep, especially the latter, to the +fullest capacity of his acreage; and because, as said before, he +could and did afford to let land lie fallow when necessary. He was +in no hurry. He was not anxious for so much immediate percentage +upon an investment in artificial manure or steam-plough. He might +have said, with a greater man, 'Time and I are two.' It was Time, +the slow passage of the years, that gave him his profit. He was +always providing for the future; he was never out of anything, +because he was never obliged to force a sale of produce in order to +get the ready cash to pay the bank its interest upon borrowed +money. He never borrowed; neither did he ever make a speech, or +even so much as attend a farmers' club, to listen to a scientific +lecture. But his teams of horses were the admiration of the country +side—no such horses came into the market town. His rent was +paid punctually, and always with country bank-notes—none of +your clean, newfangled cheques, or Bank of England crisp paper, but +soiled, greasy country notes of small denomination.</p> +<p>Farmer M—— never asked for a return or reduction of +his rent. The neighbours said that he was cheaply rented: that was +not true in regard to the land itself. But he certainly was cheaply +rented if the condition of the farm was looked at. In the course of +so many long years of careful farming he had got his place into +such a state of cultivation that it could stand two or three bad +seasons without much deterioration. The same bad seasons quite +spoiled the land of such of his neighbours as had relied upon a +constant application of stimulants to the soil. The stimulating +substances being no longer applied, as they could not afford to buy +them, the land fell back and appeared poor.</p> +<p>Farmer M——, of course, grumbled at the weather, but +the crops belied his lips. He was, in fact, wealthy—not the +wealth that is seen in cities, but rich for a countryman. He could +have started both his sons in business with solid capital. Yet he +drank small beer which the reapers despised, and drove about in a +rusty old gig, with thousands to his credit at that old country +bank. When he got home that afternoon, he carefully put away some +bags of coin for the wages of the men, which he had been to fetch, +and at once started out for the rickyard, to see how things were +progressing. So the Honourable on the tall four-in-hand saluted +with marked emphasis the humble gig that pulled right out of the +road to give him the way, and the Lady Blanche waved her hand to +the dowdy in the dusty black silk with her sweetest smile. The +Honourable, when he went over the farm with his breechloader, +invariably came in and drank a glass of the small beer. The Lady +Blanche, at least once in the autumn, rode up, alighted, and drank +one glass of the home-made wine with the dowdy. Her papa, the +landlord, was an invalid, but he as invariably sent a splendid +basket of hot-house grapes. But Farmer M—— was behind +the age.</p> +<p>Had he looked over the hedge in the evening, he might have seen +a row of reapers walking down the road at the sudden sound of a +jingling bell behind them, open their line, and wheel like a squad, +part to the right and part to the left, to let the bicycle pass. +After it had gone by they closed their rank, and trudged on toward +the village. They had been at work all day in the uplands among the +corn, cutting away with their hooks low down the yellow straw. They +began in the early morning, and had first to walk two miles or more +up to the harvest field. Stooping, as they worked, to strike low +enough, the hot sun poured his fierce rays upon their shoulders and +the backs of their necks. The sinews of the right arm had +continually to drive the steel through straw and tough weeds +entangled in the wheat. There was no shadow to sit under for +luncheon, save that at the side of the shocks, where the sheaves +radiated heat and interrupted the light air, so that the shadow was +warmer than the sunshine. Coarse cold bacon and bread, cheese, and +a jar of small beer, or a tin can of weak cold tea, were all they +had to supply them with fresh strength for further labour.</p> +<p>At last the evening came, the jackets so long thrown aside were +resumed, and the walk home began. After so many hours of wearisome +labour it was hardly strange that their natural senses were +dulled—that they did not look about them, nor converse gaily. +By mutual, if unexpressed consent, they intended to call at the +wayside inn when they reached it, to rest on the hard bench +outside, and take a quart of stronger ale. Thus trudging homewards +after that exhausting day, they did not hear the almost silent +approach of the bicycle behind till the rider rang his bell. When +he had passed, the rider worked his feet faster, and swiftly sped +away along the dry and dusty road. He was a tall young gentleman, +whose form was well set off and shown by the tight-fitting bicycle +costume. He rode well and with perfect command—the track left +in the dust was straight, there was no wobbling or uncertainty.</p> +<p>'That be a better job than ourn, you,' said one of the men, as +they watched the bicycle rapidly proceeding ahead.</p> +<p>'Ay,' replied his mate, 'he be a vine varmer, he be.'</p> +<p>Master Phillip, having a clear stretch of road, put on his +utmost speed, and neither heard the comments made upon him, nor +would ha e cared if he had. He was in haste, for he was late, and +feared every minute to hear the distant dinner bell. It was his +vacation, and Master Phillip, having temporarily left his studies, +was visiting a gentleman who had taken a country mansion and +shooting for the season. His host had accumulated wealth in the +'City,' and naturally considered himself an authority on country +matters. Master Phillip's 'governor' was likewise in a large way of +business, and possessed of wealth, and thought it the correct thing +for one of his sons to 'go in' for agriculture—a highly +genteel occupation, if rightly followed, with capital and +intelligence. Phillip liked to ride his bicycle in the cool of the +evening, and was supposed in these excursions to be taking a survey +of the soil and the crops, and to be comparing the style of +agriculture in the district to that to which he had been trained +while pursuing his studies. He slipped past the wayside inn; he +glided by the cottages and gardens at the outskirts of the village; +and then, leaving the more thickly inhabited part on one side, went +by a rickyard. Men were busy in the yard putting up the last load +of the evening, and the farmer in his shirt-sleeves was working +among and directing the rest. The bicyclist without a glance rode +on, and shortly after reached the lodge gates. They were open, in +anticipation of his arrival.</p> +<p>He rode up the long drive, across the park, under the old elms, +and alighted at the mansion before the dinner bell rang, much to +his relief; for his host had more than one daughter, and Phillip +liked to arrange his toilet to perfection before he joined their +society. His twenty-five-guinea dressing-case, elaborately fitted +up—too completely indeed, for he had no use for the +razor—soon enabled him to trim and prepare for the +dining-room. His five-guinea coat, elegant studs, spotless shirt +and wristbands, valuable seal ring on one finger, patent leather +boots, keyless watch, eyeglass, gold toothpick in one pocket, were +all carefully selected, and in the best possible style. Mr. +Phillip—he would have scorned the boyish 'master'—was a +gentleman, from the perfumed locks above to the polished patent +leather below. There was <i>ton</i> in his very air, in the 'ah, +ah,' of his treble London tone of voice, the antithesis of the +broad country bass. He had a firm belief in the fitness of +things—in the unities, so to speak, of suit, action, and +time.</p> +<p>When his team were struggling to force the ball by kick, or +other permitted means, across the tented field, Phillip was arrayed +in accurate football costume. When he stood on the close-mown lawn +within the white-marked square of tennis and faced the net, his +jacket was barred or striped with scarlet. Then there was the +bicycle dress, the morning coat, the shooting jacket, and the +dinner coat, not to mention the Ulster or Connaught overcoat, the +dust coat, and minor items innumerable. Whether Phillip rolled in +the mire at football, or bestrode a bicycle, or sat down to +snow-white tablecloth and napkin, he conscientiously dressed the +part. The very completeness of his prescribed studies—the +exhaustive character of the curriculum-naturally induced a frame of +mind not to be satisfied with anything short of absolute precision, +and perhaps even apt to extend itself into dilettanteism.</p> +<p>Like geology, the science of agriculture is so vast, it embraces +so wide a range, that one really hardly knows where it begins or +ends. Phillip's knowledge was universal. He understood all about +astronomy, and had prepared an abstract of figures proving the +connection of sun-spots, rainfall, and the price of wheat. Algebra +was the easiest and at the same time the most accurate mode of +conducting the intricate calculations arising out of the +complicated question of food—of flesh formers and heat +generators—that is to say, how much a sheep increased in +weight by gnawing a turnip. Nothing could be more useful than +botany-those who could not distinguish between a dicotyledon and a +monocotyledon could certainly never rightly grasp the nature of a +hedgerow. <i>Bellis perennis</i> and <i>Sinapis arvensis</i> were +not to be confounded, and <i>Triticum repens</i> was a sure sign of +a bad farmer. Chemistry proved that too small a quantity of +silicate made John Barleycorn weak in the knee; ammonia, animal +phosphates, nitrogen, and so on, were mere names to many ignorant +folk. The various stages and the different developments of insect +life were next to be considered.</p> +<p>As to the soil and strata—the very groundwork of a +farm—geology was the true guide to the proper selection of +suitable seed. Crops had been garnered by the aid of the electric +light, the plough had been driven by the Gramme machine; +electricity, then, would play a foremost part in future farming, +and should be studied with enthusiasm. Without mathematics nothing +could be done; without ornithological study, how know which bird +revelled on grain and which destroyed injurious insects? Spectrum +analysis detected the adulteration of valuable compounds; the +photographer recorded the exact action of the trotting horse; the +telephone might convey orders from one end of an estate to the +other; and thus you might go through the whole alphabet, the whole +cyclopædia of science, and apply every single branch to +agriculture.</p> +<p>It is to be hoped that Phillip's conversational account of his +studies has been correctly reproduced here. The chemical terms look +rather weak, but the memory of an ordinary listener can hardly be +expected to retain such a mass of technicalities. He had piles of +strongly-bound books, the reward of successful examinations, +besides diplomas and certificates of proficiency. These subjects +could be pursued under cover, but there was besides the field work, +which had a more practical sound; model farms to be visited; +steam-engines to be seen at work; lectures to be listened to on the +spot; deep-drainage operations, a new drill, or a new sheaf-binder +to be looked at. Then there were the experimental +plots—something like the little <i>parterres</i> seen at the +edge of lawns.</p> +<p>One plot was sown without manure, another was sown with manure, +a third had a different kind of manure. The dozen mangolds grown in +one patch were pulled up and carefully weighed. The grains of wheat +in an ear standing in an adjacent patch were counted and recorded. +As these plots were about a yard wide, and could be kept clean, no +matter what the weather; and as a wheelbarrow load of clay, or +chalk, or sand thrown down would alter the geological formation, +the results obtained from them were certainly instructive, and +would be very useful as a guide to the cultivation of a thousand +acres. There was also a large, heavy iron roller, which the +scholars could if they chose drag round and round the gravel +path.</p> +<p>Architecture, again, touches the agriculturist nearly. He +requires buildings for the pigs, cattle, horses, labourers, engine +and machinery, lastly, for himself. Out of doors almost any +farmhouse that could be visited might be made by a lecturer an +illustrative example of what ought to be avoided. Scarcely one +could be found that was not full of mistakes—utterly wrong, +and erected regardless of design and utility. Within doors, with +ink, tracing paper, compasses, straight-edge and ruler, really +valuable ground plans, front elevations, and so on, could be laid +down. Altogether, with this circle of science to study, the future +farmer had very hard work to face. Such exhaustive mental labour +induced a certain nervousness that could only be allayed by +relaxation. The bicycle afforded a grateful change. Mounted upon +the slender, swift-revolving wheel, Mr. Phillip in the cool of the +evening, after the long day of study, sometimes proceeded to +stretch his limbs. The light cigar soothed his weary and +overstrained mind.</p> +<p>The bicycle by-and-by, as if drawn by the power of gravitation, +approached more and more nearly to the distant town. It threaded +the streets, and finally stopped in the archway of an inn. There, +leaned against the wall, under the eye of the respectful ostler, +the bicycle reposed. The owner strolled upstairs, and in the +company of choice spirits studied the laws of right angles, of +motion, and retarding friction, upon the level surface of the +billiard table. Somewhere in a not much frequented street there +could be seen a small window in which a coloured plate of fashions +was always displayed. There were also some bonnets, trimming, and +tasteful feathers. Nothing could be more attractive than this +window. The milliner was young and pretty, and seemed to have a +cousin equally young and pretty. Poor, lonely, friendless +creatures, it was not surprising they should welcome a little +flirtation. The bicycle which so swiftly carries the young man of +the present day beyond the penetrating vision of his aunt or tutor +has much to answer for.</p> +<p>But, as pointed out previously, such exhaustive scientific +training naturally tends to make the mind mathematical. It cannot +be satisfied unless its surroundings—the substantial +realisation of the concrete-are perfect. So Mr. Phillip had a suit +for every purpose—for football, cricket, tennis, bicycle, +shooting, dining, and strolling about. In the same way he possessed +a perfect armoury of athletic and other useful implements. There +were fine bats by the best makers for cricket, rods for trout +fishing, splendid modified choke-bores, saddles, jockey caps, and +so on. A gentleman like this could hardly long remain in the +solitary halls of learning—society must claim him for +parties, balls, dinners, and the usual round. It was understood +that his 'governor' was a man of substantial wealth; that Phillip +would certainly be placed in an extensive farm, to play the +pleasant part of a gentleman farmer. People with marriageable +daughters looked upon the clever scholar as a desirable addition to +their drawing-rooms. Phillip, in short, found himself by degrees +involved in a whirl of festivities, and was never at a loss where +to go for amusement when he could obtain leave to seek +relaxation. If such social adulation made him a little vain, if it +led to the purchase of a twenty-five-guinea dressing-case, and to +frequent consultations with the tailor, it really was not Phillip's +fault. He felt himself popular, and accepted the position.</p> +<p>When the vacation came, gathering up a fresh pile of +grandly-bound prize books, broad sheets of diplomas, and +certificates, Phillip departed to his friend's mansion for the +partridge shooting. Coming down the road on the bicycle he overtook +the reapers, and sprang his bell to warn them. The reapers thought +Phillip's job better than theirs.</p> +<p>At dinner, while sipping his claret, Phillip delivered his +opinion upon the agriculture of the district, which he had surveyed +from his bicycle. It was incomplete, stationary, or retrograde. The +form of the fields alone was an index to the character of the +farmers who cultivated them. Not one had a regular shape. The +fields were neither circles, squares, parallelograms, nor +triangles. One side, perhaps, might be straight; the hedgerow on +the other had a dozen curves, and came up to a point. With such +irregular enclosures it was impossible that the farmer could plan +out his course with the necessary accuracy. The same incompleteness +ran through everything—one field was well tilled, the next +indifferently, the third full of weeds. Here was a good modern +cattle-shed, well-designed for the purpose; yonder was a +tumble-down building, with holes in the roof and walls.</p> +<p>So, too, with the implements—a farmer never seemed to have +a complete set. One farmer had, perhaps, a reaping machine, but he +had not got an elevator; another had an elevator, but no +steam-plough. No one had a full set of machinery. If they drained, +they only drained one field; the entire farm was never by any +possibility finished straight off. If the farmer had two new light +carts of approved construction, he was sure to have three old +rumbling waggons, in drawing which there was a great waste of +power. Why not have all light carts? There was no uniformity. The +farming mind lacked breadth of view, and dwelt too much on detail. +It was not, of course, the fault of the tenants of the present day, +but the very houses they inhabited were always put in the wrong +place. Where the ground was low, flat, and liable to be flooded, +the farmhouse was always built by a brook. When the storms of +winter came the brook overflowed, and the place was almost +inaccessible. In hilly districts, where there was not much water, +the farmhouse was situate on the slope, or perhaps on the plateau +above, and in summer very likely every drop of water used had to be +drawn up there from a distance in tanks.</p> +<p>The whole of rural England, in short, wanted rearranging upon +mathematical principles. To begin at the smallest divisions, the +fields should be mapped out like the squares of a chessboard; next, +the parishes; and, lastly, the counties. You ought to be able to +work steam-ploughing tackle across a whole parish, if the rope +could be made strong enough. If you talked with a farmer, you found +him somehow or other quite incapable of following a logical +sequence of argument. He got on very well for a few sentences, but, +just as one was going to come to the conclusion, his mind seized on +some little paltry detail, and refused to move any farther. He +positively could not follow you to a logical conclusion. If you, +for instance, tried to show him that a certain course of cropping +was the correct one for certain fields, he would listen for awhile, +and then suddenly declare that the turnips in one of the said +fields last year were a failure. That particular crop of turnips +had nothing at all to do with the system at large, but the farmer +could see nothing else.</p> +<p>What had struck him most, however, in that particular district, +as he traversed it on the bicycle, was the great loss of time that +must result from the absence of rapid means of communication on +large farms. The distance across a large farm might, perhaps, be a +mile. Some farms were not very broad, but extended in a narrow +strip for a great way. Hours were occupied in riding round such +farms, hours which might be saved by simple means. Suppose, for +example, that a gang of labourers were at work in the +harvest-field, three-quarters of a mile from the farmhouse. Now, +why not have a field telegraph, like that employed in military +operations? The cable or wire was rolled on a drum like those used +for watering a lawn. All that was needed was to harness a pony, and +the drum would unroll and lay the wire as it revolved. The farmer +could then sit in his office and telegraph his instructions without +a moment's delay. He could tap the barometer, and wire to the +bailiff in the field to be expeditious, for the mercury was +falling. Practically, there was no more necessity for the farmer to +go outside his office than for a merchant in Mincing Lane. The +merchant did not sail in every ship whose cargo was consigned to +him: why should the farmer watch every waggon loaded? Steam could +drive the farmer's plough, cut the chaff, pump the water, and, in +short, do everything. The field telegraph could be laid down to any +required spot with the greatest ease, and thus, sitting in his +office chair, the farmer could control the operations of the farm +without once soiling his hands. Mr. Phillip, as he concluded his +remarks, reached his glass of claret, and thus incidentally +exhibited his own hand, which was as white as a lady's.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap8" id="chap8">CHAPTER VIII</a></h3> +<h3>HAYMAKING. 'THE JUKE'S COUNTRY'</h3> +A rattling, thumping, booming noise, like the beating of their war +drums by savages, comes over the hedge where the bees are busy at +the bramble flowers. The bees take no heed, they pass from flower +to flower, seeking the sweet honey to store at home in the hive, as +their bee ancestors did before the Roman legions marched to Cowey +Stakes. Their habits have not changed; their 'social' relations are +the same; they have not called in the aid of machinery to enlarge +their liquid, wealth, or to increase the facility of collecting it. +There is a low murmur rather than a buzz along the hedgerow; but +over it the hot summer breeze brings the thumping, rattling, +booming sound of hollow metal striking against the ground or in +contact with other metal. These ringing noises, which so little +accord with the sweet-scented hay and green hedgerows, are caused +by the careless handling of milk tins dragged hither and thither by +the men who are getting the afternoon milk ready for transit to the +railway station miles away. Each tin bears a brazen badge engraved +with the name of the milkman who will retail its contents in +distant London. It may be delivered to the countess in Belgravia, +and reach her dainty lip in the morning chocolate, or it may be +eagerly swallowed up by the half-starved children of some back +court in the purlieus of the Seven Dials. +<p>Sturdy milkmaids may still be seen in London, sweeping the +crowded pavement clear before them as they walk with swinging +tread, a yoke on their shoulders, from door to door. Some remnant +of the traditional dairy thus survives in the stony streets that +are separated so widely from the country. But here, beside the hay, +the hedgerows, the bees, the flowers that precede the +blackberries—here in the heart of the meadows the romance has +departed. Everything is mechanical or scientific. From the +refrigerator that cools the milk, the thermometer that tests its +temperature, the lactometer that proves its quality, all is +mechanical precision. The tins themselves are metal—wood, the +old country material for almost every purpose, is +eschewed—and they are swung up into a waggon specially built +for the purpose. It is the very antithesis of the jolting and +cumbrous waggon used for generations in the hay-fields and among +the corn. It is light, elegantly proportioned, painted, +varnished—the work rather of a coachbuilder than a +cartwright. The horse harnessed in it is equally unlike the +cart-horse. A quick, wiry horse, that may be driven in a trap or +gig, is the style—one that will rattle along and catch the +train.</p> +<p>The driver takes his seat and handles the reins with the air of +a man driving a tradesman's van, instead of walking, like the true +old carter, or sitting on the shaft. The vehicle rattles off to the +station, where ten, fifteen, or perhaps twenty such converge at the +same hour, and then ensues a scene of bustle, chaff, and rough +language. The tins are placed in the van specially reserved for +them, the whistle sounds, the passengers—who have been +wondering why on earth there was all this noise and delay at a +little roadside station without so much as a visible +steeple—withdraw their heads from the windows; the wheels +revolve, and, gathering speed, the train disappears round the +curve, hastening to the metropolis. Then the empty tins returned +from town have to be conveyed home with more rattling, thumping and +booming of hollow tin—there to be carefully cleansed, for +which purpose vast quantities of hot water must be ready, and coal, +of course, must be consumed in proportion.</p> +<p>This beautiful afternoon the booming seems to sound more than +usual; it may perhaps be the wind that carries the noise along. But +Mr. George, the farmer, who has been working among the haymakers, +steps out from the rank, and going some way aside pauses awhile to +consider. You should not address him as Farmer George. Farmer as an +affix is not the thing now; farmers are 'Mr. So-and-so.' Not that +there is any false pride about the present individual; his memory +goes back too far, and he has had too much experience of the world. +He leans on his prong—the sharp forks worn bright as silver +from use—stuck in the sward, and his chest pressing on the +top of the handle, or rather on both hands, with which he holds it. +The handle makes an angle of forty-five degrees with his body, and +thus gives considerable support and relief while he reflects.</p> +<p>He leans on his prong, facing to windward, and gazing straight +into the teeth of the light breeze, as he has done these forty and +odd summers past. Like the captain of a sailing ship, the eye of +the master haymaker must be always watching the horizon to +windward. He depends on the sky, like the mariner, and spreads his +canvas and shapes his course by the clouds. He must note their +varying form and drift; the height and thickness and hue; whether +there is a dew in the evenings; whether the distant hills are +clearly defined or misty; and what the sunset portends. From the +signs of the sunset he learns, like the antique Roman +husbandman—</p> +<blockquote>'When the south projects a stormy day,<br> +And when the clearing north will puff the clouds +away.'</blockquote> +According as the interpretation of the signs be favourable, +adverse, or doubtful, so he gives his orders. +<p>This afternoon, as he stands leaning on the prong, he marks the +soft air which seems itself to be heated, and renders the shade, if +you seek it for coolness, as sultry as the open field. The flies +are numerous and busy—the horses can barely stand still, and +nod their heads to shake them off. The hills seem near, and the +trees on the summit are distinctly visible. Such noises as are +heard seem exaggerated and hollow. There is but little cloud, mere +thin flecks; but the horizon has a brassy look, and the blue of the +sky is hard and opaque. Farmer George recollects that the barometer +he tapped before coming out showed a falling mercury; he does not +like these appearances, more especially the heated breeze. There is +a large quantity of hay in the meadow, much of it quite ready for +carting, indeed, the waggons are picking it up as fast as they can, +and the rest, if left spread about through next +day—Sunday—would be fit on Monday.</p> +<p>On Sunday there are no wages to pay to the labourers; but the +sun, if it shines, works as hard and effectually as ever. It is +always a temptation to the haymaker to leave his half-made hay +spread about for Sunday, so that on Monday morning he may find it +made. Another reason why he hesitates is because he knows he will +have trouble with the labourers, who will want to be off early as +it is Saturday. They are not so ready to work an hour or two +overtime as when he was a boy. On the other hand, he recollects +that the weather cablegrams from America foretell the arrival of a +depression. What would his grandfather have thought of adjusting +the work in an English meadow to the tenour of news from the other +side of the Atlantic?</p> +<p>Suddenly, while he ponders, there arises a shout from the +labourers. The hay in one spot, as if seized by an invisible force, +lifts itself up and revolves round and round, rising higher every +turn. A miniature cyclone is whirling it up—a column of hay +twisting in a circle and rising above the trees. Then the force of +the whirlwind spends itself; some of the hay falls on the oaks, and +some drifts with the breeze across the field before it sinks.</p> +<p>This decides him at once. He resolves to have all the hay carted +that he can, and the remainder put up into haycocks. The men +grumble when they hear it; perhaps a year ago they would have +openly mutinied, and refused to work beyond the usual hour. But, +though wages are still high, the labourers feel that they are not +so much the masters as they were—they grumble, but obey. The +haycocks are put up, and the rick-cloth unfolded over the partly +made rick. Farmer George himself sees to it that the cloth does not +touch the rick at the edges, or the rain, if it comes, will go +through instead of shooting off, and that the ropes are taut and +firmly belayed. His caution is justified in the night by a violent +thunderstorm, and in the morning it is raining steadily.</p> +<p>It rains again on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Thursday it +does not rain, but the hedges are wet, the ground is soaked, the +grass hung with raindrops, the sky heavy with masses of drifting +cloud. The hay cannot be touched; it must lie a day till +sufficiently dry. Friday is more hopeful. He walks out into the +fields, and kicks a haycock half over. The hay is still wet, but he +congratulates himself that not much damage is done. Saturday Is +warm and fine—work goes on again. But Sunday is near. Sunday +is fiery hot. Monday, the rain pours down with tropical +vehemence.</p> +<p>Thus the monotonous, heart-breaking days go by and lengthen into +weeks, and the weeks extend into months. The wheat is turning +colour, and still the hay lies about, and the farmer has ceased +even to tap the barometer. Those fields that are not cut are brown +as brown can be—the grass has seeded and is over ripe. The +labourers come every day, and some trifling job is found for +them—the garden path is weeded, the nettles cut, and such +little matters done. Their wages are paid every week in silver and +gold—harvest wages, for which no stroke of harvest work has +been done. He must keep them on, because any day the weather may +brighten, and then they will be wanted. But the weather does not +brighten, and the drain of ready cash continues. Besides the men, +tho mowing machine is idle in the shed. Even if the rain ceases, +the crops are so laid that it is doubtful if it can be employed. +The horse-rake is idle, the elevator is idle, the haymaking machine +is idle, and these represent capital, if not to a large amount. He +notes the price of hay at the market. For months past it has been +low—so low that it has hardly paid him to sell that portion +of old hay which he felt he could spare. From October of last year +to June of this [1879] the price remained about the same. It is now +rising, but he has no more old hay to part with, and the new is not +yet made. He has to bear in mind that his herd of cows has to be +kept in high feed all the winter, to supply an unvarying quantity +of milk to the London purchaser.</p> +<p><a name="bnote1" id="bnote1">These</a> wet days, forcing him +unwillingly to stay within doors, send him to his books and +accounts, and they tell a story somewhat at variance with the +prevalent belief that dairy-farming is the only branch of farming +that is still profitable. First, as to the milk-selling. Cows +naturally yield a larger supply in the summer than in winter but by +the provisions of the contract between the farmer and the milkman +the quantity sent in summer is not to exceed and the quantity in +winter not to fall short of, a stipulated amount.<a href= +"#fnote1">[1]</a> The price received in summer is about fivepence +or fivepence-halfpenny per imperial gallon, afterwards retailed in +London at about one shilling and eightpence. When the cost of +conveyance to the station, of the horses, of the wear and tear, of +the men who have to be paid for doing nothing else but look after +the milk, is deducted, the profit to the farmer is but small. He +thinks, too, that he notices a decided falling-off in the demand +for milk even at this price.</p> +<p>Some dairies find a difficulty in disposing of the +milk—they cannot find a purchaser. He has himself a +considerable surplus over and above what the contract allows him to +send. This must either be wasted entirely or made into butter and +cheese. In order to make cheese, the plant, the tubs, vats, +presses, and so on, must be kept in readiness, and there must be an +experienced person to superintend the work. This person must be +paid a salary, and lodge and board in the house, representing +therefore a considerable outlay. The cheese, when made and sent to +market, fluctuates of course in price: it may be as low as +fourpence a pound wholesale; it may go as high as sixpence. +Fourpence a pound wholesale will not pay for the making; sixpence +will leave a profit; but of late the price has gone rather to the +lower than the higher figure. A few years since, when the iron +industries flourished, this kind of cheese had a good and ready +sale, and there was a profit belonging to it; but since the iron +trade has been in so depressed a condition this cheese has sold +badly. The surplus milk consequently brings no profit, and is only +made into cheese because it shall not be wasted, and in the hope +that possibly a favourable turn of the cheese market may happen. +Neither the summer cheese nor the summer milk is bringing him in a +fortune.</p> +<p>Meantime the hay is spoiling in the fields. But a few years ago, +when agricultural prices were inflated, and men's minds were full +of confidence, he recollects seeing standing grass crops sold by +auction for 5<i>l</i>. the acre, and in some cases even higher +prices were realised. This year similar auctions of standing grass +crops hardly realised 30<i>s</i>. an acre, and in some instances a +purchaser could not be found even at that price. The difference in +the value of grass represented by these prices is very great.</p> +<p>He has no pigs to sell, because, for a long while past, he has +had nothing upon which to feed them, the milk being sold. The +pigsties are full of weeds; he can hardly fatten one for his own +use, and has scarcely better facilities for keeping pigs than an +agricultural labourer. The carriage of the milk to the station +requires at least two quick horses, and perhaps more; one cannot do +it twice a day, even with a very moderate load. The hard highway +and the incessant work would soon knock a single horse up. The +mowing machine and the horse-rake must be drawn by a similar horse, +so that the dairy farm may be said to require a style of horse like +that employed by omnibus proprietors. The acreage being limited, he +can only keep a certain number of horses, and, therefore, has no +room for a brood mare.</p> +<p>Farmer George is aware that nothing now pays like a brood cart +mare with fair good luck. The colt born in April is often sold six +months afterwards, in September, for 20<i>l</i>. or 25<i>l</i>., +and even up to 30<i>l</i>., according to excellence. The value of +cart-horse colts has risen greatly, and those who are fortunately +able to maintain a brood mare have reaped the profit. But Mr. +George, selling the milk, and keeping a whole stud of nags for the +milk cart, the mowing machine, the horse-rake, and so forth, cannot +maintain a brood mare as well. In the winter, it is true, the milk +may sell for as high a price as tenpence per gallon of four quarts, +but then he has a difficulty in procuring the quantity contracted +for, and may perhaps have to buy of neighbours to keep up the +precise supply.</p> +<p>His herd must also be managed for the purpose, and must be well +fed, and he will probably have to buy food for them in addition to +his hay. The nag horses, too, that draw the milk waggon, have to be +fed during the winter, and are no slight expense. As for fattening +a beast in a stall, with a view to take the prize at Christmas at +the local show, he has abandoned that, finding that it costs more +to bring the animal up to the condition required than he can +afterwards sell it for. There is no profit in that. America presses +upon him hard, too—as hard, or harder, than on the +wheat-grower. Cases have been known of American cheese being sold +in manufacturing towns as low as twopence per pound +retail—given away by despairing competition.</p> +<p>How, then, is the dairyman to succeed when he cannot, positively +cannot, make cheese to sell at less than fourpence per pound +wholesale? Of course such instances are exceptional, but American +cheese is usually sold a penny or more a pound below the English +ordinary, and this cuts the ground from under the dairyman's feet; +and the American cheese too is acquiring a reputation for richness, +and, price for price, surpasses the English in quality. Some people +who have long cherished a prejudice against the American have +found, upon at last being induced to try the two, that the Canadian +cheddar is actually superior to the English cheddar, the English +selling at tenpence per pound and the Canadian at sevenpence.</p> +<p>Mr. George finds he pays a very high rent for his grass +land—some 50<i>s</i>. per acre—and upon reckoning up +the figures in his account-books heaves a sigh. His neighbours +perchance may be making fortunes, though they tell quite a +different tale, but he feels that he is not growing rich. The work +is hard, or rather it is continuous. No one has to attend to his +duties so regularly all the year round as the man who looks after +cows. They cannot be left a single day from the 1st of January to +the 31st of December. Nor is the social state of things altogether +pleasant to reflect on. His sons and daughters have all left home; +not one would stay and take to the dairy work. They have gone into +the towns, and found more congenial employment there. He is himself +growing in years. His wife, having once left off making cheese when +the milk selling commenced, and having tasted the sweets of rest, +is unwilling to return to that hard labour. When it is done he must +pay some one to do it.</p> +<p>In every way ready money is going out of the house. Cash to pay +the haymakers idling about in the sheds out of the rain; cash to +pay the men who manage the milk; cash to pay the woman who makes +the cheese out of the surplus milk; cash to pay the blacksmith for +continually re-shoeing the milk cart nags and for mending machines; +cash to pay the brewer and the butcher and the baker, neither of +whom took a sovereign here when he was a lad, for his father ate +his own bacon, brewed his own beer, and baked his own bread; cash +to pay for the education of the cottagers' children; cash, a great +deal of cash, to pay the landlord.</p> +<p>Mr. George, having had enough of his accounts, rises and goes to +the window. A rain cloud sweeping along the distant hills has +hidden them from sight, and the rack hurries overhead driven before +the stormy wind. There comes a knock at the door. It is the +collector calling the second time for the poor rates, which have +grown heavier of late.</p> +<p>But, however delayed, the haymaking is finished at last, and +by-and-by, when the leaves have fallen and the hunting commences, a +good run drives away for the time at least the memory of so +unpropitious a season. Then Mr. George some mild morning forms one +of a little group of well-mounted farmers waiting at a quiet corner +while the hounds draw a great wood. Two of them are men long past +middle age, whose once tawny beards are grizzled, but who are still +game, perhaps more so than the rising generation. The rest have +followed them here, aware that these old hands know every inch of +the country, and are certain to be in the right place. The spot is +not far from the park wall, where the wood runs up into a +wedge-shaped point, and ends in a low mound and hedge. Most of the +company at the meet in the park have naturally cantered across the +level sward, scattering the sheep as they go, and are now assembled +along the side of the wood, near where a green 'drive' goes through +it, and apparently gives direct access to the fields beyond. From +thence they can see the huntsman in the wood occasionally, and +trace the exact course the hounds are taking in their search.</p> +<p>A gallant show it is by the wood! Horsemen and horsewomen, late +comers hastening up, restless horses, a throng for ever in motion, +and every now and then the blast of a horn rising up from the trees +beneath. A gallant show indeed, but two old cunning ones and their +followers have slipped away down to this obscure corner where they +can see nothing of it, and are themselves hidden. They know that +the wood is triangular in shape, and that from this, the apex, they +have merely to pass the low hedge in front, and, turning to the +left, ride along the lower side, and so bisect the course the fox +will probably take. They know that the 'drive,' which offers so +straight and easy a descent through the wood from the park, is +pleasant enough till the lower ground is reached. There the soft, +oozy earth, which can never dry under the trees, is poached into a +slough through which even timber carriages cannot be drawn. Nor can +a horseman slip aside, because of the ash poles and thorn thickets. +Those who are trapped there must return to the park and gallop all +round the wood outside, unless they like to venture a roll in that +liquid mud. Any one can go to a meet, but to know all the +peculiarities of the covers is only given to those who have ridden +over the country these forty years. In this corner a detached copse +of spruce fir keeps off the wind—the direction of which they +have noted—and in this shelter it is almost warm.</p> +<p>The distant crack of a whip, the solitary cry of a hound, a +hollow shout, and similar sounds, come frequently, and now and then +there is an irrepressible stir in the little group as they hear one +of the many false alarms that always occur in drawing a great wood. +To these noises they are keenly sensitive, but utterly ignore the +signs of other life around them. A pheasant, alarmed by the hounds, +comes running quietly, thinking to escape into the line of isolated +copses that commences here; but, suddenly confronted by the +horsemen just outside, rises with an uproar, and goes sailing down +over the fields. Two squirrels, happy in the mild weather, frisk +out of the copse into the dank grass, till a curvet of one of the +horses frightens them up into the firs again.</p> +<p>Horses and men are becoming impatient. 'That dalled keeper has +left an earth open,' remarks one of the riders. His companion +points with his whip at the hedge just where it joins the wood. A +long slender muzzle is thrust for a moment cautiously over the bare +sandy mound under cover of a thorn stole. One sniff, and it is +withdrawn. The fox thought also to steal away along the copses, the +worst and most baffling course he could choose. Five minutes +afterwards, and there is this time no mistake. There comes from the +park above the low, dull, rushing roar of hundreds of hoofs, that +strike the sward together, and force by sheer weight the reluctant +earth to resound. The two old hands lead over the hedge, and the +little company, slipping along below the wood, find themselves well +on the track, far in front of the main body. There is a block in +the treacherous 'drive,' those who where foremost struggling to get +back, and those behind struggling to come down. The rest at last, +learning the truth, are galloping round the outside, and taking it +out of their horses before they get on the course at all.</p> +<p>It is a splendid burst, and the pace is terrible. The farmers' +powerful horses find it heavy going across the fresh ploughed +furrows and the wet 'squishey' meadows, where the double mounds +cannot be shirked. Now a lull, and the two old hands, a little at +fault, make for the rising ground, where are some ricks, and a +threshing machine at work, thinking from thence to see over the +tall hedgerows. Upon the rick the labourers have stopped work, and +are eagerly watching the chase, for from that height they can see +the whole field. Yonder the main body have found a succession of +fields with the gates all open: some carting is in progress, and +the gates have been left open for the carter's convenience. A +hundred horsemen and eight or ten ladies are galloping in an +extended line along this route, riding hardest, as often happens, +when the hounds are quiet, that they may be ready when the chiding +commences.</p> +<p>Suddenly the labourers exclaim and point, the hounds open, and +the farmers, knowing from the direction they point where to ride, +are off. But this time the fox has doubled, so that the squadrons +hitherto behind are now closest up, and the farmers in the rear: +thus the fortune of war changes, and the race is not to the swift. +The labourers on the rick, which stands on the side of a hill, are +fully as excited as the riders, and they can see what the hunter +himself rarely views, <i>i.e.</i> the fox slipping ahead before the +hounds. Then they turn to alternately laugh at, and shout +directions to a disconsolate gentleman, who, ignorant of the +district, is pounded in a small meadow. He is riding frantically +round and round, afraid to risk the broad brook which encircles it, +because of the treacherous bank, and maddened by the receding sound +of the chase. A boy gets off the rick and runs to earn sixpence by +showing a way out. So from the rick Hodge has his share of the +sport, and at that elevation can see over a wide stretch of what +he—changing the 'd' into a 'j'—calls 'the juke's +country.'</p> +<p>It is a famous land. There are spaces, which on the map look +large, and yet have no distinctive character, no individuality as +it were. Such broad expanses of plain and vale are usefully +employed in the production of cattle and corn. Villages, hamlets, +even towns are dotted about them, but a list of such places would +not contain a single name that would catch the eye. Though +occupying so many square miles, the district, so far as the world +is concerned, is non-existent. It is socially a blank. But 'the +juke's country' is a well-known land. There are names connected +with it which are familiar not only in England, but all the world +over, where men—and where do they not?—converse of +sport. Something beyond mere utility, beyond ploughing and sowing, +has given it within its bounds a species of separate nationality. +The personal influence of an acknowledged leader has organised +society and impressed it with a quiet enthusiasm. Even the +bitterest Radical forgives the patrician who shoots or rides +exceptionally well, and hunting is a pursuit which brings the peer +and the commoner side by side.</p> +<p>The agricultural population speak as one man upon the subject. +The old farmer will tell you with pride how his advice was sought +when disease entered the kennels, and how his remedy saved the +lives of valuable hounds. The farmer's son, a mere lad, whose head +barely rises to his saddle, talks of 'the duke' as his hero. This +boy knows the country, and can ride straight, better than many a +gentleman with groom and second horse behind. Already, like his +elders, he looks forward impatiently to the fall of the leaf. The +tenants' wives and daughters allude with pleasure to the annual +social gatherings at the mansion, and it is apparent that something +like a real bond exists between landlord and tenant. No false pride +separates the one from the other—intercourse is easy, for a +man of high and ancient lineage can speak freely to the humblest +labourer without endangering his precedence. It needs none of the +parvenu's <i>hauteur</i> and pomp to support his dignity. Every +tenant is treated alike.</p> +<p>On small estates there is sometimes a complaint that the largest +tenant is petted while the lesser are harshly treated. Nothing of +that is known here. The tenants are as well content as it is +possible for men to be who are passing under the universal +depression. <i>Noblesse oblige</i>—it would be impossible for +that ancient house to stoop to meanness. The head rides to the +hunt, as his ancestors rode to battle, with a hundred horsemen +behind him. His colours are like the cockades of olden times. Once +now and then even Royalty honours the meet with its presence. Round +that ancient house the goodwill of the county gathers; and when any +family event—as a marriage—takes place, the hearty +congratulations offered come from far beyond the actual property. +His pastime is not without its use—all are agreed that +hunting really does improve the breed of horses. Certainly it gives +a life, a go, a social movement to the country which nothing else +imparts.</p> +<p>It is a pleasant land withal—a land of hill and vale, of +wood and copse. How well remembered are the copses on the hills, +and the steeples, those time-honoured landmarks to wandering +riders! The small meadows with double mounds have held captive many +a stranger. The river that winds through them enters by-and-by a +small but ancient town, with its memories of the fierce Danes, and +its present talk of the hunt. About five o'clock on winter +afternoons there is a clank of spurs in the courtyard of the old +inn, and the bar is crowded with men in breeches and top-boots. As +they refresh themselves there is a ceaseless hum of conversation, +how so-and-so came a cropper, how another went at the brook in +style, or how some poor horse got staked and was mercifully shot. A +talk, in short, like that in camp after a battle, of wounds and +glory. Most of these men are tenant farmers, and reference is sure +to be made to the price of cheese, and the forthcoming local +agricultural show.</p> +<p>This old market town has been noted for generations as a great +cheese centre. It is not, perhaps, the most convenient situation +for such a market, and its population is inconsiderable; but the +trade is, somehow or other, a tradition of the place, and +traditions are hard to shake. Efforts have been made to establish +rival markets in towns nearer to the modern resorts of commerce, +but in vain. The attempt has always proved a failure, and to this +day the prices quoted at this place rule those of the adjoining +counties, and are watched in distant cities. The depression made +itself felt here in a very practical manner, for prices fell to +such an extent that the manufacture of the old style of cheese +became almost a dead loss. Some farmers abandoned it, and at much +trouble and expense changed their system, and began to produce +Cheddar and Stilton. But when the Stilton was at last ready, there +was no demand for it. Almost suddenly, however, and quite recently, +a demand sprang up, and the price of that cheese rose. They say +here in the bar that this probably saved many from difficulties; +large stocks that had been lying on hand unsaleable for months +going off at a good price. They hope that it is an omen of +returning prosperity, and do not fail to observe the remarkable +illustration it affords of the close connection between trade and +agriculture. For no sooner did the iron trade revive than the price +of cheese responded. The elder men cannot refrain from chuckling +over the altered tone of the inhabitants of cities towards the +farmers. 'Years ago,' they say, 'we were held up to scorn, and told +that we were quite useless; there was nothing so contemptible as +the British farmer. Now they have discovered that, after all, we +are some good, and even Manchester sympathises with us.'</p> +<p>It is now hoped that the forthcoming local show—largely +patronised and promoted by the chief of the hunting +field—will be better than was at one time anticipated. Those +who would like to see the real working of an agricultural show such +as this should contrive to visit the yard early in the morning of +the opening day, some few hours before the public are admitted. The +bustle, the crash of excited exhibitors, the cries of men in charge +of cattle, the apparently inextricable confusion, as if everything +had been put off to the last moment—the whole scene is +intensely agricultural. Every one is calling for the secretary. A +drover wants to know where to put his fat cattle; a carter wants to +ask where a great cart-horse is to stand—he and his horse +together are hopelessly floundering about in the crowd. The agent +of a firm of implement manufacturers has a telegram that another +machine is coming, and is anxious for extra space; the +representative of an artificial manure factory is vainly seeking a +parcel that has got mislaid. The seedsman requires permission to +somewhat shift his stall; wherever is the secretary?</p> +<p>When he appears, a clergyman at once pounces on him to apply for +tickets for the dinner, and is followed by a farmer, who must have +a form and an explanation how to fill it up. One of his labourers +has decided at the last minute to enter for a prize—he has +had a year to make up his mind in. A crowd of members of the +Society are pushing round for a private view, and watching the +judges at their work. They all turn to the secretary to ask where +such and such an exhibit may be found, and demand why on earth the +catalogues are not ready? Mr. Secretary, a stout tenant farmer, in +breeches and top-boots, whose broad face beams with good nature +(selected, perhaps, for that very quality), pants and wipes his +forehead, for, despite the cold, the exertion and the universal +flurry have made him quiet hot. He gives every inquirer a civil +answer, and affably begs the eager folk that press upon him to come +up into the committee-room.</p> +<p>At this a satisfied smile replaces the troubled expression upon +their faces. They feel that their difficulties are at an end; they +have got hold of the right man at last—there is something +soothing in the very sound of the committee-room. When they get up +into this important apartment they find it quite empty. There is a +blazing fire in the grate, and littered on the long table is a mass +of forms, letters, lists, and proofs of the catalogue waiting for +the judges' decision to be entered. After half an hour or so their +hopes begin to fall, and possibly some one goes down to try and +haul the secretary up into his office. The messenger finds that +much-desired man in the midst of an excited group; one has him by +the arm pulling him forward, another by the coat dragging him back, +a third is bawling at him at the top of a powerful voice.</p> +<p>By-and-by, however, the secretary comes panting up into the +committee-room with a letter in his hand and a pleased expression +on his features. He announces that he has just had a note from his +Grace, who, with his party, will be here early, and who hopes that +all is going on well. Then to business, and it is surprising how +quickly he disposes of it. A farmer himself, he knows exactly what +is wanted, and gives the right order without a moment's hesitation. +It is no new experience to him, and despite all this apparent +confusion, everything presently falls into its place.</p> +<p>After the opening of the show there is a meeting, at which +certain prizes are distributed, among them rewards to the best +ploughman in 'the juke's country,' and to those labourers who have +remained longest in the service of one master. For the graceful +duty of presentation a marchioness has been selected, who, with +other visitors of high social rank, has come over from that famous +hunting mansion. To meet that brilliant party the whole +agricultural interest has assembled. The room is crowded with +tenant farmers, the entire hunting field is present. Every +clergyman in the district is here, together with the gentry, and +many visitors for the hunting season. Among them, shoulder to +shoulder, are numbers of agricultural labourers, their wives, and +daughters, dressed in their best for the occasion. After some +speeches, a name is called, and an aged labourer steps forward.</p> +<p>His grandchildren are behind him; two of his sons, quite elderly +themselves, attend him almost to the front, so that he may have to +make but a few steps unsupported. The old man is frosted with age, +and moves stiffly, like a piece of mechanism rather than a living +creature, nor is there any expression—neither smile nor +interest—upon his absolutely immobile features. He wears +breeches and gaiters, and a blue coat cut in the style of two +generations since. There is a small clear space in the midst of the +well-dressed throng. There he stands, and for the moment the hum is +hushed.</p> +<p>For sixty years that old man laboured upon one farm; sixty years +of ploughing and sowing, sixty harvests. What excitement, what +discoveries and inventions—with what giant strides the world +has progressed while he quietly followed the plough! An +acknowledgment has been publicly awarded to him for that long and +faithful service. He puts forth his arm; his dry, horny fingers are +crooked, and he can neither straighten nor bend them. Not the least +sign appears upon his countenance that he is even conscious of what +is passing. There is a quick flash of jewelled rings ungloved to +the light, and the reward is placed in that claw-like grasp by the +white hand of the marchioness.</p> +<p>Not all the gallant cavalry of the land fearlessly charging +hedge and brook can, however, repel the invasion of a foe mightier +than their chief. Frost sometimes comes and checks their gaiety. +Snow falls, and levels every furrow, and then Hodge going to his +work in the morning can clearly trace the track of one of his most +powerful masters, Squire Reynard, who has been abroad in the night, +and, likely enough, throttled the traditional grey goose. The +farmer watches for the frozen thatch to drip; the gentleman +visiting the stable looks up disconsolately at the icicles +dependent from the slated eave with the same hope. The sight of a +stray seagull wandering inland is gladly welcomed, as the harbinger +of drenching clouds sweeping up on soft south-westerly gales from +the nearest coast.</p> +<p>The hunt is up once more, and so short are the hours of the day +in the dead of the year, that early night often closes round the +chase. From out of the gloom and the mist comes the distant note of +the horn, with a weird and old-world sound. By-and-by the labourer, +trudging homeward, is overtaken by a hunter whose horse's neck +droops with weariness. His boots are splashed with mud, his coat +torn by the thorns. He is a visitor, vainly trying to find his way +home, having come some ten or fifteen miles across country since +the morning. The labourer shows the route—the longest way +round is the shortest at night—and as they go listens eagerly +to the hunter's tale of the run. At the cross roads they part with +mutual goodwill towards each other, and a shilling, easily earned, +pays that night for the cottager's pipe and glass of ale.</p> +<h4>Footnotes:</h4> +<a name="fnote1" id="fnote1"></a><a href="#bnote1">1.</a> An +improvement upon this system has been introduced by the leading +metropolitian dairy company. The farmer is asked to fix a minimum +quantity which he will engage to supply daily, but he can send as +much more as he likes. This permits of economical and natural +management in a dairy, which was very difficult under the rigid +rule mentioned above. +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap9" id="chap9">CHAPTER IX</a></h3> +<h3>THE FINE LADY FARMER. COUNTRY GIRLS</h3> +A pair of well-matched bays in silver-plated harness, and driven by +a coachman in livery, turn an easy curve round a corner of the +narrow country road, forcing you to step on the sward by the +crimson-leaved bramble bushes, and sprinkling the dust over the +previously glossy surface of the newly fallen horse chestnuts. Two +ladies, elegantly dressed, lounge in the carriage with that +graceful idleness—that indifferent indolence—only to be +acquired in an atmosphere of luxury. Before they pass out of sight +round another turn of the road it is possible to observe that one +at least possesses hair of the fashionable hue, and a complexion +delicately brilliant—whether wholly natural or partly aided +by art. The other must be pronounced a shade less rich in the +colours of youth, but is perhaps even more expensively dressed. An +experienced observer would at once put them down as mother and +daughter, as, indeed, they are. +<p>The polished spokes of the wheels glitter in the sun, the hoofs +of the high-stepping pair beat the firm road in regular cadence, +and smoothly the carriage rolls on till the brown beech at the +corner hides it. But a sense of wealth, of social station, and +refinement—strange and in strong contrast to the rustic +scene—lingers behind, like a faint odour of perfume. There +are the slow teams pulling stolidly at the ploughs—they were +stopped, of course, for the carters to stare at the equipage; there +are the wheat ricks; yonder a lone farmstead, and black cattle +grazing in the pasture. Surely the costly bays, whose hoofs may +even now be heard, must belong to the lordly owner of these broad +acres—this undulating landscape of grass and stubble, which +is not beautiful but evidently fertile!</p> +<p>A very brief inquiry at the adjacent market town disposes of +this natural conclusion. It is the carriage of a tenant +farmer—but what a tenant! The shopkeepers here are eloquent, +positively gratefully eloquent, in the praise of his wife and +daughter. Customers!—no such customers had been known in the +old borough from time immemorial. The tradesman as he speaks +involuntarily pulls out his till, glances in, and shuts it up with +a satisfied bang. The old style of farmer, solid and substantial +enough, fumbling at the bottom of his canvas bag for silver and +gold, was a crusty curmudgeon where silk and satin, kid gloves, and +so forth were concerned. His wife had to look sharp after her +poultry, geese and turkeys, and such similar perquisites, in order +to indulge in any innocent vanity, notwithstanding that the rent +was paid and a heavy balance at the bank.</p> +<p>Then he would have such a length of credit—a year at +least—and nowadays a shopkeeper, though sure of his money, +cannot wait long for it. But to ask for the account was to give +mortal offence. The bill would be paid with the remark, intended to +be intensely sarcastic, 'Suppose you thought we was a-going to run +away—eh?' and the door would never again be darkened by those +antique breeches and gaiters. As for the common run of ordinary +farmers, their wives bought a good deal, but wanted it cheap and, +looking at the low price of corn and the 'paper' there was floating +about, it did not do to allow a long bill to be run up. But the +Grange people—ah! the Grange people put some life into the +place. 'Money! they must have heaps of money' (lowering his voice +to a whisper). 'Why, Mrs. —— brought him a fortune, +sir; why, she's got a larger income than our squire' (as if it +were, rank treason to say so). 'Mr. —— has got money +too, and bless you, they holds their heads as high as their +landlord's, and good reason they should. They spend as much in a +week as the squire do in a month, and don't cheapen nothing, and +your cheque just whenever you like to ask for it. That's what I +calls gentlefolks.' For till and counter gauge long descent, and +heraldic quarterings, and ancestral Crusaders, far below the chink +of ready money, that synonym for all the virtues.</p> +<p>The Grange people, indeed, are so conspicuous, that there is +little secrecy about them or their affairs. The house they reside +in—it cannot be called a farmstead—is a large +villa-like mansion of recent erection, and fitted with every modern +convenience. The real farmstead which it supplanted lies in a +hollow at some distance, and is occupied by the head bailiff, for +there are several employed. As the architecture of the villa is +consonant with modern 'taste,' so too the inferior is furnished in +the 'best style,' of course under the supervision of the mistress. +Mrs. —— has filled it with rosewood and ormolu, with +chairs completely gilt, legs, back, seat, and all, with luxurious +ottomans, 'occasional' tables inlaid with mother-o'-pearl, soft +carpets, polished brazen grate-fittings, semi-ecclesiastical, +semi-mediæval, and so forth.</p> +<p>Everywhere the glitter of glass, mirrors over the mantelpieces, +mirrors let into panels, glass chiffoniers, and pendent prisms of +glass round the ornamental candlesticks. Mixed with this some of +the latest productions of the new English Renaissance—stiff, +straight-back, plain oak chairs, such as men in armour may have +used—together with Japanese screens. In short, just such a +medley of artistic styles as may be seen in scores of suburban +villas where money is of little account, and even in houses of +higher social pretensions. There is the usual illustrated +dining-room literature, the usual <i>bric-à-brac</i>, the +usual cabinet series of poets. There are oil paintings on the +walls; there is an immense amount of the most expensive +electroplate on the dinner table; the toilet accessories in the +guest chambers are 'elegant' and <i>recherché</i>. The +upholsterer has not been grudged.</p> +<p>For Mrs. —— is the daughter of a commercial man, one +of the principals of a great firm, and has been accustomed to these +things from her youth upwards. She has no sympathies with the past, +that even yet is loth to quit its hold of the soil and of those who +are bred upon it. The ancient simplicity and plainness of country +life are positively repulsive to her; she associates them with +poverty. Her sympathies are with warm, well-lighted rooms, full of +comfort, shadowless because of the glare of much gas. She is not +vulgar, just the reverse—she is a thorough lady, but she is +not of the country and its traditions. She is the city and the +suburb transplanted to the midst of corn, and grass, and cattle. +She has her maid, skilled in the toilet, her carriage and pair and +pony carriage, grooms, footmen, just exactly as she would have done +had she brought her magnificent dowry to a villa at Sydenham.</p> +<p>In the season, with her daughter, she goes to town, and drives +daily in the park, just the same as to-day she has driven through +the leaf-strewn country-lane to the market town. They go also to +the sea-side, and now and then to the Continent. They are, of +course, invited to the local balls, and to many of the best houses +on more private occasions. The ramifications of finance do not +except the proudest descendants of the Crusaders, and the 'firm' +has its clients even among them. Bonnets come down from Madame +Louise, boxes of novels from Mudie's; 'Le Follet' is read in the +original, and many a Parisian romance as well. Visitors are +continually coming and going—the carriage is perpetually +backwards and forwards to the distant railway station. Friends come +to the shooting, the hunting, the fishing; there is never any lack +of society.</p> +<p>The house is full of servants, and need be, to wait upon these +people. Now, in former days, and not such a great while since, the +best of servants came from the country. Mistresses sought for them, +and mourned when, having imbibed town ways and town independence, +they took their departure to 'better' themselves. But that is a +thing of the past; it is gone with the disappearance of the old +style of country life. Servant girls in farmhouses when young used +to have a terribly hard life: hard work, hard fare, up early of a +morning, stone flags under foot by day, bare boards under foot +upstairs, small pay, and hard words too often. But they turned out +the best of women, the healthiest and strongest, the most sought +after. Now they learn a great deal about Timbuctoo, and will soon, +no doubt, about Cyprus; but the 'servant from the country' is no +more. Nothing less will suit them to begin with than the service of +the parish clergyman, then they aspire to the Grange, get there, +and receive a finishing education, and can never afterwards +condescend to go where a footman is not kept. They become, in +short, fine ladies, whose fathers are still at the +plough—ladies who at home have been glad of bread and bacon, +and now cannot possibly survive without hot butcher's meat every +day, and game and fish in their seasons.</p> +<p>But to return. Mrs. —— and her daughter have also +their saddle horses. They do not often hunt, but frequently go to +the meet. They have, it is true, an acceptable excuse for +preferring riding to walking—the fashion of tying the dress +back so tightly makes it extremely difficult for a lady to get over +a country stile. The rigours of winter only enable them to appear +even yet more charming in furs and sealskin. In all this the Grange +people have not laid themselves open to any reproach as to the +extravagance or pretension of their doings. With them it is +genuine, real, unaffected: in brief, they have money, and have a +right to what it can purchase.</p> +<p>Mr. —— is not a tenant farmer from necessity; +personally he is not a farmer at all, and knows no more of +shorthorns than the veriest 'City' man. He has a certain taste for +country life, and this is his way of enjoying it—and a very +acute way, too, when you come to analyse it. The major portion of +his capital is, with his wife's, in the 'firm'; it is administered +and employed for him by men whose family interests and his are +identical, whose knowledge of business is profound, whose own +capital is there too. It is a fortunate state of things, not +brought about in a day, but the growth of more than one generation. +Now this man, as has been remarked, has a taste for country +life—that is to say, he is an enthusiast over +horses—not betting, but horses in their best form. He likes +to ride and drive about, to shoot, and fish, and hunt. There is +nothing despicable in this, but, after the manner of men, of course +he must find an excuse.</p> +<p>He found it in the children when they were young—two boys +and one girl. It was better for them to have country air, to ride +about the country lanes, and over the hills. The atmosphere +altogether was more healthy, more manly than in the suburbs of a +city. The excuse is a good one. Now come the means; two plans are +open to him. He can buy an estate, or he can rent a large farm, or +rather series of farms. If he purchases a fine estate he must +withdraw his capital from business. In the first place, that would +be inconvenient to old friends, and even unjust to them; in the +second place, it would reduce his income most materially. Suppose +we say, not for absolute exactness, but for the sake of present +contrast, that capital well invested in business brings in ten per +cent. The same capital invested in land brings in, say, three per +cent. nominally; but is it as much in reality if you deduct those +expensive improvements upon which tenants insist nowadays, and the +five per cents, and ten per cents, allowed off the rent in bad +years? At all events, it is certain that landlords, as a class, are +investing more and more every year in business, which looks as if +they did not consider land itself sufficiently remunerative. In +addition, when you have bought your estate, should you subsequently +wish to realise, the difficulties and delays are very trying. You +cannot go down to your broker and say, 'Sell me a thousand acres +this morning.' Capital in land is locked up.</p> +<p>Mr. ——, having been trained in traditions of ready +money and easy transfer, does not like this prospect. But as the +tenant of a great farm it is quite another matter. The larger part +of his capital still remains in the 'firm,' and earns him a +handsome income. That which is invested in stock, cattle, horses, +implements, &c., is in a sense readily negotiable if ever he +should desire to leave. Instead of having to pet and pamper +discontented tenants, his landlord has to pet and pamper him. He +has, in fact, got the upper hand. There are plenty of landlords who +would be only too glad to get the rich Mr. —— to manure +and deep-plough their lands; but there are comparatively few Mr. +——'s whose rent-day payments can be implicitly relied +on. Mr. ——, in point of fact, gets all the sweets of +the country gentleman's life, and leaves the owner all the sour. He +has no heir presumptive to check his proceedings; no law of entail +to restrain him; no old settlements to bind him hand and foot; none +of those hundred and one family interests to consult which +accumulate in the course of years around a landed estate, and so +seriously curtail the freedom of the man in possession, the head of +the family. So far as liberty and financial considerations go, he +is much better off than his landlord, who perhaps has a title. +Though he knows nothing of farming, he has the family instinct of +accounts and figures; he audits the balance-sheets and books of his +bailiff personally, and is not easily cheated. Small peculations of +course go on, but nothing serious. The farms pay their way, and +contribute a trifle towards the household expenses. For the rest, +it is taken out in liberty, out-of-door life, field sports, and +unlimited horses. His wife and daughter mix in the best society the +county affords, besides their annual visits to town and the +sea-side: they probably enjoy thrice the liberty and pleasure they +would elsewhere. Certainly they are in blooming health. The eldest +son is studying for the law, the younger has the commercial +instinct more strongly developed, and is already with the 'firm.' +Both of them get the full benefit of country life whenever they +wish; both of them feel that there is plenty of capital behind +them, and not the slightest jealousy exists on account of +primogeniture. Of course they have their troubles—what family +has not its troubles?—but on the whole their position is an +enviable one.</p> +<p>When Mrs. —— and her daughter rustle into their pew +at church—placed next in honour to that of the proprietor of +the soil—all eyes are turned upon them. The old-fashioned +farmer's wife, who until her years pressed heavily upon her made +the cheese and butter in her husband's dairy, is not so old but +that her eyes can distinguish the colour of a ribbon. She may talk +of such things as vanities, and unknown in her day, but for all +that a pair of keen eyes criticise skirt, and trimmings, and +braidings, and so forth, as displayed up in the Grange pew. Her +daughter, who is quite young—for in her mother's time farming +people did not marry till late in life—brings a still keener +pair of eyes to bear in the same direction.</p> +<p>The bonnets from Regent Street are things to think over and talk +of. The old lady disinters her ancient finery; the girl, by hook or +crook, is determined to dress in the fashion. If one farmer's wife +is a fine lady, why not another? Do not even the servant girls at +the Grange come out twenty times finer than people who have a +canvas bag full of sovereigns at home, and many such bags at the +bank? So that the Grange people, though they pay their way +handsomely, and plough deep and manure lavishly, and lead the van +of agriculture, are not, perhaps, an unmixed good. They help on +that sapping and undermining of the ancient, sturdy simplicity, the +solid oak of country character, replacing it with veneer. It is +not, of course, all, or a tenth part, their fault, or in any way +traceable to them. It is part and parcel of the wide-spread social +changes which have gradually been proceeding.</p> +<p>But the tenant farmer's wife who made the butter and cheese, and +even helped to salt bacon, where is she now? Where are the healthy +daughters that used to assist her? The wife is a fine +lady—not, indeed, with carriage and pair, but with a dandy +dog-cart at least; not with three-guinea bonnets, but with a costly +sealskin jacket. There are kid gloves on her hands; there is a +suspicion of perfume about her; there is a rustling of silk and +satin, and a waving of ostrich feathers. The daughter is pale and +interesting, and interprets Beethoven, and paints the old mill; +while a skilled person, hired at a high price, rules in the dairy. +The son rides a-hunting, and is glib on the odds. The +'offices'—such it is the fashion to call the places in which +work was formerly done—are carefully kept in the background. +The violets and snowdrops and crocuses are rooted up, all the sweet +and tender old flowers ruthlessly eradicated, to make way for a +blazing parterre after the manner of the suburban villa—gay +in the summer, in the spring a wilderness of clay, in the autumn a +howling desert of musty evergreens..</p> +<p>The 'civilisation' of the town has, in fact, gone out and taken +root afresh in the country. There is no reason why the farmer +should not be educated; there is no reason why his wife should not +wear a sealskin jacket, or the daughter interpret Beethoven. But +the question arises, Has not some of the old stubborn spirit of +earnest work and careful prudence gone with the advent of the piano +and the oil painting? While wearing the dress of a lady, the wife +cannot tuck up her sleeves and see to the butter, or even feed the +poultry, which are down at the pen across 'a nasty dirty field.' It +is easy to say that farming is gone to the dogs, that corn is low, +and stock uncertain, and rents high, and so forth. All that is +true, but difficulties are nothing new; nor must too much be +expected from the land.</p> +<p>A moderate-sized farm, of from 200 to 800 acres, will no more +enable the mistress and the misses to play the fine lady to-day +than it would two generations ago. It requires work now the same as +then—steady, persevering work—and, what is more +important, prudence, economy, parsimony if you like; nor do these +necessarily mean the coarse manners of a former age. Manners may be +good, education may be good, the intellect and even the artistic +sense may be cultivated, and yet extravagance avoided. The proverb +is true still: 'You cannot have your hare and cook him too.' Now so +many cook their hares in the present day without even waiting to +catch them first. A euphuism has been invented to cover the +wrongfulness of this system; it is now called 'discounting.' The +fine lady farmers discount their husbands' corn and fat cattle, +cheese and butter, before they reach the market. By-and-by the +plough stops in the furrow, and the team is put up to auction, and +farewell is said to the old homestead for evermore.</p> +<p>There was no warmer welcome to be met with in life than used to +be bestowed upon the fortunate visitor to an old house in the +country where the people were not exactly farmers in the ordinary +sense, because they were sufficiently well off to be independent, +and yet made no pretence to gentility. You dropped in quite +unexpectedly and informally after a pleasant stroll about the +fields with a double-barrel, untrammelled by any attendant. The +dogs were all over cleavers sticking to their coats, and your boots +had to be wiped with a wisp of straw; your pocket was heavy with a +couple of rabbits or a hare, and your hands black enough from +powder and handling gates and stiles. But they made you feel +immediately that such trifles were not of the slightest +account.</p> +<p>The dogs were allowed to rush in anyhow and set to work to lick +their paws by the fire as if the house was their own. Your apology +about your boots and general state of disorder was received with a +smile by the mistress, who said she had sons of her own, and knew +their ways. Forthwith one sturdy son seized the double-barrel, and +conveyed it to a place of safety; a second took the rabbits or the +hare, that you might not be incommoded by such a lump in your +pocket, and sent the game on home to your quarters by a labourer; a +third relieved you of your hat. As many tall young ladies rose to +offer you a seat, so that it was really difficult to know which way +to turn, besides which the old grandfather with silvery hair +pressed you to take his chair by the fire.</p> +<p>They had just sat down to the old-fashioned tea at half-past +four, and in a moment there was a cup and plate ready. The tea had +a fragrant scent, warm and grateful after the moist atmosphere of +the meadows, smelling of decaying leaves. The mistress suggested +that a nip of brandy might improve it, thinking that tea was hardly +strong enough for a man. But that was, declined; for what could be +more delicious than the sweet, thick cream poured in by a liberal +hand? A fine ham had already been put on the table, as if by +magic—the girls really seemed to anticipate everything you +could possibly want. As for the butter, it was exquisite, and so, +too, the home-baked bread, the more so, because only touched in the +processes of preparing by the whitest and softest of hands. Such +simple things become luxuries when brought to perfection by loving +care. The old dog on the hearthrug came thrusting his nose into +your hands, making almost too great friends, being perfectly well +aware (cunning old fellow) that he could coax more out of a visitor +than one of the family, who knew how he had stuffed all day.</p> +<p>Over all there was an atmosphere of welcome, a genial +brightness. The young men were anxious to tell you where the best +sport could be got. The young ladies had a merry, genuine, +unaffected smile—clearly delighted to see you, and not in the +least ashamed of it. They showed an evident desire to please, +without a trace of an <i>arriére pensée</i>. Tall, +well-developed, in the height of good health, the bloom upon the +cheek and the brilliant eyes formed a picture irresistibly +charming. But it was the merry laugh that so long dwelt in the +memory—nothing so thoroughly enchants one as the woman who +laughs from her heart in the joyousness of youth. They joined +freely in the conversation, but did not thrust themselves forward. +They were, of course, eager for news of the far away world, but not +a hint was breathed of those social scandals which now form our +favourite gossip. From little side remarks concerning domestic +matters it was evident that they were well acquainted with +household duties. Indeed, they assisted to remove the things from +the table without any consciousness that it was a menial task.</p> +<p>It was not long after tea before, drawing round the fire, pipes +were produced, and you were asked to smoke. Of course you declined +on account of the ladies, but it was none the less pleasant to be +asked. There was the great secret of it all-the genuine, liberal, +open-handed and open-hearted proffering of all the house contained +to the guest. And it was none the less an amusing conversation +because each of the girls candidly avowed her own opinions upon +such topics as were started—blushing a little, it is true, if +you asked the reason for the opinion, for ladies are not always +quite ready with the why and wherefore. But the contrast of +character, the individuality displayed, gave a zest and interest to +the talk; so that the hour wore late before you were aware of it. +Then, if you would go, two, at least, of the three boys piloted you +by the best and cleanest route, and did not wish you farewell till +you were in the straight road. This was not so many years ago.</p> +<p>Today, if you call at such a country house, how strangely +different is the reception! None of the family come to the door to +meet you. A servant shows you into a parlour—drawing-room is +the proper word now—well carpeted and furnished in the modern +style. She then takes your name—what a world of change is +shown in that trifling piece of etiquette! By-and-by, after the +proper interval, the ladies enter in morning costume, not a stray +curl allowed to wander from its stern bands, nature rigidly +repressed, decorum—'Society'—in every flounce and +trimming. You feel that you have committed a solecism coming on +foot, and so carrying the soil on your boots from the fields +without into so elegant an apartment Visitors are obviously +expected to arrive on wheels, and in correct trim for company. A +remark about the crops falls on barren ground; a question +concerning the dairy, ignorantly hazarded, is received with so much +<i>hauteur</i> that at last you see such subjects are considered +vulgar. Then a touch of the bell, and decanters of port and sherry +are produced and our wine presented to you on an electro salver +together with sweet biscuits. It is the correct thing to sip one +glass and eat one biscuit.</p> +<p>The conversation is so insipid, so entirely confined to the +merest platitudes, that it becomes absolutely a relief to escape. +You are not pressed to stay and dine, as you would have been in the +old days—not because there is a lack of hospitality, but +because they would prefer a little time for preparation in order +that the dinner might be got up in polite style. So you +depart—chilled and depressed. No one steps with you to open +the gate and exchange a second farewell, and express a cordial wish +to see you again there. You feel that you must walk in measured +step and place your hat precisely perpendicular, for the eyes of +'Society' are upon you. What a comfort when you turn a corner +behind the hedge and can thrust your hands into your pockets and +whistle!</p> +<p>The young ladies, however, still possess one thing which they +cannot yet destroy—the good constitution and the rosy look +derived from ancestors whose days were spent in the field under the +glorious sunshine and the dews of heaven. They worry themselves +about it in secret and wish they could appear more +ladylike—i.e. thin and white. Nor can they feel quite so +languid and indifferent, and <i>blasé</i> as they desire. +Thank Heaven they cannot! But they have succeeded in obliterating +the faintest trace of character, and in suppressing the slightest +approach to animation. They have all got just the same opinions on +the same topics—that is to say, they have none at all; the +idea of a laugh has departed. There is a dead line of uniformity. +But if you are sufficiently intimate to enter into the inner life +of the place it will soon be apparent that they either are or wish +to appear up to the 'ways of the world.'</p> +<p>They read the so-called social journals, and absorb the gossip, +tittle-tattle, and personalities—absorb it because they have +no means of comparison or of checking the impression it produces of +the general loose tone of society. They know all about it, much +more than you do. No turn of the latest divorce case or great +social exposure has escaped them, and the light, careless way in +which it is the fashion nowadays to talk openly of such things, as +if they were got up like a novel—only with living +characters—for amusement, has penetrated into this distant +circle. But then they have been to half the leading +watering-places—from Brighton to Scarborough; as for London, +it is an open book to them; the railways have long dissipated the +pleasing mysteries that once hung over the metropolis. Talk of this +sort is, of course, only talk; still it is not a satisfactory sign +of the times. If the country girl is no longer the hoyden that +swung on the gates and romped in the hay, neither has she the +innocent thought of the olden days.</p> +<p>At the same time our friends are greatly devoted to the +Church—old people used to attend on Sundays as a sacred and +time honoured duty, but the girls leave them far behind, for they +drive up in a pony carriage to the distant church at least twice a +week besides. They talk of matins and even-song; they are full of +vestments, and have seen 'such lovely things' in that line. At +Christmas and Easter they are mainly instrumental in decorating the +interior till it becomes perfectly gaudy with colour, and the old +folk mutter and shake their heads. Their devotion in getting +hothouse flowers is quite touching. One is naturally inclined to +look with a liberal eye upon what is capable of a good +construction. But is all this quite spontaneous? Has the new curate +nothing at all to do with it? Is it not considered rather the +correct thing to be 'High' in views, and even to manifest an +Ultramontane tendency? There is a rather too evident determination +to go to the extreme—the girls are clearly bent upon +thrusting themselves to the very front of the parish, so that no +one shall be talked of but the Misses ——. Anything is +seized upon, that will afford an opening for posing before the +world of the parish, whether it be an extreme fashion in dress or +in ritual.</p> +<p>And the parish is splitting up into social cliques. These girls, +the local leaders of fashion, hold their heads far above those +farmers' sons who bear a hand in the field. No one is eligible who +takes a share in manual work: not even to be invited to the house, +or even to be acknowledged if met in the road. The Misses +——, whose papa is well-to-do, and simply rides round on +horseback to speak to the men with his steam-plough, could not +possibly demean themselves to acknowledge the existence of the +young men who actually handle a fork in the haymaking time. Nothing +less than the curate is worthy of their smile. A very great change +has come over country society in this way. Of course, men (and +women) with money were always more eligible than those without; but +it is not so very long ago that one and all—well-to-do and +poor—had one bond in common. Whether they farmed large or +small acres, all worked personally. There was no disgrace in the +touch of the plough—rather the contrary; now it is +contamination itself.</p> +<p>The consequence is that the former general goodwill and +acquaintanceship is no more. There are no friendly meetings; there +is a distinct social barrier between the man and the woman who +labours and the one who does not. These fashionable young ladies +could not possibly even go into the hayfield because the sun would +spoil their complexion, they refresh themselves with aërated +waters instead. They could not possibly enter the dairy because it +smells so nasty. They would not know their father's teams if they +met them on the road. As for speaking to the workpeople—the +idea would be too absurd!</p> +<p>Once on a time a lift in the waggon just across the wet turf to +the macadamised road—if it chanced to be going that +way—would have been looked upon as a fortunate thing. The +Misses —— would indeed stare if one of their papa's +carters touched his hat and suggested that they should get up. They +have a pony carriage and groom of their own. He drives the +milk-cart to the railway station in the morning; in the afternoon +he dons the correct suit and drives the Misses —— into +the town to shopping. Now there exists a bitter jealousy between +the daughters of the tradesmen in the said town and these young +ladies. There is a race between them as to which shall be first in +fashion and social rank. The Misses —— know very well +that it galls their rivals to see them driving about so grandly +half the afternoon up and down the streets, and to see the big +local people lift their hats, as the banker, with whom, of course, +the large farmer has intimate dealings. All this is very little; on +paper it reads moan and contemptible: but in life it is +real—in life these littlenesses play a great part. The Misses +—— know nothing of those long treasured recipes +formerly handed down in old country houses, and never enter the +kitchen. No doubt, if the fashion for teaching cooking presently +penetrates into the parish, they will take a leading part, and with +much show and blowing of trumpets instruct the cottager how to boil +the pot. Anything, in short, that happens to be the rage will +attract them, but there is little that is genuine about them, +except the eagerness for a new excitement.</p> +<p>What manner of men shall accept these ladies as their future +helpmates? The tenant farmers are few and far between that could +support their expenditure upon dress, the servants they would +require, and last, but not least, the waste which always +accompanies ignorance in household management. Nor, indeed, do they +look for tenant farmers, but hope for something higher in the +scale.</p> +<p>The Misses —— are fortunate in possessing a 'papa' +sufficiently well-to-do to enable them to live in this manner. But +there are hundreds of young ladies whose fathers have not got so +much capital in their farms, while what they have is perhaps +borrowed. Of course these girls help cheerfully in the household, +in the dairy, and so forth? No. Some are forced by necessity to +assist in the household with unwilling hands: but few, indeed, +enter the dairy. All dislike the idea of manual labour, though +never so slight. Therefore they acquire a smattering of knowledge, +and go out as governesses. They earn but a small stipend in that +profession, because they have rarely gone through a sufficiently +strict course of study themselves. But they would rather live with +strangers, accepting a position which is often invidious, than lift +a hand to work at home, so great is the repugnance to manual +labour. These, again, have no domestic knowledge (beyond that of +teaching children), none of cooking, or general household +management. If they marry a tenant farmer of their own class, with +but small capital, they are too often a burden financially. Whence +comes this intense dislike to hand work—this preference for +the worst paid head work? It is not confined, of course, to the +gentler sex. No more striking feature of modern country life can be +found.</p> +<p>You cannot blame these girls, whether poor or moderately +well-to-do, for thinking of something higher, more refined and +elevating than the cheese-tub or the kitchen. It is natural, and it +is right, that they should wish to rise above that old, dull, dead +level in which their mothers and grandmothers worked from youth to +age. The world has gone on since then—it is a world of +education, books, and wider sympathies. In all this they must and +ought to share. The problem is how to enjoy the intellectual +progress of the century and yet not forfeit the advantages of the +hand labour and the thrift of our ancestors? How shall we sit up +late at night, burning the midnight oil of study, and yet rise with +the dawn, strong from sweet sleep, to guide the plough? One good +thing must be scored down to the credit of the country girls of the +day. They have done much to educate the men. They have shamed them +out of the old rough, boorish ways; compelled them to abandon the +former coarseness, to become more gentlemanly in manner. By their +interest in the greater world of society, literature, art, and +music (more musical publications probably are now sold for the +country in a month than used to be in a year), they have made the +somewhat narrow-sighted farmer glance outside his parish. If the +rising generation of tenant farmers have lost much of the bigoted +provincial mode of thought, together with the provincial +pronunciation, it is undoubtedly due to the influence of the higher +ideal of womanhood that now occupies their minds. And this is a +good work to have accomplished.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap10" id="chap10">CHAPTER X</a></h3> +<h3>MADEMOISELLE, THE GOVERNESS</h3> +A country 'roadside' railway station seemed deserted upon a warm +August afternoon. It was all but concealed on that level ground by +the hedges and trees of the fields with which it was surrounded. +There was no sound of man or wheels, and nothing moving upon the +platform. On the low green banks of the rail, where the mast-like +telegraph poles stood, the broad leaves of the coltsfoot almost +covered the earth, and were dusty with the sand whirled up an hour +since behind the rushing express. By the footpath, higher up under +the close-cropped hedge, the yarrow flourished, lifting its white +flower beside the trodden soil. The heavy boots of the platelayers +walking to and fro to their work on the permanent way brushed +against it, and crushed the venturous fibres of the creeping +cinquefoil that stretched into the path. From the yellow standing +wheat the sparrows rose in a bevy, and settled upon the hedge, +chirping merrily. Farther away, where a meadow had been lately +mown, the swallows glided to and fro, but just above the short +grass, round and round, under the shadow of the solitary oaks. Over +the green aftermath is the swallows' favourite haunt when the day, +though passing fair, does not look like settled weather. For lack +of such weather the reapers have not yet entered the ripening corn. +<p>But, for the hour, the sun shines brightly, and a narrow line +along the upper surfaces of the metals, burnished by the polishing +friction of a thousand wheels, glints like silver under the rays. +The red brick of the booking-office looks redder and more staring +under the fierce light. The door is locked, and there is no +waiting-room in which to take shelter; nothing but a projecting +roof over a part of the platform. On the lintel is the +stationmaster's name painted in small white letters, like the name +of the landlord over the doorway of an inn. Two corded boxes lie on +the platform, and near them stand half a dozen rusty milk tins, +empty. With the exception of a tortoiseshell cat basking in the +sunshine, there seems nothing living in the station, and the long +endless rails stretching on either side in a straight line are +vacant. For hours during the day the place slumbers, and a +passenger gliding by in the express may well wonder why a station +was built at all in the midst of trees and hedges without so much +as a single visible house.</p> +<p>But by night and very early in the morning there is bustle +enough. Then the white painted cattle pen yonder, from which the +animals are forced into the cattle trucks, is full of frightened +beasts, lowing doubtfully, and only goaded in by the resounding +blows upon their backs. Then the sheep file in in more patient +ranks, but also doubtful and bleating as they go. An engine snorts +to and fro, shunting coal waggons on to the siding—coal for +the traction engines, and to be consumed in threshing out the +golden harvest around. Signalmen, with red and green lights, rush +hither and thither, the bull's-eyes now concealed by the trucks, +and now flashing out brightly like strange will-o'-the-wisps. At +intervals long and heavy goods trains go by, causing the solid +earth to tremble.</p> +<p>Presently the sun rises over the distant hills, and the red arms +of the signals stand out clearly defined, and then the noise of +wheels, the shouts of the drivers, and the quick sound of hoofs +betoken the approach of the milk carts with their freight for the +early morning train. From the platform it is out of sight; but a +few yards from the gate a small inn is hidden under the tall elms +of the hedgerow. It has sprung up since the railway came, and is +called the Railway Hotel. It proffers good stabling, and even a fly +and posting for the passenger who finds himself set down at that +lonely place—a mere road—without the certainty of a +friendly carriage meeting him. The porter may, perhaps, be taking +his glass within. The inspector or stationmaster (whichever may be +technically correct), now that the afternoon express has gone +safely through, has strolled up the line to his garden, to see how +his potatoes are getting on. He knows full well that the slow, +stopping train despatched just after it will not reach his station +for at least an hour.</p> +<p>Outside the 'Hotel' stands a pony cart—a gaily coloured +travelling rug lies across the seat, and the pony, a perfect little +beauty, is cropping the grass by the hedge side. By-and-by a +countryman comes up the road, evidently a labourer dressed in his +best—he hastens to the 'Hotel,' instead of to the station, +and finds from the porter that he is at least twenty minutes too +soon. Then a waggon arrives, and stops while the carter drinks. +Presently the porter and the labourer stroll together over to the +platform, and after them a young fellow—a farmer's son, not +yet a man but more than a boy—comes out and re-arranges the +travelling rug in the pony cart. He then walks on to the platform, +whistling defiantly with his hands in his pockets, as if he had got +an unpleasant duty to perform, but was not going to be intimidated. +He watches the stationmaster unlock the booking-office, and follows +him in out of idle curiosity.</p> +<p>It is booking-office, parcel-office, waiting-room and all +combined, and the telegraph instrument is there too, some of the +needles blocked over with a scrap of paper. The place is crammed +with sacks, bags, boxes, parcels and goods mixed together, such as +ironwork for agricultural machines, and in a corner lies a +rick-cloth smelling strongly of tar like the rigging of a ship. On +the counter, for there is no sliding window as usual at large +stations, stands the ticket-stamping machine, surrounded with piles +of forms, invoices, notices, letters, and the endless documents +inseparable from railway business, all printed on a peculiar paper +with a faint shade of yellow.</p> +<p>Somebody says 'A' be coming,' and the young farmer walks out to +watch the white steam now just visible far away over the trees. The +train runs round the curve on to the straight, and the engine in +front grows gradually larger and larger as it comes nearer, visibly +vibrating till the brake draws it up at the platform.</p> +<p>Master Jack has no difficulty in identifying the passenger he +has come to meet. His sister, a governess, coming home for a +holiday, is the only person that alights, and the labourer, dressed +for the occasion, is the only one who gets in. No sooner is he in +than he gapes out of the window open-mouthed at Miss +S——. She wears a light Ulster to protect her dress from +the dust and dirt of travel. Her fashionable hat has an air of the +West End; her gloved hand holds a dainty little bag; she steps as +those must do who wear tight dresses and high heels to their boots. +Up goes her parasol instantly to shade her delicate complexion from +the glaring sun. Master Jack does not even take her hand, or kiss +her; he looks her up and down with a kind of contemptuous +admiration, nods, and asks how much luggage? He has, you see, been +repulsed for 'gush' on previous occasions. Mademoiselle points to +her luggage, which the porter, indeed, has already taken out. He +worked in his boyhood on her father's farm, and attends upon her +with cheerful alacrity. She gives him a small coin, but looks the +other way, without a sign of recognition. The luggage is placed in +the pony cart.</p> +<p>Mademoiselle gets in without so much as patting the beautiful +little creature in the shafts. Her ticket is the only first-class +ticket that has been given up at that lonely station all the week. +'Do make haste,' she remarks petulantly as her brother pauses to +speak to a passing man who looks like a dealer. Master Jack turns +the pony cart, and away they go rattling down the road. The porter, +whilom an agricultural labourer, looks after them with a long and +steady stare. It is not the first time he has seen this, but he can +hardly take it in yet.</p> +<p>'She do come the lady grandish, don't her?' the dealer remarks +meditatively. 'Now her father——'</p> +<p>'Ay,' interrupts the porter, 'he be one of the old sort; but +she——' he cannot get any further for lack of an +appropriate illustration. The arrival of mademoiselle periodically +takes their breath away at that little place.</p> +<p>As the pair rattle along in the pony trap there is for a time a +total silence. Mademoiselle looks neither to the right nor the +left, and asks after nobody. She does not note the subtle tint of +bronze that has begun to steal over the wheat, nor the dark +discoloured hay, witness of rough weather, still lying in the +meadows. Her face—it is a very pretty face—does not +light up with any enthusiasm as well-remembered spots come into +sight. A horseman rides round a bend of the road, and meets +them—he stares hard at her—she takes no heed. It is a +young farmer, an old acquaintance, anxious for some sign of +recognition. After he has passed he lifts his hat, like a true +countryman, unready at the moment. As for the brother, his features +express gathering and almost irrepressible disgust. He kicks with +his heavy boots, he whistles, and once now and then gives a species +of yell. Mademoiselle turns up her pretty nose, and readjusts her +chevron gloves.</p> +<p>'Have you not got any cuffs, Jack?' she asks, 'your wrists look +so bare without them.'</p> +<p>Jack makes no reply. Another silence. Presently he points with +an expression meant to be sardonic at a distant farmhouse with his +whip.</p> +<p>'Jenny's married,' he says, full well aware that this +announcement will wake her up, for there had been of old a sort of +semi-feud or rivalry between the two girls, daughters of +neighbouring farmers, and both with pretensions to good looks.</p> +<p>'Who to?' she asks eagerly.</p> +<p>'To old Billy L——; lots of tin.'</p> +<p>'Pshaw!' replies mademoiselle. 'Why, he's sixty, a nasty, dirty +old wretch.'</p> +<p>'He has plenty of money,' suggests Jack.</p> +<p>'What you think plenty of money, perhaps. He is nothing but a +farmer,' as if a farmer was quite beneath her notice.</p> +<p>Just then a farmer rode out into the road from the gateway of a +field, and Jack pulled up the pony. The farmer was stout, elderly, +and florid; he appeared fairly well-to-do by his dress, but was +none too particular to use his razor regularly. Yet there was a +tenderness—almost a pathos—in the simple words he +used:—'Georgie, dear, come home?' 'Yes, papa,' and she kissed +his scrubby chin as he bent down from his horse. He would not go to +the station to meet her; but he had been waiting about behind the +hedge for an hour to see her come along. He rode beside the pony +cart, but Georgie did not say anything more, or ask after any one +else.</p> +<p>As they turned a corner the farmer pointed ahead. 'There's your +mother, Georgie, looking over the garden wall.' The yearning mother +had been there these two hours, knowing that her darling could not +arrive before a certain time, and yet unable in her impatience to +stay within. Those old eyes were dim with tears under the +spectacles as Georgie quietly kissed her forehead, and then +suddenly, with something like generous feeling, her lips.</p> +<p>They went in, an old pointer, whose days in the stubble were +nearly over, following close at Georgie's heels, but without +obtaining a pat for his loving memory. The table was spread for +tea—a snowy cloth, the whitest of bread, the most delicious +golden butter, the ham fresh cooked, as Georgie might be hungry, +the thick cream, the silver teapot, polished for Georgie, and the +bright flowers in the vase before her plate. The window was open, +with its view of the old, old hills, and a breath of summer air +came in from the meadow. The girl glanced round, frowned, and went +upstairs to her room without a word, passing on the landing the +ancient clock in its tall case, ticking loud and slow.</p> +<p>And this was 'home.' The whole place jarred upon her, fresh as +she was from a fine house in Belgravia. The sitting-room beneath, +which she had so quickly left, looked cheerful and homely, but it +was that very homeliness that jarred upon her. The teapot was real +silver, but it was of old-fashioned shape. Solid as the furniture +was, and still after so many years of service worth money, yet it +was chipped by kicks from iron-shod boots, which had also worn the +dingy carpet bare. There was an absence of the nick-nacks that +strew the rooms of people in 'Society.' There was not even a +bell-handle to pull; if you wanted the maid of all work, you must +open the door and call to her. These little things, trifles as they +may be, repelled her. It was a bitter cup to her to come +'home.'</p> +<p>Mr. S—— was a farmer of fair means, and, compared +with many of his neighbours, well-to-do, and well connected. But he +was still a yeoman only, and personally made pretensions to nothing +more. Though he himself had received little or no education, he +quite saw the value of it, and was determined that his children +should be abreast of the times. Accordingly, so soon as Georgie +grew old enough, a governess with high recommendations, and who +asked what the farmer then thought a high price (he knows more +about such things now!) was had down from London. Of course the +rudimentary A B C of learning could just as well have been imparted +by an ordinary person, but Mr. and Mrs. S—— had a +feeling which they could not perhaps have expressed in words, that +it was not so much the actual reading and writing, and French and +music, and so on, as a social influence that was needed to +gradually train the little country girl into a young lady fit to +move in higher society.</p> +<p>The governess did her work thoroughly. Georgie was not allowed +to walk in the wet grass, to climb up the ladder on to the +half-completed hayrick, and romp under the rick-cloth, to paddle +with naked feet in the shallow brook, or any other of the things +that country children have done from time immemorial. Such things +she was taught were not ladylike, and, above all, she was kept away +from the cottage people. She was not permitted to enter their +doors, to converse with the women, or to watch the carter with his +horses. Such vulgar folk and their vulgar dialect were to be +carefully avoided. Nor must she get into a hedge after a +bird's-nest, lest she should tear her frock.</p> +<p>It was not long before the governess really ruled the house. The +farmer felt himself totally unable to interfere in these matters; +they were outside his experience altogether. His wife did not like +it, but for Georgie's sake she gave up her former habits, and +endeavoured to order the house according to the ideas of the +governess from London. The traditions, as it were, of the place +were upset. It was not a solitary instance, the same thing has +happened in scores of farmhouses to a more or less degree. Mr. +S—— all his life had ridden on horseback, or driven a +gig, which did very well for him and his wife. But the governess +thought Georgie ought to learn to ride and drive, and gigs were so +much out of fashion. So the pony cart and pony were purchased for +her, and in this she went into the distant market town twice or +more weekly. Sometimes it was for shopping, sometimes to fetch +household goods, sometimes to see friends; any excuse answered very +well. The governess said, and really believed, that it was better +for Georgie to be away from the farm as much as possible, to see +town people (if only a country town), and to learn their ways.</p> +<p>The many cheap illustrated papers giving the last details of +fashionable costumes were, of course, brought home to be carefully +read in the evenings. These publications have a large circulation +now in farmhouses. Naturally Georgie soon began to talk about, and +take an interest—as girls will do—in the young +gentlemen of the town, and who was and who was not eligible. As for +the loud-voiced young farmers, with their slouching walk, their +ill-fitting clothes, and stupid talk about cows and wheat, they +were intolerable. A banker's clerk at least—nothing could be +thought of under a clerk in the local banks; of course, his salary +was not high, but then his 'position.' The retail grocers and +bakers and such people were quite beneath one's notice—low, +common persons. The 'professional tradesmen' (whatever that may be) +were decidedly better, and could be tolerated. The solicitors, bank +managers, one or two brewers (wholesale—nothing retail), +large corn factors or coal merchants, who kept a carriage of some +kind—these formed the select society next under, and, as it +were, surrounding the clergy and gentry. Georgie at twelve years +old looked at least as high as one of these; a farmhouse was to be +avoided above all things.</p> +<p>As she grew older her mind was full of the local assembly ball. +The ball had been held for forty years or more, and had all that +time been in the hands of the exclusive upper circles of the market +town. They only asked their own families, relations (not the poor +ones), and visitors. When Georgie was invited to this ball it was +indeed a triumph. Her poor mother cried with pleasure over her ball +dress. Poor woman, she was a good, a too good, mother, but she had +never been to a ball. There were, of course, parties, picnics, and +so on, to which Georgie, having entered the charmed circle, was now +asked; and thus her mind from the beginning centred in the town. +The sheep-fold, the cattle-pen, the cheese-tub, these were thrust +aside. They did not interest her, she barely understood the meaning +when her father took the first prize at an important cattle show. +What So-and-so would wear at the flower show, where all the select +would come, much more nearly concerned her.</p> +<p>At the high-class academy where her education was finished the +same process went on. The other girls quickly made her thoroughly +understand (a bitter knowledge) that the great people in the little +market town, the very richest of them, were but poor in comparison +with their papas. Their papas were in the 'City,' or on ''Change,' +and had as many thousands a year as the largest farmer she knew +could reckon hundreds. Georgie felt ashamed of her papa, +recollecting his crumpled old hat, and his scrubby chin. Being +really a nice girl, under the veneer that was so industriously +placed upon her, she made friends among her fellow scholars, and +was invited to more than one of their grand homes in Kensington and +the suburbs of London. There she learned all the pomp of villa +life, which put into the shade the small incomes which displayed +their miserable vanities in the petty market town. Footmen, +butlers, late dinners, wines, carriages, the ceaseless gossip of +'Society' were enough to dazzle the eyes of a girl born so near the +cowshed. The dresses she had to wear to mix with these grand +friends cost a good deal—her parents sacrificing their own +comforts for her advantage—and yet, in comparison with the +beautiful costumes she saw, they seemed shabby.</p> +<p>Georgie was so far fortunate as to make friends of some of the +elder people, and when she had passed her examinations, and +obtained the diplomas and certificates which are now all essential, +through their interest she obtained at starting a very high salary. +It was not long before she received as much as sixty or seventy +pounds a year. It was not only that she really was a clever and +accomplished girl, but her recommendations were influential. She +was employed by wealthy people, who really did not care what they +paid so long as their children were in good hands. Now to the old +folk at home, and to the neighbours, this seemed an immense salary +for a girl, especially when the carriage, the footmen, the wines, +and late dinners, and so on, were taken into consideration. The +money, however, was of very little use to her. She found it +necessary to dress equal to her place. She had to have several +dresses to wear, according to the time of day, and she had to have +new ones very often, or she might be told petulantly and pointedly +by her mistress that 'one gets so weary of seeing the same dresses +every day.' Instead of the high salary leaving a handsome profit, +her father had occasionally to pay a stiff bill for her. But then +the 'position'—look at the 'position' and the society.</p> +<p>Georgie, in process of time, went to Scotland, to Paris, the +South of France, to Rome, and Naples. Being a discreet girl, and +having a winning manner, she became as much a companion to her +mistress as governess, and thus saw and heard more of the world +than she would otherwise have done. She saw some very grand people +indeed occasionally. After this, after the Continent, and, above +all, London in the season, the annual visit to the old farmhouse +came to be a bitter time of trial. Georgie had come home now for a +few days only, to ask for money, and already before she had +scarcely spoken had rushed upstairs to hide her feeling of +repulsion in the privacy of her room.</p> +<p>Her welcome had been warm, and she knew that under the rude +exterior it was more than warm; but the absence of refinement +jarred upon her. It all seemed so uncouth. She shrank from the +homely rooms; the very voice of her mother, trembling with emotion, +shocked her ear, unaccustomed to country pronunciation. She missed +the soft accents of the drawing-room. From her window she could see +nothing but the peaceful fields—the hateful green trees and +hedges, the wheat, and the hateful old hills. How miserable it was +not to be born to Grosvenor Square!</p> +<p>Georgie's case was, of course, exceptional in so far as her +'success' was concerned. She possessed good natural parts, +discretion, and had the advantage of high-class recommendations. +But apart from her 'success,' her case was not exceptional. The +same thing is going on in hundreds of farmhouses. The daughters +from the earliest age are brought up under a system of education +the practical tendency of which is to train their minds out of the +associations of farming. When later on they go out to teach they +are themselves taught by the social surroundings of the households +into which they enter to still more dislike the old-fashioned ways +of agriculture. Take twenty farmers' families, where there are +girls, and out of that twenty fifteen will be found to be preparing +for a scholastic life. The farmer's daughter does not like the +shop-counter, and, as she cannot stay at home, there is nothing +left to her but the profession of governess. Once thoroughly imbued +with these 'social' ideas, and a return to the farm is almost +impossible. The result is a continuous drain of women out of +agriculture—of the very women best fitted in the beginning to +be the helpmate of the farmer. In no other calling is the +assistance of the wife so valuable; it is not too much to say that +part at least of the decadence of agriculture is owing to the lack +of women willing to devote themselves as their mothers did before +them. It follows that by degrees the farming caste is dying out. +The sons go to the city, the daughters go to the city; in a +generation, or little more, a once well-known farming family +becomes extinct so far as agriculture is concerned.</p> +<p>How could such a girl as poor Georgie, looking out of window at +the hateful fields, and all at discord with the peaceful scene, +settle down as the mistress of a lonely farmhouse?</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap11" id="chap11">CHAPTER XI</a></h3> +<h3>FLEECEBOROUGH. A 'DESPOT'</h3> +An agricultural district, like a little kingdom, has its own +capital city. The district itself is as well defined as if a +frontier line had been marked out around it, with sentinels and +barriers across the roads, and special tolls and duties. Yet an +ordinary traveller, upon approaching, fails to perceive the +difference, and may, perhaps, drive right through the territory +without knowing it. The fields roll on and rise into the hills, the +hills sink again into a plain, just the same as elsewhere; there +are cornfields and meadows; villages and farmsteads, and no visible +boundary. Nor is it recognised upon the map. It does not fit into +any political or legal limit; it is neither a county, half a +county, a hundred, or police division. But to the farmer it is a +distinct land. If he comes from a distance he will at once notice +little peculiarities in the fields, the crops, the stock, or +customs, and will immediately inquire if it be not such and such a +place that he has heard of. If he resides within thirty miles or so +he will ever since boyhood have heard 'the uplands' talked of as if +it were a separate country, as distinct as France. Cattle from the +uplands, sheep, horses, labourers, corn or hay, or anything and +anybody from thence, he has grown up accustomed to regard almost as +foreign. +<p>There is good reason, from an agricultural point of view, for +this. The district, with its capital city, Fleeceborough, really is +distinct, well marked, and defined. The very soil and substrata are +characteristic. The products are wheat, and cattle, and sheep, the +same as elsewhere, but the proportions of each, the kind of sheep, +the traditionary methods and farm customs are separate and marked. +The rotation of crops is different, the agreements are on a +different basis, the very gates to the fields have peculiar +fastenings, not used in other places. Instead of hedges, the +fields, perhaps, are often divided by dry stone walls, on which, +when they have become old, curious plants may sometimes be found. +For the flora, too, is distinct; you may find herbs here that do +not exist a little way off, and on the other hand, search how you +will, you will not discover one single specimen of a simple flower +which strews the meadows elsewhere.</p> +<p>Here the very farmhouses are built upon a different plan, and +with different materials; the barns are covered with old stone +slates, instead of tiles or thatch. The people are a nation amongst +themselves. Their accent is peculiar and easily recognised, and +they have their own folklore, their own household habits, +particular dainties, and way of life. The tenant farmers, the +millers, the innkeepers, and every Hodge within 'the uplands' (not +by any means all hills)—in short, every one is a citizen of +Fleeceborough. Hodge may tend his flock on distant pastures, may +fodder his cattle in far-away meadows, and dwell in little hamlets +hardly heard of, but all the same he is a Fleeceborough man. It is +his centre; thither he looks for everything.</p> +<p>The place is a little market town, the total of whose population +in the census records sounds absurdly small; yet it is a complete +world in itself; a capital city, with its kingdom and its ruler, +for the territory is practically the property of a single family. +Enter Fleeceborough by whichever route you will, the first object +that fixes the attention is an immensely high and endless wall. If +you come by carriage one way, you skirt it for a long distance; if +you come the other, you see it as you pass through the narrow +streets every now and then at the end of them, closing the prospect +and overtopping the lesser houses. By railway it is conspicuous +from the windows; and if you walk about the place, you continually +come upon it. It towers up perpendicular and inaccessible, like the +curtain wall of an old fortification: here and there the upper +branches of some great cedar or tall pine just show above it. One +or more streets for a space run conterminous with it—the wall +on one side, the low cottage-houses on the other, and their +chimneys are below the coping. It does not really encircle the +town, yet it seems everywhere, and is the great fact of the +place.</p> +<p>If you wander about examining this wall, and wondering where it +begins and where it ends, and what is inside, you may perchance +come upon a gateway of noble proportions. It is open, but one +hesitates to pass through, despite the pleasant vista of trees and +green sward beyond. There is a watchman's wooden hut, and the aged +sentinel is reading his newspaper in the shadow, his breast +decorated with medal and clasp, that tell of honourable service. A +scarlet-coated soldier may, too, be strolling thereabout, and the +castellated top of a barrack-like building near at hand is +suggestive of military force. You hesitate, but the warden invites +you to walk at your leisure under the old trees, and along the +endless glades. If you enter, you pass under the metal scrollwork +of the iron gates, and, above, the gilded circle of a coronet +glistens in the sunshine. These are the private demesnes of a +prince and ruler of Hodge—the very highest and most powerful +of his masters in that part of the country. The vast wall encloses +his pleasure-grounds and mansion; the broad iron gates give access +to mile after mile of park and wood, and the decorated warden or +pensioner has but to open them for the free entry of all +Fleeceborough and her citizens. Of course the position of the +barrack is a mere accident, yet it gives an air of power and +authority—the place is really as open, the beautiful park as +common and accessible as the hill-top under the sky. A peer only at +Westminster, here he is a prince, whose dominions are almost +co-extensive with the horizon; and this, the capital city, is for +the most part his.</p> +<p>Far away stretches that little kingdom, with its minor towns of +villages, hamlets, and farms. Broad green meadows, where the cattle +graze beside the streams and in the plains; rolling uplands, +ploughed and sown, where the barley nourishes; deep rich +wheatlands; high hills and shadowy woods; grey church towers; new +glaring schools; quiet wayside inns, and ancient farmhouses +tenanted for generations by the same families.</p> +<p>Farmers have long since discovered that it is best to rent under +a very large owner, whether personal as in this case, or impersonal +as a college or corporation. A very large owner like this can be, +and is, more liberal. He puts up sheds, and he drains, and +improves, and builds good cottages for the labourers. Provided, of +course, that no serious malpractice comes to light, he, as +represented by his steward, never interferes, and the tenant is +personally free. No one watches his goings out and comings in; he +has no sense of an eye for ever looking over the park wall. There +is a total absence of the grasping spirit sometimes shown. The +farmer does not feel that he will be worried to his last shilling. +In case of unfavourable seasons the landlord makes no difficulty in +returning a portion of the rent; he anticipates such an +application. Such immense possessions can support losses which +would press most heavily upon comparatively small properties. At +one side of the estate the soil perchance is light and porous, and +is all the better for rain; on the other, half across the county, +or quite, the soil is deep and heavy and naturally well watered and +flourishes in dry summers. So that there is generally some one +prospering if another suffers, and thus a balance is +maintained.</p> +<p>A reserve of wealth has, too, slowly accumulated in the family +coffers, which, in exceptional years, tides the owner over with +little or no appreciable inconvenience. With an income like this, +special allowances, even generous allowances, can be and are made, +and so the tenants cease to feel that their landlord is living out +of their labour. The agreements are just; there is no rapacity. +Very likely the original lease or arrangement has expired half a +century since; but no one troubles to renew it. It is well +understood that no change will be effected. The tenure is as steady +as if the tenant had an Act of Parliament at his back.</p> +<p>When men have once settled, they and their descendants remain, +generation after generation. By degrees their sons and sons' +descendants settle too, and the same name occurs perhaps in a dozen +adjacent places. It is this fixed unchangeable character of the +district which has enabled the mass of the tenants not indeed to +become wealthy, but to acquire a solid, substantial standing. In +farming affairs money can be got together only in the slow passage +of years; experience has proved that beyond a doubt. These people +have been stationary for a length of time, and the moss of the +proverb has grown around them. They walk sturdily, and look all men +in the face; their fathers put money in the purse. Times are hard +here as everywhere, but if they cannot, for the present season, put +more in that purse, its contents are not, at all events, much +diminished, and enable them to maintain the same straightforward +manliness and independence. By-and-by, they know there will come +the chink of the coin again.</p> +<p>When the tenant is stationary, the labourer is also. He stays in +the same cottage on the same farm all his life, his descendants +remain and work for the same tenant family. He can trace his +descent in the locality for a hundred years. From time immemorial +both Hodge and his immediate employers have looked towards +Fleeceborough as their capital. Hodge goes in to the market in +charge of his master's sheep, his wife trudges in for household +necessaries. All the hamlet goes in to the annual fairs. Every +cottager in the hamlet knows somebody in the town; the girls go +there to service, the boys to get employment. The little village +shops obtain their goods from thence. All the produce—wheat, +barley, oats, hay, cattle, and sheep—is sent into the capital +to the various markets held there. The very ideas held in the +villages by the inhabitants come from Fleeceborough; the local +papers published there are sold all round, and supply them with +news, arguments, and the politics of the little kingdom. The +farmers look to Fleeceborough just as much or more. It is a +religious duty to be seen there on market days. Not a man misses +being there; if he is not visible, his circle note it, and guess at +various explanations.</p> +<p>Each man has his own particular hostelry, where his father, and +his grandfather, put up before him, and where he is expected to +dine in the same old room, with the pictures of famous rams, that +have fetched fabulous prices, framed against the walls, and ram's +horns of exceptional size and peculiar curve fixed up above the +mantelpiece. Men come in in groups of two or three, as dinner time +approaches, and chat about sheep and wool, and wool and sheep; but +no one finally settles himself at the table till the chairman +arrives. He is a stout, substantial farmer, who has dined there +every market day for the last thirty or forty years.</p> +<p>Everybody has his own particular seat, which he is certain to +find kept for him. The dinner itself is simple enough, the waiters +perhaps still more simple, but the quality of the viands is beyond +praise. The mutton is juicy and delicious, as it should be where +the sheep is the very idol of all men's thoughts; the beef is short +and tender of grain; the vegetables, nothing can equal them, and +they are all here, asparagus and all, in profusion. The landlord +grows his own vegetables—every householder in Fleeceborough +has an ample garden—and produces the fruit from his own +orchards for the tarts. Ever and anon a waiter walks round with a +can of ale and fills the glasses, whether asked or not. Beef and +mutton, vegetables and fruit tarts, and ale are simple and plain +fare, but when they are served in the best form, how will you +surpass them? The real English cheese, the fresh salads, the +exquisite butter—everything on the table is genuine, juicy, +succulent, and rich. Could such a dinner be found in London, how +the folk would crowd thither! Finally, comes the waiter with his +two clean plates, the upper one to receive the money, the lower to +retain what is his. If you are a stranger, and remember what you +have been charged elsewhere in smoky cities for tough beef, stringy +mutton, waxy potatoes, and the very bread black with smuts, you +select half a sovereign and drop it on the upper plate. In the +twinkling of an eye eight shillings are returned to you; the charge +is a florin only.</p> +<p>They live well in Fleeceborough, as every fresh experience of +the place will prove; they have plentiful food, and of the best +quality; poultry abounds, for every resident having a great garden +(many, too, have paddocks) keeps fowls; fresh eggs are common; as +for vegetables and fruit, the abundance is not to be described. A +veritable cornucopia—a horn of plenty—seems to forever +pour a shower of these good things into their houses. And their +ale! To the first sight it is not tempting. It is thick, dark, a +deep wine colour; a slight aroma rises from it like that which +dwells in bonded warehouses. The first taste is not pleasing; but +it induces a second, and a third. By-and-by the flavour grows upon +the palate; and now beware, for if a small quantity be thrown upon +the fire it will blaze up with a blue flame like pure alcohol. That +dark vinous-looking ale is full of the strength of malt and hops; +it is the brandy of the barley. The unwary find their heads +curiously queer before they have partaken, as it seems to them, of +a couple of glasses. The very spirit and character of Fleeceborough +is embodied in the ale; rich, strong, genuine. No one knows what +English ale is till he has tried this.</p> +<p>After the market dinner the guests sit still—they do not +hurry away to counter and desk; they rest awhile, and dwell as it +were on the flavour of their food. There is a hum of pleasant talk, +for each man is a right boon companion. The burden of that talk has +been the same for generations—sheep and wool, wool and sheep. +Occasionally mysterious allusions are made to 'he,' what 'he' will +do with a certain farm, whether 'he' will support such and such a +movement, or subscribe to some particular fund, what view will 'he' +take of the local question of the day? Perhaps some one has had +special information of the step 'he' is likely to take; then that +favoured man is an object of the deepest interest, and is +cross-questioned all round the table till his small item of +authentic intelligence has been thoroughly assimilated. 'He' is the +resident within those vast and endless walls, with the metal gates +and the gilded coronet above—the prince of this kingdom and +its capital city. To rightly see the subjects loyally hastening +hither, let any one ascend the church tower on market day.</p> +<p>It is remarkably high, and from thence the various roads +converging on the town are visible. The province lies stretched out +beneath. There is the gleam of water—the little river, with +its ancient mills—that flows beside the town; there are the +meadows, with their pleasant footpaths. Yonder the ploughed fields +and woods, and yet more distant the open hills. Along every road, +and there are many, the folk are hastening to their capital city, +in gigs, on horseback, in dog-traps and four-wheels, or sturdily +trudging afoot. The breeze comes sweet and exhilarating from the +hills and over the broad acres and green woods; it strikes the +chest as you lean against the parapet, and the jackdaws suspend +themselves in mid-air with outstretched wings upheld by its force. +For how many years, how many centuries, has this little town and +this district around it been distinct and separate? In the days +before the arrival of the Roman legions it was the country of a +distinct tribe, or nation, of the original Britons. But if we speak +of history we shall never have done, for the town and its antique +abbey (of which this tower is a mere remnant) have mingled more or +less in every change that has occurred, down from the earthwork +camp yonder on the hills to to-day—down to the last puff of +the locomotive there below, as its driver shuts off steam and runs +in with passengers and dealers for the market, with the papers, and +the latest novel from London.</p> +<p>Something of the old local patriotism survives, and is vigorous +in the town here. Men marry in the place, find their children +employment in the place, and will not move, if they can help it. +Their families—well-to-do and humble alike—have been +there for so many, many years. The very carter, or the little +tailor working in his shop-window, will tell you (and prove to you +by records) that his ancestor stood to the barricade with pike or +matchlock when the army of King or Parliament, as the case may be, +besieged the sturdy town two hundred years ago. He has a longer +pedigree than many a titled dweller in Belgravia. All these people +believe in Fleeceborough. When fate forces them to quit—when +the young man seeks his fortune in New Zealand or America—he +writes home the fullest information, and his letters published in +the local print read curiously to an outsider, so full are they of +local inquiries, and answers to friends who wished to know this or +that. In the end he comes back—should he succeed in getting +the gold which tempted him away—to pass his latter days +gossiping round with the dear old folk, and to marry amongst them. +Yet, with all their deep local patriotism, they are not bigoted or +narrow-minded; there is too much literature abroad for that, and +they have the cosiest reading-room wherein to learn all that passes +in the world. They have a town council held now and then in an +ancient wainscoted hall, with painted panels and coats of arms, +carved oaken seats black with age, and narrow windows from which +men once looked down into the street, wearing trunk hose and +rapier.</p> +<p>But they have at least two other councils that meet much more +often, and that meet by night. When his books are balanced, when +his shop is shut, after he has strolled round his garden, and taken +his supper, the tradesman or shopkeeper walks down to his inn, and +there finds his circle assembled. They are all there, the rich and +the moderately well-to-do, the struggling, and the poor. Each +delivers his opinion over the social glass, or between the +deliberate puffs of his cigar or pipe. The drinking is extremely +moderate, the smoking not quite so temperate; but neither the glass +nor the cigar are the real attractions. It is the common +hall—the informal place of meeting.</p> +<p>It is here that, the real government of the town is +planned—the mere formal resolutions voted in the ancient +council-room are the outcome of the open talk, and the quiet +whisper here. No matter what subject is to the front, the question +is always heard—What will 'he' do? What will 'he' say to it? +The Volunteers compete for prizes which 'he' offers. The cottage +hospital; the flower show; the cattle show, or agricultural +exhibition; the new market buildings arose through his +subscriptions and influence; the artesian well, sunk that the town +might have the best of water, was bored at his expense; and so on +through the whole list of town affairs. When 'he' takes the lead +all the lesser gentry—many of whom, perhaps, live in his +manor houses—follow suit, and with such powerful support to +back it a movement is sure to succeed, yet 'he' is rarely seen; his +hand rarely felt; everything is done, but without obtrusiveness. At +these nightly councils at the chief hostelries the farmers of the +district are almost as numerous as the townsmen. They ride in to +hear the news and exchange their own small coin of gossip. They +want to know what 'he' is going to do, and little by little of +course it leaks out.</p> +<p>But the town is not all so loyal. There is a section which is +all the more vehemently rebellious because of the spectacle of its +staid and comfortable neighbours. This section is very small, but +makes a considerable noise. It holds meetings and utters +treasonable speeches, and denounces the 'despot' in fiery language. +It protests against a free and open park; it abhors artesian wells; +it detests the throwing open of nut woods that all may go forth +a-nutting; it waxes righteously indignant at every gift, be it +prizes for the flower show or a new market site. It scorns those +mean-spirited citizens that cheer these kindly deeds. It asks why? +Why should we wait till the park gates are open? Why stay till the +nut woods are declared ready? Why be thankful for pure water? Why +not take our own? This one man has no right to these parks and +woods and pleasure grounds and vast walls; these square miles of +ploughed fields, meadows and hills. By right they should all be +split up into little plots to grow our potatoes. Away with gilded +coronet and watchman, batter down these walls, burn the ancient +deeds and archives, put pick and lever to the tall church tower; +let us have the rights of man! These violent ebullitions make not +the least different. All the insults they can devise, all the petty +obstructions they can set up, the mud they can fling, does not +alter the calm course of the 'despot' one jot. The artesian well is +bored, and they can drink pure water or not, as pleases them. The +prizes are offered, and they can compete or stand aloof. +Fleeceborough smiles when it meets at night in its council-rooms, +with its glass and pipe; Fleeceborough knows that the traditional +policy of the Hall will continue, and that policy is acceptable to +it.</p> +<p>What manner of man is this 'despot' and prince behind his vast +walls? Verily his physique matters nothing; whether he be old or of +middle age, tall or short, infirm or strong. The policy of the +house keeps the actual head and owner rather in the background. His +presence is never obtruded; he is rarely seen; you may stay in his +capital for months and never catch a glimpse of him. He will not +appear at meetings, that every man may be free, nor hesitate to say +his say, and abuse what he lists to abuse. The policy is simply +perfect freedom, with support and substantial assistance to any and +to every movement set on foot by the respectable men of +Fleeceborough, or by the tenant farmers round about. This has been +going on for generations; so that the personnel of the actual owner +concerns little. His predecessors did it, he does it, and the next +to come will do it. It is the tradition of the house. Nothing is +left undone that a true princely spirit could do to improve, to +beautify, or to preserve.</p> +<p>The antiquities of the old, old town are kept for it, and not +permitted to decay; the ancient tesselated pavements of Roman +villas carefully protected from the weather; the remnants of the +enclosing walls which the legions built for their defence saved +from destruction; the coins of the emperors and of our own early +kings collected; the spurs, swords, spearheads, all the fragments +of past ages arranged for inspection and study by every one who +desires to ponder over them. Chipped flints and arrowheads, the +bones of animals long extinct, and the strange evidences of yet +more ancient creatures that swam in the seas of the prehistoric +world, these too are preserved at his cost and expense. +Archæologists, geologists, and other men of science come from +afar to see these things and to carry away their lessons. The +memories of the place are cherished. There was a famous poet who +sang in the woods about the park; his hermitage remains, and +nothing is lost that was his. Art-treasures there are, too, +heirlooms to be seen behind those vast walls by any who will be at +the trouble of asking.</p> +<p>Such is the policy of Hodge's own prince, whose silent influence +is felt in every household for miles about, and felt, as all must +admit, however prejudiced against the system, in this case for +good. His influence reaches far beyond the bounds even of that +immense property. The example communicates itself to others, and +half the county responds to that pleasant impulse. It is a +responsible position to hold; something, perhaps, a little like +that of the Medici at Florence in the olden times. But here there +is no gonfalon, no golden chain of office, no velvet doublet, +cloak, and rapier, no guards with arquebuss or polished crossbow. +An entire absence of state and ceremony marks this almost unseen +but powerful sway. The cycle of the seasons brings round times of +trial here as over the entire world, but the conditions under which +the trial is sustained could scarcely in our day, and under our +complicated social and political system, be much more +favourable.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap12" id="chap12">CHAPTER XII</a></h3> +<h3>THE SQUIRE'S 'ROUND ROBIN'</h3> +A cock pheasant flies in frantic haste across the road, beating the +air with wide-stretched wings, and fast as he goes, puts on yet a +faster spurt as the shot comes rattling up through the boughs of +the oak beneath him. The ground is, however, unfavourable to the +sportsman, and the bird escapes. The fir copse from which the +pheasant rose covers a rather sharp descent on one side of the +highway. On the level above are the ploughed fields, but the slope +itself is too abrupt for agricultural operations, and the soil +perhaps thin and worthless. It is therefore occupied by a small +plantation. On the opposite side of the road there grows a fine row +of oaks in a hedge, under whose shade the dust takes long to dry +when once damped by a shower. The sportsman who fired stands in the +road; the beaters are above, for they desire the game to fly in a +certain direction; and what with the narrow space between the firs +and the oaks, the spreading boughs, and the uncertainty of the spot +where the pheasant would break cover, it is not surprising that he +missed. +<p>The shot, after tearing through the boughs, rises to some height +in the air, and, making a curve, falls of its own weight only, like +pattering hail—and as harmless—upon an aged woman, +just then trudging slowly round the corner. She is a cottager, and +has been to fetch the weekly dole of parish bread that helps to +support herself and infirm husband. She wears a long cloak that +nearly sweeps the ground on account of her much-bowed back, and +carries a flag basket full of bread in one hand, and a bulging +umbrella, which answers as a walking stick, in the other. The poor +old body, much startled, but not in the least injured, scuttles +back round the corner, exclaiming, 'Lor! it be Filbard a-shooting: +spose a'had better bide a bit till he ha' done.' She has not long +to wait. The young gentleman standing in the road gets a shot at +another cock; this time the bird flies askew, instead of straight +across, and so gives him a better opportunity. The pheasant falls +crash among the nettles and brambles beside the road. Then a second +and older gentleman emerges from the plantation, and after a time a +keeper, who picks up the game.</p> +<p>The party then proceed along the road, and coming round the +corner the great black retriever runs up to the old woman with the +most friendly intentions, but to her intense confusion, for she is +just in the act of dropping a lowly curtsey when the dog rubs +against her. The young gentleman smiles at her alarm and calls the +dog; the elder walks on utterly indifferent. A little way up the +road the party get over the gate into the meadows on that side, and +make for another outlying plantation. Then, and not till then, does +the old woman set out again, upon her slow and laborious journey. +'Filbard be just like a gatepost,' she mutters; 'a' don't take no +notice of anybody.' Though she had dropped the squire so lowly a +curtsey, and in his presence would have behaved with profound +respect, behind his back and out of hearing she called him by his +family name without any prefix. The cottagers thereabout almost +always did this in speaking among themselves of their local +magnate. They rarely said 'Mr.'; it was generally 'Filbard,' or, +even more familiarly, 'Jim Filbard.' Extremes meet. They hardly +dared open their mouths when they saw him, and yet spoke of him +afterwards as if he sat with them at bacon and cabbage time.</p> +<p>Squire Filbard and one of his sons were walking round the +outlying copses that October day with the object of driving the +pheasants in towards the great Filbard wood, rather than of making +a bag. The birds were inclined to wander about, and the squire +thought a little judicious shooting round the outskirts would do +good, and at the same time give his son some sport without +disturbing the head of game he kept up in the wood itself. The +squire was large made, tall, and well proportioned, and with a +bearded, manly countenance. His neck was, perhaps, a little thick +and apoplectic-looking, but burnt to a healthy brick-dust colour by +exposure to the sun. The passing years had drawn some crows'-feet +round the eyes, but his step was firm, his back straight, and he +walked his ancestral acres every inch the master. The defect of his +features was the thinness of the lips, and a want of character in a +nose which did not accord with a good forehead. His hands, too, +were very large and puffy; his finger-nails (scrupulously clean) +were correspondingly large, and cut to a sharp point, that seemed +to project beyond the tip of the finger, and gave it a scratchy +appearance.</p> +<p>The chimneys of Filbard Hall showed for some distance above the +trees of the park, for the house stood on high ground. It was of +red brick, somewhat square in style, and had little of the true +Elizabethan character—it was doubtless later in date, though +not modern. The chimneys, however, had a pleasing appearance over +the trees; they were in stacks, and rather larger, or broader +apparently at the top than where they rose from the roof. Such +chimneys are not often seen on recent buildings. A chimney seems a +simple matter, and yet the aspect of a house from a distance much +depends upon its outline. The mansion was of large size, and stood +in an extensive park, through which carriage drives swept up to the +front from different lodge gates. Each of the drives passed under +avenues of trees—the park seemed to stretch on either hand +without enclosure or boundary—and the approach was not +without a certain stateliness. Within the apartments were +commodious, and from several there were really beautiful views. +Some ancient furniture, handed down generation after generation, +gave a character to the rooms; the oak staircase was much admired, +and so was the wainscoating of one part.</p> +<p>The usual family portraits hung on the walls, but the present +squire had rather pushed them aside in favour of his own peculiar +hobby. He collected antique Italian pictures—many on +panels—in the pre-Raphaelite style. Some of these he had +picked up in London, others he had found and purchased on the +Continent. There were saints with glories or <i>nimbi</i> round +their heads, Madonnas and kneeling Magi, the manger under a kind of +penthouse, and similar subjects—subjects the highest that +could be chosen. The gilding of the <i>nimbi</i> seemed well done +certainly, and was still bright, but to the ordinary eye the +stiffness of the figures, the lack of grace, the absence of soul in +the composition was distressingly apparent. It was, however, the +squire's hobby, and it must be admitted that he had very high +authority upon his side. Some sensitive persons rather shrank from +seeing him handle these painted panels with those peculiar scratchy +finger-nails; it set their teeth on edge. He gave considerable sums +of money for many of these paintings, the only liberality he +permitted himself, or was capable of.</p> +<p>His own room or study was almost bare, and the solitary window +looked on a paved passage that led to the stables. There was +nothing in it but a large table, a bookcase, and two or three of +the commonest horsehair chairs; the carpet was worn bare. He had +selected this room because there was a door close by opening on the +paved passage. Thus the bailiff of the Home Farm, the steward, the +gamekeeper, the policeman, or any one who wished to see him on +business, could come to the side door from the back and be shown in +to him without passing through the mansion. This certainly was a +convenient arrangement; yet one would have thought that he would +have had a second and more private study in which to follow his own +natural bent of mind. But the squire received the gardener and gave +him directions about the cucumbers—for he descended even to +such minutiæ as that—sitting at the same table on which +he had just written to an Italian art collector respecting a +picture, or to some great friend begging him to come and inspect a +fresh acquisition. The bookcase contained a few law books, a manual +for the direction of justices—the squire was on the +commission—a copy of Burke, and in one corner of a shelf a +few musty papers referring to family history. These were of some +value, and the squire was proud of showing them to those who took +an interest in archæology; yet he kept them much as if they +had been receipts for the footman's livery, or a dozen bottles of +stable medicine. He wrote with a quill pen, and as it went up and +down it scratched the paper as if it had been those sharp +projecting finger-nails.</p> +<p>In this study he spent many hours when at home—he rose +late, and after breakfast repaired hither. The steward was usually +in attendance. He was a commonplace man, but little above the +description of a labourer. He received wages not much superior to +those a labourer takes in summer time, but as he lived at the Home +Farm (which was in hand) there were of course some perquisites. A +slow, quiet man, of little or no education, he pottered about and +looked after things in general. One morning perhaps he would come +in to talk with the squire about the ash wood they were going to +cut in the ensuing winter, or about the oak bark which had not been +paid for. Or it might be the Alderney cow or the poultry at the +Home Farm, or a few fresh tiles on the roof of the pig-sty, which +was decaying. A cart wanted a new pair of wheels or a shaft. One of +the tenants wanted a new shed put up, but it did not seem +necessary; the old one would do very well if people were not so +fidgety. The wife or daughter of one of the cottage people was +taking to drink and getting into bad ways. This or that farmer had +had some sheep die. Another farmer had bought some new +silver-mounted harness, and so on, through all the village +gossip.</p> +<p>Often it was the gamekeeper instead of the steward who came in +or was sent for. The squire kept a large head of pheasants for +certain reasons, but he was not over-anxious to pay for them. The +keeper grumbled about his wages, that he had no perquisites, and +that the shooting season never brought him any fees—unless +the squire let the place; he only wished he let it every year. +This, of course, was said aside; to the squire he was hat in hand. +He had to produce his vouchers for food for the pheasants and dogs, +and to give particulars why a certain gate on the plantation wanted +renewing. The steward had seen it, and thought it might be +repaired; why did the keeper think it ought to be renewed +altogether? And was there not plenty of larch timber lying about, +that had been thrown and not sold, that would make a very good +spar-gate, without purchasing one? Why couldn't old Hooker, the +hedge carpenter, knock it up cheap?</p> +<p>Next came the coachman—the squire did not keep up anything +of a stud, just enough to work the carriage, and some ordinary +riding horses and a pony for the children. The coachman had to +explain why a new lock was wanted on the stable door; why the +blacksmith's bill was so much for shoes; after which there was a +long gossip about the horses of a gentleman who had come down and +rented a place for the season. The gardener sometimes had an +interview about the quantity of apples that might be sold from the +orchard, and twenty other peddling details, in which the squire +delighted. As for the butler, time at last had brought him to bear +with patience the inquisition about the waste corks and the empty +bottles.</p> +<p>The squire would have had the cook in and discussed the +stock-pot with her for a full hour, but the cook set up her back. +She wouldn't, no, that she wouldn't; and the squire found that the +cook was mistress of the situation. She was the only personage who +did not pass him with deference. She tossed her head, and told her +fellow-servants audibly that he was a poor, mean-spirited man; and +as for missis, she was a regular Tartar—there! In this they +thoroughly agreed. The coachman and footman, when out with the +carriage, and chancing to get a talk with other coachmen and +footmen, were full of it. He was the meanest master they had ever +known; yet they could not say that he paid less wages, or that they +were ill-fed—it was this meddling, peddling interference they +resented. The groom, when he rode into town for the letter-bag, +always stopped to tell Ills friends some fresh instance of it. All +the shopkeepers and tradesmen, and everybody else, had heard of it. +But they were none the less obsequious when the squire passed up +the street. The servants were never so glad as when young master +came home with the liberal views imbibed in modern centres of +learning, and with a free, frank mode of speech. But miss, the sole +daughter, they simply hated; she seemed to have ten times the +meanness of her papa, and had been a tell-tale from childhood. The +kitchen said she saved her curl papers to sell as waste paper.</p> +<p>The 'missis' was as haughty, as unapproachable, and disdainful +as the master was inquisitive; she never spoke to, looked at, nor +acknowledged any one—except the three largest tenants and +their wives. To these, who paid heavily, she was gracious. She +dressed in the very extreme and front of fashion—the squire +himself quite plainly, without the least pretence of dandyism. +Hateful as the village folk thought her <i>hauteur</i> and open +contempt for them, they said she was more the lady than the squire +was the gentleman.</p> +<p>The squire's time, when at home, like everything else, was +peddled away. He rode into market one day of the week; he went to +church on Sundays with unfailing regularity, and he generally +attended the petty sessional bench on a third day. Upon the bench, +from the long standing of his family, he occupied a prominent +position. His mind invariably seized the minutiæ of the +evidence, and never seemed to see the point or the broad bearings +of the case. He would utterly confuse a truthful witness, for +instance, who chanced to say that he met the defendant in the road. +'But you said just now that you and he were both going the same +way; how, then, could you meet him?' the squire would ask, frowning +sternly. Whether the witness overtook or met the defendant mattered +nothing to the point at issue; but the squire, having got a +satisfactory explanation, turned aside, with an aggravating air of +cleverness. For the rest of the week the squire could not account +for his time. He sometimes, indeed, in the hunting season, rode to +the meet; but he rarely followed. He had none of the enthusiasm +that makes a hunter; besides, it made the horse in such a heat, and +would work him out too quick for economy.</p> +<p>He went out shooting, but not in regular trim. He would carry +his gun across to the Home Farm, and knock over a rabbit on the +way; then spend two hours looking at the Alderney cow, the roof of +the pig-sty, and the poultry, and presently stroll across a corner +of the wood, and shoot a pheasant. The head of game was kept up for +the purpose of letting the mansion from time to time when the +squire or his lady thought it desirable to go on the Continent, +that the daughter might acquire the graces of travel. A visit to +London in the season, a visit to the seaside, and then home in the +autumn to peddle about the estate, made up the year when they did +not go abroad. There was a broad park, noble trees, a great +mansion, a stately approach; but within it seemed all littleness of +spirit.</p> +<p>The squire's own private study—the morning-room of the +owner of this fine estate—was, as previously observed, next +the passage that led to the stables, and the one window looked out +on a blank wall. It was in this room that he conducted his business +and pleasure, and his art researches. It was here that he received +the famous 'Round Robin' from his tenants. The estate was not very +large—something between 3,000 and 4,000 acres—but much +of it was good and fertile, though heavy land, and highly rented. +Had the squire received the whole of his rents for his own private +use he would have been well off as squires go. But there was a flaw +or hitch somewhere in the right, or title, or succession. No one +knew the precise circumstances, because, like so many similar +family disputes, when the lawyers were ready, and the case had come +before the tribunal, a compromise was arrived at, the terms of +which were only known to the tribunal and the parties directly +concerned.</p> +<p>But everybody knew that the squire had to pay heavy pensions to +various members of another branch of the family; and it was +imagined that he did not feel quite fixed in the tenure—that +possibly the case might, under certain circumstances, be heard of +again—since it was noticed that he did not plant trees, or +make improvements, or in any way proceed to increase the permanent +attractions of the estate. It seemed as if he felt he was only +lodging there. He appeared to try and get all he could off the +place—without absolute damage—and to invest or spend +nothing. After all these payments had been made the squire's income +was much reduced, and thus, with all these broad acres, these +extensive woods, and park, and mansion, pleasure grounds, game, and +so forth, he was really a poor man. Not poor in the sense of actual +want, but a man in his position had, of course, a certain +appearance to keep up. Horses, carriages—even cooks—are +not to be had for nothing, and are absolutely essential to those +who are compelled to maintain any kind of dignity. Sons with +liberal ideas are expensive; a daughter is expensive; a wife who +insists on dressing in the fashion is expensive.</p> +<p>Now, taking all those things into consideration, and +remembering, too, that the squire as a good father (which he was +admittedly) wished to make provision for the future of his +children, it may perhaps, after all, be questioned whether he +really was so mean and little of spirit as appeared. Under the +circumstances, if he wished to save, the only way open to him was +to be careful in little things. Even his hobby—the +pre-Raphaelite pictures—was not without its advantage in this +sense; the collection was certainly worth more than he gave for it, +for he got it all by careful bargaining, and it could be sold again +at a profit. The careful superintendence of the Alderney cow, the +cucumber frames, and the rabbits, might all be carried out for the +very best of objects, the good of his children.</p> +<p>Now, the squire was, of course, very well aware of the troubles +of agriculture, the wetness of the seasons—which played havoc +with the game—the low prices, and the loud talk that was +going on around him. But he made no sign. He might have been deaf, +dumb, and blind. He walked by the wheat, but did not see the +deficiency of the crop, nor the extraordinary growth of weeds. +There were voices in the air like the mutterings of a coming storm, +but he did not hear them. There were paragraphs in the +papers—how So-and-So had liberally reduced the rents or +returned a percentage; but he did not read them, or did not +understand. Rent days came and went, and no sign was made. His +solicitor received the rents, but nothing could be got out of him +by the farmers. The little farmers hardly liked to take the lead: +some of them did not dare. The three largest farmers looked at each +other and wondered which would speak first. They were awkwardly +situated. The squire's wife acknowledged their wives and daughters, +and once now and then deigned to invite them to the mansion. The +squire himself presented them with specimens of a valuable breed of +poultry he was bringing up at the Home Farm. It was difficult to +begin unpleasant business.</p> +<p>Meantime the solicitor gathered up the cheques, wished them good +afternoon and departed. Another rent day came round, and still no +sign. The squire's policy was, in fact, to ignore. He ignored the +depression altogether—could not see that it existed in that +county at all. Recollect, it was the only policy open to him. +Whether the rents paid to him were large or small, his expenses +would be the same. There were the members of the other branch of +the family to be paid in full. There were the carriages, the +servants, the gamekeepers, and so on. He could reduce nothing; no +wonder that he was slow to acknowledge that he must be himself +reduced. The fatal day—so long dreaded—came at +last.</p> +<p>A large letter lay on the table in the study one morning, along +with the other letters. He did not recognise the handwriting, and +naturally opened it first. It was a 'Round Robin' from the tenants. +All had signed a memorial, setting forth the depression, and +respectfully, even humbly, asking that their case be taken into +consideration, and that a percentage be returned, or the rent +reduced. Their heavy land, they pointed out, had been peculiarly +difficult to work in such seasons. They had suffered exceptionally, +and they trusted he would take no offence. But there was an +unmistakable hint that they were in earnest. All signed +it—from the ungrateful largest tenants, who had had presents +of fancy poultry, and whose wives had been smiled upon, down to the +smallest working farmer, who could hardly be distinguished from his +own labourers.</p> +<p>The squire read the names over twice, pointing to each with his +sharp, scratchy finger-nail. There were other letters from the +members of the other branch of the family whose pensions were just +due in full. Suppose he returned ten per cent. of the rents to the +tenants, that would not be like ten per cent. upon the entire +rental, but perhaps twenty-five or thirty per cent, upon that +portion of the rental which actually went into his own pocket. A +man can hardly be expected to cheerfully tender other people a +third of his income. But sprawling and ill-written as many of the +signatures were to the 'Round Robin'—the pen held by heavy +hands—yet they were genuine, and constituted a very +substantial fact, that must be yielded to.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap13" id="chap13">CHAPTER XIII</a></h3> +<h3>AN AMBITIOUS SQUIRE</h3> +Perhaps the magistrate most regular in his attendance at a certain +country Petty Sessional Court is young Squire Marthorne. Those who +have had business to transact at such Courts know the difficulty +that often arises from the absence of a second magistrate, there +being a numerous class of cases with which one justice of the peace +is not permitted to deal. There must be two, and it sometimes +happens that only one is forthcoming. The procedure adopted varies +much in different divisions, according to the population and the +percentage of charges brought up. Usually a particular day is +appointed when it is understood that a full bench will be present, +but it not unfrequently happens that another and less formal +meeting has to be held, at which the attendance is uncertain. The +district in which Mr. Marthorne resides chances to be somewhat +populous, and to include one or two turbulent places that furnish a +steady supply of offenders. The practice therefore is to hold two +Courts a week; at one of these, on the Saturday, the more important +cases are arranged to be heard, when there are always plenty of +magistrates. At the other, on the Tuesday, remands and smaller +matters are taken, and there then used to be some delay. +<p>One justice thought his neighbour would go, another thought the +same of his neighbour, and the result was nobody went. Having +tacitly bound themselves to attend once a week, the justices, many +of whom resided miles away, did not care formally to pledge +themselves to be invariably present on a second day. Sometimes the +business on that second day was next to nothing, but occasionally +serious affairs turned up, when messengers had to be despatched to +gather a quorum.</p> +<p>But latterly this uncertainty has been put an end to through the +regular attendance of young Squire Marthorne, of Marthorne House. +The Marthornes are an old family, and one of the best connected in +the county, though by no means rich, and, whether it was the lack +of great wealth or a want of energy, they had until recently rather +dropped out of the governing circle. When, however, the young +squire, soon after his accession to the property, in the natural +course of events, was nominated to the Commission of the Peace, he +began to exhibit qualities calculated to bring him to the front. He +developed an aptitude for business, and at the same time showed a +personal tact and judgment which seemed to promise a future very +different from the previous stagnation of his family.</p> +<p>These qualities came first into play at the Petty Sessions, +which, apart from the criminal business, is practically an informal +weekly Parliament of local landowners. Marthorne, of course, was +well known to the rest long before his appearance among them as a +colleague. He had gained some reputation at college; but that had +long since been forgotten in the prestige he had attained as a +brilliant foxhunter. Even in the days before his accession, when +his finances were notoriously low, he had somehow contrived to ride +a first-rate horse. Everybody likes a man who rides a good horse. +At the same time there was nothing horsey about him; he was always +the gentleman. Since his succession the young squire, as he was +familiarly described—most of the others being +elderly—-had selected his horses with such skill that it was +well known a very great man had noticed them, so that when he came +to the Bench, young as he was, Marthorne escaped the unpleasant +process of finding his level—<i>i.e.</i> being thoroughly put +down.</p> +<p>If not received quite as an equal by that assemblage of elderly +gentlemen, he was made to feel that at all events they would listen +to what he had to say. That is a very great point gained. Marthorne +used his advantage with judgment. He displayed a modesty highly +commendable in a young man. He listened, and only spoke for the +purpose of acquiring information. Nothing is so pleasing as to find +a man of intelligence willingly constituting himself your pupil. +They were all anxious to teach him the business of the county, and +the more he endeavoured to learn from them the cleverer they +thought him.</p> +<p>Now, the business of the county was not very intricate; the +details were innumerable, but the general drift was easy to +acquire. Much more complicated to see through were all the little +personal likings, dislikings, petty spites, foibles, hobbies, +secret understandings, family jars, and so forth, which really +decide a man's vote, or the scale into which he throws his +influence. There were scores of squires dotted over the county, +each of whom possessed local power more or less considerable, and +each of whom might perchance have private relations with men who +held high office in the State. Every family had its history and its +archives containing records of negotiations with other families. +People who met with all outward friendliness, and belonged to the +same party, might have grudges half a century old, but not yet +forgotten. If you made friends with one, you might mortally offend +the other. The other would say nothing, but another day a whisper +to some great authority might destroy the hopes of the aspirant. +Those who would attain to power must study the inner social life, +and learn the secret motives that animate men. But to get at the +secret behind the speech, the private thought behind the vote, +would occupy one for years.</p> +<p>Marthorne, of course, having been born and bred in the circle, +knew the main facts; but, when he came to really set himself to +work, he quickly felt that he was ignorant, and that at any moment +he might irritate some one's hidden prejudice. He looked round for +an older man who knew all about it, and could inform him. This man +he found in the person of the Vice-Chairman of the Petty Sessions. +The nominal Chairman, like many other unpaid officials, held the +place because of old family greatness, not from any personal +ability—family greatness which was in reality a mere +tradition. The Vice-Chairman was the true centre and spirit of the +circle.</p> +<p>A man of vast aptitude for details, he liked county business for +its own sake, and understood every technicality. With little or no +personal ambition, he had assisted in every political and social +movement in the county for half a century, and knew the secret +motives of every individual landowner. With large wealth, nothing +to do, and childless, he took a liking to young Marthorne. The old +man wished for nothing better than to talk; the young squire +listened attentively. The old man was delighted to find some one +who would sit with him through the long hours of Petty Sessional +business. Thus it was that the people who had to attend the Local +Board, whether it was a Saturday, the principal day, or whether it +was a Tuesday, that had previously been so trying, found their +business facilitated by the attendance of two magistrates. The +Vice-Chairman was always there, and Mr. Marthorne was always there. +It sometimes happened that while Hodge the lately intoxicated, or +Hodge the recent pugilist, was stolidly waiting for his sentence, +the two justices in the retiring room were convulsed with laughter; +the one recounting, the other imbibing, some curious racy anecdote +concerning the family history of a local magnate.</p> +<p>Meantime, the young squire was steadily gaining a reputation for +solid qualities, for work and application. Not only at the Bench, +but at the Board of Guardians and at other Boards where the justice +of the peace is <i>ex officio</i> a member, he steadily worked at +details, sat patiently upon committees, audited endless accounts, +read interminable reports, and was never weary of work. The farmers +began to talk about him, and to remark to each other what a +wonderful talent for business he possessed, and what a +pleasant-speaking young gentleman he was. The applause was well +earned, for probably there is no duller or more monotonous work +than that of attending Boards which never declare dividends. He +next appeared at the farmers' club, at first as a mere spectator, +and next, though with evident diffidence, as a speaker.</p> +<p>Marthorne was no orator; he felt when he stood up to speak an +odd sensation in the throat, as if the glottis had contracted. He +was, in fact, very nervous, and for the first two or three +sentences had not the least idea what he had said. But he forced +himself to say it—his will overruled his physical weakness. +When said it was not much—only a few safe +platitudes—but it was a distinct advance. He felt that next +time he should do better, and that his tongue would obey his mind. +His remarks appeared in the local print, and he had started as a +speaker. He was resolved to be a speaker, for it is evident to all +that, without frequent public speech, no one can now be a +representative man. Marthorne, after this, never lost an +opportunity of speaking—if merely to second a resolution, to +propose a toast, he made the most of it. One rule he laid down for +himself, namely, never to say anything original. He was not +speaking to propound a new theory, a new creed, or view of life. +His aim was to become the mouthpiece of his party. Most probably +the thought that seemed to him so clever might, if publicly +expressed, offend some important people. He, therefore, carefully +avoided anything original. High authorities are now never silent; +when Parliament closes they still continue to address the public, +and generally upon more or less stirring questions of the time.</p> +<p>In those addresses, delivered by the very leaders of his own +party, Marthorne found the material, and caught from their diligent +perusal the spirit in which to use it. In this way, without +uttering a single original idea of his own, and with very little +originality of expression, the young orator succeeded perfectly in +his aim. First, he became recognised as a speaker, and, therefore, +extremely useful; secondly, he was recognised as one of the +soundest exponents of politics in the county. Marthorne was not +only clever, but 'safe.' His repute for the latter quality was of +even more service to him than for talent; to be 'safe' in such +things is a very great recommendation. Personal reputation is of +slow growth, but it does grow. The Vice-Chairman, Marthorne's +friend and mentor, had connections with very high people indeed. He +mentioned Marthorne to the very high people. These, in their turn, +occasionally cast a glance at what Marthorne was doing. Now and +then they read a speech of his, and thought it extremely good, +solid, and well put. It was understood that a certain M.P. would +retire at the next election; and they asked themselves whom they +had to take his place?</p> +<p>While this important question was exercising the minds of those +in authority, Marthorne was energetically at work gaining the +social suffrage. The young squire's lady—he had married in +his minority for beauty and intelligence, and not for +money—was discovered to be a very interesting young person. +Her beauty and intelligence, and, let it be added, her true +devotion to her husband's cause, proved of fifty times more value +to him than a dowry of many manors. Her tact smoothed the way +everywhere; she made friends for him in all directions, especially +perhaps during the London season. Under the whirl and glitter of +that fascinating time there are latent possibilities of important +business. Both Marthorne and his lady had by birth and connections +the <i>entrée</i> into leading circles; but many who have +that <i>entrée</i> never attain to more influence in society +than the furniture of the drawing-room.</p> +<p>These two never for a moment lost sight of the country while +they enjoyed themselves in town. Everything they said or did was +said and done with a view to conciliate people who might have +direct or indirect influence in the country. In these matters, +ladies of position still retain considerable power in their hands. +The young squire and his wife put themselves to immense trouble to +get the good-will of such persons, and being of engaging manners +they in time succeeded. This was not effected at once, but three or +four years are a very short time in which to develop personal +influence, and their success within so brief a period argues +considerable skill.</p> +<p>At home again in the autumn the same efforts were diligently +continued. The mansion itself was but of moderate size and by no +means convenient, but the squire's lady transformed it from a +gaunt, commonplace country house into an elegant and charming +residence. This she contrived without great expense by the exercise +of good taste and a gift of discriminating between what was and +what was not. The exterior she left alone—to alter an +exterior costs a heavy sum and often fails. But the interior she +gradually fitted in a novel fettle, almost entirely after her own +design. The gardens, too, under her supervision, became equally +inviting. The house got talked about, and was itself a social +success.</p> +<p>On his part, the squire paid as much attention to the estate. It +was not large, far from sufficient of itself, indeed, to support +any social or political pretensions without the most rigid economy. +And the pair were rigidly economical. The lady dressed in the +height of the fashion, and drove the most beautiful horses, and yet +she never wasted a shilling upon herself. Her own little private +whims and fancies she resolutely refused to gratify. Every coin was +spent where it would produce effect. In like manner, the squire +literally never had half a sovereign in his pocket. He selected the +wines in his cellar with the greatest care, and paid for them +prices which the wine merchant, in these days of cheap wines, was +unaccustomed to receive from men of thrice his income. The squire +paid for the very best wine, and in private drank a cheap claret. +But his guests, many of them elderly gentlemen, when once they had +dined with him never forgot to come again. His bins became known +throughout the county; very influential people indeed spoke of them +with affection. It was in this way that the squire got a high value +out of his by no means extensive rents.</p> +<p>He also looked after the estate personally. Hodge, eating his +luncheon under the hedge in October, as he slowly munched his +crust, watched the squire strolling about the fields, with his gun +under his arm, and wondered why he did not try the turnips. The +squire never went into the turnip field, and seemed quite oblivious +that he carried a gun, for when a covey rose at his feet he did not +fire, but simply marked them down. His mind, in fact, was busy with +more important matters, and, fond as he was of shooting, he wanted +the birds for some one else's delectation. After he had had the +place a little while, there was not a square inch of waste ground +to be found. When the tenants were callous to hints, the squire +gave them pretty clearly to understand that he meant his land to be +improved, and improved it was. He himself of his own free motive +and initiative ordered new buildings to be erected where he, by +personal inspection, saw that they would pay. He drained to some +extent, but not very largely, thinking that capital sunk in drains, +except in particular soils, did not return for many years.</p> +<p>Anxious as he was to keep plenty of game, he killed off the +rabbits, and grubbed up many of the small covers at the corners and +sides of arable fields which the tenants believed injurious to +crops. He repaired labourers' cottages, and added offices to +farmsteads. In short, he did everything that could be done without +too heavy an expenditure. To kill off the rabbits, to grub the +smaller coverts, to drain the marshy spots, to thatch the cottages, +put up cattle sheds, and so on, could be effected without burdening +the estate with a loan. But, small as these improvements were in +themselves, yet, taken together, they made an appreciable +difference.</p> +<p>There was a distinct increase in the revenue of the estate after +the first two years. The increase arose in part from the diminished +expenses, for it has been found that a tumble-down place is more +costly to maintain than one in good repair. The tenants at first +were rather alarmed, fearing lest the change should end in a +general rise of rents. It did not. The squire only asked an +increase when he had admittedly raised the value of the land, and +then only to a moderate amount. By degrees he acquired a reputation +as the most just of landlords. His tenantry were not only +satisfied, but proud of him; for they began to foresee what was +going to happen.</p> +<p>Yet all these things had been done for his own interest—so +true is it that the interest of the landlord and the tenant are +identical. The squire had simply acted judiciously, and from +personal inspection. He studied his estate, and attended to it +personally. Of course he could not have done these things had he +not succeeded to a place but little encumbered with family +settlements. He did them from interested motives, and not from mere +sentiment. But, nevertheless, credit of a high order was justly +accorded to him. So young a man might naturally have expended his +income on pleasure. So young a wife might have spent his rents in +frivolity. They worked towards an end, but it was a worthy +end—for ambition, if not too extravagant, is a virtue. Men +with votes and influence compared this squire in their minds with +other squires, whose lives seemed spent in a slumberous +donothingness.</p> +<p>Thus, by degrees, the young squire's mansion and estate added to +his reputation. The labour which all this represented was immense. +Both the squire and his wife worked harder than a merchant in his +office. Attending Boards and farmers' clubs, making speeches, +carrying on correspondence, looking after the estate, discharging +social duties, filled up every moment of his time. Superintending +the house, the garden, corresponding, and a hundred other labours, +filled up every moment of hers. They were never idle; to rise +socially and politically requires as great or greater work than for +a poor man to achieve a fortune.</p> +<p>Ultimately the desired result began to be apparent. There grew +up a general feeling that the squire was the best man for the place +in Parliament which, in the course of events, must ere long be +vacant. There was much heartburning and jealousy secretly felt +among men twice his age, who had waited and hoped for years for +such an opening, till at last they had rusted and become incapable +of effort. But, cynical as they might be in private, they were too +wise to go openly against the stream. A few friendly words spoken +in season by a great man whose goodwill had been gained decided the +matter. At an informal meeting of the party—how much more is +effected at informal than at formal assemblies!—Marthorne was +introduced as the successor to the then representative. The young +squire's estate could not, of course, bear the heavy pecuniary +strain which must arise; but before those who had the control of +these things finally selected him they had ascertained that there +would be no difficulty with respect to money. Marthorne's old +friend and mentor, the wealthy Vice-Chairman of the Petty Sessions, +who had inducted him into the county business, announced that he +should bear the larger part of the expense. He was not a little +proud of his <i>protégé</i>.</p> +<p>The same old friend and mentor, wise with the knowledge and +experience which long observation of men had given him, advised the +young squire what to do when the depression first came upon +agriculture. The old man said, 'Meet it; very likely it will not +last two years. What is that in the life of an estate?' So the +young squire met it, and announced at once that he should return a +percentage of his rents. 'But not too high a percentage,' said the +old man; 'let us ascertain what the rest of the landowners think, +else by a too liberal reduction you may seem to cast a reflection +upon them.' The percentage was returned, and continued, and the +young squire has tided over the difficulty.</p> +<p>His own tenantry and the farming interest generally are proud of +him. Hodge, who, slow as he is, likes a real man, says, 'He beant +such a bad sort of a veller, you; a' beant above speaking to we!' +When the time comes the young squire will certainly be +returned.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap14" id="chap14">CHAPTER XIV</a></h3> +<h3>THE PARSON'S WIFE</h3> +It is pleasant, on a sunny day to walk through a field of wheat +when the footpath is bordered on either side by the ripening crop, +without the intervention of hedge or fence. Such a footpath, +narrow, but well kept, leads from a certain country churchyard to +the highway road, and passes on the way a wicket gate in a thick +evergreen shrubbery which surrounds the vicarage lawn and gardens. +This afternoon the wheat stands still and upright, without a +motion, in the burning sunshine, for the sun, though he has sloped +a little from his highest meridian altitude, pours an even fiercer +beam than at the exact hour of noon. The shadeless field is exposed +to the full glare of the brilliant light. There are no trees in the +field itself, the hedges are cut low and trimmed to the smallest +proportions, and are devoid of timber; and, as the ground is high +and close to the hills, all the trees in sight are beneath, and can +be overlooked. Whether in sunshine or storm there is no +shelter—no medium; the wind rushes over with its utmost fury, +or the heat rests on it undisturbed by the faintest current. Yet, +sultry as it is, the footpath is a pleasant one to follow. +<p>The wheat ears, all but ripe—to the ordinary eye they are +ripe, but the farmer is not quite satisfied—rise to the waist +or higher, and tempt the hand to pluck them. Butterflies flutter +over the surface, now descending to some flower hidden beneath, now +resuming their joyous journey. There is a rich ripe feeling in the +very atmosphere, the earth is yielding her wealth, and a delicate +aroma rises from her generous gifts. Far as the eye can see, the +rolling plains and slopes present various tints of +yellow—wheat in different stages of ripeness, or of different +kinds; oats and barley—till the hedges and woods of the vale +conceal the farther landscape on the one hand and the ridge of the +hills upon the other.</p> +<p>Nothing conveys so strong an impression of substantial wealth as +the view of wheat-fields. A diamond ornament in a window may be +ticketed as worth so many hundreds of pounds; but the glittering +gem, and the sum it represents, seem rather abstract than real. But +the wheat, the golden wheat, is a great fact that seizes hold of +the mind; the idea comes of itself that it represents solid +wealth.</p> +<p>The tiles of the vicarage roof—all of the house visible +above the shrubbery—look so hot and dry in the glaring +sunshine that it does not seem possible for vegetation to exist +upon them; yet they are tinted with lichen. The shrubbery has an +inviting coolness about it—the thick evergreens, the hollies +on which the berries are now green, the cedars and ornamental trees +planted so close together that the passer-by cannot see through, +must surely afford a grateful shade—a contrast with the heat +of the wheat-field and the dust of the highway below. Just without +the wicket gate a goat standing upon his hind legs, his fore legs +placed against the palings, is industriously nibbling the tenderest +leaves of the shrubs and trees which he can reach. Thus extended to +his full length he can reach considerably higher than might be +supposed, and is capable of much destruction. Doubtless he has got +out of bounds.</p> +<p>Inside the enclosure the reverend gentleman himself reclines in +an arm-chair of cane-work placed under the shade of the verandah, +just without the glass door or window opening from the drawing-room +upon the lawn. His head has fallen back and a little to one side, +and an open book lies on his knee; his soft felt hat is bent and +crumpled; he has yielded to the heat and is slumbering. The blinds +are partly down the window, but a glimpse can be obtained of a +luxurious carpet, of tables in valuable woods and inlaid, of a fine +piano, of china, and the thousand and one nicknacks of highly +civilised life. The reverend gentleman's suit of black, however, is +not new; it is, on the contrary, decidedly rusty, and the sole of +one of his boots, which is visible, is much worn. Over his head the +roses twine round the pillars of the verandah, and there is a +<i>parterre</i> of brilliant flowers not far from his feet.</p> +<p>His wife sits, a few yards distant, under a weeping ash, whose +well-trained boughs make a perfect tent, and shield her from the +sun. She has a small table before her, and writing materials, and +is making notes with the utmost despatch from some paper or +journal. She is no longer young, and there are marks of much care +and trouble on her forehead; but she has still a pleasing +expression upon her features, her hands are exquisitely white, and +her figure, once really good, retains some of the outline that +rendered it beautiful. Wherever you saw her you would say, That is +a lady. But her dress, tasteful though it be, is made of the +cheapest material, and looks, indeed, as if it had been carefully +folded away last summer, and was now brought out to do duty a +second time.</p> +<p>The slow rumble of waggon wheels goes down the road, close to +the lawn, but concealed by the trees, against whose boughs the +sheaves of the load rustle as they go past. Wealth rolling by upon +the waggon, wealth in the well-kept garden, in the smart lawn, in +the roses, the bright flowers, the substantial well-furnished +house, the luxurious carpet, and the china; wealth, too, all around +in the vast expanse of ripening wheat. He has nothing to do but to +slumber in the cane chair and receive his tithe of the harvest. She +has nothing to do but to sit under the shadow of the weeping ash +and dream dreams, or write verses. Such, at least, might be the +first impression.</p> +<p>The publication from which she is so earnestly making notes is +occupied with the management of bees, and she is so busy because +the paper is only borrowed, and has to be returned. Most of the +papers and books that come to the vicarage have to be hastily read +for the same reason. Mrs. F—— is doing her very best +and hardest to increase the Rev. F——'s income—she +has tried to do so for some years, and despite repeated failures is +bravely, perhaps a little wearily, still trying. There is not much +left for her to experiment with. The goat surreptitiously nibbling +the valuable shrubs outside the palings is a member of a flock that +once seemed to promise fair. Goats at one time (she was persuaded) +were the means of ready wealth—they could live anywhere, on +anything (the shrubs to wit), and yielded such rich milk; it far +surpassed that of the shorthorn; there was the analysis to prove +it! Such milk must of course be worth money, beside which there +were the kids, and the cheese and butter.</p> +<p>Alas! the goats quickly obtained so evil a reputation, worse +than that of the rabbits for biting off the shooting vegetation, +that no one would have them on the land. The milk was all the +analysis declared it, but in that outlying village, which did not +contain two houses above the quality of a farmstead, there was no +one to buy it. There was a prejudice against the butter which could +not be got over; and the cheese—well, the cheese resembled a +tablet of dark soap. Hodge would not eat it at a gift; he smelt it, +picked a morsel off on the tip of his clasp knife, and threw it +aside in contempt. One by one the goats were got rid of, and now +but two or three remained; she could not make up her mind to part +with all, for living creatures, however greatly they have +disappointed, always enlist the sympathies of women.</p> +<p>Poultry was the next grand discovery—they ate their heads +off, refused to lay eggs, and, when by frequent purchase they +became numerous and promised to pay, quietly died by the score, +seized with an epidemic. She learnt in visiting the cottagers how +profitable their allotment gardens were to them, and naturally +proceeded to argue that a larger piece of ground would yield +proportionately larger profit if cultivated on the same principle. +If the cottagers could pay a rent for an acre which, in the +aggregate, was three times that given by the ordinary farmer, and +could even then make a good thing of it, surely intelligence and +skill might do the same on a more extended scale. How very foolish +the farmers were! they might raise at least four times the produce +they did, and they might pay three times the rent. As the vicar had +some hundred and fifty acres of glebe let at the usual agricultural +rent, if the tenants could be persuaded or instructed to farm on +the cottager's system, what an immense increase it would be to his +income! The tenants, however, did not see it. They shrugged their +shoulders, and made no movement The energetic lady resolved to set +an example, and to prove to them that they were wrong.</p> +<p>She rented an acre of arable land (at the side of the field), +giving the tenant a fair price for it. First it had to be enclosed +so as to be parted off from the open field. The cost of the palings +made the vicar wince; his lady set it duly down to debit. She +planted one-half potatoes, as they paid thirty pounds per acre, and +on the rest put in hundreds of currant bushes, set a strawberry bed +and an asparagus bed, on the principle that luxuries of that kind +fetch a high price and occupy no more space than cabbages. As the +acre was cultivated entirely by the spade, the cost of the labour +expended upon it ran up the figures on the debit side to an amount +which rather startled her. But the most dispiriting part of the +commencement was the length of time to wait before a crop came. +According to her calculations that represented so much idle capital +sunk, instead of being rapidly turned over. However, she consoled +herself with the pig-sty, in which were half a dozen animals, whose +feeding she often personally superintended.</p> +<p>The potatoes failed, and did not pay for the digging; the +currant bushes were blighted; the strawberries were eaten by +snails, and, of course, no asparagus could be cut for three years; +a little item, this last, quite overlooked. The pigs returned +exactly the sum spent upon them; there was neither profit nor loss, +and there did not appear any chance of making a fortune out of +pork. The lady had to abandon the experiment quite disheartened, +and found that, after all her care and energy, her books showed a +loss of fifteen pounds. It was wonderful it was not more; labour +was so expensive, and no doubt she was cheated right and left.</p> +<p>She next tried to utilise her natural abilities, and to turn her +accomplishments to account. She painted; she illuminated texts; she +undertook difficult needlework of various kinds, in answer to +advertisements which promised ample remuneration for a few hours' +labour. Fifteen hours' hard work she found was worth just +threepence, and the materials cost one shilling: consequently she +laboriously worked herself poorer by ninepence.</p> +<p>Finally, she was studying bees, which really seemed to hold out +some prospect of success. Yonder were the hills where they could +find thyme in abundance; the fields around supplied clover; and the +meadows below were full of flowers. So that hot summer day, under +the weeping ash, she was deep in the study of the 'Ligurian queen,' +the 'super' system, the mysteries of 'driving,' and making sketches +of patent hives. Looking up from her sketch she saw that her +husband had fallen asleep, and stayed to gaze at him +thoughtfully.</p> +<p>He looked worn, and older than he really was; as if rest or +change would do him good; as if he required luxuries and petting. +She sighed, and wondered whether the bees would enable her to buy +him such things, for though the house was well furnished and +apparently surrounded with wealth, they were extremely poor. Yet +she did not care for money for their own household use so much as +to give him the weight in parish affairs he so sadly needed. She +felt that he was pushed aside, treated as a cipher, and that he had +little of the influence that properly belonged to him. Her two +daughters, their only children, were comfortably, though not +grandly, married and settled; there was no family anxiety. But the +work, the parish, the people, all seemed to have slipped out of her +husband's hands. She could not but acknowledge that he was too +quiet and yielding, that he lacked the brazen voice, the personal +force that imposes upon men. But surely his good intentions, his +way of life, his gentle kindness should carry sway. Instead of +which the parish seemed to have quite left the Church, and the +parson was outside the real modern life of the village. No matter +what he did, even if popular, it soon seemed to pass out of his +hands.</p> +<p>There was the school, for instance. He could indeed go across +and visit it, but he had no control, no more than the veriest +stranger that strolled along the road. He had always been anxious +for a good school, and had done the best he could with means so +limited before the new Acts came into operation. When they were +passed he was the first to endeavour to carry them out and to save +the village the cost and the possible quarrelling of a school +board. He went through all the preliminary work, and reconciled, as +far as possible, the jarring interests that came into play. The two +largest landlords of the place were unfortunately not on good +terms. Whatever the one did the other was jealous of, so that when +one promised the necessary land for the school, and it was +accepted, the other withdrew his patronage, and declined to +subscribe. With great efforts the vicar, nevertheless, got the +school erected, and to all appearance the difficulty was +surmounted.</p> +<p>But when the Government inspection took place it was found that, +though not nearly filled with scholars, there was not sufficient +cubic space to include the children of a distant outlying hamlet, +which the vicar had hoped to manage by a dame school. These poor +children, ill fed and young, could hardly stand walking to and from +the village school—a matter of some five miles daily, and +which in winter and wet weather was, in itself, a day's work for +their weary little limbs. As the vicar could not raise money enough +to pay a certificated teacher at the proposed branch or dame +school, the scheme had to be abandoned. Then, according to red +tape, it was necessary to enlarge the village school to accommodate +these few children, and this notwithstanding that the building was +never full. The enlargement necessitated a great additional +expenditure The ratepayers did, indeed, after much bickering and +much persuasion, in the end pay off the deficiency; but in the +meantime, the village had been brought to the verge of a school +board.</p> +<p>Religious differences came to the front—there was, in +fact, a trial of force between the denominations. Till then for +many years these differences had slumbered and been almost +forgotten; they were now brought into collision, and the social +quiet of the place was upset. A council of the chief farmers and +some others was ultimately formed, and, as a matter of fact, really +did represent the inhabitants fairly well. But while it represented +the parish, it left the vicar quite outside. He had a voice, but +nothing more. He was not the centre—the controlling +spirit.</p> +<p>He bore it meekly enough, so far as he was personally concerned; +but he grieved about it in connection with his deep religious +feelings and his Church. The Church was not in the front of all, as +it should be. It was hard after all his labour; the rebuffs, the +bitter remarks, the sneers of those who had divergent views, and, +perhaps worse than all, the cold indifference and apathy of those +who wished things to remain in the old state, ignoring the fact +that the law would not suffer it. There were many other things +besides the school, but they all went the same way. The modern +institution was introduced, championed by the Church, worked for by +the Church, but when at last it was successful, somehow or other it +seemed to have severed itself from the Church altogether. The vicar +walked about the village, and felt that, though nominally in it, he +was really out of it.</p> +<p>His wife saw it too, still more clearly than he did. She saw +that he had none of the gift of getting money out of people. Some +men seem only to have to come in contact with others to at once +receive the fruits of their dormant benevolent feelings. The rich +man writes his cheque for 100<i>l</i>., the middle-class well-to-do +sends his bank notes for 20<i>l</i>., the comfortable middle-class +man his sovereigns. A testimonial is got up, an address engrossed +on vellum, speeches are made, and a purse handed over containing a +draft for so many hundreds, 'in recognition, not in reward, of your +long continued and successful ministrations.' The art of causing +the purse-strings to open is an art that is not so well understood, +perhaps, among the orthodox as by the unorthodox. The Rev. +F—— either could not, or would not, or did not know how +to ask, and he did not receive.</p> +<p>Just at present his finances were especially low. The tenants +who farmed the glebe land threatened to quit unless their rents +were materially reduced, and unless a considerable sum was expended +upon improvements. To some very rich men the reduction of rents has +made a sensible difference; to the Rev. F—— it meant +serious privations. But he had no choice; he had to be satisfied +with that or nothing. Then the vicarage house, though substantial +and pleasant to look at, was not in a good state within. The rain +came through in more places than one, and the ancient woodwork of +the roof was rotten. He had already done considerable repairing, +and knew that he must soon do more. The nominal income of the +living was but moderate; but when the reductions were all made, +nothing but a cheese-paring seemed left. From this his +subscriptions to certain ecclesiastical institutions had to be +deducted.</p> +<p>Lastly, he had received a hint that a curate ought to be kept +now that his increasing age rendered him less active than before. +There was less hope now than ever of anything being done for him in +the parish. The landowners complained of rent reductions, of farms +idle on their hands, and of increasing expenses. The farmers +grumbled about the inclement seasons, their continual losses, and +the falling markets. It was not a time when the churlish are almost +generous, having such overflowing pockets. There was no +testimonial, no address on vellum, no purse with banker's draft for +the enfeebled servant of the Church slumbering in the cane chair in +the verandah.</p> +<p>Yet the house was exquisitely kept, marvellously kept +considering the class of servants they were obliged to put up with. +The garden was bright and beautiful with flowers, the lawn smooth; +there was an air of refinement everywhere. So the clergyman slept, +and the wife turned again to her sketch of the patent hive, hoping +that the golden honey might at last bring some metallic gold. The +waggon rumbled down the road, and Hodge, lying at full length on +the top of the load, could just see over the lowest part of the +shrubbery, and thought to himself what a jolly life that parson +led, sleeping the hot hours away in the shade.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap15" id="chap15">CHAPTER XV</a></h3> +<h3>A MODERN COUNTRY CURATE</h3> +'He can't stroddle thuck puddle, you: can a'?' +<p>'He be going to try: a' will leave his shoe in it.'</p> +<p>Such were the remarks that passed between two agricultural women +who from behind the hedge were watching the approach of the curate +along a deep miry lane. Where they stood the meadow was high above +the level of the lane, which was enclosed by steep banks thickly +overgrown with bramble, briar, and thorn. The meadows each side +naturally drained into the hollow, which during a storm was filled +with a rushing torrent, and even after a period of dry weather was +still moist, for the overhanging trees prevented evaporation. A row +of sarsen stones at irregular intervals were intended to afford +firm footing to the wayfarer, but they were nothing more than traps +for the unwary. Upon placing the foot on the smooth rounded surface +it immediately slipped, and descended at an angle into a watery +hole. The thick, stiff, yellow clay held the water like a basin; +the ruts, quite two feet deep, where waggon wheels had been drawn +through by main force, were full to the brim. In summer heats they +might have dried, but in November, though fine, they never +would.</p> +<p>Yet if the adventurous passenger, after gamely struggling, +paused awhile to take breath, and looked up from the mud, the view +above was beautiful. The sun shone, and lit up the oaks, whose +every leaf was brown or buff; the gnats played in thousands in the +mild air under the branches. Through the coloured leaves the blue +sky was visible, and far ahead a faintly bluish shadow fell athwart +the hollow. There were still blackberries on the bramble, beside +which the brown fern filled the open spaces, and behind upon the +banks the mosses clothed the ground and the roots of the trees with +a deep green. Two or more fieldfares were watching in an elm some +distance down; the flock to which they belonged was feeding, partly +in the meadow and partly in the hedge. Every now and then the larks +flew over, uttering their call-note. Behind a bunch of rushes a +young rabbit crouched in the ditch on the earth thrown out from the +hole hard by, doubtful in his mind whether to stay there or to +enter the burrow.</p> +<p>It was so still and mild between the banks, where there was not +the least current of air, that the curate grew quite warm with the +exertion. His boots adhered to the clay, in which they sank at +every step; they came out with a 'sock, sock.' He now followed the +marks of footsteps, planting his step where the weight of some +carter or shepherd had pressed the mud down firm. Where these +failed he was attracted by a narrow grass-grown ridge, a few inches +wide, between two sets of ruts. In a minute he felt the ridge +giving beneath him as the earth slipped into the watery ruts. Next +he crept along the very edge of the ditch, where the briars hooked +in the tail of his black frock-coat, and an unnoticed projecting +bough quietly lifted his shovel-hat off, but benevolently held it +suspended, instead of dropping it in the mud. Still he made +progress, though slow; now with a giant stride across an +exceptionally doubtful spot, now zigzagging from side to side. The +lane was long, and he seemed to make but little advance. But there +was a spirit in him not to be stayed by mud, or clay, or any other +obstacle. It is pleasant to see an enthusiast, whether right or +wrong, in these cynical days. He was too young to have acquired +much worldly wisdom, but he was full of the high spirit which +arises from thorough conviction and the sense of personal +consecration conferred by the mission on the man. He pushed on +steadily till brought to a stop by a puddle, broad, deep, and +impassable, which extended right across the lane, and was some six +or eight yards long. He tried to slip past at the side, but the +banks were thick with thorns, and the brambles overhung the water; +the outer bushes coated with adhesive mud. Then he sounded the +puddle with his stick as far as he could reach, and found it deep +and the bottom soft, so that the foot would sink into it. He +considered, and looked up and down the lane.</p> +<p>The two women, of whose presence he was unconscious, watched him +from the high and dry level of the meadow, concealed behind the +bushes and the oaks. They wore a species of smock frock gathered in +round the waist by a band over their ordinary dress; these smock +frocks had once been white, but were now discoloured with dirt and +the weather. They were both stout and stolid-looking, hardy as the +trees under which they stood. They were acorn picking, searching +for the dropped acorns in the long rank grass by the hedge, under +the brown leaves, on the banks, and in the furrows. The boughs of +the oak spread wide—the glory of the tree is its +head—and the acorns are found in a circle corresponding with +the outer circumference of the branches. Some are still farther +afield, because in falling they strike the boughs and glance aside. +A long slender pole leaning against the hedge was used to thrash +the boughs within reach, and so to knock down any that +remained.</p> +<p>A sack half filled was on the ground close to the trunk of the +oak, and by it was a heap of dead sticks, to be presently carried +home to boil the kettle. Two brown urchins assisted them, and went +where the women could not go, crawling under the thorns into the +hedge, and creeping along the side of the steep bank, gathering +acorns that had fallen into the mouths of the rabbit holes, or that +were lying under the stoles. Out of sight under the bushes they +could do much as they liked, looking for fallen nuts instead of +acorns, or eating a stray blackberry, while their mothers rooted +about among the grass and leaves of the meadow. Such continual +stooping would be weary work for any one not accustomed to it. As +they worked from tree to tree they did not observe the colours of +the leaves, or the wood-pigeons, or the pheasant looking along the +edge of the ditch on the opposite side of the field. If they paused +it was to gossip or to abuse the boys for not bringing more acorns +to the sack.</p> +<p>But when the boys, hunting in the hedge, descried the curate in +the distance and came back with the news, the two women were +suddenly interested. The pheasants, the wood-pigeons, or the +coloured leaves were not worthy of a glance. To see a gentleman up +to his ankles in mud was quite an attraction. The one stood with +her lap half-full of acorns; the other with a basket on her arm. +The two urchins lay down on the ground, and peered from behind a +thorn stole, their brown faces scarcely distinguishable from the +brown leaves, except for their twinkling eyes. The puddle was too +wide to step across, as the women had said, nor was there any way +round it.</p> +<p>The curate looked all round twice, but he was not the man to go +back. He tucked up his troupers nearly to the knee—he wore +them short always—and stepped into the water. At this the +urchins could barely suppress a shout of delight—they did, +however, suppress it—and craned forward to see him splash. +The curate waded slowly to the middle, getting deeper and deeper, +and then suddenly found firmer footing, and walked the rest of the +way with the water barely over his boots. After he was through he +cleansed his boots on a wisp of grass and set off at a good pace, +for the ground past the pool began to rise, and the lane was +consequently drier. The women turned again to their acorns, +remarking, in a tone with something like respect in it, 'He didn't +stop for the mud, you: did a'?'</p> +<p>Presently the curate reached the highway with its hard surface, +and again increased his pace. The hedges here were cut each side, +and as he walked rapidly, leaning forward, his shovel-hat and +shoulders were visible above them, and his coat tails floated in +the breeze of his own progress. His heavy boots—they were +extremely thick and heavy, though without nails—tramped, +tramped, on the hard road. With a stout walking-stick in one hand, +and in the other a book, he strode forward, still more swiftly as +it seemed at every stride. A tall young man, his features seemed +thin and almost haggard; out of correspondence with a large frame, +they looked as if asceticism had drawn and sharpened them. There +was earnestness and eagerness—almost feverish +eagerness—in the expression of his face. He passed the +meadows, the stubble fields, the green root crops, the men at +plough, who noticed his swift walk, contrasting with their own slow +motion; and as he went his way now and then consulted a little slip +of paper, upon which he had jotted memoranda of his engagements. +Work, work, work—ceaseless work. How came this? What could +there be to do in a sparely-populated agricultural district with, +to appearance, hardly a cottage to a mile?</p> +<p>After nearly an hour's walking he entered the outskirts of a +little country town, slumbering outside the railway system, and, +turning aside from the street, stopped at the door of the ancient +vicarage. The resident within is the ecclesiastical head of two +separate hamlets lying at some miles' distance from his own parish. +Each of these hamlets possesses a church, though the population is +of the very sparsest, and in each he maintains a resident curate. A +third curate assists him in the duties of the home parish, which is +a large one, that is, in extent. From one of these distant hamlets +the curate, who struggled so bravely through the mire, has walked +in to consult with his superior. He is shown into the library, and +sinks not unwillingly into a chair to wait for the vicar, who is +engaged with a district visitor, or lay sister.</p> +<p>This part of the house is ancient, and dates from medieval +times. Some have conjectured that the present library and the +adjoining rooms (the partitions being modern) originally formed the +refectory of a monastic establishment. Others assign it to another +use; but all agree that it is monastic and antique. The black oak +rafters of the roof, polished as it were by age, meet overhead +unconcealed by ceiling. Upon the wall in one place a figure seems +at the first glance to be in the act to glide forth like a spectre +from the solid stone. The effect is caused by the subdued +colouring, which is shadowy and indistinct. It was perhaps gaudy +when first painted; but when a painting has been hidden by a coat +or two of plaster, afterwards as carefully removed as it was +carelessly laid on, the tints lose their brilliancy. Some sainted +woman in a flowing robe, with upraised arm, stands ever in the act +to bless. Only half one of the windows of the original hall is in +this apartment—the partition wall divides it. There yet +remain a few stained panes in the upper part; few as they are and +small, yet the coloured light that enters through them seems to +tone the room.</p> +<p>The furniture, of oak, is plain and spare to the verge of a +gaunt severity, and there is not one single picture-frame on the +wide expanse of wall. On the table are a few books and some +letters, with foreign postmarks, and addressed in the crabbed +handwriting of Continental scholars. Over the table a brazen lamp +hangs suspended by a slender chain. In a corner are some fragments +of stone mouldings and wood carvings like the panel of an ancient +pew. There are no shelves and no bookcase. Besides those on the +table, one volume lies on the floor, which is without carpet or +covering, but absolutely clean: and by the wall, not far from the +fireplace, is an open chest, ancient and ponderous, in which are +the works of the Fathers. The grate has been removed from the +fireplace and the hearth restored; for in that outlying district +there is plenty of wood. Though of modern make, the heavy brass +fire-irons are of ancient shape. The fire has gone out—the +logs are white with the ash that forms upon decaying embers; it is +clear that the owner of this bare apartment, called a library, but +really a study, is not one who thinks of his own personal comfort. +If examined closely the floor yonder bears the marks of feet that +have walked monotonously to and fro in hours of thought. When the +eye has taken in these things, as the rustle of the brown leaves +blown against the pane without in the silence is plainly audible, +the mind seems in an instant to slip back four hundred years.</p> +<p>The weary curate has closed his eyes, and starts as a servant +enters bringing him wine, for the vicar, utterly oblivious of his +own comfort, is ever on the watch for that of others. His +predecessor, a portly man, happy in his home alone, and, as report +said, loving his ease and his palate, before he was preferred to a +richer living, called in the advice of architects as to converting +the ancient refectory to some use. In his time it was a mere +lumber-room, into which all the odds and ends of the house were +thrown. Plans were accordingly prepared for turning one part of it +into a cosy breakfast parlour, and the other into a conservatory. +Before any steps, however, were taken he received his +preferment—good things flow to the rich—and departed, +leaving behind him a favourable memory. If any inhabitant were +asked what the old vicar did, or said, and what work he +accomplished, the reply invariably was, 'Oh! hum! he was a very +good sort of man: he never interfered with anybody or +anything!'</p> +<p>Accustomed to such an even tenour of things, all the <i>vis +inertiæ</i> of the parish revolted when the new vicar +immediately evinced a determination to do his work thoroughly. The +restless energy of the man alone set the stolid old folk at once +against him. They could not 'a-bear to see he a-flying all over the +parish: why couldn't he bide at home?' No one is so rigidly opposed +to the least alteration in the conduct of the service as the old +farmer or farmer's wife, who for forty years and more has listened +to the same old hymn, the same sing-song response, the same style +of sermon. It is vain to say that the change is still no more than +what was—contemplated by the Book of Common Prayer. They +naturally interpret that book by what they have been accustomed to +from childhood. The vicar's innovations were really most +inoffensive, and well within even a narrow reading of the rubric. +The fault lay in the fact that they were innovations, so far as the +practice of that parish was concerned. So the old folk raised their +voices in a chorus of horror, and when they met gossiped over the +awful downfall of the faith. All that the vicar had yet done was to +intone a part of the service, and at once many announced that they +should stay away.</p> +<p>Next he introduced a choir. The sweet voices of the white-robed +boys rising along the vaulted roof of the old church melted the +hearts of those who, with excuses for their curiosity to their +neighbours, ventured to go and hear them. The vicar had a natural +talent, almost a genius, for music. There was a long struggle in +his mind whether he might or might not permit himself an organ in +his library. He decided it against himself, mortifying the spirit +as well as the flesh, but in the service of the Church he felt that +he might yield to his inclination. By degrees he gathered round him +the best voices of the parish; the young of both sexes came gladly +after awhile to swell the volume of song. How powerful is the +influence of holy music upon such minds as are at all inclined to +serious devotion! The church filled more and more every Sunday, and +people came from the farthest corners of the parish, walking miles +to listen. The young people grew enthusiastic, and one by one the +old folk yielded and followed them.</p> +<p>At the same time the church itself seemed to change. It had been +cold and gloomy, and gaunt within, for so many generations, that no +one noticed it. A place of tombs, men hurried away from it as +quickly as possible. Now, little touches here and there gradually +gave it the aspect of habitation. The new curtains hung at the door +of the vestry, and drawn, too, across the main entrance when +service began, the <i>fleur-de-lys</i> on the crimson ground gave +an impression of warmth. The old tarnished brazen fittings of the +pews were burnished up, a new and larger stove (supplied at the +vicar's expense) diffused at least some little heat in winter. A +curate came, one who worked heart and soul with the vicar, and the +service became very nearly choral, the vicar now wearing the +vestment which his degree gave him the strict right to assume. +There were brazen candlesticks behind the altar, and beautiful +flowers. Before, the interior was all black and white. Now there +was a sense of colour, of crimson curtains, of polished brass, of +flowers, and rich-toned altar cloth. The place was lit up with a +new light. After the first revolt of the old folk there was little +opposition, because the vicar, being a man who had studied human +nature and full of practical wisdom as well as learning, did all +things gradually. One thing as introduced at a time, and the +transition—after the first start—was effected +imperceptibly. Nor was any extravagant ritual thrust upon the +congregation; nor any suspicious doctrine broached.</p> +<p>In that outlying country place, where men had no knowledge of +cathedrals, half the offices of the Church had been forgotten. The +vicar brought them back again. He began early morning services; he +had the church open all day for private prayer. He reminded the +folk of Lent and Eastertide, which, except for the traditional +pancakes, had almost passed out of their lives. Festivals, saints' +days, midnight service, and, above all, the Communion, were +insisted upon and brought home to them. As in many other country +districts, the Communion had nearly dropped into disuse. At first +he was alone, but by-and-by a group of willing lay helpers grew up +around him. The churchwardens began to work with him; then a few of +the larger tenant farmers. Of the two great landed proprietors, one +was for him from the first, the other made no active opposition, +but stood aloof. When, in the autumn, the family of the one that +was for him came home, a fresh impetus was given. The ladies of the +mansion came forward to join in the parish and Church work, and +then other ladies, less exalted, but fairly well-to-do, who had +only been waiting for a leader, crowded after.</p> +<p>For the first time in the memory of man the parish began to be +'visited.' Lay sisters accepted the charge of districts; and thus +there was not a cottage, nor an old woman, but had the change +brought home to her. Confirmation, which had been almost forgotten, +was revived, and it was surprising what a number of girls came +forward to be prepared. The Bishop, who was not at all predisposed +to view the 'movement' with favour, when he saw the full church, +the devotional congregation, and after he had visited the vicarage +and seen into what was going on personally, expressed openly a +guarded approval, and went away secretly well pleased. Rightly or +wrongly, there was a 'movement' in the parish and the outlying +hamlets: and thus it was that the curate, struggling through the +mire, carried in his face the expression of hard work. Work, work, +work; the vicar, his three curates and band of lay helpers, worked +incessantly.</p> +<p>Besides his strictly parochial duties, the vicar wrote a manual +for use in the schools, he attended the Chambers of Agriculture, +and supported certain social movements among the farmers; he +attended meetings, and, both socially and politically, by force of +character, energy, and the gift of speech, became a power in the +country side. Still striving onwards, he wrote in London +periodicals, he published a book, he looked from the silence of his +gaunt study towards the great world, and sometimes dreamed of what +he might have done had he not been buried in the country, and of +what he might even yet accomplish. All who came in contact with him +felt the influence of his concentrated purpose: one and all, after +they had worked their hardest, thought they had still not done so +much as he would have done.</p> +<p>The man's charm of manner was not to be resisted; he believed +his office far above monarchs, but there was no personal +pretension. That gentle, pleasing manner, with the sense of +intellectual power behind it, quite overcame the old folk. They all +spoke with complacent pride of 'our vicar'; and, what was more, +opened their purses. The interior of the church was restored, and a +noble organ built. When its beautiful notes rose and fell, when +sweet voices swelled the wave of sound, then even the vicar's +restless spirit was soothed in the fulfilment of his hope. A large +proportion of the upper and middle class of the parish was, without +a doubt, now gathered around him; and there was much sympathy +manifested from adjacent parishes with his objects, sympathy which +often took the form of subscriptions from distant people.</p> +<p>But what said Hodge to it all? Hodge said nothing. Some few +young cottage people who had good voices, and liked to use them, +naturally now went to church. So did the old women and old men, who +had an eye to charity. But the strong, sturdy men, the carters and +shepherds, stood aloof; the bulk and backbone of the agricultural +labouring population were not in the least affected. They viewed +the movement with utter indifference. They cleaned their boots on a +Sunday morning while the bells were ringing, and walked down to +their allotments, and came home and ate their cabbage, and were as +oblivious of the vicar as the wind that blew. They had no present +quarrel with the Church; no complaint whatever; nor apparently any +old memory or grudge; yet there was a something, a blank space as +it were, between them and the Church. If anything, the 'movement' +rather set them against going.</p> +<p>Agricultural cottagers have a strong bias towards Dissent in one +form or another; village chapels are always well filled. Dissent, +of course, would naturally rather dislike a movement of the kind. +But there was no active or even passive opposition. The cottage +folk just ignored the Church; nothing more and nothing less. No +efforts were spared to obtain their good-will and to draw them into +the fold, but there was absolutely no response. Not a labourer's +family in that wide district was left unvisited. The cottages were +scattered far apart, dotted here and there, one or two down in a +narrow coombe surrounded on three sides by the green wall of the +hills. Others stood on the bleak plains, unsheltered by tree or +hedge, exposed to the keen winds that swept across the level, yet +elevated fields. A new cottage built in modern style, with glaring +red brick, was perched on the side of a hill, where it was visible +miles away. An old thatched one stood in a hollow quite alone, half +a mile from the highway, and so hidden by the oaks that an army +might have ravaged the country and never found it. How many, many +miles of weary walking such rounds as these required!</p> +<p>Though they had, perhaps, never received a 'visitor' before, it +was wonderful with what skill the cottage women +especially—the men being often away at work—adapted +themselves to the new <i>régime</i>. Each time they told a +more pitiful tale, set in such a realistic framing of hardship and +exposure that a stranger could not choose but believe. In the art +of encouraging attentions of this sort no one excels the cottage +women; the stories they will relate, with the smallest details +inserted in the right place, are something marvellous. At first you +would exclaim with the deepest commiseration, such a case of +suffering and privation as this cannot possibly be equalled by any +in the parish; but calling at the next cottage, you are presented +with a yet more moving relation, till you find the whole population +are plunged in misery and afflicted with incredible troubles. They +cannot, surely, be the same folk that work so sturdily at harvest. +But when the curate has administered words of consolation and +dropped the small silver dole in the palm, when his shovel-hat and +black frock-coat tails have disappeared round the corner of the +copse, then in a single second he drops utterly out of mind. No one +comes to church the more. If inquiries are made why they did not +come, a hundred excuses are ready; the rain, a bad foot, illness of +the infant, a cow taken ill and requiring attention, and so on.</p> +<p>After some months of such experience the curate's spirits +gradually decline; his belief in human nature is sadly shaken. Men +who openly oppose, who argue and deny, are comparatively easy to +deal with; there is the excitement of the battle with evil. But a +population that listens, and apparently accepts the message, that +is so thankful for little charities, and always civil, and yet +turns away utterly indifferent, what is to be done with it? Might +not the message nearly as well be taken to the cow at her crib, or +the horse at his manger? They, too, would receive a wisp of sweet +hay willingly from the hand.</p> +<p>But the more bitter the experience, the harder the trial, the +more conscientiously the curate proceeds upon his duty, struggling +bravely through the mire. He adds another mile to his daily +journey: he denies himself some further innocent recreation. The +cottages in the open fields are comparatively pleasant to visit, +the sweet fresh air carries away effluvia. Those that are so +curiously crowded together in the village are sinks of foul smell, +and may be of worse—places where, if fever come, it takes +hold and quits not. His superior requests him earnestly to refrain +awhile and to take rest, to recruit himself with a +holiday—even orders him to desist from overmuch labour. The +man's mind is in it, and he cannot obey. What is the result?</p> +<p>Some lovely autumn day, at a watering-place, you may perchance +be strolling by the sea, with crowds of well-dressed, happy people +on the one side, and on the other the calm sunlit plain where boats +are passing to and fro. A bath-chair approaches, and a young man +clad in black gets out of it, where some friendly iron railings +afford him a support for his hand. There, step by step, leaning +heavily on the rails, he essays to walk as a child. The sockets of +his joints yield beneath him, the limbs are loose, the ankle twists +aside; each step is an enterprise, and to gain a yard a task. Thus +day by day the convalescent strives to accustom the sinews to their +work. It is a painful spectacle; how different, how strangely +altered, from the upright frame and the swift stride that struggled +through the miry lane, perhaps even then bearing the seeds of +disease imbibed in some foul village den, where duty called +him!</p> +<p>His wan, white face seems featureless; there is nothing but a +pair of deep-set eyes. But as you pass, and momentarily catch their +glance, they are bright and burning still with living faith.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap16" id="chap16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h3> +<h3>THE SOLICITOR</h3> +In glancing along the street of a country town, a house may +sometimes be observed of a different and superior description to +the general row of buildings. It is larger, rises higher, and +altogether occupies more space. The façade is stylish, in +architectural fashion of half a century since. To the modern eye it +may not perhaps look so interesting as the true old gabled roofs +which seem so thoroughly English, nor, on the other hand, so bright +and cheerful as the modern suburban villa. But it is substantial +and roomy within. The weather has given the front a sombre hue, and +the windows are dingy, as if they rarely or never knew the care of +a housemaid. On the ground floor the windows that would otherwise +look on to the street are blocked to almost half their height with +a wire blind so closely woven that no one can see in, and it is not +easy to see out. The doorway is large, with stone steps and +porch—the doorway of a gentleman's house. There is business +close at hand—shops and inns, and all the usual offices of a +town—but, though in the midst, this house wears an air of +separation from the rest of the street. +<p>When it was built—say fifty years ago, or more—it +was, in fact, the dwelling-house of an independent gentleman. +Similar houses may be found in other parts of the place, once +inhabited by retired and wealthy people. Such persons no longer +live in towns of this kind—they build villas with lawns and +pleasure grounds outside in the environs, or, though still +retaining their pecuniary interest, reside at a distance. Like +large cities, country towns are now almost given over to offices, +shops, workshops, and hotels. Those who have made money get away +from the streets as quickly as possible. Upon approaching nearer to +this particular building the street door will be found to be wide +open to the public, and, if you venture still closer, a name may be +seen painted in black letters upon the side of the passage wall, +after the manner of the brokers in the courts off Throgmorton +Street, or of the lawyers in the Temple. It is, in fact, the office +of a country solicitor—most emphatically one of Hodge's many +masters—and is admirably suited for his purpose, on account +of its roomy interior.</p> +<p>The first door within opens on the clerks' room, and should you +modestly knock on the panels instead of at once turning the handle, +a voice will invite you to 'Come in.' Half of the room is +partitioned off for the clerks, who sit at a long high desk, with a +low railing or screen in front of them. Before the senior is a +brass rail, along which he can, if he chooses, draw a red curtain. +He is too hard at work and intent upon some manuscript to so much +as raise his head as you enter. But the two younger men, eager for +a change, look over the screen, and very civilly offer to attend to +your business. When you have said that you wish to see the head of +the firm, you naturally imagine that your name will be at once +shouted up the tube, and that in a minute or two, at farthest, you +will be ushered into the presence of the principal. In that small +country town there cannot surely be much work for a lawyer, and a +visitor must be quite an event. Instead, however, of using the tube +they turn to the elder clerk, and a whispered conversation takes +place, of which some broken sentences may be caught—'He can't +be disturbed,' 'It's no use,' 'Must wait.' Then the elder clerk +looks over his brass rail and says he is very sorry, but the +principal is engaged, the directors of a company are with him, and +it is quite impossible to say exactly when they will leave. It may +be ten minutes, or an hour. But if you like to wait (pointing with +his quill to a chair) your name shall be sent up directly the +directors leave.</p> +<p>You glance at the deck, and elect to wait. The older clerk nods +his head, and instantly resumes his writing. The chair is old and +hard—the stuffing compressed by a generation of weary +suitors; there are two others at equal distances along the wall. +The only other furniture is a small but solid table, upon which +stands a brass copying-press. On the mantelpiece there are scales +for letter-weighing, paper clips full of papers, a county +Post-office directory, a railway time-table card nailed to the +wall, and a box of paper-fasteners. Over it is a map, dusty and +dingy, of some estate laid out for building purposes, with a +winding stream running through it, roads passing at right angles, +and the points of the compass indicated in an upper corner.</p> +<p>On the other side of the room, by the window, a framed +advertisement hangs against the wall, like a picture, setting forth +the capital and reserve and the various advantages offered by an +insurance company, for which the firm are the local agents. Between +the chairs are two boards fixed to the wall with some kind of hook +or nail for the suspension of posters and printed bills. These +boards are covered with such posters, announcing sales by auction, +farms to be let, houses to be had on lease, shares in a local bank +or gasworks for sale, and so on, for all of which properties the +firm are the legal representatives. Though the room is of fair size +the ceiling is low, as in often the case in old houses, and it has, +in consequence, become darkened by smoke and dust, therein, after +awhile, giving a gloomy, oppressive feeling to any one who has +little else to gaze at. The blind at the window rises far too high +to allow of looking out, and the ground glass above it was designed +to prevent the clerks from wasting their time watching the +passers-by in the street. There is, however, one place where the +glass is worn and transparent, and every now and then one of the +two younger clerks mounts on his stool and takes a peep through to +report to his companion.</p> +<p>The restraint arising from the presence of a stranger soon wears +off; the whisper rises to a buzz of talk; they laugh, and pelt each +other with pellets of paper. The older clerk takes not the least +heed. He writes steadily on, and never lifts his head from the +paper—long hours of labour have dimmed his sight, and he has +to stoop close over the folio. He may be preparing a brief, he may +be copying a deposition, or perhaps making a copy of a deed; but +whatever it is, his whole mind is absorbed and concentrated on his +pen. There must be no blot, no erasure, no interlineation. The hand +of the clock moves slowly, and the half-heard talk and jests of the +junior clerks—one of whom you suspect of making a pen-and-ink +sketch of you—mingle with the ceaseless scrape of the +senior's pen, and the low buzz of two black flies that circle for +ever round and round just beneath the grimy ceiling. Occasionally +noises of the street penetrate; the rumble of loaded waggons, the +tramp of nailed shoes, or the sharp quick sound of a trotting +horse's hoofs. Then the junior jumps up and gazes through the +peephole. The directors are a very long time upstairs. What can +their business be? Why are there directors at all in little country +towns?</p> +<p>Presently there are heavy footsteps in the passage, the door +slowly opens, and an elderly labourer, hat in hand, peers in. No +one takes the least notice of him. He leans on his stick and blinks +his eyes, looking all round the room; then taps with the stick and +clears his throat—'Be he in yet?' he asks, with emphasis on +the 'he.' 'No, he be not in,' replies a junior, mocking the old +man's accent and grammar. The senior looks up, 'Call at two +o'clock, the deed is not ready,' and down goes his head again. 'A +main bit o' bother about this yer margidge' (mortgage), the +labourer remarks, as he turns to go out, not without a complacent +smile on his features for the law's delays seem to him grand, and +he feels important. He has a little property—a cottage and +garden—upon which he is raising a small sum for some purpose, +and this 'margidge' is one of the great events of his life. He +talked about it for two or three years before he ventured to begin +it; he has been weeks making up his mind exactly what to do after +his first interview with the solicitor—he would have been +months had not the solicitor at last made it plain that he could +waste no more time—and when it is finally completed he will +talk about it again to the end of his days. He will be in and out +asking for 'he' all day long at intervals, and when the interview +takes place it will be only for the purpose of having everything +already settled explained over to him for the fiftieth time. His +heavy shoes drag slowly down the passage—he will go to the +street corner and talk with the carters who come in, and the old +women, with their baskets, a-shopping, about 'this yer law +job.'</p> +<p>There is a swifter step on the lead-covered staircase, and a +clerk appears, coming from the upper rooms. He has a telegram and a +letter in one hand, and a bundle of papers in the other. He shows +the telegram and the letter to his fellow clerks—even the +grave senior just glances at the contents silently, elevates his +eyebrows, and returns to his work. After a few minutes' talk and a +jest or two the clerk rushes upstairs again.</p> +<p>Another caller comes. It is a stout, florid man, a young farmer +or farmer's son, riding-whip in hand, who produces a red-bound +rate-book from a pocket in his coat made on purpose to hold the +unwieldy volume. He is a rate-collector for his parish, and has +called about some technicalities. The grave senior clerk examines +the book, but cannot solve the difficulties pointed out by the +collector, and, placing it on one side, recommends the inquirer to +call in two hours' time. Steps again on the stairs, and another +clerk comes down leisurely, and after him still another. Their only +business is to exchange a few words with their friends, for +pastime, and they go up again.</p> +<p>As the morning draws on, the callers become more numerous, and +it is easy to tell the positions they occupy by the degree of +attention they receive from the clerks. A tradesman calls three or +four times, with short intervals between—he runs over from +his shop; the two juniors do not trouble to so much as look over +the screen, and barely take the trouble to answer the anxious +inquiry if the principal is yet disengaged. They know, perhaps, too +much about his bills and the state of his credit. A builder looks +in—the juniors are tolerably civil and explain to him that it +is no use calling for yet another hour at least. The builder +consults his watch, and decides to see the chief clerk (who is +himself an attorney, having passed the examination), and is +forthwith conducted upstairs. A burly farmer appears, and the grave +senior puts his head up to answer, and expresses his sorrow that +the principal is so occupied. The burly farmer, however, who is +evidently a man of substance, thinks that the chief clerk can also +do what he wants, and he, too, is ushered upstairs. Another farmer +enters—a rather rougher-looking man—and, without saying +a word, turns to the advertisement boards on which the posters of +farms to be let, &c., are displayed. These he examines with the +greatest care, pointing with his forefinger as he slowly reads, and +muttering to himself. Presently he moves to go. 'Anything to suit +you, sir?' asks the senior clerk. 'Aw, no; I knows they be too much +money,' he replies, and walks out.</p> +<p>A gentleman next enters, and immediately the juniors sink out of +sight, and scribble away with eager application; the senior puts +down his pen and comes out from his desk. It is a squire and +magistrate. The senior respectfully apologises for his employer +being so occupied. The gentleman seems a little impatient. The +clerk rubs his hands together deprecatingly, and makes a desperate +venture. He goes upstairs, and in a few minutes returns; the papers +are not ready, but shall be sent over that evening in any case. +With this even the squire must fain be satisfied and depart. The +burly farmer and the builder come downstairs together amicably +chatting, and after them the chief clerk himself. Though young, he +has already an expression of decision upon his features, an air of +business about him; in fact, were he not thoroughly up to his work +he would not remain in that office long. To hold that place is a +guarantee of ability. He has a bundle of cheques, drafts, &c., +in his hand, and after a few words with the grave senior at the +desk, strolls across to the bank.</p> +<p>No sooner has the door closed behind him than a shoal of clerks +come tripping down on tip-toe, and others appear from the back of +the house. They make use of the opportunity for a little gossip. +Voices are heard in the passage, and an aged and infirm labouring +man is helped in by a woman and a younger man. The clerks take no +notice, and the poor old follow props himself against the wall, not +daring to take a chair. He is a witness. He can neither read nor +write, but he can recollect 'thuck ould tree,' and can depose to a +fact worth perhaps hundreds of pounds. He has come in to be +examined; he will be driven in a week or two's time from the +village to the railway station in a fly, and will talk about it and +his visit to London till the lamp of life dies out.</p> +<p>A footman calls with a note, a groom brings another, the letters +are carelessly cast aside, till one of the juniors, who has been +watching from the peephole, reports that the chief clerk is coming, +and everybody scuttles back to his place. Callers come still more +thickly; another solicitor, well-to-do, and treated with the utmost +deference; more tradesmen; farmers; two or three auctioneers, in +quick succession; the well-brushed editor of a local paper; a +second attorney, none too well dressed, with scrubby chin and face +suspiciously cloudy, with an odour of spirits and water and tobacco +clinging to his rusty coat. He belongs to a disappearing type of +country lawyer, and is the wreck, perhaps, of high hopes and good +opportunities. Yet, wreck as he is, when he gets up at the Petty +Sessions to defend some labourer, the bench of magistrates listen +to his maundering argument as deferentially as if he were a Q.C. +They pity him, and they respect his cloth. The scrubby attorney +whistles a tune, and utters an oath when he learns the principal is +engaged. Then he marches out, with his hat on one side of his head, +to take another 'refresher.'</p> +<p>Two telegrams arrive, and are thrown aside; then a gentleman +appears, whom the senior goes out to meet with an air of deference, +and whom he actually conducts himself upstairs to the principal's +room. It is a local banker, who is thus admitted to the directors' +consultation. The slow hand of the clock goes round, and, sitting +wearily on the hard chair, you wonder if ever it will be possible +to see this much-sought man. By-and-by a door opens above, there is +a great sound of voices and chatting, and half a dozen +gentlemen—mostly landed proprietors from their +appearance—come downstairs. They are the directors, and the +consultation is over. The senior clerk immediately goes to the +principal, and shortly afterwards reappears and asks you to come +up.</p> +<p>As you mount the lead-covered stairs you glance down and observe +the anxious tradesman, the ancient labourer, and several others who +have crowded in, all eyeing you with jealous glances. But the +senior is holding the door open—you enter, and it closes +noiselessly behind you. A hand with a pen in it points to a chair, +with a muttered 'Pardon—half a moment' and while the +solicitor just jots down his notes you can glance round the +apartment. Shelves of calf-bound law books; piles of japanned +deed-boxes, some marked in white letters 'Trustees of,' or +'Executors of' and pigeon-holes full of papers seem to quite hide +the walls. The floor is covered with some material noiseless to +walk on (the door, too, is double, to exclude noise and draught); +the furniture is solid and valuable; the arm-chair you occupy +capacious and luxurious. On the wall hangs a section of the +Ordnance map of the district. But the large table, which almost +fills the centre of the room, quickly draws the attention from +everything else.</p> +<p>It is on that table that all the business is done; all the +energies of the place are controlled and directed from thence. At +the first glance it appears to support a more chaotic mass of +papers. They completely conceal it, except just at the edge. +Bundles of letters tied with thin red tape, letters loose, letters +unopened; parchment deeds with the seals and signature just +visible; deeds with the top and the words, 'This indenture,' alone +glowing out from the confusion; deeds neatly folded; broad +manuscript briefs; papers fastened with brass fasteners; papers +hastily pinned together; old newspapers marked and underlined in +red ink; a large sectional map, half unrolled and hanging over the +edge; a small deed-box, the lid open, and full of blue paper in +oblong strips; a tall porcupine-quill pen sticking up like a +spire; pocket-books; books open; books with half a dozen papers in +them for markers; altogether an utter chaos. But the confusion is +only apparent; the master mind knows the exact position of every +document, and can lay his hand on it the moment it is wanted.</p> +<p>The business is such that even the master mind can barely keep +pace with it. This great house can hardly contain it; all the +clerks we saw rushing about cannot get through the work, and much +of the mechanical copying or engrossing goes to London to be done. +The entire round of country life comes here. The rolling hills +where the shepherd watches his flock, the broad plains where the +ploughman guides the share, the pleasant meadows where the roan +cattle chew the cud, the extensive parks, the shady woods, sweet +streams, and hedges overgrown with honeysuckle, all have their +written counterpart in those japanned deed-boxes. Solid as is the +land over which Hodge walks stolid and slow, these mere written +words on parchment are the masters of it all. The squire comes here +about intricate concerns of family settlements which in their +sphere are as hard to arrange as the diplomatic transactions of +Governments. He comes about his tenants and his rent; he comes to +get new tenants.</p> +<p>The tenants resort to the solicitor for farms, for improvements, +reductions, leases, to negotiate advances, to insure for the +various affairs of life. The clergyman comes on questions that +arise out of his benefice, the churchyard, ecclesiastical +privileges, the schools, and about his own private property. The +labourer comes about his cottage and garden—an estate as +important to him as his three thousand acres to the squire—or +as a witness. The tradesman, the builder, the banker come for +financial as well as legal objects. As the town develops, and plots +are needed for houses and streets, the resort to the solicitor +increases tenfold. Companies are formed and require his advice. +Local government needs his assistance. He may sit in an official +position in the County Court, or at the bench of the Petty +Sessions. Law suits—locally great— are carried through +in the upper Courts of the metropolis; the counsel's name appears +in the papers, but it is the country solicitor who has prepared +everything for him, and who has marshalled that regiment of +witnesses from remote hamlets of the earth. His widening circle of +landlord clients have each their attendant circles of tenants, who +feel confidence in their leader's legal adviser. Parochial officers +come to him; overseer, rate-collector, church warden, tithing-man. +The all-important work of registering voters fills up the space +between one election and another. At the election his offices are +like the head-quarters of an army. He may represent some ancient +college, or corporation with lands of vast extent. Ladies with a +little capital go home content when he has invested their money in +mortgage of real property. Still the work goes on increasing; +additional clerks have to be employed; a fresh wing has to be built +to the old house. He has, too, his social duties; he is, perhaps, +the head or mainspring of a church movement—this is not for +profit, but from conviction. His lady is carried to and fro in the +brougham, making social visits. He promotes athletic clubs, +reading-rooms, shows, exhibitions. He is eagerly seized upon by +promoters of all kinds, because he possesses the gift of +organisation. It becomes a labour merely to catalogue his +engagements like this. Let the rain rain, or the sun shine, the pen +never stays work.</p> +<p>Personally he is the very antithesis is of what might be +predicated of the slow, comfortable, old-fashioned lawyer. He is in +the prime of life, physically full of vigour, mentally persevering +with untiring perseverance, the embodiment of energy, ever anxious +to act, to do rather than to delay. As you talk with him you find +his leading idea seems to be to arrange your own half-formed views +for you; in short, to show you what you really do want, to put your +desire into shape. He interprets you. Many of the clients who come +to him are the most impracticable men in the world. A farmer, for +instance, with a little money, is in search of a farm. Find him +twenty farms just the size for his capital, he will visit them all +and discover a fault in each, and waver and waver till the proper +season for entering on possession is past. The great problem with +country people is how to bring them to the point. You may think you +have got all your witnesses ready for the train for London, and, as +the bell rings, find that one has slipped away half a mile to talk +with the blacksmith about the shoeing of his mare. Even the squire +is trying when, he talks of this or that settlement. Of course, as +he is educated, no lengthy and oft-repeated explanations are +needed; but the squire forgets that time is valuable, and lingers +merely to chat. He has so much time to spare, he is apt to overlook +that the solicitor has none. The clergyman will talk, talk, talk in +rounded periods, and nothing will stop him; very often he drives +his wife in with him from the village, and the wife must have her +say. As for Hodge and his mortgage, ten years would not suffice for +his business, were he allowed to wander on. The problem is to bring +these impracticable people to the point with perfect courtesy. As +you talk with him yourself, you feel tempted to prolong the +interview—so lucid an intellect exercises an indefinable +charm.</p> +<p>Keen and shrewd as he is, the solicitor has a kindly reputation. +Men say that he is slow to press them, that he makes allowances for +circumstances; that if the tenant is honestly willing to discharge +his obligation he need fear no arbitrary selling up. But he is +equally reputed swift of punishment upon those who would take +shelter behind more shallow pretence, or attempt downright deceit. +Let a man only be straightforward, and the solicitor will wait +rather than put the law in force. Therefore, he is popular, and +people have faith in him. But the labour, the incessant +supervision, the jotting down of notes, the ceaseless interviews, +the arguments, the correspondence, the work that is never finished +when night comes, tell even upon that physical vigour and mental +elasticity. Hodge sleeps sound and sees the days go by with calm +complacency. The man who holds that solid earth, as it were, in the +japanned boxes finds a nervous feeling growing upon him despite his +strength of will. Presently nature will have her way; and, weary +and hungry for fresh air, he rushes off for awhile to distant +trout-stream, moor, or stubble.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap17" id="chap17">CHAPTER XVII</a></h3> +<h3>'COUNTY-COURT DAY'</h3> +The monthly sitting of the County Court in a country market town is +an event of much interest in all the villages around, so many of +the causes concerning agricultural people. 'County-Court Day' is +looked upon as a date in the calendar by which to recollect when a +thing happened, or to arrange for the future. +<p>As the visitor enters the doorway of the Court, at a distance +the scene appears imposing. Brass railings and red curtains +partition off about a third of the hall, and immediately in the +rear of this the Judge sits high above the rest on a raised and +carpeted dais. The elevation and isolation of the central figure +adds a solemn dignity to his office. His features set, as it were, +in the wig, stand out in sharp relief—they are of a keenly +intellectual cast, and have something of the precise clearness of +an antique cameo. The expression is that of a mind in continuous +exercise—of a mind accustomed not to slow but to quick +deliberation, and to instant decision. The definition of the face +gives the eyes the aspect of penetration, as if they saw at once +beneath the surface of things.</p> +<p>If the visitor looks only at the Judge he will realise the +dignity of the law; the law which is the outcome and result of so +many centuries of thought. But if he glances aside from the central +figure the impression is weakened by the miserable, hollow, and +dingy framing. The carpet upon the daïs and the red curtains +before it ill conceal the paltry substructure. It is composed of +several large tables, heavy and shapeless as benches, placed side +by side to form a platform. The curtains are dingy and threadbare +the walls dingy; the ceiling, though lofty, dingy; the boxes on +either side for Plaintiff and Defendant are scratched and defaced +by the innumerable witnesses who have blundered into them, kicking +their shoes against the woodwork. The entire apparatus is movable, +and can be taken to pieces in ten minutes, or part of it employed +for meetings of any description. There is nothing appropriate or +convenient; it is a makeshift, and altogether unequal to the +pretensions of a Court now perhaps the most useful and most +resorted to of any that sit in the country.</p> +<p>Quarter sessions and assizes come only at long intervals, are +held only in particular time-honoured places, and take cognisance +only of very serious offences which happily are not numerous. The +County Court at the present day has had its jurisdiction so +enlarged that it is really, in country districts, the leading +tribunal, and the one best adapted to modern wants, because its +procedure is to a great extent free from obsolete forms and +technicalities. The Plaintiff and the Defendant literally face +their Judge, practically converse with him, and can tell their +story in their own simple and natural way. It is a fact that the +importance and usefulness of the country County Court has in most +places far outgrown the arrangements made for it. The Judges may +with reason complain that while their duties have been enormously +added to, their convenience has not been equally studied, nor their +salaries correspondingly increased.</p> +<p>In front, and below the Judge's desk, just outside the red +curtain, is a long and broad table, at which the High Bailiff sits +facing the hall. By his side the Registrar's clerk from time to +time makes notes in a ponderous volume which contains a minute and +exact record of every claim. Opposite, and at each end, the lawyers +have their chairs and strew the table with their papers.</p> +<p>As a rule a higher class of lawyers appear in the County Court +than before the Petty Sessional Bench. A local solicitor of ability +no sooner gets a 'conveyancing' practice than he finds his time too +valuable to be spent arguing in cases of assault or petty larceny. +He ceases to attend the Petty Sessions, unless his private clients +are interested or some exceptional circumstances induce him. In the +County Court cases often arise which concern property, houses and +lands, and the fulfilment of contracts. Some of the very best +lawyers of the district may consequently be seen at that table, and +frequently a barrister or two of standing specially retained is +among them.</p> +<p>A low wooden partition, crossing the entire width of the hall, +separates the 'bar' from the general public, Plaintiff and +Defendant being admitted through a gangway. As the hall is not +carpeted, nor covered with any material, a new-comer must walk on +tip-toe to avoid raising the echo of hollow boards, or run the risk +of a reproof from the Judge, anxiously endeavouring to catch the +accents of a mumbling witness. Groups of people stand near the +windows whispering, and occasionally forgetting, in the eagerness +of the argument, that talking is prohibited. The room is already +full, but will be crowded when the 'horse case' comes on again. +Nothing is of so much interest as a 'horse case.' The issues raised +concern almost every countryman, and the parties are generally well +known. All the idlers of the town are here, and among them many a +rascal who has been, through the processes, and comes again to +listen and possibly learn a dodge by which to delay the execution +of judgment. Some few of the more favoured and respectable persons +have obtained entrance to the space allotted to the solicitors, and +have planted themselves in a solid circle round the fire, +effectually preventing the heat from benefiting anyone else. +Another fire, carefully tended by a bailiff, burns in the grate +behind the Judge, but, as his seat is so far from it, without +adding much to his comfort. A chilly draught sweeps along the +floor, and yet at the same time there is a close and somewhat fetid +atmosphere at the height at which men breathe. The place is ill +warmed and worse ventilated; altogether without convenience, and +comfortless.</p> +<p>To-day the Judge, to suit the convenience of the solicitors +engaged in the 'horse case,' who have requested permission to +consult in private, has asked for a short defended cause to fill up +the interval till they are ready to resume. The High Bailiff calls +'Brown <i>v</i>. Jones,' claim 8<i>s</i>. for goods supplied. No +one at first answers, but after several calls a woman in the body +of the Court comes forward. She is partly deaf, and until nudged by +her neighbours did not hear her husband's name. The Plaintiff is a +small village dealer in tobacco, snuff, coarse groceries, candles, +and so on. His wife looks after the little shop and he works with +horse and cart, hauling and doing odd jobs for the farmers. Instead +of attending himself he has sent his wife to conduct the case. The +Defendant is a labourer living in the same village, who, like so +many of his class, has got into debt. He, too, has sent his wife to +represent him. This is the usual course of the cottagers, and of +agricultural people who are better off than cottagers. The men +shirk out of difficulties of this kind by going off in the morning +early to their work with the parting remark, 'Aw, you'd better see +about it; I don't knaw nothing about such jobs.'</p> +<p>The High Bailiff has no easy task to swear the Plaintiff's +representative. First, she takes the book and kisses it before the +formula prescribed has been repeated. Then she waits till the +sentence is finished and lifts the book with the left hand instead +of the right. The Registrar's clerk has to go across to the box and +shout an explanation into her ear. 'Tell the truth,' says the old +lady, with alacrity; 'why, that's what I be come for.' The Judge +asks her what it is she claims, and she replies that that man, the +Registrar's clerk, has got it all written down in his book. She +then turns to the Defendant's wife, who stands in the box opposite, +and shouts to her, 'You knows you ain't paid it.'</p> +<p>It is in vain that the Judge endeavours to question her, in vain +that the High Bailiff tries to calm her, in vain that the clerk +lays his hand on her arm—she is bent on telling the Defendant +a bit of her mind. The Court is perforce compelled to wait till it +is over, when the Judge, seeing that talking is of no avail, goes +at once to the root of the matter and asks to see her books. A +dirty account-book, such as may be purchased for threepence, is +handed up to him; the binding is broken, and some of the leaves are +loose. It is neither a day-book, a ledger, nor anything +else—there is no system whatever, and indeed the Plaintiff +admits that she only put down about half of it, and trusted to +memory for the rest. Here is a date, and after it some figures, but +no articles mentioned, neither tea nor candles. Next come some +groceries, and the price, but no one's name, so that it is +impossible to tell who had the goods. Then there are pages with +mysterious dots and strokes and half-strokes, which ultimately turn +out to mean ounces and half-ounces of tobacco. These have neither +name nor value attached. From end to end nothing is crossed off, so +that whether an account be paid or not cannot be ascertained.</p> +<p>While the Judge laboriously examines every page, trying by the +light of former experience to arrive at some idea of the meaning, +the Defendant's wife takes up her parable. She chatters in return +at the Plaintiff, then she addresses the High Bailiff, who orders +her to remain quiet, and, finally, turns round and speaks to the +crowd. The Judge, absorbed in the attempt to master the +account-book, does not for the moment notice this, till, as he +comes to the conclusion that the book is utterly valueless, he +looks up and finds the Defendant with her back turned gesticulating +and describing her wrongs to the audience. Even his command of +silence is with reluctance obeyed, and she continues to mutter to +herself. When order is restored the Judge asks for her defence, +when the woman immediately produces a receipt, purporting to be for +this very eight shillings' worth. At the sight of this torn and +dirty piece of paper the Plaintiff works herself into a fury, and +speaks so fast and so loud (as deaf people will) that no one else +can be heard. Till she is made to understand that she will be sent +out of Court she does not desist. The Judge looks at the receipt, +and finds it correct; but still the Plaintiff positively declares +that she has never had the money. Yet she admits that the receipt +is in her handwriting. The Judge asks the Defendant who paid over +the cash, and she replies that it was her husband. The account-book +contains no memorandum of any payment at all. With difficulty the +Judge again obtains silence, and once more endeavours to understand +a page of the account-book to which the Plaintiff persists in +pointing. His idea is now to identify the various articles +mentioned in the receipt with the articles put down on that +particular page.</p> +<p>After at least three-quarters of an hour, during which the book +is handed to and fro by the clerk from Judge to Plaintiff, that she +may explain the meaning of the hieroglyphics, some light at last +begins to dawn. By dint of patiently separating the mixed entries +the Judge presently arrives at a partial comprehension of what the +Plaintiff has been trying to convey. The amount of the receipted +bill and the amount of the entries in the page of the account-book +are the same; but the articles entered in the book and those +admitted to be paid for are not. The receipt mentions candles; the +account-book has no candles. Clearly they are two different debts, +which chanced to come to the same figure. The receipt, however, is +not dated, and whether it is the Defendant who is wilfully +misrepresenting, or whether the Plaintiff is under a mistaken +notion, the Judge for the time cannot decide. The Defendant +declares that she does not know the date and cannot fix it—it +was a 'main bit ago,' and that is all she can say.</p> +<p>For the third time the Judge, patient to the last degree, wades +through the account-book. Meanwhile the hands of the clock have +moved on. Instead of being a short case, this apparently simple +matter has proved a long one, and already as the afternoon advances +the light of the dull winter's day declines. The solicitors engaged +in the 'horse case,' who retired to consult, hoping to come to a +settlement, returned into Court fully an hour ago, and have since +been sitting at the table waiting to resume. Besides these some +four or five other lawyers of equal standing are anxiously looking +for a chance of commencing their business. All their clients are +waiting, and the witnesses; they have all crowded into the Court, +the close atmosphere of which is almost intolerable.</p> +<p>But having begun the case the Judge gives it his full and +undivided attention. Solicitors, clients, witnesses, cases that +interest the public, causes that concern valuable property, or +important contracts must all be put aside till this trifling matter +is settled. He is as anxious as any, or more so, to get on, because +delay causes business to accumulate—the adjourned causes, of +course, having to be heard at next Court, and thus swelling the +list to an inordinate length. But, impatient as he may be, +especially as he is convinced that one or other of the parties is +keeping back a part of the truth, he is determined that the subject +shall be searched to the bottom. The petty village shopkeeper and +the humble cottager obtain as full or fuller attention than the +well-to-do Plaintiffs and Defendants who can bring down barristers +from London.</p> +<p>'What have you there?' the Registrar's clerk demands of the +Plaintiff presently. She has been searching in her pocket for a +snuff-box wherewith to refresh herself, and, unable to immediately +discover it, has emptied the contents of the pocket on the ledge of +the witness-box. Among the rest is another little account-book.</p> +<p>'Let me see that,' demands the Judge, rather sharply, and no +wonder. 'Why did you not produce it before?'</p> +<p>'Aw, he be last year's un; some of it be two years ago,' is the +reply.</p> +<p>Another long pause. The Judge silently examines every page of +the account-book two years old. Suddenly he looks up. 'This +receipt,' he says, 'was given for an account rendered eighteen +months ago. Here in this older book are the entries corresponding +with it. The present claim is for a second series of articles which +happened to come to the same amount, and the Defendant, finding +that the receipt was not dated, has endeavoured to make it do duty +for the two.'</p> +<p>'I tould you so,' interrupts the Plaintiff. 'I tould you so, but +you wouldn't listen to I.'</p> +<p>The Judge continues that he is not sure he ought not to commit +the Defendant, and then, with a gesture of weary disgust, throws +down his pen and breaks off in the middle of his sentence to ask +the High Bailiff if there are any other judgments out against the +Defendant. So many years' experience of the drifts, subterfuges, +paltry misrepresentations and suppressions—all the mean and +despicable side of poor humanity—have indeed wearied him, +but, at the same time, taught forbearance. He hesitates to be +angry, and delays to punish. The people are poor, exceedingly poor. +The Defendant's wife says she has eight children; they are +ignorant, and, in short, cannot be, in equity, judged as others in +better circumstances. There are two other judgments against the +Defendant, who is earning about 12s. a week, and the verdict is 1s. +a month, first payment that day three weeks.</p> +<p>Then the solicitor for the Plaintiff in the 'horse case' rises +and informs the Judge that the parties cannot settle it, and the +case must proceed. The Plaintiff and Defendant take their places, +and some thirty witnesses file through the gangway to the +witness-room to be out of Court. The bailiffs light the gas as the +gloom deepens, and the solicitor begins his opening speech. The +Judge has leant back in his chair, closed his eyes, and composed +himself to listen. By the time two witnesses have been examined the +hour has arrived when the Judge can sit no longer. He must leave, +because on the morrow he has to hold a Court in another part of the +county. The important 'horse case' and the other causes must wait a +month.. He sits to the very last moment, then hastily stuffs deeds, +documents, papers of all descriptions into a portmanteau already +overflowing, and rushes to his carriage.</p> +<p>He will go through much the same work to-morrow; combating the +irritating misrepresentations, exposing suppressors, discovering +the truth under a mountain of crass stupidity and wilful deceit. +Next day he will be again at work; and the same process will go on +the following week. In the month there are perhaps about five +days—exclusive of Sundays—upon which he does not sit. +But those days are not holidays. They are spent in patiently +reading a mass of deeds, indentures, contracts, vouchers, +affidavits, evidence of every description and of the most +voluminous character. These have been put in by solicitors, as part +of their cases, and require the most careful attention. Besides +causes that are actually argued out in open Court, there are others +which, by consent of both parties, are placed in his hands as +arbitrator. Many involve nice points of law, and require a written +judgment in well-chosen words.</p> +<p>The work of the County Court Judge at the present day is simply +enormous; it is ceaseless and never finished, and it demands a +patience which nothing can ruffle. No matter how much falsehood may +annoy him, a Judge with arbitrary power entrusted to him must not +permit indignation alone to govern his decision. He must make +allowances for all.</p> +<p>For the County Court in country districts has become a tribunal +whose decisions enter, as it were, into the very life of the +people. It is not concerned with a few important cases only; it has +to arrange and finally settle what are really household affairs. +Take any village, and make inquiries how many householders there +are who have not at one time or other come under the jurisdiction +of the County Court? Either as Plaintiff, or Defendant, or as +witness, almost every one has had such experience, and those who +have not have been threatened with it. Beside those defended cases +that come before the Judge, there are hundreds upon hundreds of +petty claims, to which no defence is offered, and which are +adjudicated upon by the Registrar at the same time that the Judge +hears the defended causes.</p> +<p>The labourer, like so many farmers in a different way, lives on +credit and is perpetually in debt. He purchases his weekly goods on +the security of hoeing, harvest, or piece work, and his wages are +continually absorbed in payment of instalments, just as the +tenant-farmer's income is too often absorbed in the payment of +interest and instalments of his loans. No one seems ever to pay +without at least a threat of the County Court, which thus occupies +a position like a firm appointed to perpetually liquidate a vast +estate. It is for ever collecting shillings and half-crowns.</p> +<p>This is one aspect of the County Court; the other is its +position with respect to property. It is the great arbitrator of +property—of houses and land, and deeds and contracts. Of +recent years the number of the owners of land has immensely +increased—that is, of small pieces—and the litigation +has correspondingly grown. There is enough work for a man of high +legal ability in settling causes of this character alone, without +any 'horse case' with thirty witnesses, or any dispute that +involves the conflict of personal testimony.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap18" id="chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h3> +<h3>THE BANK. THE OLD NEWSPAPER</h3> +The most imposing building in a certain country market town is the +old Bank, so called familiarly to distinguish it from the new one. +The premises of the old Bank would be quite unapproached in +grandeur, locally, were it not for the enterprise of the new +establishment. Nothing could be finer than the façade of the +old Bank, which stands out clear and elegant in its fresh paint +among the somewhat dingy houses and shops of the main street. It is +rather larger in size, more lofty, and has the advantage of being a +few yards nearer to the railway station. But the rival institution +runs it very close. It occupies a corner on the very verge of the +market-place—its door facing the farmer as he concludes his +deal—and it is within a minute of the best hotels, where much +business is done. It is equally white and clean with fresh paint, +and equally elegant in design. +<p>A stranger, upon a nice consideration of the circumstances, +might find a difficulty in deciding on which to bestow his +patronage; and perhaps the chief recommendation of the old +establishment lies in the fact that it is the older of the two. The +value of antiquity was never better understood than in these modern +days. Shrewd men of business have observed that the quality of +being ancient is the foundation of credit. Men believe in that +which has been long established. Their fathers dealt there, they +deal themselves, and if a new-comer takes up his residence he is +advised to do likewise.</p> +<p>A visitor desirous of looking on the outside, at least of +country banking, would naturally be conducted to the old Bank. If +it were an ordinary day, <i>i.e.</i> not a market or fair, he might +stand on the pavement in front sunning himself without the least +inconvenience from the passenger traffic. He would see, on glancing +Up and down the street, one or two aged cottage women going in or +out of the grocer's, a postman strolling round, and a distant +policeman at the farthest corner. A sprinkling of boys playing +marbles at the side of the pavement, and two men loading a waggon +with sacks of flour from a warehouse, complete the scene as far as +human life is concerned. There are dogs basking on doorsteps, +larger dogs rambling with idleness in the slow sway of their tails, +and overhead black swifts (whose nests are in the roofs of the +higher houses) dash to and fro, uttering their shrill screech.</p> +<p>The outer door of the bank is wide open—fastened +back—ostentatiously open, and up the passage another mahogany +door, closed, bears a polished brazen plate with the word 'Manager' +engraved upon it. Everything within is large and massive. The swing +door itself yields with the slow motion of solidity, and unless you +are agile as it closes in the rear, thrusts you forward like a +strong gale. The apartment is large and lofty: there is room for a +crowd, but at present there is no one at the counter. It is long +enough and broad enough for the business of twenty customers at +once; so broad that the clerks on the other side are beyond arm's +reach. But they have shovels with which to push the gold towards +you, and in a small glass stand is a sponge kept constantly damp, +across which the cashier draws his finger as he counts the silver, +the slight moisture enabling him to sort the coin more swiftly.</p> +<p>The fittings are perfect, as perfect as in a London bank, and +there is an air of extreme precision. Yonder open drawers are full +of pass-books; upon the desks and on the broad mantelpiece are +piles of cheques, not scattered in disorder but arranged in exact +heaps. The very inkstands are heavy and vast, and you just catch a +glimpse round the edge of the semi-sentry box which guards the desk +of the chief cashier, of a ledger so huge that the mind can hardly +realise the extent of the business which requires such ponderous +volumes to record it. Then beyond these a glass door, half open, +apparently leads to the manager's room, for within it is a table +strewn with papers, and you can see the green-painted iron wall of +a safe.</p> +<p>The clerks, like the place, are somewhat imposing; they are in +no hurry, they allow you time to look round you and imbibe the +sense of awe which the magnificent mahogany counter and the brazen +fittings, all the evidences of wealth, are so calculated to +inspire. The hollow sound of your footstep on the floor does not +seem heard; the slight 'Ahem!' you utter after you have waited a +few moments attracts no attention, nor the rustling of your papers. +The junior clerks are adding up column after column of figures, and +are totally absorbed; the chief cashier is pondering deeply over a +letter and annotating it. By-and-by he puts it down, and slowly +approaches. But after you have gone through the preliminary +ceremony of waiting, which is an institution of the place, the +treatment quite changes. Your business is accomplished with +practised ease, any information you may require is forthcoming on +the instant, and deft fingers pass you the coin. In brief, the +whole machinery of banking is here as complete as in Lombard +Street. The complicated ramifications of commercial transactions +are as well understood and as closely studied as in the 'City.' No +matter what your wishes, provided, of course, that your credentials +are unimpeachable, they will be conducted for you satisfactorily +and without delay.</p> +<p>Yet the green meadows are within an arrow shot, and standing on +the threshold and looking down a cross street you can see the elms +of the hedgerows closing in the prospect. It is really wonderful +that such conveniences should he found in so apparently +insignificant a place. The intelligence and courtesy of the +officials is most marked. It is clear, upon reflection, that such +intelligence, such manners, and knowledge not only of business but +of men (for a banker and a banker's agent has often to judge at a +moment's notice whether a man be a rogue or honest), cannot be had +for nothing. They must be paid for, and, in so far at least as the +heads are concerned, paid liberally. It is known that the old Bank +has often paid twenty and twenty-five per cent, to its +shareholders. Where does all this money come from? From Hodge, +toiling in the field and earning his livelihood in the sweat of his +brow? One would hardly think so at first, and yet there are no +great businesses or manufactories here. Somehow or other the money +that pays for this courtesy and commercial knowledge, for these +magnificent premises and furniture, that pays the shareholders +twenty-five per cent., must be drawn from the green meadows, the +cornfields, and the hills where the sheep feed.</p> +<p>On an ordinary day the customers that come to the bank's counter +may be reckoned on the fingers. Early in the morning the +Post-Office people come for their cash and change; next, some of +the landlords of the principal inns with their takings; afterwards, +such of the tradesmen as have cheques to pay in. Later on the +lawyers' clerks, or the solicitors themselves drop in; in the +latter case for a chat with the manager. A farmer or two may call, +especially on a Friday, for the cash to pay the labourers next day, +and so the morning passes. In the afternoon one or more of the +local gentry or clergy may drive up or may not—it is a chance +either way—and as the hour draws near for closing some of the +tradesmen come hurrying in again. Then the day, so far as the +public are concerned, is over. To-morrow sees the same event +repeated.</p> +<p>On a market-day there is a great bustle; men hustle in and out, +with a bluff disregard of conventional politeness, but with no +intention of rudeness. Through the open doors comes the lowing of +cattle, and the baaing of sheep; the farmers and dealers that crowd +in and out bring with them an odour of animals that exhales from +their garments. The clerks are now none too many, the long broad +counter none too large; the resources of the establishment are +taxed to the utmost. The manager is there in person, attending to +the more important customers.</p> +<p>In the crush are many ladies who would find their business +facilitated by coming on a different day. But market-day is a +tradition with all classes; even the gentry appear in greater +numbers. If you go forth into the Market-place you will find it +thronged with farmers. If you go into the Corn Hall or Exchange, +where the corndealers have their stands, and where business in +cereals and seeds is transacted; if you walk across to the auction +yard for cattle, or to the horse depository, where an auction of +horses is proceeding; everywhere you have to push your way through +groups of agriculturists. The hotels are full of them (the +stable-yards full of their various conveyances), and the +restaurant, the latest innovation in country towns, is equally +filled with farmers taking a chop, and the inner rooms with ladies +discussing coffee and light refreshments.</p> +<p>Now every farmer of all this crowd has his cheque-book in the +breast pocket of his coat. Let his business be what it may, the +purchase of cattle, sheep, horses, or implements, seed, or any +other necessary, no coin passes. The parties, if the transaction be +private, adjourn to their favourite inn, and out comes the +cheque-book. If a purchase be effected at either of the auctions +proceeding it is paid for by cheque, and, on the other hand, should +the farmer be the vendor, his money comes to him in the shape of a +cheque. With the exception of his dinner and the ostler, the farmer +who comes to market carries on all his transactions with paper. The +landlord of the hotel takes cash for the dinner, and the ostler +takes his shilling. For the rest, it is all cheques cheques, +cheques; so that the whole business of agriculture, from the +purchase of the seed to the sale of the crop, passes through the +bank.</p> +<p>The toll taken by the bank upon such transactions as simple +buying and selling is practically <i>nil</i>; its profit is +indirect. But besides the indirect profit there is the direct +speculation of making advances at high interest, discounting bills, +and similar business. It might almost be said that the crops are +really the property of the local banks, so large in the aggregate +are the advances made upon them. The bank has, in fact, to study +the seasons, the weather, the probable market prices, the import of +grain and cattle, and to keep an eye upon the agriculture of the +world. The harvest and the prices concern it quite as much as the +actual farmer who tills the soil. In good seasons, with a crop +above the average, the business of the bank expands in +corresponding ratio. The manager and directors feel that they can +advance with confidence; the farmer has the means to pay. In bad +seasons and with short crops the farmer is more anxious than ever +to borrow; but the bank is obliged to contract its sphere of +operations.</p> +<p>It usually happens that one or more of the directors of a +country bank are themselves farmers in a large way—gentlemen +farmers, but with practical knowledge. They are men whose entire +lives have been spent in the locality, and who have a very wide +circle of acquaintances and friends among agriculturists. Their +forefathers were stationed there before them, and thus there has +been an accumulation of local knowledge. They not only thoroughly +understand the soil of the neighbourhood, and can forecast the +effect of particular seasons with certainty, but they possess an +intimate knowledge of family history, what farmer is in a bad way, +who is doubtful, or who has always had a sterling reputation. An +old-established country bank has almost always one or more such +confidential advisers. Their assistance is invaluable.</p> +<p>Since agriculture became in this way, through the adoption of +banking, so intimately connected with commerce, it has responded, +like other businesses, to the fluctuations of trade. The value of +money in Threadneedle Street affects the farmer in an obscure +hamlet a hundred miles away, whose fathers knew nothing of money +except as a coin, a token of value, and understood nothing of the +export or import of gold. The farmer's business is conducted +through the bank, but, on the other hand, the bank cannot restrict +its operations to the mere countryside. It is bound up in every +possible manner with the vast institutions of the metropolis. Its +private profits depend upon the rate of discount and the tone of +the money market exactly in the same way as with those vast +institutions. A difficulty, a crisis there is immediately felt by +the country bank, whose dealings with its farmer customers are in +turn affected.</p> +<p>Thus commerce acts upon agriculture. <i>Per contra</i>, the +tradesmen of the town who go to the bank every morning would tell +you with doleful faces that the condition of agriculture acts upon +trade in a most practical manner. Neither the farmer, nor the +farmer's wife and family expend nearly so much as they did at their +shops, and consequently the sums they carry over to the bank are +much diminished in amount. The local country tradesman probably +feels the depression of agriculture all but as much as the farmer +himself. The tradesman is perhaps supported by the bank; if he +cannot meet his liabilities the bank is compelled to withdraw that +support.</p> +<p>Much of this country banking seems to have grown up in very +recent times. Any elderly farmer out yonder in the noisy market +would tell you that in his young days when he first did business he +had to carry coin with him, especially if at a distance from home. +It was then the custom to attend markets and fairs a long way off, +such markets being centres where the dealers and drovers brought +cattle. The dealers would accept nothing but cash; they would not +have looked at a cheque had such a thing been proffered them. This +old Bank prides itself upon the reputation it enjoyed, even in +those days. It had the power of issuing notes, and these notes were +accepted by such men, even at a great distance, the bank having so +good a name. They were even preferred to the notes of the Bank of +England, which at one time, in outlying country places, were looked +on with distrust, a state of things which seems almost incredible +to the present generation.</p> +<p>In those days men had no confidence. That mutual business +understanding, the credit which is the basis of all commerce of the +present time, did not exist. Of course this only applies to the +country and to country trading; the business men of cities were +years in advance of the agriculturists in this respect. But so good +was the reputation of the old Bank, even in those times, that its +notes were readily accepted. It is, indeed, surprising what a +reputation some of the best of the country banks have achieved. +Their names are scarcely seen in the money articles of the daily +press. But they do a solid business of great extent, and their +names in agricultural circles are names of power. So the old Bank +here, though within an arrow shot of the green meadows, though on +ordinary days a single clerk might attend to its customers, has +really a valuable <i>clientèle.</i></p> +<p>Of late years shrewd men of business discovered that the ranks +of the British farmer offered a wonderful opportunity for +legitimate banking. The farmer, though he may not be rich, must of +necessity be the manager, if not the actual owner, of considerable +capital. A man who farms, if only a hundred acres, must have some +capital. It may not be his own—it may be borrowed; still he +has the use of it. Here, then, a wide field opened itself to +banking enterprise. Certainly there has been a remarkable extension +of banking institutions in the country. Every market town has its +bank, and in most cases two—branches of course, but banks to +all intents and purposes. Branches are started everywhere.</p> +<p>The new Bank in this particular little town is not really new. +It is simply a branch set up by a well-established bank whose +original centre may perhaps be in another county. It is every whit +as respectable as the other, and as well conducted. Its branch as +yet lacks local antiquity, but that is the only difference. The +competition for the farmer's business between these branches, +scattered all over the length and breadth of the country, must of +necessity be close. When the branch, or new Bank, came here, it was +started in grand premises specially erected for it, in the most +convenient situation that could be secured.</p> +<p>Till then the business of the old Bank had been carried on in a +small and dingy basement. The room was narrow, badly lit, and still +worse ventilated, so that on busy days both the clerks and the +customers complained of the stuffy atmosphere. The ancient fittings +had become worn and defaced; the ceiling was grimy; the +conveniences in every way defective. When it was known that a new +branch was to be opened the directors of the old Bank resolved that +the building, which had so long been found inadequate, should be +entirely renovated. They pulled it down, and the present +magnificent structure took its place.</p> +<p>Thus this little country town now possesses two banks, whose +façades could hardly be surpassed in a city. There is +perhaps a little rivalry between the managers of the two +institutions, in social as well as in business matters. Being so +long established there the old Bank numbers among its customers +some of the largest landed proprietors, the leading clergy, and +solicitors. The manager coming into contact with these, and being +himself a man of intelligence, naturally occupies a certain +position. If any public movement is set on foot, the banks strive +as to which shall be most to the fore, and, aided by its antiquity, +the old Bank, perhaps, secures a social precedence. Both managers +belong to the 'carriage people' of the town.</p> +<p>Hodge comes into the place, walking slowly behind cattle or +sheep, or jolting in on a waggon. His wife comes, too, on foot, +through the roughest weather, to fetch her household goods. His +daughter comes into the hiring fair, and stands waiting for +employment on the pavement in the same spot used for the purpose +from time immemorial, within sight of the stately façades of +the banks. He himself has stood in the market-place with reaping +hook or hoe looking for a master. Humble as he may be, it is clear +that the wealth in those cellars—the notes and the gold +pushed over the counters in shovels—must somehow come from +the labour which he and his immediate employer—the +farmer—go through in the field.</p> +<p>It is becoming more and more the practice for the carter, or +shepherd, who desires a new situation, to advertise. Instead of +waiting for the chance of the hiring fair, he trudges into the +market town and calls at the office of the oldest established local +paper. There his wishes are reduced to writing for him, he pays his +money, and his advertisement appears. If there is an farmer +advertising for a man, as is often the case, he at the same time +takes the address, and goes over to offer his services. The farmer +and the labourer alike look to the advertisement columns as the +medium between them.</p> +<p>The vitality and influence of the old-fashioned local newspaper +is indeed a remarkable feature of country life. It would be thought +that in these days of cheap literature, these papers, charging +twopence, threepence, and even fourpence per copy, could not +possibly continue to exist. But, contrary to all expectation, they +have taken quite a fresh start, and possess a stronger hold than +ever upon the agricultural population. They enter into the old +homesteads, and every member of the farmer's family carefully scans +them, certain of finding a reference to this or that subject or +person in whom he takes an interest.</p> +<p>Some such papers practically defy competition. In the outlying +towns, where no factories have introduced a new element, it is vain +for the most enterprising to start another. The squire, the +clergyman, the lawyer, the tenant-farmer, the wayside innkeeper +stick to the old weekly paper, and nothing can shake it. It is one +of the institutions of agriculture.</p> +<p>The office is, perhaps, in a side street of the quiet +market-town, and there is no display to catch the casual purchaser. +No mystery surrounds the editor's sanctum; the visitor has but to +knock, and is at once admitted to his presence. An office could +scarcely be more plainly furnished. A common table, which has, +however, one great virtue—it does not shake when written +on—occupies the centre. Upon one side is a large desk or +bureau; the account-books lying open show that the editor, besides +his literary labour, has to spend much time in double entry. Two +chairs are so completely hidden under 'exchanges' that no one can +sit upon them. Several of these 'exchanges' are from the United +States or Australia, for the colonists are often more interested +and concerned about local affairs in the old country than they are +with the doings in the metropolis. Against the wall, too, hangs a +picture of a fine steamer careering under sail and steam, and near +it a coloured sectional map of some new township marked out in +squares. These are the advertisements of an Atlantic or Australian +line, or of both; and the editor is their agent. When the young +ploughman resolves to quit the hamlet for the backwoods of America +or the sheepwalks of Australia, he comes here to engage his berth. +When the young farmer wearies of waiting for dead men's +shoes—in no other way can he hope to occupy an English +farm—he calls here and pays his passage-money, and his broad +shoulders and willing hands are shipped to a land that will welcome +him. A single shelf supports a few books, all for reference, such +as the 'Clergy List,' for the Church is studied, and the slightest +change that concerns the district carefully recorded.</p> +<p>Beneath this, the ponderous volumes that contain the file of the +paper for the last forty years are piled, their weight too great +for a shelf resting on the floor. The series constitutes a complete +and authentic local history. People often come from a distance to +consult it, for it is the only register that affords more than the +simple entry of birth and death.</p> +<p>There is a life in the villages and hamlets around, in the +little places that are not even hamlets, which to the folk who +dwell in them is fully as important as that of the greatest city. +Farmhouses are not like the villas of cities and city suburbs. The +villa has hardly any individuality; it is but one of many, each +resembling the other, and scarcely separated. To-day one family +occupies it, tomorrow another, next year perhaps a third, and +neither of these has any real connection with the place. They are +sojourners, not inhabitants, drawn thither by business or pleasure; +they come and go, and leave no mark behind. But the farmhouse has a +history. The same family have lived in it for, perhaps, a hundred +years: they have married and intermarried, and become identified +with the locality. To them all the petty events of village life +have a meaning and importance: the slow changes that take place and +are chronicled in the old newspaper have a sad significance, for +they mark that flux of time which is carrying them, too, onwards to +their rest.</p> +<p>These columns of the file, therefore, that to a stranger seem a +blank, to the old folk and their descendants are like a mirror, in +which they can see the faces of the loved ones who passed away a +generation since. They are the archives of the hamlets round about: +a farmer can find from them when his grandfather quitted the old +farm, and read an account of the sale. Men who left the village in +their youth for the distant city or the still more distant +colonies, as they grow in years often feel an irresistible desire +to revisit the old, old place. The home they so fondly recollect is +in other hands, and yet in itself but little changed. A few lines +in the plainest language found in the file here tell to such a +greybeard a story that fills his eyes with tears. But even a +stranger who took the trouble to turn over the folios would now and +then find matter to interest him: such as curious notes of +archæological discovery, accounts of local customs now fallen +into disuse, and traditions of the past. Many of these are worthy +of collection in more accessible form.</p> +<p>There is hardly anything else in the room except the waste +basket under the table. As the visitor enters, a lad goes out with +a roll of manuscript in his hand, and the editor looks up from his +monotonous task of proof-reading, for he has that duty also to +perform. Whatever he is doing, some one is certain to call and +break off the thread of his thought. The bailiff or farm-steward of +a neighbouring estate comes in to insert an advertisement of timber +for sale, or of the auction of the ash-poles annually felled. A +gamekeeper calls with a notice not to sport or trespass on certain +lands. The editor has to write out the advertisement for these +people, and for many of the farmers who come, for countrymen have +the greatest dislike to literary effort of any kind, and can hardly +be persuaded to write a letter. Even when they have written the +letter they get the daughter to address the envelope, lest the Post +Office should smile at their rude penmanship. The business of +preparing the advertisement is not quickly concluded, for just as +it is put down to their fancy, they recollect another item which +has to be added. Then they stand and gossip about the family at the +mansion and the affairs of the parish generally, totally oblivious +of the valuable time they are wasting. Farmers look in to advertise +a cottage or a house in the village to let, and stay to explain the +state of the crops, and the why and the wherefore of So-and-so +leaving his tenancy.</p> +<p>The largest advertisers invariably put off their orders till the +morning of the paper going to press, from sheer inattention. On +that busy morning, auctioneers' clerks rush in with columns of +auction sales of cattle, sheep, horses, hay, or standing crops +(according to the season of the year), and every species of farm +produce. After them come the solicitors' clerks, with equally +important and lengthy notices of legal matters concerning the +effects of farmers who have fallen into difficulties, of parochial +or turnpike affairs, or 'Pursuant to an Act intitled "An Act to +further amend the Law and to Relieve Trustees."' These notices have +been lying on their desks for days, but are perversely sent down at +the last moment, and upset the entire make-up of the paper.</p> +<p>Just as the editor has arranged for these, and is in the act to +rush up into the press-room, a timid knock announces a poor cottage +girl, who has walked in from a hamlet six or seven miles away to +inquire the address of a lady who wants a servant. This +advertisement appeared at least three weeks since, for country folk +could in no wise make up their minds to apply under three weeks, +and necessitates a search back through the file, and a reference to +divers papers. He cannot in common courtesy leave the poor girl to +wait his convenience, and meantime the steam is up and the machine +waiting. When the address is discovered, the girl thinks she cannot +remember it, and so he has to write it down on a piece of paper for +her.</p> +<p>He has no highly organised staff to carry on the routine work; +he has to look after every department as well as the purely +editorial part. Almost every one who has a scrap of news or gossip +looks in at the office to chat about it with him. Farmers, who have +driven in to the town from distant villages, call to tell him of +the trouble they are having over the new schools, and the conflict +in the parish as to whether they shall or shall not have a school +board. Clergymen from outlying vicarages come to mention that a +cottage flower show, a penny reading, a confirmation, or some such +event, is impending, and to suggest the propriety of a full and +special account. Occasionally a leading landed proprietor is +closeted with him, for at least an hour, discussing local politics, +and ascertaining from him the tone of feeling in the district.</p> +<p>Modern agricultural society insists upon publicity. The smallest +village event must be chronicled, or some one will feel +dissatisfied, and inquire why it was not put in the paper. This +continual looking towards the paper for everything causes it to +exercise a very considerable amount of influence. Perhaps the +clergy and gentry are in some things less powerful than the local +newspaper, for, from a variety of causes, agricultural society has +become extremely sensitive to public opinion. The temperate and +thoughtful arguments put forward by a paper in which they have +confidence directly affect the tenant-farmers. On the other hand, +as expressing the views of the tenant-farmers, the paper materially +influences the course taken by the landed proprietors.</p> +<p>In country districts the mere numerical circulation of a weekly +publication is no measure of its importance. The position of the +subscribers is the true test. These old-established papers, in +fact, represent property. They are the organs of all who possess +lands, houses, stock, produce; in short, of the middle class. This +is evident from the advertising columns. The lawyer, the +auctioneer, the land agent, the farmer, all who have any substance, +publish their business in this medium. Official county +advertisements appear in it. The carter and the shepherd look down +the column of situations vacant as they call at the village inn for +a glass of ale, or, if they cannot read, ask some one to read for +them. But they do not purchase this kind of newspaper. The cottager +spells over prints advocating the disestablishment of the Church, +the division of great estates, and the general subversion of the +present order of things. Yet when the labourer advertises, he goes +to the paper subscribed to by his master. The disappearance of such +an obsolete and expensive paper is frequently announced as +imminent; but the obsolete and expensive print, instead of +disappearing, nourishes with renewed vitality. Solid matter, +temperate argument, and genuine work, in the long ran, pay the +best. An editor who thus conducts his paper is highly appreciated +by the local chiefs of his party, and may even help to contribute +to the success of an Administration.</p> +<p>The personal labour involved in such editing must be great from +the absence of trained assistance, and because the materials must +be furnished by incompetent hands. Local news must be forwarded by +local people, perhaps by a village tailor with literary tastes. +Such correspondents often indulge in insinuations, or fulsome +flattery, which must be carefully eliminated. From another village +an account of some event comes from the schoolmaster—quite an +important person nowadays!—who writes in a fair, round hand +and uses the finest language and the longest words. He invariably +puts 'hebdomadal' for 'weekly.' A lawyer's clerk writes a narrative +of some case, on blue foolscap, and, after the manner of legal +documents, without a single stop from beginning to end.</p> +<p>Once a year comes the labour of preparing the sheet almanac. +This useful publication is much valued by the tenants of the +district, and may be found pinned against the wall for ready +reference in most farmhouses. Besides the calendar it contains a +list of county and other officials, dates of quarter sessions and +assizes, fair days and markets, records of the prices obtained at +the annual sales of rams or shorthorns on leading farms, and +similar agricultural information.</p> +<p>The editor has very likely been born in the district, and has +thus grown up to understand the wants and the spirit of the farming +class. He is acquainted with the family history of the +neighbourhood, a knowledge which is of much advantage in enabling +him to avoid unnecessarily irritating personal susceptibilities. +His private library is not without interest. It mainly consists of +old books picked up at the farmhouse sales of thirty years. At such +disposals of household effects volumes sometimes come to light that +have been buried for generations among lumber. Many of these books +are valuable and all worth examination. A man of simple and +retiring habits, his garden is perhaps his greatest solace, and +next to that a drive or stroll through the green meadows around. +Incessant mental labour has forced him to wear glasses before his +time, and it is a relief and pleasure to the eyes to dwell on green +sward and leaf. Such a man performs a worthy part in country life, +and possesses the esteem of the country side.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap19" id="chap19">CHAPTER XIX</a></h3> +<h3>THE VILLAGE FACTORY. VILLAGE VISITORS. WILLOW-WORK</h3> +In the daytime the centre of a certain village may be said to be +the shop of the agricultural machinist. The majority of the +cottagers are away in the fields at work, and the place is +elsewhere almost quiet. A column of smoke and a distant din guide +the visitor to the spot where the hammers are clattering on the +anvils. +<p>Twisted iron, rusty from exposure, lies in confusion on the +blackened ground before the shed. Coal-dust and the carbon +deposited from volumes of thick smoke have darkened the earth, and +coated everything with a black crust. The windows of the shed are +broken, probably by the accidental contact of long rods of iron +carelessly cast aside, and some of the slates of the roof appear +gone just above the furnace, as if removed for ventilation and the +escape of the intense heat. There is a creaking of stiff leather as +the bellows rise and fall, and the roar of the blast as it is +forced up through the glowing coals.</p> +<p>A ceaseless hum of wheels in motion comes from the rear, and the +peculiar crackling sound of a band in rapid revolution round the +drum of the engine and the shaft. Then the grinding scrape of sharp +steel on iron as the edge of the tool cuts shavings from the solid +metal rotating swiftly in the lathe. As blow follows blow the +red-hot 'scale,' driven from the surface of the iron on the anvil +by the heavy sledge, flies rattling against the window in a spray +of fire. The ring of metal, the clatter, the roaring, and hissing +of steam, fill the air, and through it rises now and then the +shrill quick calls of men in command.</p> +<p>Outside, and as it seems but a stone's throw distant, stands the +old grey church, and about it the still, silent, green-grown mounds +over those who once followed the quiet plough.</p> +<p>Bound the corner of the village street comes a man with a grimy +red flag, and over the roofs of the cottages rises a cloud of +smoke, and behind it yet another. Two steam ploughing engines are +returning from their work to their place beside the shed to wait +fresh orders. The broad wheels of the engines block up the entire +width of the street, and but just escape overthrowing the feeble +palings in front of the cottage doors. Within those palings the +children at play scarcely turn to look; the very infants that can +hardly toddle are so accustomed to the ponderous wonder that they +calmly gnaw the crusts that keep them contented. It requires a full +hour to get the unwieldy engines up the incline and round the sharp +turns on to the open space by the workshop. The driver has to +'back,' and go-a-head, and 'back' again, a dozen times before he +can reach the place, for that narrow bye-way was not planned out +for such traffic. A mere path leading to some cottages in the rear, +it was rarely used even by carts before the machinist came, and it +is a feat of skill to get the engines in without, like a conqueror, +entering by a breach battered in the walls. When, at last, they +have been piloted into position, the steam is blown off, and the +rushing hiss sounds all over the village. The white vapour covers +the ground like a cloud, and the noise re-echoes against the old +grey church, but the jackdaws do not even rise from the +battlements.</p> +<p>These engines and their corresponding tackle are the chief +stock-in-trade of the village machinist. He lets them out to the +farmers of the district, which is principally arable; that is, he +contracts to do their ploughing and scarifying at so much per acre. +In the ploughing seasons the engines are for ever on the road, and +with their tackle dragging behind them take up the highway like a +train. One day you may hear the hum and noise from a distant field +on the left; in a day or two it comes from another on the right; +next week it has shifted again, and is heard farther off +northwards, and so all round the compass.</p> +<p>The visitor, driving about the neighbourhood, cannot but notice +the huge and cumbrous-looking plough left awhile on the sward by +the roadside. One-half of the shares stand up high in the air, the +other half touch the ground, and it is so nicely balanced that boys +sometimes play at see-saw on it. He will meet the iron monster +which draws this plough by the bridge over the brook, pausing while +its insatiable thirst is stayed from the stream. He will see it +patiently waiting, with a slight curl of steam over the boiler, by +the wayside inn while its attendants take their lunch.</p> +<p>It sometimes happens in wet weather that the engines cannot be +moved from the field where they have been ploughing. The soil +becomes so soft from absorbing so much water that it will not bear +up the heavy weight. Logs and poles are laid down to form a +temporary way, but the great wheels sink too deeply, and the +engines have to be left covered with tarpaulins. They have been +known to remain till the fresh green leaves of spring on the hedges +and trees almost hid them from sight.</p> +<p>The machinist has another and lighter traction engine which does +not plough, but travels from farm to farm with a threshing machine. +In autumn it is in full work threshing, and in winter drives +chaff-cutters for the larger farmers. Occasionally it draws a load +of coal in waggons or trucks built for the purpose. Hodge's +forefathers knew no rival at plough time; after the harvest they +threshed the corn all the winter with the flail. Now the iron horse +works faster and harder than he.</p> +<p>Some of the great tenant-farmers have sets of ploughing-engines +and tackle of their own, and these are frequently at the +machinist's for repairs. The reaping, mowing, threshing, haymaking, +hoeing, raking, and other machines and implements also often +require mending. Once now and then a bicyclist calls to have his +machine attended to, something having given way while on a tour. +Thus the village factory is in constant work, but has to encounter +immense competition.</p> +<p>Country towns of any size usually possess at least one +manufactory of agricultural implements, and some of these factories +have acquired a reputation which reaches over sea. The visitor to +such a foundry is shown medals that have been granted for +excellence of work exhibited in Vienna, and may see machines in +process of construction which will be used upon the Continent; so +that the village machinist, though apparently isolated, with +nothing but fields around him, has in reality competitors upon +every side.</p> +<p>Ploughing engines, again, travel great distances, and there are +firms that send their tackle across a county or two. Still the +village factory, being on the spot, has plenty of local work, and +the clatter of hammers, the roar of the blast, and the hum of +wheels never cease at the shed. Busy workmen pass to and fro, lithe +men, quick of step and motion, who come from Leeds, or some similar +manufacturing town, and whose very step distinguishes them in a +moment from the agricultural labourer.</p> +<p>A sturdy ploughboy comes up with a piece of iron on his +shoulder; it does not look large, but it is as much as he can +carry. One edge of it is polished by the friction of the earth +through which it has been forced; it has to be straightened, or +repaired, and the ploughboy waits while it is done. He sits down +outside the shed on a broken and rusty iron wheel, choosing a spot +where the sun shines and the building keeps off the wind. There, +among the twisted iron, ruins and fragments of machines, he takes +out his hunch of bread and cheese, and great clasp knife, and +quietly enjoys his luncheon. He is utterly indifferent to the noise +of the revolving wheels, the creak of the bellows, the hiss of +steam; he makes no inquiry about this or that, and shows no desire +to understand the wonders of mechanics. Something in his +attitude—in the immobility, the almost animal repose of limb; +something in the expression of his features, the self-contained +oblivion, so to say, suggests an Oriental absence of aspiration. +Only by negatives and side-lights, as it were, can any idea be +conveyed of his contented indifference. He munches his crust; and, +when he has done, carefully, and with vast deliberation, relaces +his heavy shoe. The sunshine illumines the old grey church before +him, and falls on the low green mounds, almost level with the +sward, which cover his ancestors.</p> +<p>These modern inventions, this steam, and electric telegraph, and +even the printing-press have but just skimmed the surface of +village life. If they were removed—if the pressure from +without, from the world around, ceased, in how few years the +village and the hamlet would revert to their original +condition!</p> +<p>On summer afternoons, towards five or six o'clock, a four-wheel +carriage—useful, but not pretentious—comes slowly up +the hill leading to the village. The single occupant is an elderly +man, the somewhat wearied expression of whose features is caused by +a continuous application to business. The horse, too well fed for +work, takes his own time up the hill, and when at the summit the +reins are gently shaken, makes but an idle pretence to move faster, +for he knows that his master is too good-natured and forbearing to +use the whip, except to fondly stroke his back. The reins are +scarcely needed to guide the horse along the familiar road to a +large farmhouse on the outskirts of the village, where at the gate +two or more children are waiting to welcome 'papa.'</p> +<p>Though a farmhouse, the garden is laid out in the style so often +seen around detached villas, with a lawn for tennis and croquet, +parterres bright with summer flowers, and seats under the pleasant +shade of the trees. Within it is furnished in villa fashion, and is +in fact let to a well-to-do tradesman of the market town a few +miles distant. He has wisely sent his family for the summer months +to inhale the clear air of the hills, as exhilarating as that of +the sea. There they can ride the pony and donkeys over the open +sward, and romp and play at gipsying. Every evening he drives out +to join them, and every morning returns to his office. The house +belongs to some large tenant-farmer, who has a little freehold +property, and thus makes a profit from it.</p> +<p>This practice of hiring a village home for the summer has become +common of recent years among the leading tradesmen of country +towns. Such visitors are welcome to the cottage folk. They require +the service of a labourer now and then; they want fresh eggs, and +vegetables from the allotment gardens. The women have the family +washing to do, and a girl is often needed to assist indoors, or a +boy to clean the knives and shoes. Many perquisites fall to the +cottage people—cast aside dresses, and so on; besides which +there are little gifts and kindnesses from the lady and her +children.</p> +<p>Towards November, again, the congregation in the old church one +Sunday morning find subject for speculation concerning a stranger +who enters a certain well-appointed pew appropriated to The +Chestnuts. He is clearly the new tenant who has taken it for the +hunting season. The Chestnuts is a mansion built in modern style +for a former landowner. As it is outside the great hunting centres +it is let at a low rental compared with its accommodation. The +labourers are glad to see that the place is let again, for although +the half-pay officer—the new occupant—who has retired, +wounded and decorated, from the service of a grateful country, has +probably not a third the income of the tradesman, and five times +the social appearance to maintain, still there will be profit to be +got from him.</p> +<p>What chance has such a gentleman in bargaining with the +cottagers? How should he know the village value of a cabbage? How +should he understand the farmyard value of a fowl? It may possibly +strike him as odd that vegetables should be so dear when, as he +rides about, he sees whole fields green with them. He sees plenty +of fowls, and geese, and turkeys, gobbling and cackling about the +farmyards, and can perhaps after awhile faintly perceive that they +are the perquisites of the ladies of the tenants' households, who +drive him a very hard bargain. He, too, has cast aside suits, +shoes, hats, and so forth, really but little worn, to give away to +the poor. If married, his family require some help from the cottage +women; and there are odd jobs, well paid for, on the place for the +men. Thus the cottagers are glad of the arrival of their new +masters, the one in the summer, the other in the winter months.</p> +<p>The 'chapel-folk' of the place have so increased in numbers and +affluence that they have erected a large and commodious building in +the village. Besides the cottagers, many farmers go to the chapel, +driving in from the ends of the parish. It is a curious +circumstance that many of the largest dealers in agricultural +produce, such as cheese, bacon, and corn, and the owners of the +busiest wharves where coal and timber, slate, and similar materials +are stored, belong to the Dissenting community. There are some +agricultural districts where this class of business is quite +absorbed by Dissenters—almost as much as money-changing and +banking business is said to be the exclusive property of Jews in +some Continental countries. Such dealers are often substantial and, +for the country, even wealthy men. Then there are the Dissenting +tradesmen of the market town. All these together form a species of +guild. The large chapel in the village was built by their united +subscriptions. They support each other in a marked manner in times +of difficulty, so that it is rare for a tenant-farmer of the +persuasion to lose his position unless by wilful misconduct. This +mutual support is so very marked as to be quite a characteristic +fact.</p> +<p>The cottagers and their families go to chapel with these +masters. But sometimes the cottager, as he approaches the chapel +door, finds upon it (as in the church porch) a small printed notice +affixed there by the overseers. If the labourer is now recognised +as a person whose opinion is to be consulted, on the other hand he +finds that he is not without responsibilities. The rate-collector +knocks at the cottage door as well as at the farmer's. By gradual +degrees village rates are becoming a serious burden, and though +their chief incidence may be upon the landlord and the tenant, +indirectly they begin to come home to the labourer. The school rate +is voluntary, but it is none the less a rate; the cemetery, the +ancient churchyard being no more available, has had to be paid for, +and, as usual, probably cost twice what was anticipated. The +highways, the sanitary authority, not to speak of poor relief, all +demand a share. Each in itself may be only a straw, but accumulated +straws in time fill a waggon.</p> +<p>One side of the stable of the village inn, which faces the road, +presents a broad surface for the country bill-sticker. He comes out +from the market town, and travels on foot for a whole day together, +from hamlet to hamlet. posting up the contents of his bag in the +most outlying and lonely districts. Every villager as he passes by +reads the announcements on the wall: the circus coming to the +market town, some jeweller's marvellous watches, the selling off of +spring or summer goods by the drapers at an immense reduction, once +now and then a proclamation headed V.R., and the sales of farm +stock (the tenants leaving) and of large freehold properties.</p> +<p>These latter are much discussed by the callers at the inn. A +carter comes along perhaps with a loaded waggon from some distance, +and as he stays to drink his quart talks of the changes that are +proceeding or imminent in his locality. Thus the fact that changes +are contemplated is often widely known before the actual +advertisement is issued. The labourers who hear the carter's story +tell it again to their own employer next time they see him, and the +farmer meeting another farmer gossips over it again.</p> +<p>There has grown up a general feeling in the villages and +agricultural districts that the landed estates around them are no +longer stable and enduring. A feeling of uncertainty is abroad, and +no one is surprised to hear that some other place, or person, is +going. It is rumoured that this great landlord is about to sell as +many farms as the family settlements will let him. Another is only +waiting for the majority of his son to accomplish the same object. +Others, it is said, are proceeding abroad to retrench. Properties +are coming into the market in unexpected directions, and others are +only kept back because the price of land has fallen, and there is a +difficulty in selling a large estate. If divided into a number of +lots, each of small size, land still fetches its value, and can be +readily sold; but that is not always convenient, and purchasers +hesitate to invest in extensive estates. But though kept back, +efforts are being made to retrench, and, it is said, old mansions +that have never been let before can now be hired for the season. +Not only the tenant-farmers, but the landowners are pacing through +a period of depression, and their tenure too is uncertain. Such is +the talk of the country side as it comes to the village inn.</p> +<p>Once a week the discordant note of a horn or bugle, loudly blown +by a man who does not understand his instrument, is heard at +intervals. It is the newspaper vendor, who, like the bill-sticker, +starts from the market town on foot, and goes through the village +with a terrible din. He stops at the garden gate in the palings +before the thatched cottage, delivers his print to the old woman or +the child sent out with the copper, and starts again with a +flourish of his trumpet. His business is chiefly with the +cottagers, and his print is very likely full of abuse of the landed +proprietors as a body. He is a product of modern days, almost the +latest, and as he goes from cottage door to cottage door, the +discordant uproar of his trumpet is a sign of the times.</p> +<p>In some districts the osier plantations give employment to a +considerable number of persons. The tall poles are made into posts +and rails; the trunks of the pollard trees when thrown are cut into +small timber that serves many minor purposes; the brushwood or tops +that are cut every now and then make thatching sticks and faggots; +sometimes hedges are made of a kind of willow wicker-work for +enclosing gardens. It is, however, the plantations of withy or +osier that are most important. The willow grows so often in or near +to water that in common opinion the association cannot be too +complete. But in the arrangement of an osier-bed water is utilised, +indeed, but kept in its place—i.e. at the roots, and not over +the stoles. The osier should not stand in water, or rise, as it +were, out of a lake—the water should be in the soil +underneath, and the level of the ground higher than the surface of +the adjacent stream.</p> +<p>Before planting, the land has to be dug or ploughed, and +cleared; the weeds collected in the same way as on an arable field. +The sticks are then set in rows eighteen inches apart, each stick +(that afterwards becomes a stole) a foot from its neighbours of the +same row. At first the weeds require keeping down, but after awhile +the crop itself kills them a good deal. Several willows spring from +each planted stick, and at the end of twelve months the first crop +is ready for cutting. Next year the stick or stole will send up +still more shoots, and give a larger yield.</p> +<p>The sorts generally planted are called Black Spanish and Walnut +Leaf. The first has a darker bark, and is a tough wood; the other +has a light yellow bark, and grows smoother and without knots, +which is better for working up into the manufactured article. +Either will grow to nine feet high—the average height is six +or seven feet. The usual time for cutting is about Good +Friday—that is, just before the leaf appears. After cutting, +the rods are stacked upright in water, in long trenches six inches +deep prepared for the purpose, and there they remain till the leaf +comes out. The power of growth displayed by the willow is +wonderful—a bough has only to be stuck in the earth, or the +end of a pole placed in the brook, for the sap to rise and shoots +to push forth.</p> +<p>When the leaf shows the willows are carried to the 'brakes,' and +the work of stripping off the bark commences. A 'brake' somewhat +resembles a pair of very blunt scissors permanently fixed open at a +certain angle, and rigidly supported at a convenient height from +the ground. The operator stands behind it, and selecting a long +wand from the heap beside him places it in the 'brake,' and pulls +it through, slightly pressing it downwards. As he draws it towards +him, the edges of the iron tear the bark and peel it along the +whole length of the stick. There is a knack in the operation, of +course, but when it is acquired the wand is peeled in a moment by a +dexterous turn of the wrist, the bark falls to the ground on the +other side of the brake, and the now white stick is thrown to the +right, where a pile soon accumulates. The peel is handy for tying +up, and when dried makes a capital material for lighting fires. +This stripping of the osiers is a most busy time in the +neighbourhood of the large plantations—almost like +hop-picking—for men, women, and children can all help. It +does not require so much strength as skill and patience.</p> +<p>After the peeling the sticks have to be dried by exposure to the +sun; they are then sorted into lengths, and sold in bundles. If it +is desired to keep them any time they must be thoroughly dried, or +they will 'heat' and rot and become useless. This willow harvest is +looked forward to by the cottagers who live along the rivers as an +opportunity for earning extra money. The quantity of osier thus +treated seems immense, and yet the demand is said to be steady, and +as the year advances the price of the willow rises. It is +manufactured into all kinds of baskets—on farms, especially +arable farms, numbers of baskets are used. Clothes baskets, market +baskets, chaff baskets, bassinettes or cradles, &c., are some +few of the articles manufactured from it. Large quantities of +willow, too, are worked up unpeeled into hampers of all kinds. The +number of hampers used in these days is beyond computation, and as +they are constantly wearing out, fresh ones have to be made. An +advantage of the willow is that it enables the farmer to derive a +profit from land that would otherwise be comparatively valueless. +Good land, indeed, is hardly fitted for osier; it would grow rank +with much pith in the centre, and therefore liable to break. On +common land, on the contrary, it grows just right, and not too +coarse. Almost any scrap or corner does for willow, and if properly +tended it speedily pays for the labour.</p> +<p>The digging and preparation of the ground gives employment, and +afterwards the weeding and the work required to clean the channels +that conduct water round and through the beds. Then there is the +cutting and the peeling, and finally the basket-making; and thus +the willow, though so common as to be little regarded, finds work +for many hands.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap20" id="chap20">CHAPTER XX</a></h3> +<h3>HODGE'S FIELDS</h3> +The labourer working all the year round in the open air cannot but +note to some degree those changes in tree and plant which coincide +with the variations of his daily employment. Early in March, as he +walks along the southern side of the hedge, where the dead oak +leaves still cumber the trailing ivy, he can scarcely avoid seeing +that pointed tongues of green are pushing up. Some have widened +into black-spotted leaves; some are notched like the many-barbed +bone harpoons of savage races. The hardy docks are showing, and the +young nettles have risen up. Slowly the dark and grey hues of +winter are yielding to the lively tints of spring. The blackthorn +has white buds on its lesser branches, and the warm rays of the sun +have drawn forth the buds on one favoured hawthorn in a sheltered +nook, so that the green of the coming leaf is visible. Bramble +bushes still retain their forlorn, shrivelled foliage; the hardy +all but evergreen leaves can stand cold, but when biting winds from +the north and east blow for weeks together even these curl at the +edge and die. +<p>The remarkable power of wind upon leaves is sometimes seen in +May, when a strong gale, even from the west, will so beat and +batter the tender horse-chestnut sprays that they bruise and +blacken. The slow plough traverses the earth, and the white dust +rises from the road and drifts into the field. In winter the +distant copse seemed black; now it appears of a dull reddish brown +from the innumerable catkins and buds. The delicate sprays of the +birch are fringed with them, the aspen has a load of brown, there +are green catkins on the bare hazel boughs, and the willows have +white 'pussy-cats.' The horse-chestnut buds—the hue of dark +varnish—have enlarged, and stick to the finger if touched; +some are so swollen as to nearly burst and let the green appear. +Already it is becoming more difficult to look right through the +copse. In winter the light could be seen on the other side; now +catkin, bud, and opening leaf have thickened and check the view. +The same effect was produced not long since by the rime on the +branches in the frosty mornings; while each smallest twig was thus +lined with crystal it was not possible to see through. Tangled +weeds float down the brook, catching against projecting branches +that dip into the stream, or slowly rotating and carried apparently +up the current by the eddy and back-water behind the bridge. In the +pond the frogs have congregated in great numbers; their constant +'croo-croo' is audible at some distance.</p> +<p>The meadows, so long bound by frost and covered with snow, are +slowly losing their wan aspect, and assuming a warmer green as the +young blades of grass come upwards. Where the plough or harrow has +passed over the clods they quickly change from the rich brown of +fresh-turned soil to a whiter colour, the dryness of the atmosphere +immediately dissipating the moisture in the earth. So, examine what +you will, from the clod to the tiniest branch, the hedge, the +mound, the water—everywhere a step forward has been taken. +The difference in a particular case may be minute; but it is there, +and together these faint indications show how closely spring is +approaching.</p> +<p>As the sun rises the chaffinch utters his bold challenge on the +tree; the notes are so rapid that they seem to come all at once. +Welcome, indeed, is the song of the first finch. Sparrows are busy +in the garden—the hens are by far the most numerous now, half +a dozen together perch on the bushes. One suddenly darts forth and +seizes a black insect as it flies in the sunshine. The bee, too, is +abroad, and once now and then a yellow butterfly. From the copse on +the warmer days comes occasionally the deep hollow bass of the wood +pigeon. On the very topmost branch of an elm a magpie has perched; +now he looks this way, and then turns that, bowing in the oddest +manner, and jerking his long tail up and down. Then two of them +flutter across the field—feebly, as if they had barely +strength to reach the trees in the opposite hedge. Extending their +wings they float slowly, and every now and then the body undulates +along its entire length. Rooks are building—they fly and feed +now in pairs; the rookery is alive with them. To the steeple the +jackdaws have returned and fly round and round; now one holds his +wings rigid and slides down at an angle of sixty degrees at a +breakneck pace, as if about to dash himself in fragments on the +garden beneath.</p> +<p>Sometimes there come a few days which are like summer. There is +an almost cloudless sky, a gentle warm breeze, and a bright sun +filling the fields with a glow of light. The air, though soft and +genial, is dry, and perhaps it is this quality which gives so +peculiar a definition to hedge, tree, and hill. A firm, almost +hard, outline brings copse and wood into clear relief; the distance +across the broadest fields appears sensibly diminished. Such +freedom from moisture has a deliciously exhilarating effect on +those who breathe so pure an atmosphere. The winds of March differ, +indeed, in a remarkable manner from, the gales of the early year, +which, even when they blow from a mild quarter, compel one to keep +in constant movement because of the aqueous vapour they carry. But +the true March wind, though too boisterous to be exactly genial, +causes a joyous sense of freshness, as if the very blood in the +veins were refined and quickened upon inhaling it. There is a +difference in its roar—the note is distinct from the harsh +sound of the chilly winter blast. On the lonely highway at night, +when other noises are silent, the March breeze rushes through the +tall elms in a wild cadence. The white clouds hasten over, +illuminated from behind by a moon approaching the full; every now +and then a break shows a clear blue sky and a star shining. Now a +loud roar resounds along the hedgerow like the deafening boom of +the surge; it moderates, dies away, then an elm close by bends and +sounds as the blast comes again. In another moment the note is +caught up and repeated by a distant tree, and so one after another +joins the song till the chorus reaches its highest pitch. Then it +sinks again, and so continues with pauses and deep inspirations, +for March is like a strong man drawing his breath full and long as +he starts to run a race.</p> +<p>The sky, too, like the earth, whose hedges, trees, and meadows +are acquiring fresher colours, has now a more lovely aspect. At +noon-day, if the clouds be absent, it is a rich azure; after sunset +a ruddy glow appears almost all round the horizon, while the +thrushes sing in the wood till the twilight declines. At night, +when the moon does not rise till late, the heavens are brilliant +with stars. In the east Arcturus is up; the Great Bear, the Lesser +Bear, and Cassiopeia are ranged about the Pole. Procyon goes before +the Dog; the noble constellation of Orion stretches broad across +the sky; almost overhead lucent Capella looks down. Aries droops +towards the west; the Bull follows with the red Aldebaran, and the +Pleiades. Behind these, Castor and Pollux, and next the cloudlike, +nebulous Cancer. Largest of all, great Sirius is flaming in the +south, quivering with the ebb and flow of his light, sometimes with +an emerald scintillation like a dewdrop on which a sunbeam +glances.</p> +<p>The busy summer, with its haymaking, reaping, and continuous +succession of harvest work, passes too swiftly for reflection both +for masters and men. But in the calm of autumn there is time again +to look round. Then white columns of smoke rise up slowly into the +tranquil atmosphere, till they overtop the tallest elms, and the +odour of the burning couch is carried across the meadows from the +lately-ploughed stubble, where the weeds have been collected in +heaps and fired. The stubble itself, short and in regular lines, +affords less and less cover every year. As the seed is now drilled +in, and the plants grow in mathematically straight lines, of course +when the crop is reaped, if you stand at one side of the field you +can see right across between the short stubbs, so that a mouse +could hardly find shelter. Then quickly come the noisy steam +ploughing engines, after them the couch collectors, and finally the +heaps are burnt, and the strong scent of smoke hangs over the +ground. Against these interruptions of their haunts and quiet ways +what are the partridges to do? Even at night the place is scarcely +their own, for every now and then as the breeze comes along, the +smouldering fires are fanned into bright flame, enough to alarm the +boldest bird.</p> +<p>In another broad arable field, where the teams have been +dragging the plough, but have only just opened a few furrows and +gone home, a flock of sheep are feeding, or rather picking up a +little, having been, turned in, that nothing might be lost. There +is a sense of quietness—of repose; the trees of the copse +close by are still, and the dying leaf as it drops falls straight +to the ground. A faint haze clings to the distant woods at the foot +of the hills; it is afternoon, the best part of an autumn day, and +sufficiently warm to make the stile a pleasant resting-place. A +dark cloud, whose edges rise curve upon curve, hangs in the sky, +fringed with bright white light, for the sun is behind it, and +long, narrow streamers of light radiate from the upper part like +the pointed rays of an antique crown. Across an interval of blue to +the eastward a second massive cloud, white and shining as if beaten +out of solid silver, fronts the sun, and reflects the beams passing +horizontally through the upper ether downwards on the earth like a +mirror.</p> +<p>The sparrows in the stubble rise in a flock and settle down +again. Yonder a solitary lark is singing. Then the sun emerges, and +the yellow autumn beams flood the pale stubble and the dark red +earth of the furrow. On the bushes in the hedge hang the vines of +the bryony, bearing thick masses of red berries. The hawthorn +leaves in places have turned pale, and are touched, too, towards +the stalk with a deep brown hue. The contrast of the two tints +causes an accidental colour resembling that of bronze, which +catches the eye at the first glance, but disappears on looking +closer. Spots of yellow on the elms seem the more brilliant from +the background of dull green. The drooping foliage of the birch +exhibits a paler yellow; the nut-tree bushes shed brown leaves upon +the ground. Perhaps the beech leaves are the most beautiful; two or +three tints are blended on the topmost boughs. There is a ruddy +orange hue, a tawny brown, and a bright green; the sunlight comes +and mingles these together. The same leaf will sometimes show two +at least of these colours—green shading into brown, or into a +ruddy gold. Later on, the oaks, in a monochrome of buff, will rival +the beeches. Now and then an acorn drops from the tree overhead, +with a smart tap on the hard earth, and rebounds some inches high. +Some of these that fall are already dark—almost +black—but if opened they will be found bored by a grub. They +are not yet ripe as a crop; the rooks are a good guide in that +respect, and they have not yet set steadily to work upon this their +favourite autumn food. Others that have fallen and been knocked out +of the cup are a light yellow at the base and green towards the +middle and the point; the yellow part is that which has been +covered by the cup. In the sward there is a small hole from out of +which creeps a wasp at intervals; it is a nest, and some few of +them are still at work. But their motions are slow and lack +vivacity; before long, numbers must die, and already many have +succumbed after crawling miserably on the ground which they spurned +a short while since, when with a brisk buzz they flew from apple to +plum.</p> +<p>In the quiet woodland lane a covey of partridges are running to +and fro on the short sward at the side, and near them two or three +pheasants are searching for food. The geometrical +spiders—some of them look almost as big as a nut—hang +their webs spun to a regular pattern on the bushes. The fungi +flourish; there is a huge specimen on the elm there, but the +flowers are nearly gone.</p> +<p>A few steps down the lane, upon looking over a gate into a large +arable field where the harrow has broken up the clods, a faint +bluish tinge may be noticed on the dull earth in the more distant +parts. A second glance shows that it is caused by a great flock of +woodpigeons. Some more come down out of the elms and join their +companions; there must be a hundred and fifty or two hundred of +them. The woodpigeon on the ground at a distance is difficult to +distinguish, or rather to define individually—the pale blue +tint seems to confuse the eye with a kind of haze. Though the flock +take little notice now—knowing themselves to be far out of +gunshot—yet they would be quickly on the alert if an attempt +were made to approach them.</p> +<p>Already some of the elms are becoming bare—there are gaps +in the foliage where the winds have carried away the leaves. On the +bramble bushes the blackberries cluster thickly, unseen and +ungathered in this wild spot. The happy hearts that go +a-blackberrying think little of the past: yet there is a deep, a +mournful significance attached to that joyous time. For how many +centuries have the blackberries tempted men, women, and children +out into the fields, laughing at scratched hands and nettles, and +clinging burrs, all merrily endured for the sake of so simple a +treasure-trove. Under the relics of the ancient pile-dwellings of +Switzerland, disinterred from the peat and other deposits, have +been found quantities of blackberry seeds, together with traces of +crabs and sloes; so that by the dwellers in those primeval villages +in the midst of the lakes the wild fruits of autumn were sought for +much as we seek them now; the old instincts are strong in us +still.</p> +<p>The fieldfares will soon be here now, and the redwings, coming +as they have done for generations about the time of the sowing of +the corn. Without an almanack they know the dates; so the old +sportsmen used to declare that their pointers and setters were +perfectly aware when September was approaching, and showed it by +unusual restlessness. By the brook the meadows are green and the +grass long still; the flags, too, are green, though numbers of dead +leaves float down on the current. There is green again where the +root crops are flourishing; but the brown tints are striving hard, +and must soon gain the mastery of colour. From the barn comes the +clatter of the winnowing machine, and the floor is covered with +heaps of grain.</p> +<p>After the sun has gone down and the shadows are deepening, it is +lighter in the open stubbles than in the enclosed meadows—the +short white stubbs seem to reflect what little light there is. The +partridges call to each other, and after each call run a few yards +swiftly, till they assemble at the well-known spot where they +roost. Then comes a hare stealing by without a sound. Suddenly he +perceives that he is watched, and goes off at a rapid pace, lost in +the brooding shadow across the field. Yonder a row of +conical-roofed wheat-ricks stand out boldly against the sky, and +above them a planet shines.</p> +<p>Still later, in November, the morning mist lingers over gorse +and heath, and on the upper surfaces of the long dank grass blades, +bowed by their own weight, are white beads of dew. Wherever the eye +seeks an object to dwell on, there the cloud-like mist seems to +thicken as though to hide it. The bushes and thickets are swathed +in the vapour; yonder, in the hollow, it clusters about the oaks +and hangs upon the hedge looming in the distance. There it no +sky—a motionless, colourless something spreads above; it is, +of course, the same mist, but looking upwards it apparently recedes +and becomes indefinite. The glance finds no point to rest +on—as on the edges of clouds—it is a mere opaque +expanse. But the air is dry, the moisture does not deposit itself, +it remains suspended, and waits but the wind to rise and depart. +The stillness is utter: not a bird calls or insect buzzes by. In +passing beneath the oaks the very leaves have forgotten to fall. +Only those already on the sward, touched by the frost, crumble +under the footstep. When green they would have yielded to the +weight, but now stiffened they resist it and are crushed, breaking +in pieces.</p> +<p>A creaking and metallic rattle, as of chains, comes across the +arable field—a steady gaze reveals the dim outline of a team +of horses slowly dragging the plough, their shapes indistinctly +seen against the hedge. A bent figure follows, and by-and-by +another distinct creak and rattle, and yet a third in another +direction, show that there are more teams at work, plodding to and +fro. Watching their shadowy forms, suddenly the eye catches a +change in the light somewhere. Over the meadow yonder the mist is +illuminated; it is not sunshine, but a white light, only visible by +contrast with the darker mist around. It lasts a few moments, and +then moves, and appears a second time by the copse. Though hidden +here, the disk of the sun must be partly visible there, and as the +white light does not remain long in one place, it is evident that +there is motion now in the vast mass of vapour. Looking upwards +there is the faintest suspicion of the palest blue, dull and dimmed +by mist, so faint that its position cannot be fixed, and the next +instant it is gone again.</p> +<p>But the teams at plough are growing momentarily distinct—a +breath of air touches the cheek, then a leaf breaks away from the +bough and starts forth as if bent on a journey, but loses the +impetus and sinks to the ground. Soon afterwards the beams of the +sun light up a distant oak that glows in the hedge—a rich +deep buff—and it stands out, clear, distinct, and beautiful, +the chosen and selected one, the first to receive the ray. Rapidly +the mist vanishes—disappearing rather than floating away; a +circle of blue sky opens overhead, and, finally, travelling slowly, +comes the sunshine over the furrows. There is a perceptible sense +of warmth—the colours that start into life add to the +feeling. The bare birch has no leaf to reflect it, but its white +bark shines, and beyond it two great elms, the one a pale green and +the other a pale yellow, stand side by side. The brake fern is dead +and withered; the tip of each frond curled over downwards by the +frost, but it forms a brown background to the dull green furze +which is alight here and there with scattered blossom, by contrast +so brilliantly yellow as to seem like flame. Polished holly leaves +glisten, and a bunch of tawny fungus rears itself above the +grass.</p> +<p>On the sheltered sunny bank lie the maple leaves fallen from the +bushes, which form a bulwark against the north wind; they have +simply dropped upon the ivy which almost covers the bank. Standing +here with the oaks overhead and the thick bushes on the northern +side it is quite warm and genial; so much so that if is hard to +realise that winter is at hand. But even in the shortest days, +could we only get rid of the clouds and wind, we should find the +sunshine sufficiently powerful to make the noontide pleasant. It is +not that the sun is weak or low down, nor because of the sharp +frosts, that winter with us is dreary and chill. The real cause is +the prevalence of cloud, through which only a dull light can +penetrate, and of moisture-laden winds.</p> +<p>If our winter sun had fair play we should find the climate very +different. Even as it is, now and then comes a break in the masses +of vapour streaming across the sky, and if you are only sheltered +from the wind (or stand at a southern window), the temperature +immediately rises. For this reason the temperatures registered by +thermometers are often far from being a correct record of the real +weather we have had. A bitter frost early in the morning sends the +mercury below zero, but perhaps, by eleven o'clock the day is warm, +the sky being clear and the wind still. The last register +instituted—that of the duration of sunshine, if taken in +connection with the state of the wind—is the best record of +the temperature that we have actually felt. These thoughts +naturally arise under the oaks here as the bright sunlight streams +down from a sky the more deeply blue from contrast with the brown, +and buff, and yellow leaves of the trees.</p> +<p>Hark! There comes a joyous music over the fields—first one +hound's, note, then two, then three, and then a chorus; they are +opening up a strong scent. It rises and falls—now it is +coming nearer, in a moment I shall see them break through the hedge +on the ridge—surely that was a shout! Just in the very moment +of expectation the loud tongues cease; I wait, listening +breathlessly, but presently a straggling cry or two shows that the +pack has turned and are spread wide trying to recover. By degrees +the sounds die away; and I stroll onwards.</p> +<p>A thick border of dark green firs bounds the copse—the +brown leaves that have fallen from the oaks have lodged on the +foliage of the firs and are there supported. In the sheltered +corner some of the bracken has partly escaped the frost, one frond +has two colours. On one side of the rib it is green and on the +other yellow. The grass is strewn with the leaves of the aspen, +which have turned quite black. Under the great elms there seems a +sudden increase of light—it is caused by the leaves which +still remain on the branches; they are all of the palest yellow, +and, as you pass under, give the impression of the tree having been +lit up—illuminated with its own colour. From the bushes hang +the red berries of the night shade, and the fruit on the briars +glistens in the sun. Inside the copse stand innumerable thistles +shoulder high, dead and gaunt; and a grey border running round the +field at the bottom of the hedge shows where the tall, strong weeds +of summer have withered up. A bird flutters round the topmost +boughs of the elm yonder and disappears with a flash of +blue—it is a jay. Here the grass of the meadow has an +undertone of grey; then an arable field succeeds, where six strong +horses are drawing the heavy drill, and great bags of the precious +seed are lying on the furrows.</p> +<p>Another meadow, where note a broken bough of elder, the leaves +on which have turned black, while still on its living branches they +are green, and then a clump of beeches. The trunks are full of +knot-holes, after a dead bough has fallen off and the stump has +rotted away, the bark curls over the orifice and seemingly heals +the wound more smoothly and completely than with other trees. But +the mischief is proceeding all the same, despite that flattering +appearance; outwardly the bark looks smooth and healthy, but probe +the hole and the rottenness is working inwards. A sudden gap in the +clump attracts the glance, and there—with one great beech +trunk on this side and another on that—is a view opening down +on the distant valley far below. The wood beneath looks dwarfed, +and the uneven tops of the trees, some green, some tinted, are +apparently so close together as to hide aught else, and the shadows +of the clouds move over it as over a sea. A haze upon the horizon +brings plain and sky together there; on one side, in the far +distance a huge block, a rude vastness stands out dusky and dimly +defined—it is a spur of the rolling hills.</p> +<p>Out in the plain, many a mile away, the sharp, needle-like point +of a steeple rises white above the trees, which there shade and +mingle into a dark mass—so brilliantly white as to seem +hardly real. Sweeping the view round, there is a strange and total +absence of houses or signs of habitation, other than the steeple, +and now that, too, is gone. It has utterly vanished—where, +but a few moments before it glowed with whiteness, is absolutely +nothing. The disappearance is almost weird in the broad daylight, +as if solid stone could sink into the earth. Searching for it +suddenly a village appears some way on the right—the white +walls stand out bright and clear, one of the houses is evidently of +large size, and placed on a slight elevation is a prominent object. +But as we look it fades, grows blurred and indistinct, and in +another moment is gone. The whole village has vanished—in its +place is nothing; so swift is the change that the mind scarcely +credits the senses.</p> +<p>A deep shadow creeping towards us explains it. Where the +sunlight falls, there steeple or house glows and shines; when it +has passed, the haze that is really there, though itself invisible, +instantly blots out the picture. The thing may be seen over and +over again in the course of a few minutes; it would be difficult +for an artist to catch so fleeting an effect. The shadow of the +cloud is not black—it lacks several shades of +that—there is in it a faint and yet decided tint of blue. +This tone of blue is not the same everywhere—here it is +almost distinct, there it fades; it is an aerial colour which +rather hints itself than shows. Commencing the descent the view is +at once lost, but we pass a beech whose beauty is not easily +conveyed. The winds have scarcely rifled it; being in a sheltered +spot on the slope, the leaves are nearly perfect. All those on the +outer boughs are a rich brown—some, perhaps, almost orange. +But there is an inner mass of branches of lesser size which droop +downwards, something after the manner of a weeping willow; and the +leaves on these are still green and show through. Upon the whole +tree a flood of sunshine pours, and over it is the azure sky. The +mingling, shading, and contrast of these colours give a lovely +result—the tree is aglow, its foliage ripe with colour.</p> +<p>Farther down comes the steady sound of deliberate blows, and the +upper branches of the hedge falls beneath the steel. A sturdy +labourer, with a bill on a pole, strikes slow and strong and cuts +down the hedge to an even height. A dreadful weapon that simple +tool must have been in the old days before the advent of the +arquebus. For with the exception of the spike, which is not needed +for hedge work, it is almost an exact copy of the brown bill of +ancient warfare; it is brown still, except where sharpened. Wielded +by a sinewy arm, what, gaping gashes it must have slit through helm +and mail and severed bone! Watch the man there—he slices off +the tough thorn as though it were straw. He notes not the beauty of +the beech above him, nor the sun, nor the sky; but on the other +hand, when the sky is hidden, the sun gone, and the beautiful beech +torn by the raving winds neither does he heed that. Rain and +tempest affect him not; the glaring heat of summer, the bitter +frost of winter are alike to him. He is built up like an oak. +Believe it, the man that from his boyhood has stood ankle-deep in +the chill water of the ditch, patiently labouring with axe and +bill; who has trudged across the furrow, hand on plough, facing +sleet and mist; who has swung the sickle under the summer +sun—this is the man for the trenches. This is the man whom +neither the snows of the North nor the sun of the South can +vanquish; who will dig and delve, and carry traverse and covered +way forward in the face of the fortress, who will lie on the bare +ground in the night. For they who go up to battle must fight the +hard earth and the tempest, as well as face bayonet and ball. As of +yore with the brown bill, so now with the rifle—the muscles +that have been trained about the hedges and fields will not fail +England in the hour of danger.</p> +<p>Hark!—a distant whoop—another, a blast of a horn, +and then a burst of chiding that makes the woods ring. Down drops +the bill, and together, heedless of any social difference in the +common joy, we scramble to the highest mound, and see the pack +sweep in full cry across the furrows. Crash—it is the bushes +breaking, as the first foam-flecked, wearied horse hardly rises to +his leap, and yet crushes safely through, opening a way, which is +quickly widened by the straggling troop behind. Ha! down the lane +from the hill dashes another squadron that has eroded the chord of +the arc and comes in fresher. Ay, and a third is entering at the +bottom there, one by one, over the brook. Woods, field, and paths, +but just before an empty solitude, are alive with men and horses. +Up yonder, along the ridge, gallops another troop in single file, +well defined against the sky, going parallel to the hounds. What a +view they must have of the scene below! Two ladies who ride up with +torn skirts cannot lift their panting horses at the double mound. +Well, let us defy 'wilful damage' for once. The gate, jealously +padlocked, is swiftly hoisted off its hinges, and away they go with +hearty thanks. We slip the gate on again just as some one hails to +us across the field to wait a minute, but seeing it is only a man +we calmly replace the timber and let him take his chance. He is +excited, but we smile stolidly. In another minute the wave of life +is gone; it has swept over and disappeared as swiftly as it came. +The wood, the field, and lane seem painfully—positively +painfully—empty. Slowly the hedger and ditcher goes back to +his work, where in the shade under the bushes even now the dew +lingers.</p> +<p>So there are days to be enjoyed out of doors even in much-abused +November. And when the wind rises and the storm is near, if you get +under the lee of a good thick copse there is a wild pleasure in the +frenzy that passes over. With a rush the leaves stream outwards, +thickening the air, whirling round and round; the tree-tops bend +and sigh, the blast strikes them, and in an instant they are +stripped and bare. A spectral rustling, as the darkness falls and +the black cloud approaches, is the fallen leaves in the copse, +lifted up from their repose and dashed against the underwood. Then +a howl of wrath descends and fills the sense of hearing, so that +for the moment it is hard to tell what is happening. A rushing hiss +follows, and the rain hurtles through the branches, driving so +horizontally as to pass overhead. The sheltering thorn-thicket +stirs, and a long, deep, moaning roar rises from the fir-trees. +Another howl that seems to stun—to so fill the ears with +sound that they cannot hear—the aerial host charges the +tree-ranks, and the shock makes them tremble to the root. Still +another and another; twigs and broken boughs fly before it and +strew the sward; larger branches that have long been dead fall +crashing downwards; leaves are forced right through the +thorn-thicket, and strike against the face. Fortunately, so fierce +a fury cannot last; presently the billows of wind that strike the +wood come at longer intervals and with less vigour; then the rain +increases, and yet a little while and the storm has swept on. The +very fury—the utter <i>abandon</i>—of its rage is its +charm; the spirit rises to meet it, and revels in the roar and +buffeting. By-and-by they who have faced it have their reward. The +wind sinks, the rain ceases, a pale blue sky shows above, and then +yonder appears a majesty of cloud—a Himalaya of vapour. Crag +on crag rises the vast pile—such jagged and pointed rocks as +never man found on earth, or, if he found, could climb—topped +with a peak that towers to the heavens, and leans—visibly +leans—and threatens to fall and overwhelm the weak world at +its feet. A gleam as of snow glitters on the upper rocks, the +passes are gloomy and dark, the faces of the precipice are lit up +with a golden gleam from the rapidly-sinking sun. So the magic +structure stands and sees the great round disk go down. The night +gathers around those giant mounts and dark space receives them.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap21" id="chap21">CHAPTER XXI</a></h3> +<h3>A WINTER'S MORNING</h3> +The pale beams of the waning moon still cast a shadow of the +cottage, when the labourer rises from his heavy sleep on a winter's +morning. Often he huddles on his things and slips his feet into his +thick 'water-tights'—which are stiff and hard, having been +wet over night—by no other light than this. If the household +is comparatively well managed, however, he strikes a match, and his +'dip' shows at the window. But he generally prefers to save a +candle, and clatters down the narrow steep stairs in the +semi-darkness, takes a piece of bread and cheese, and steps forth +into the sharp air. The cabbages in the garden he notes are covered +with white frost, so is the grass in the fields, and the footpath +is hard under foot. In the furrows is a little ice—white +because the water has shrunk from beneath it, leaving it +hollow—and on the stile is a crust of rime, cold to the +touch, which he brushes off in getting over. Overhead the sky is +clear—cloudless but pale—and the stars, though not yet +fading, have lost the brilliant glitter of midnight. Then, in all +their glory, the idea of their globular shape is easily accepted; +but in the morning, just as the dawn is breaking, the absence of +glitter comes the impression of flatness—circular rather than +globular. But yonder, over the elms, above the cowpens, the great +morning star has risen, shining far brighter, in proportion, than +the moon; an intensely clear metallic light—like incandescent +silver. +<p>The shadows of the trees on the frosted ground are dull. As the +footpath winds by the hedge the noise of his footstep startles the +blackbird roosting in the bushes, and he bustles out and flies +across the field. There is more rime on the posts and rails around +the rickyard, and the thatch on the haystack is white with it in +places. He draws out the broad hay-knife—a vast blade, wide +at the handle, the edge gradually curving to a point—and then +searches for the rubber or whetstone, stuck somewhere in the side +of the rick. At the first sound of the stone upon the steel the +cattle in the adjoining yard and sheds utter a few low 'moos,' and +there is a stir among them. Mounting the ladder he forces the knife +with both hands into the hay, making a square cut which bends +outwards, opening from the main mass till it appears on the point +of parting and letting him fall with it to the ground. But long +practice has taught him how to balance himself half on the ladder, +half on the hay. Presently, with a truss unbound and loose on his +head, he enters the yard, and passes from crib to crib, leaving a +little here and a little there, for if he fills one first, there +will be quarrelling among the cows, and besides, if the crib is too +liberally filled, they will pull it out and tread it under foot. +The cattle that are in the sheds fattening for Christmas have cake +as well, and this must be supplied in just proportion.</p> +<p>The hour of milking, which used to be pretty general everywhere, +varies now in different places, to suit the necessities of the milk +trade. The milk has, perhaps, to travel three or four miles to the +railway station; near great towns, where some of the farmers +deliver milk themselves from house to house, the cows are milked +soon after noonday. What would their grandfathers have said to +that? But where the old customs have not much altered, the milker +sits down in the morning to his cow with the stars still visible +overhead, punching his hat well into her side—a hat well +battered and thickly coated with grease, for the skin of the cow +exudes an unctuous substance. This hat he keeps for the purpose. A +couple of milking pails—they are of large size—form a +heavy load when filled. The milker, as he walks back to the +farmhouse, bends his head under the yoke—whence so many men +are round-shouldered—and steps slowly with a peculiar swaying +motion of the body, which slight swing prevents it from +spilling.</p> +<p>Another man who has to be up while the moon casts a shadow is +the carter, who must begin to feed his team very early in order to +get them to eat sufficient. If the manger be over-filled they spill +and waste it, and at the same time will not eat so much. This is +tedious work. Then the lads come and polish up the harness, and so +soon as it is well light get out to plough. The custom with the +horses is to begin to work as early as possible, but to strike off +in the afternoon some time before the other men, the lads riding +home astride. The strength of the carthorse has to be husbanded +carefully, and the labour performed must be adjusted to it and to +the food, i.e. fuel, consumed. To manage a large team of horses, so +as to keep them in good condition, with glossy coats and willing +step, and yet to get the maximum of work out of them, requires long +experience and constant attention. The carter, therefore, is a man +of much importance on a farm. If he is up to his duties he is a +most valuable servant; if he neglects them he is a costly nuisance, +not so much from his pay, but because of the hindrance and +disorganisation of the whole farm-work which such neglect +entails.</p> +<p>Foggers and milkers, if their cottages are near at hand, having +finished the first part of the day's work, can often go back home +to breakfast, and, if they have a good woman in the cottage, find a +fire and hot tea ready. The carter can rarely leave his horses for +that, and, therefore, eats his breakfast in the stable; but then he +has the advantage that up to the time of starting forth he is under +cover. The fogger and milker, on the other hand, are often exposed +to the most violent tempests. A gale of wind, accompanied with +heavy rain, often readies its climax just about the dawn. They find +the soil saturated, and the step sinks into it—the furrows +are full of water; the cow-yard, though drained, is a pool, no +drain being capable of carrying it off quick enough. The thatch of +the sheds drips continually; the haystack drips; the thatch of the +stack, which has to be pulled off before the hay-knife can be used, +is wet; the old decaying wood of the rails and gates is wet. They +sit on the three-legged milking-stool (whose rude workmanship has +taken a dull polish from use) in a puddle; the hair of the cow, +against which the head is placed, is wet; the wind blows the rain +into the nape of the neck behind, the position being stooping. +Staggering under the heavy yoke homewards, the boots sink deep into +the slush and mire in the gateways, the weight carried sinking them +well in. The teams do not usually work in very wet weather, and +most of the out-door work waits; but the cattle must be attended +to, Sundays and holidays included. Even in summer it often happens +that a thunderstorm bursts about that time of the morning. But in +winter, when the rain is driven by a furious wind, when the lantern +is blown out, and the fogger stumbles in pitchy darkness through +mud and water, it would be difficult to imagine a condition of +things which concentrates more discomfort.</p> +<p>If, as often happens, the man is far from home—perhaps he +has walked a mile or two to work—of course he cannot change +his clothes, or get near a fire, unless in the farmer's kitchen. In +some places the kitchen is open to the men, and on Sundays, at all +events, they get a breakfast free. But the kindly old habits are +dying out before the hard-and-fast money system and the abiding +effects of Unionism, which, even when not prominently displayed, +causes a silent, sullen estrangement.</p> +<p>Shepherds, too, sometimes visit the fold very early in the +morning, and in the lambing season may be said to be about both day +and night. They come, however, under a different category to the +rest of the men, because they have no regular hours, but are guided +solely by the season and the work. A shepherd often takes his ease +when other men are busily labouring. On the other hand, he is +frequently anxiously engaged when they are sleeping. His sheep rule +his life, and he has little to do with the artificial divisions of +time.</p> +<p>Hedgers and ditchers often work by the piece, and so take their +own time for meals; the ash woods, which are cut in the winter, are +also usually thrown by the piece. Hedging and ditching, if done +properly, is hard work, especially if there is any grubbing. Though +the arms get warm from swinging the grub-axe or billhook, or +cleaning out the ditch and plastering and smoothing the side of the +mound with the spade, yet feet and ankles are chilled by the water +in the ditch. This is often dammed up and so kept back partially, +but it generally forces its way through. The ditcher has a board to +stand on; there is a hole through it, and a projecting stick +attached, with which to drag it into position. But the soft soil +allows the board to sink, and he often throws it aside as more +encumbrance than use. He has some small perquisites: he is allowed +to carry home a bundle of wood or a log every night, and may gather +up the remnants after the faggoting is finished. On the other hand, +he cannot work in bad weather.</p> +<p>Other men come to the farm buildings to commence work about the +time the carter has got his horses fed, groomed, and harnessed, and +after the fogger and milker have completed their early duties. If +it is a frosty morning and the ground firm, so as to bear up a cart +without poaching the soil too much, the manure is carried out into +the fields. This is plain, straightforward labour, and cannot be +looked upon as hard work. If the cattle want no further attention, +the foggers and milkers turn their hands after breakfast to +whatever may be going on. Some considerable time is taken up in +slicing roots with the machine, or chaff-cutting—monotonous +work of a simple character, and chiefly consisting in turning a +handle.</p> +<p>The general hands—those who come on when the carter is +ready, and who are usually young men, not yet settled down to any +particular branch—seem to get the best end of the stick. They +do not begin so early in the morning by some time as the fogger, +milker, carter, or shepherd; consequently, if the cottage +arrangements are tolerable, they can get a comfortable breakfast +first. They have no anxieties or trouble whatever; the work may be +hard in itself, but there is no particular hurry (in their +estimation) and they do not distress themselves. They receive +nearly the same wages as the others who have the care of valuable +flocks, herds, and horses; the difference is but a shilling or two, +and, to make up for that, they do not work on Sundays. Now, the +fogger must feed his cows, the carter his horse, the shepherd look +to his sheep every day; consequently their extra wages are +thoroughly well earned. The young labourer—who is simply a +labourer, and professes no special branch—is, therefore, in a +certain sense, the best off. He is rarely hired by the +year—he prefers to be free, so that when harvest comes he may +go where wages chance to be highest. He is an independent person, +and full of youth, strength, and with little experience of life, is +apt to be rough in his manners and not overcivil. His wages too +often go in liquor, but if such a young man keeps steady (and there +are a few that do keep steady) he does very well indeed, having no +family to maintain.</p> +<p>A set of men who work very hard are those who go with the +steam-ploughing tackle. Their pay is so arranged as to depend in a +measure on the number of acres they plough. They get the steam up +as early as possible in the morning, and continue as late as they +can at night. Just after the harvest, when the days are long, and, +indeed, it is still summer, they work for extremely long hours. +Their great difficulty lies in getting water. This must be +continually fetched in carts, and, of course, requires a horse and +man. These are not always forthcoming in the early morning, but +they begin as soon as they can get water for the boiler, and do not +stop till the field be finished or it is dark.</p> +<p>The women do not find much work in the fields during the winter. +Now and then comes a day's employment with the threshing-machine +when the farmer wants a rick of corn threshed out. In pasture or +dairy districts some of them go out into the meadows and spread the +manure. They wear gaiters, and sometimes a kind of hood for the +head. If done carefully, it is hard work for the +arms—knocking the manure into small pieces by striking it +with a fork swung to and fro smartly.</p> +<p>In the spring, when the great heaps of roots are +opened—having been protected all the winter by a layer of +straw and earth—it is necessary to trim them before they are +used. This is often done by a woman. She has a stool or log of wood +to sit on, and arranges a couple of sacks or something of the kind, +so as to form a screen and keep off the bitter winds which are then +so common—colder than those of the winter proper. With a +screen one side, the heap of roots the other, and the hedge on the +third, she is in some sense sheltered, and, taking her food with +her, may stay there the whole day long, quite alone in the solitude +of the broad, open, arable fields.</p> +<p>From a variety of causes, the number of women working in the +fields is much less than was formerly the case; thus presenting +precisely the reverse state of things to that complained of in +towns, where the clerks, &c., say that they are undersold by +female labour. The contrast is rather curious. The price of women's +labour has, too, risen; and there does not appear to be any +repugnance on their part to field-work. Whether the conclusion is +to be accepted that there has been a diminution in the actual +number of women living in rural places, it is impossible to decide +with any accuracy. But there are signs that female labour has +drifted to the towns quite as much as male—especially the +younger girls. In some places it seems rare to see a young girl +working in the field (meaning in winter)—those that are to be +found are generally women well advanced in life. Spring and summer +work brings forth more, but not nearly so many as used to be the +case.</p> +<p>Although the work of the farm begins so soon in the morning, it +is, on the other hand, in the cold months, over early. 'The night +cometh when no man can work' was, one would think, originally meant +in reference to agricultural labour. It grows dusk before half-past +four on a dull winter's day, and by five is almost, if not quite, +dark. Lanterns may be moving in the cowyards and stables; but +elsewhere all is quiet—the hedger and ditcher cannot see to +strike his blow, the ploughs have ceased to move for some time, the +labourer's workshop—the field—is not lighted by gas as +the rooms of cities.</p> +<p>The shortness of the winter day is one of the primary reasons +why, in accordance with ancient custom, wages are lowered at that +time. In summer, on the contrary, the hours are long, and the pay +high—which more than makes up for the winter reduction. A +labourer who has any prudence can, in fact, do very well by putting +by a portion of his extra summer wages for the winter; if he does +not choose to exercise common sense, he cannot expect the farmer +(or any manufacturer) to pay the same price for a little work and +short time as for much work and long hours. Reviewing the work the +labourer actually does in winter, it seems fair and just to state +that the foggers, or milkers, i.e. the men who attend on cattle, +the carters, and the shepherds, work hard, continuously, and often +in the face of the most inclement weather. The mere labourers, who, +as previously remarked, are usually younger and single men, do not +work so hard, nor so long. And when they are at it—whether +turning the handle of a winnowing machine in a barn, cutting a +hedge, spreading manure, or digging—it must be said that they +do not put the energy into it of which their brawny arms are +capable.</p> +<p>'The least work and the most money,' however, is a maxim not +confined to the agricultural labourer. Recently I had occasion to +pass through a busy London street in the West-end where the macadam +of the roadway was being picked up by some score of men, and, being +full of the subject of labour, I watched the process. Using the +right hand as a fulcrum and keeping it stationary, each navvy +slowly lifted his pick with the left half-way up, about on a level +with his waistcoat, when the point of the pick was barely two feet +above the ground. He then let it fall—simply by its own +weight—producing a tiny indentation such as might be caused +by the kick of one's heel It required about three such strokes, if +they could so called strokes, to detach one single small stone. +After that exhausting labor the man stood at ease for a few +minutes, so that there were often three or four at once staring +about them, while several others lounged against the wooden railing +placed to keep vehicles back.</p> +<p>A more irritating spectacle it would be hard to imagine. Idle as +much agricultural labour is, it is rarely so lazy as that. How +contractors get their work done, if that is a sample, it is a +puzzle to understand. The complaint of the poor character of the +work performed by the agricultural labourer seems also true of other +departments, where labour—pure and simple labour of thews and +sinews—is concerned. The rich city merchant, who goes to his +office daily, positively works harder, in spite of all his money. +So do the shopmen and assistants behind their counters; so do the +girls in drapers' shops, standing the whole day and far into the +evening when, as just observed, the fields have been dark for +hours; so, indeed, do most men and women who earn their bread by +any other means than mere bodily strength.</p> +<p>But the cattle-men, carters, and shepherds, men with families +and settled, often seem to take an interest in their charges, in +the cows, horses, or sheep; some of them are really industrious, +deserving men. The worst feature of unionism is the lumping of all +together, for where one man is hardly worth his salt, another is a +good workman. It is strange that such men as this should choose to +throw in their lot with so many who are idle—whom they must +know to be idle—thus jeopardising their own position for the +sake of those who are not worth one-fifth the sacrifice the +agricultural cottager must be called upon to make in a strike. The +hard-working carter or cattle-man, according to the union theory, +is to lose his pay, his cottage, his garden, and get into bad odour +with his employer, who previously trusted him, and was willing to +give him assistance, in order that the day labourer who has no +responsibilities either of his own or his master's, and who has +already the best end of the stick, should enjoy still further +opportunities for idleness.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap22" id="chap22">CHAPTER XXII</a></h3> +<h3>THE LABOURER'S CHILDREN. COTTAGE GIRLS</h3> +In the coldest weather one or more of the labourer's children are +sure to be found in the farmyard somewhere. After the mother has +dressed her boy (who may be about three or four years old) in the +morning, he is at once turned out of doors to take care of himself, +and if, as is often the case, the cottage is within a short +distance of the farmyard, thither he toddles directly. He stands +about the stable door, watching the harnessing of the great +carthorses, which are, from the very first, the object of his +intense admiration. But he has already learnt to keep out of the +way, knowing that his presence would not otherwise be tolerated a +moment, and occupies a position which enables him to dart quickly +behind a tree, or a rick. +<p>When the horses are gone he visits the outhouse, where the +steam-engine is driving the chaff-cutter, or peers in at the huge +doors of the barn, where with wide wooden shovel the grain is being +moved. Or he may be met with round the hay-ricks, dragging a log of +wood by a piece of tar cord, the log representing a plough. As you +come upon him suddenly he draws up to the rick as if the hay was +his natural protector, and looks up at you with half-frightened, +half-curious gaze, and mouth open. His hat is an old one of his +father's, a mile too big, coming down over his ears to his +shoulders, well greased from ancient use—a thing not without +its advantage, since it makes it impervious to rain. He wears what +was a white jacket, but is now the colour of the prevailing soil of +the place; a belt; and a pair of stumping boots, the very picture +in miniature of his father's, heeled and tipped with iron. His +naked legs are red with the cold, but thick and strong; his cheeks +are plump and firm, his round blue eyes bright, his hair almost +white, like bleached straw.</p> +<p>An hour or two ago his skin was clean enough, for he was sent +out well washed, but it is now pretty well grimed, for he has been +making himself happy in the dirt, as a boy should do if he be a +boy. For one thing it is clean dirt, nothing but pure mother earth, +and not the nasty unctuous filth of city courts and back lanes. If +you speak to him he answers you sturdily—if you can catch the +meaning of his words, doubly difficult from accent and imperfect +knowledge of construction. But he means well, and if you send him +on an errand will run off to find 'measter' as fast as his short +stature will allow. He will potter about the farmyard the whole +morning, perhaps turning up at home for a lunch of a slice of bread +well larded. His little sister, not so old as himself, is there, +already beginning her education in the cares of maternity, looking +after the helpless baby that crawls over the wooden threshold of +the door with bare head, despite the bitter cold. Once during the +day he may perhaps steal round the farmhouse, and peer wistfully +from behind the tubs or buckets into the kitchen, when, if the +mistress chances to be about, he is pretty certain to pick up some +trifle in the edible line.</p> +<p>How those prosperous parents who dwell in highly-rented suburban +villas, and send out their children for a walk with a couple of +nurses, and a 'bow-wow' to run beside the perambulator, would be +eaten up with anxiety did their well-dressed boys or girls play +where this young son of toil finds his amusement! Under the very +hoofs of the carthorses—he will go out to them when they are +loose in the field, three or four in a group, under a tree, when it +looks as if the slightest movement on their part must crush him; +down to the side of the deep broad brook to swim sticks in it for +boats, where a slip on the treacherous mud would plunge him in, and +where the chance of rescue—everybody being half a mile away +at work—would be absolutely <i>nil</i>. The cows come +trampling through the yard; the bull bellows in the meadow; great, +grunting sows, savage when they have young, go by, thrusting their +noses into and turning up the earth for food; steam ploughing +engines pant and rumble about; carts are continually coming and +going; and he is all day in the midst of it without guardian of any +kind whatsoever. The fog, and frost, and cutting winter winds make +him snivel and cry with the cold, and yet there he is out in +it—in the draughts that blow round the ricks, and through the +hedge bare of leaves. The rain rushes down pitilessly—he +creeps inside the barn or shed, and with a stick splashes the +puddles. The long glaring days of summer see him exposed to the +scorching heat in the hay, or the still hotter harvest field. +Through it all he grows stout and strong, and seems happy +enough.</p> +<p>He is, perhaps, more fortunate than his sister, who has to take +part in the household work from very early age. But the village +school claims them both after awhile; and the greater number of +such schools are well filled, taking into consideration the long +distances the children have to come and the frequent bad state of +the roads and lanes. Both the employers and the children's own +parents get them to school as much as possible; the former put on a +mild compulsion, the latter for the most part are really anxious +for the schooling, and have even an exaggerated idea of the value +of education. In some cases it would seem as if the parents +actually educated themselves in some degree from their own +children, questioning them as to what they have been told. But, on +the other hand, the labourer objects to paying for the teaching, +and thinks the few coppers he is charged a terrible extortion.</p> +<p>The lads, as they grow older and leave school, can almost always +find immediate employment with their father on the same farm, or on +one close by. Though they do not now go out to work so soon, yet, +on the other hand, when they do commence they receive higher weekly +wages. The price paid for boys' labour now is such that it becomes +a very important addition to the aggregate income of the cottager. +When a man has got a couple of boys out, bringing home so much per +week, his own money, of course, goes very much farther.</p> +<p>The girls go less and less into the field. If at home, they +assist their parents at harvest time when work is done by the acre, +and the more a man can cut the better he is off; but their aim is +domestic service, and they prefer to be engaged in the towns. They +shirk the work of a farmhouse, especially if it is a dairy, and so +it has come to be quite a complaint among farmers' wives, in many +places, that servants are not to be obtained. Those that are +available are mere children, whose mothers like them to go out +anywhere at first, just to obtain an insight into the duties of a +servant. The farmer's wife has the trouble and annoyance of +teaching these girls the rudiments of household work, and then, the +moment they are beginning to be useful, they leave, and almost +invariably go to the towns. Those that remain are the slow-witted, +or those who are tied in a measure by family difficulties—as +a bedridden mother to attend to; or, perhaps, an illegitimate child +of her own may fetter the cottage girl. Then she goes out in the +daytime to work at the farmhouse, and returns to sleep at home.</p> +<p>Cottage girls have taken to themselves no small airs of recent +years—they dress, so far as their means will go, as flashily +as servants in cities, and stand upon their dignity. This +foolishness has, perhaps, one good effect—it tends to +diminish the illegitimate births. The girls are learning more +self-respect—if they could only achieve that and eschew the +other follies it would be a clear gain. It may be questioned +whether purely agricultural marriages are as common as formerly. +The girl who leaves her home for service in the towns sees a class +of men—grooms, footmen, artisans, and workmen +generally—not only receiving higher wages than the labourers +in her native parish, but possessing a certain amount of +comparative refinement. It is not surprising that she prefers, if +possible, to marry among these.</p> +<p>On the other hand, the young labourer, who knows that he can get +good wages wherever he likes to go, has become somewhat of a +wanderer. He roams about, not only from village to village, but +from county to county; perhaps works for a time as a navvy on some +distant railway, and thus associates with a different class of men, +and picks up a sort of coarse cynicism. He does not care to marry +and settle and tie himself down to a routine of labour—he +despises home pleasures, preferring to spend his entire earnings +upon himself. The roaming habits of the rising generation of +labourers is an important consideration, and it has an effect in +many ways. Statistics are not available; but the impression left on +the mind is that purely rural marriages are not so frequent, +notwithstanding that wages at large have risen. When a young man +does marry, he and his wife not uncommonly live for a length of +time with his parents, occupying a part of the cottage.</p> +<p>Had any one gone into a cottage some few years back and inquired +about the family, most probably the head of the house could have +pointed out all his sons and daughters engaged in or near the +parish. Most likely his own father was at work almost within hail. +Uncles, cousins, various relations, were all near by. He could tell +where everybody was. To-day if a similar inquiry wore made, the +answer would often be very different. The old people might be about +still, but the younger would be found scattered over the earth. +One, perhaps, went to the United States or Canada in the height of +the labourers' agitation some years ago, when agents were busy +enlisting recruits for the Far West. Since then another has +departed for Australia, taking with him his wife. Others have +migrated northwards, or to some other point of the +compass—they are still in the old country, but the exact +whereabouts is not known. The girls are in service a hundred miles +away—some married in the manufacturing districts. To the +middle-aged, steady, stay-at-home labourer, the place does not seem +a bit like it used to. Even the young boys are restless, and +talking of going somewhere. This may not be the case with every +single individual cottage family, but it is so with a great number. +The stolid phalanx of agricultural labour is slowly +disintegrating.</p> +<p>If there yet remains anything idyllic in the surroundings of +rural cottage life, it may be found where the unmarried but +grown-up sons—supposing these, of course, to be +steady—remain at home with their parents. The father and head +of the house, having been employed upon one farm for the last +thirty years or more, though nominally carter, is really a kind of +bailiff. The two young men work on at the same place, and lodge at +home, paying a small weekly sum for board and lodging. Their sister +is probably away in service; their mother manages the cottage. She +occasionally bears a hand in indoor work at the farmhouse, and in +the harvest time aids a little in the field, but otherwise does not +labour. What is the result? Plenty to eat, good beds, fairly good +furniture, sufficient fuel, and some provision for contingencies, +through the benefit club. As the wages are not consumed in drink, +they have always a little ready money, and, in short, are as +independent as it is possible for working men to be, especially if, +as is often the case, the cottage and garden is their own, or is +held on a small quit-rent. If either of the sons in time desires to +marry, he does not start utterly unprovided. His father's influence +with the farmer is pretty sure to procure him a cottage; he has +some small savings himself, and his parents in the course of years +have accumulated some extra furniture, which is given to him.</p> +<p>If a cottage, where the occupants are steady like this, be +visited in the evening, say towards seven o'clock, when dinner is +on the table (labourers dining or supping after the conclusion of +the day's work), the fare will often be found of a substantial +character. There may be a piece of mutton—not, of course, the +prime cut, but wholesome meat—cabbages, parsnips, carrots +(labourers like a profusion of vegetables), all laid out in a +decent manner. The food is plain, but solid and plentiful. If the +sister out in service wishes to change her situation, she has a +home to go to meanwhile. Should any dispute occur with the employer +the cottage is still there, and affords a shelter till the +difficulty is settled or other work obtained. In towns the workman +who has been earning six or even ten shillings a day, and paying a +high rent (carefully collected every week), no sooner gets his +discharge than he receives notice to quit his lodgings, because the +owner knows he will not be paid. But when the agricultural labourer +has a quit-rent cottage, or one of his own, he has a permanent +resource, and can look round for another engagement.</p> +<p>The cooking in the best cottages would not commend itself to the +student of that art: in those where the woman is shiftless it would +be deemed simply intolerable. Evidence of this is only too apparent +on approaching cottages, especially towards the evening. Coming +from the fresh air of the fields, perhaps from the sweet scent of +clover or of new-mown grass, the odour which arises from the +cottages is peculiarly offensive. It is not that they are dirty +inside—the floor may be scrubbed, the walls brushed, the +chairs clean, and the beds tidy; it is from outside that all the +noisome exhalations taint the breeze. The refuse vegetables, the +washings, the liquid and solid rubbish generally is cast out into +the ditch, often open to the highway road, and there festers till +the first storm sweeps it away. The cleanest woman indoors thinks +nothing disgusting out of doors, and hardly goes a step from her +threshold to cast away indescribable filth. Now, a good deal of +this refuse is the remains of imperfect cooking—masses of +soddened cabbage, part of which only is eaten, and the rest stored +for the pig or thrown into the ditch. The place smells of soaking, +saturated cabbage for yards and yards round about.</p> +<p>But it is much easier to condemn the cottage cook than to show +her how to do better. It is even doubtful whether professed +scientific cooks could tell her what to do. The difficulty arises +from the rough, coarse taste of the labourer, and the fact, which +it is useless to ignore, that he must have something solid, and +indeed, bulky. Thin clear soups—though proved to abound with +nourishment and of delicious flavour—are utterly beside his +wants. Give him the finest soup; give him +<i>pâtés</i>, or even more meaty +<i>entrées</i>, and his remark will be that it is very nice, +but he wants 'summat to eat.' His teeth are large, his jaws strong, +his digestive powers such as would astonish a city man; he likes +solid food, bacon, butcher's meat, cheese, or something that gives +him a sense of fulness, like a mass of vegetables. This is the +natural result of his training and work in the fields. The +materials used by the cottage cook are often quite capable of being +made into agreeable dishes, but then those dishes would not suit +the man. All the soups and kickshaws—though excellent in +themselves—in the world are not, for his purpose, equal to a +round of beef or a side of bacon. Let any one go and labour daily +in the field, and they will come quickly to the same opinion. Yet +something might certainly be done in the way of preventing waste. +The real secret lies in the education of the women when +young—that is, for the future. But, taking the present day, +looking at things as they actually exist, it is no use abusing or +lecturing the cottage cook. She might, perhaps, be persuaded to +adopt a systematic plan of disposing of the refuse.</p> +<p>The Saturday half-holiday is scarcely so closely observed in +rural labour as in urban. The work closes earlier, that is, so far +as the day labourer is concerned, for he gets the best of this as +of other things. But, half-holiday or not, cows have to be fed and +milked, sheep must be looked after, and the stable attended to, so +that the regular men do not get off much sooner. In winter, the +days being short, they get little advantage from the short time; in +summer they do. Compensation is, however, as much as possible +afforded to the settled men who have gardens, by giving them a +half-day now and then when work is slack to attend to them.</p> +<p>On Sunday morning the labourer cleans and polishes his boots +(after digging the potatoes for dinner), puts on a black or dark +coat, put his hands in his pockets—a marked feature +this—and rambles down to his garden or the allotment. There, +if it be spring or summer, he is sure to find some acquaintances +likewise 'looking round.' This seems to be one of the greatest +pleasures of the labourer, noting the growth of a cabbage here, and +the promise of potatoes yonder; he does not work, but strolls to +and fro, discussing the vegetable prospect. Then back home in time +for dinner—the great event of Sunday, being often the only +day in the week that he can get a hot dinner in the middle of the +day. It is his day at home, and though he may ramble out he never +goes far.</p> +<p>Ladies residing in the country are accustomed to receive +periodical appeals from friends in town asking their assistance in +procuring servants. So frequent are such appeals that there would +seem to be a popular belief that the supply is inexhaustible. The +villages are supposed to be full of girls, all ready to enter +service, and, though a little uncouth in manner, possessed +nevertheless of sterling good qualities. The letter is usually +couched in something like the following terms:—'Do you happen +to know of a really good girl that would suit us? You are aware of +the scale on which our household is conducted, and how very modest +our requirements are. All we want is a strong, healthy, honest +girl, ready and willing to work and to learn, and who will take an +interest in the place, and who will not ask too extravagant a +price. She can have a good home with us as long as ever she likes +to stay. My dear, you really cannot tell what a difficulty we +experience in getting servants who are not "uppish," and who are +trustworthy and do not mind working, and if you can find us one in +those pretty villages round you, we shall be so much obliged,' +&c.</p> +<p>The fact that a servant from the country is supposed, in the +nature of things, to be honest and willing, hardworking, strong, +and healthy, and almost everything else, speaks well for the +general character of the girls brought up in agricultural cottages. +It is, however, quite a mistake to suppose the supply to be +limitless; it is just the reverse; the really good servants from +any particular district are quickly exhausted, and then, if the +friends in town will insist upon a girl from the country, they +cannot complain if they do not get precisely what they want. The +migration, indeed, of servants from the villages to the towns has, +for the time being, rather overdone itself. The best of those who +responded to the first demand were picked out some time since; many +of those now to be had are not of the first class, and the young +are not yet grown up. After awhile, as education +progresses—bringing with it better manners—there may be +a fresh supply; meantime, really good country girls are difficult +to obtain. But the demand is as great as ever. From the squire's +lady down to the wife of the small tenant-farmer, one and all +receive the same requests from friends in town. The character of +the true country servant stands as high as ever.</p> +<p>Let us hope that the polish of progress may not too much overlay +the solid if humble virtues which procured that character for her +class. Some efforts are being made here and there to direct the +course of young girls after leaving the village schools—to +put them in the right way and give them the benefit of example. As +yet such efforts are confined to individuals. The object is +certainly worth the formation of local organisations, for, too +often, on quitting the school, the young village girl comes in +contact with anything but elevating influences, and, unfortunately, +her own mother is not always the best guide. The position of a +servant in town is well known, the antecedents of a girl before she +reaches town perhaps not so thoroughly, while the lives of those +who remain in the villages drop out of sight of the great +world.</p> +<p>As a child, the cottage girl 'roughs' it in the road and in the +fields. In winter she learns to slide, and to endure the cold and +rain, till she often becomes what, to any one accustomed to a more +delicate life, seems positively impervious to weather. The servants +in old-fashioned farmhouses really did not seem to know what it was +to feel cold. Even nowadays, a servant fresh from an outlying +hamlet, where her parents probably could procure but little fuel +beyond what was necessary for cooking, at first cares not an atom +whether there be a fire in the kitchen or not. Such girls are as +hardy as the men of their native place. After a time, hot rooms and +a profusion of meat and good living generally saps and undermines +this natural strength. Then they shiver like town-bred people.</p> +<p>The cottage child is often locked out by her parents, who go to +work and leave her in charge of her still smaller brothers and +sisters. They play about the hedges and ditches, and very rarely +come to any harm. In autumn their little fingers are employed +picking up the acorns fallen from the oaks, for which the formers +pay so much per bushel. In spring is their happiest time. The joy +of life—the warm sunshine and pleasant breeze of +spring—is not wholly lost upon them, despite their hard fare, +and the not very affectionate treatment they receive at home. Such +a girl may then be seen sitting under a willow beside the brook, +with her charges around her—the little brother that can just +toddle, the baby that can but crawl and crow in the green fresh +grass. Between them lies a whole pile of flowers—dandelion +stems made into rings, and the rings joined together so as to form +a chain, rushes plaited, blue-bells, cowslips tied up in balls, and +cowslips loose, their yellow petals scattered over the sward.</p> +<p>The brook flows murmuring by, with an occasional splash, as a +water-rat dives from the bank or a fish rises to an insect. The +children weave their flowers and chant some old doggrel rhymes with +little or no meaning. Long afterwards that girl will retain an +unconscious memory of the scene, when, wheeling her employer's +children out on some suburban road, she seeks a green meadow and +makes a cowslip ball for the delighted infants. In summer they go +down to the hay-field, but dare not meddle with the hay, which the +bailiff does not like to see disturbed; they remain under the +shadow of the hedge. In autumn they search for the berries, like +the birds, nibbling the hips and haws, tasting crabs and sloes, or +feasting on the fruit of a hazel-bush.</p> +<p>Be it spring or summer, autumn or winter, wherever the child may +be, her eyes are ever on the watch to find a dead stick or a broken +branch, too heavy to lift, but which may be dragged behind, in +order to feed the cottage fire at night. That is her first duty as +a child; if she remains in the hamlet that will be her duty through +life, and to the last, as an aged woman. So in London, round the +purlieus of buildings in the course of erection—even in the +central thoroughfares, in busy Fleet Street—children hang +about the temporary hoardings, and pick up the chips and splinters +of deal. But the latter have not the pleasure of the blue-bells and +cowslips, nor even of the hips and haws, nor does the fresh pure +breeze play upon their foreheads.</p> +<p>Rough though it be, the childhood of the cottage girl is not +without its recompenses, the most valuable of which is sturdy +health. Now that good schools are open to every village, so soon as +the children are old enough to walk the distance, often +considerable, they are sent off every morning. At all events, if it +does nothing else, it causes the mothers to give them a daily +tidying up, which is in itself an advantage. They travel under the +charge of the girl; often two or three such small parties join +company, coming from as many cottages. In the warmer months, the +lanes and fields they cross form a long playground for them, and +picking flowers and searching for birds'-nests pass away the time. +In winter they have to face the mire and rain.</p> +<p>When the girl leaves school she is hardly old enough to enter +service, and too often in the year or so that elapses before she +'goes out' much mischief is done. She is then at an age when the +mind is peculiarly receptive, and the ways of the young labourers +with whom she is thrown into contact are not very refined. Her +first essay at 'service' is often as day-nursemaid at some adjacent +farmhouse, taking care of the younger children in the day, and +returning home to sleep. She then wanders with the children about +the same fields she visited long before. This system used to be +common enough, but latterly it has not worked well, because the +parents expect the girl to progress so rapidly. She must be a woman +and receive a woman's wages almost before she has ceased to be a +girl. If she does not disdain to enter a farmhouse as kitchen-maid +her wages will probably be about six pounds a year at first. Of +course the exact sum varies very much in different localities and +in different cases. It is but a small sum of money, yet it is often +all she is worth.</p> +<p>The cottage is a poor preparation even for the humblest +middle-class home. Those ladies in towns who have engaged country +servants are well aware of the amount of teaching they require +before they can go through the simplest duties in a satisfactory +manner. But most of these girls have already been out several times +before reaching town. What a difficulty, then, the first farmer's +wife must have had in drilling the rudiments of civilised life into +them! Indeed, the vexations and annoyances connected with servants +are no light weight upon the patience of the tenant-farmer. His +wife is perpetually preparing servant girls for the service of +other people.</p> +<p>She is a kind of unpaid teacher, for ever shaping the rough +material which, so soon as it is worth higher wages than a +tenant-farmer can usually pay, is off, and the business has to be +begun over again. No one who had not seen it would believe how +clumsy and unthinking such girls are on first 'going out.' It is, +too, the flightiest and giddiest period of their +existence—before the girl sobers down into the woman. In the +houses of the majority of tenant-farmers the mistress herself has +to be a good deal in the kitchen, and therefore comes into close +personal contact with the servants, and feels these things acutely. +Except in the case of gentleman-farmers it may, perhaps, be said +that almost all the wives of farmers have had experience of this +kind.</p> +<p>The girls are not nearly so tractable as formerly—they are +fully aware of their own value and put it extremely high; a word is +sufficient, and if not pleased they leave immediately. Wages rise +yearly to about the limit of twelve pounds. In mentioning that sum +it is not set down as an exact figure, for circumstances of course +vary in every case. But it is seldom that servants in farmhouses of +the middle class receive more than that. Until recently few +obtained so much. Most of them that are worth anything never rest +till they reach the towns, and take service in the villas of the +wealthy suburban residents. Some few, however, remain in the +country from preference, feeling a strong affection for their +native place, for their parents and friends. Notwithstanding the +general tendency to roam, this love of home is by no means extinct, +but shows itself very decidedly in some of the village girls.</p> +<p>The fogger, or milker, who comes to the farmhouse door in the +morning may not present a very attractive appearance in the eyes of +those accustomed to see well-dressed people; but it may be quite +different with the young girl whose early associations have made +her oblivious of dirt. She does not notice the bits of hay clinging +to the smockfrock, the greasy hat and begrimed face, or the clumsy +boots thickly coated with mud. A kiss may be quite as sweet, +despite these mere outside accidents. In her way she is full of +imagination and fancy—what her mistress would call 'giddy.' +Within doors an eye may be on her, so she slips out to the +wood-stack in the yard, ostensibly to fetch a log for the fire, and +indulges in a few moments of flirtation behind the shelter of the +faggots. In the summer she works doubly hard in the morning, and +gets everything forward, so that she may go out to the field +haymaking in the afternoon, when she may meet her particular +friend, and also, perhaps, his rival.</p> +<p>On Sundays she gladly walks two or more miles across the fields +to church, knowing full well that some one will be lounging about a +certain stile, or lying on the sward by a gate waiting for her. The +practice of coquetry is as delightful in the country lane as in the +saloons of wealth, though the ways in which it exhibits itself may +be rude in comparison. So that love is sometimes the detaining +force which keeps the girl in the country. Some of the young +labourers are almost heirs to property in their eyes. One is +perhaps the son of the carrier, who owns a couple of cottages let +out to tenants; or the son of the blacksmith, at whom several caps +are set, and about whom no little jealousy rages. On the whole, +servants in the country, at least at farmhouses, have much more +liberty than they could possibly get in town.</p> +<p>The work is hard in the morning, but generally much less for the +rest of the day; in the evening there is often scarcely anything to +do. So that the farmhouse servant has much time to herself, and is +not too strictly confined indoors when not at work. There is a good +deal of 'company,' too; men coming to the door, men in the +rick-yards and cattle-yards, men in the barn, labourers passing to +their work, and so on. It is not so dull a life as might appear. +Indeed, a farmhouse servant probably sees twice as many of her own +class in the course of a week as a servant in town.</p> +<p>Vanity, of course, is not to be shut out even from so simple an +existence: the girl must have a 'fashionable' bonnet, and a pair of +thin tight boots, let the lanes be never so dirty or the fields +never so wet. In point of education they have much improved of +late, and most can now read and write. But when they write home the +letter is often read to the mother by some friend; the girl's +parents being nearly or quite illiterate. Tenant-farmers' wives are +often asked to act as notaries in such cases by cottage women on +the receipt of letters from their children.</p> +<p>When such a girl marries in the village she usually finds the +work of the cottage harder than that of the farmhouse. It is more +continuous, and when children arrive the trouble of nursing has to +be added to the other duties, and to occasional work in the fields. +The agricultural labourer's wife, indeed, has a harder lot than her +husband. His toil is for the most part over when he leaves the +field, but the woman's is never finished. When the man reaches home +he does not care, or will not turn his hand to anything, except, +perhaps, to fetch a pail of water, and he is not well pleased if +asked to do that. The want of conveniences like an accessible water +supply is severely felt by the women in many villages and hamlets; +whilst in others there is a quantity running to waste. Many of the +men obtain a more than liberal amount of beer, while the women +scarcely get any at all. While working in the field they are +allowed a small quantity by some farmers; at home they have +none.</p> +<p>Very few cottage women are inclined to drink, and they are +seldom seen at 'public' or intoxicated. On Saturdays most of them +walk into the nearest town, perhaps five or more miles distant, in +order to buy household stuff. Often a whole bevy of neighbours then +meet and return home together, and that is about the only time when +they call at the roadside inn. Laden with heavy parcels, with a +long walk yet before them, and after a hard week's work, it is not +surprising that they should want some refreshment, but the quantity +of ale then purchased is very small. When there are a number of +young children, and the parents endeavour to keep them decent, the +woman works very hard indeed. Many farmers' wives take much +interest in such families, where there is an evident endeavour to +go straight, and assist the women in various ways, as with cast-off +clothing for the children. A basketful of apples even from the +farmer's orchard is a treat to the children, for, though better fed +than formerly, their diet is necessarily monotonous, and such fruit +as may be grown in the cottage garden is, of course, sold.</p> +<p>With the exception of vegetables the cottager now buys almost +everything and produces nothing for home use; no home-spun +clothing—not even a home-baked loaf. Instances have been +observed where cottagers have gone to much expense (for them) to +build ovens, and after baking a few batches abandoned the project. +Besides the cheap outfitters in the towns, the pack-drapers come +round visiting every cottage. Such drapers have no shop-window, and +make no display, but employ several men carrying packs, who work +through the villages on foot and range over a wide stretch of +country.</p> +<p>Agricultural women, other than those belonging to the families +of tenant-farmers, may be summed up as employed in the following +manner. Bailiff's wives and daughters: these are not supposed, on +extensive farms, to work in the field. The wife frequently has +charge of the small home dairy, and the daughter assists at the +house. Sometimes they also attend to the poultry, now occasionally +kept in large numbers. A bailiff's daughter sometimes becomes +housekeeper to a farmer. Dairymaids of the ordinary class—not +competent to make special cheese—are becoming rarer, on +account of the demand for their services decreasing—the milk +trade and cheap foreign cheese having rendered common sorts of +cheese unprofitable. They are usually cottagers. Of the married +labouring women and the indoor servants something has already been +said. In most villages a seamstress or two may be found, and has +plenty of work to do for the farmers' families. The better class of +housekeepers, and those professional dairymaids who superintend the +making of superior cheese, are generally more or less nearly +related to the families of tenant-farmers.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap23" id="chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h3> +<h3>THE LOW 'PUBLIC' IDLERS</h3> +The wise old saw that good wine needs no bush does not hold true in +the case of the labourer; it would require a very large bush indeed +to attract him to the best of beer offered for sale under +legitimate conditions. In fact, he cares not a rap about good +beer—that is, intrinsically good, a genuine product of malt +and hops. He would rather grumble at it, unless, perchance, it was +a gift; and even then would criticise it behind the donor's back, +holding the quart cup aslant so as to see the bottom in one place, +and get a better view of the liquor. The great breweries whose +names are household words in cities, and whose interest it is to +maintain a high standard of quality for the delectation of their +million consumers, do not exalt their garish painted advertisements +in gilded letters as tall as Tom Thumb over the doors of village +alehouses. You might call for Bass at Cairo, Bombay, Sydney, or San +Francisco, and Bass would be forthcoming. But if you knocked the +trestle-table with the bottom of a tankard (the correct way) in a +rural public, as a signal to the cellar you might call for Bass in +vain. +<p>When the agricultural labourer drops in on his way home from his +work of a winter evening—heralding his approach by casting +down a couple of logs or bundle of wood which he has been carrying +with a thud outside the door—he does not demand liquor of +that character. When in harvest time, after sundown—when the +shadows forbid farther cutting with the fagging hook at the tall +wheat—he sits on the form without, under the elm tree, and +feels a whole pocketful of silver, flush of money like a +gold-digger at a fortunate rush, he does not indulge in Allsopp or +Guinness. He hoarsely orders a 'pot' of some local brewer's +manufacture—a man who knows exactly what he likes, and +arranges to meet the hardy digestion of the mower and the reaper. +He prefers a rather dark beer with a certain twang faintly +suggestive of liquorice and tobacco, with a sense of 'body,' a +thickness in it, and which is no sooner swallowed than a clammy +palate demands a second gulp to wash away the relics of the first. +Ugh! The second requires a third swig, and still a fourth, and +appetite increasing with that it feeds on, the stream rushes down +the brazen throat that burns for more.</p> +<p>Like the Northern demi-god who drank unwittingly at the ocean +from a horn and could not empty it, but nevertheless caused the ebb +of the sea, so our toper, if he cannot contain the cask, will bring +it down to the third hoop if time and credit will but serve. It +would require a ganger's staff to measure his capacity—in +fact, the limit of the labourer's liquor-power, especially in +summer, has never yet been reached. A man will lie on his back in +the harvest field, under a hedge sweet with the June roses that +smile upon the hay, and never move or take his lips away till a +gallon has entered into his being, for it can hardly be said to be +swallowed. Two gallons a day is not an uncommon consumption with +men who swing the scythe or reaping-hook.</p> +<p>This of course is small beer; but the stuff called for at the +low public in the village, or by the road just outside, though +indescribably nauseous to a non-vitiated palate, is not 'small.' It +is a heady liquid, which if anyone drinks, not being accustomed to +it, will leave its effects upon him for hours afterwards. But this +is what the labourer likes. He prefers something that he can feel; +something that, if sufficiently indulged in, will make even his +thick head spin and his temples ache next morning. Then he has had +the value of his money. So that really good ale would require a +very large bush indeed before it attracted his custom.</p> +<p>It is a marked feature of labouring life that the respectable +inn of the village at which the travelling farmer, or even persons +higher in rank, occasionally call, which has a decent stable, and +whose liquors are of a genuine character, is almost deserted by the +men who seek the reeking tap of the ill-favoured public which forms +the clubhouse of all the vice of the village. While the farmer or +passing stranger, calling at the decent house really for +refreshment, drinks but a glass or two and departs, the frequenters +of the low place never quit their seats till the law compels them, +so that for sixpence spent in the one by men with cheque-books in +their pockets, five shillings are spent in the other by men who +have not got a loaf of bread at home for their half-starving +children and pinched wife. To an unprincipled landlord clearly this +sort of custom is decidedly preferable, and thus it is that these +places are a real hardship to the licensed victualler whose effort +it is to keep an orderly house.</p> +<p>The influence of the low public upon the agricultural labourer's +life is incalculable—it is his club, almost his home. There +he becomes brutalised; there he spends his all; and if he awakes to +the wretched state of his own family at last, instead of +remembering that it is his own act, he turns round, accuses the +farmer of starvation wages, shouts for what is really Communism, +and perhaps even in his sullen rage descends to crime. Let us go +with him into such a rural den.</p> +<p>Beware that you do not knock your head against the +smoke-blackened beams of the low ceiling, and do not put your elbow +carelessly on the deal table, stained with spilled ale, left +uncleaned from last night, together with little heaps of ashes, +tapped out from pipes, and spots of grease from the tallow candles. +The old-fashioned settles which gave so cosy an air in the olden +time to the inn room, and which still linger in some of the houses, +are not here—merely forms and cheap chairs. A great pot hangs +over the fire, for the family cooking is done in the public +apartment; but do not ask to join in the meal, for though the food +may be more savoury than is dreamed of in your philosophy, the +two-grained forks have not been cleaned these many a day. Neither +is the butcher's wooden skewer, just extracted from the meat, an +elegant toothpick if you are fastidious.</p> +<p>But these things are trifles when the dish is a plump pheasant, +jugged hare, brown partridges, or trout—perhaps not exactly +in season—as the chance may be; or a couple of boiled fowls, +or a turkey, or some similar toothsome morsel. Perhaps it is the +gamey taste thus induced that enables them to enjoy joints from the +butcher which are downright tainted, for it is characteristic of +the place and people on the one hand to dine on the very best, as +above, and yet to higgle over a halfpenny a pound at the shop. +Nowhere else in all the parish, from the polished mahogany at the +squire's mansion to the ancient solid oaken table at the +substantial old-fashioned farmer's, can there be found such a +constant supply of food usually considered as almost the privilege +of the rich. Bacon, it is true, they eat of the coarsest kind; but +with it eggs new laid and delicious. In brief, it is the strangest +hodge-podge of pheasant and bread and cheese, asparagus and +cabbage. But somehow, whatever is good, whatever is held in +estimation, makes its appearance in that grimy little back room on +that ragged, dirty table-cloth.</p> +<p>Who pays for these things? Are they paid for at all? There is no +licensed dealer in game in the village nor within many miles, and +it seems passing strange. But there are other things almost as +curious. The wood pile in the back yard is ever high and bulky; let +the fire burn never so clear in the frosty days there is always a +regular supply of firewood. It is the same with coal. Yet there is +no copse attached to the place, nor is the landlord ever seen +chopping for himself, nor are the farmers in the habit of receiving +large orders for logs and faggots. By the power of some magic spell +all things drift hitherward. A magnet which will draw logs of +timber and faggots half across the parish, which will pull +pheasants off their perch, extract trout from the deep, and stay +the swift hare in midst of her career, is a power indeed to be +envied. Had any enchanter of mediæval days so potent a +charm?</p> +<p>Perhaps it is the engaging and attractive character of the +landlord himself. He is a tall, lanky man, usually seen in +slippers, and trousers too short for his limbs; he 'sloppets' about +in his waistcoat and shirt-sleeves, hands in pockets, and shoulders +forward almost in a hump. He hangs about the place, now bringing in +a log, now carrying a bucket, now spinning a mop, now slouching +down the garden to feed the numerous fowls that scratch around the +stumps of cabbages. Anything, in short, but work. Sometimes, +however, he takes the trap and horse, and is supposed to be gone on +a dealing expedition. Sometimes it is only to carry a jar of beer +up to the men in the field, and to mouch a good armful of fresh-cut +clover for provender from the swathe. He sips gin the live-long +day—weak gin always—every hour from morn till a cruel +Legislature compels the closing of the shutters. He is never +intoxicated—it is simply a habit, a sort of fuel to feed the +low cunning in which his soul delights. So far from intoxication is +he, that there is a fable of some hard knocks and ill usage, and +even of a thick head being beaten against the harder stones of the +courtyard behind, when the said thick head was helpless from much +ale. Such matters are hushed up in the dark places of the earth. So +far from intoxication is he, that he has the keenest eye to +business.</p> +<p>There is a lone rick-yard up in the fields yonder to which the +carters come from the farm far away to fetch hay, and straw, and so +forth. They halt at the public, and are noticed to enjoy good +living there, nor are they asked for their score. A few trusses of +hay, or bundles of straw, a bushel of corn, or some such trifle is +left behind merely out of good-fellowship. Waggons come up laden +with tons of coal for the farms miles above, far from a railway +station; three or four teams, perhaps, one after the other. Just a +knob or two can scarcely be missed, and a little of the small in a +sack-bag. The bundles of wood thrown down at the door by the +labourers as they enter are rarely picked up again; they disappear, +and the hearth at home is cold. The foxes are blamed for the geese +and the chickens, and the hunt execrated for not killing enough +cubs, but Reynard is not always guilty. Eggs and poultry vanish. +The shepherds have ample opportunities for disposing of a few spare +lambs to a general dealer whose trap is handy. Certainly, +continuous gin does not chill the faculties.</p> +<p>If a can of ale is left in the outhouse at the back and happens +to be found by a few choice spirits at the hour when the vicar is +just commencing his sermon in church on Sunday, it is by the purest +accident. The turnip and swede greens left at the door, picked +wholesale from the farmers' fields; the potatoes produced from coat +pockets by fingers which have been sorting heaps at the farmstead; +the apples which would have been crushed under foot if the +labourers had not considerately picked them up—all these and +scores of other matters scarce worth naming find their way over +that threshold. Perhaps the man is genial, his manners enticing, +his stories amusing, his jokes witty? Not at all. He is a silent +fellow, scarce opening his mouth except to curse the poor scrub of +a maid servant, or to abuse a man who has not paid his score. He +slinks in and lights his pipe, smokes it silently, and slinks out +again. He is the octopus of the hamlet, fastening on the cottage +homes and sucking the life-blood from them. He misses nothing, and +nothing comes amiss to him.</p> +<p>His wife, perhaps, then, may be the centre of attraction? She is +a short, stout woman, whose cheeks as she walks wobble with fat, +whose face is ever dirty, and dress (at home) slatternly. But +mayhap her heart is in the right place, and when Hodge is missed +from his accustomed seat by the fire of an evening, when it is +bruited abroad that he is down with illness, hurriedly slips on her +bonnet, and saying nothing, carries a basket of good things to +cheer the inner man? Or, when his wife is confined, perhaps she +brings some little delicacies, a breast of pheasant, a bottle of +port wine, and strengthens her with motherly counsel in the hour of +her travail. Is this so? Hodge's wife could tell you that the +cottage door has never been darkened by her presence: that she +indeed would not acknowledge her if passed by chance on the road. +For the landlady sails forth to the adjacent town in all the glory +of those fine feathers that proverbially make the fine bird.</p> +<p>It is a goodly spectacle to see her in rustling ample silk, in +costly sealskin, in a bonnet 'loud' but rich, shading a countenance +that glows ruddy red as a furnace. A gold chain encircles her +portly neck, with a gold watch thereto attached; gold rings upon +her fingers, in one of which sparkles a brilliant diamond; gold +earrings, gold brooch, kid gloves bursting from the fatness of the +fingers they encase. The dingy trap and limping rawboned hack which +carry her to the outskirts of the town scarcely harmonise with so +much glory. But at the outskirts she alights, and enters the street +in full dignity. By some potent alchemy the sweat of Hodge's brow +has become condensed into that sparkling diamond, which is +disclosed when the glove is drawn off in the shops, to the +admiration of all beholders.</p> +<p>Or, if not the wife, perhaps it may be the daughter who is the +magnet that draws the very timber across the parish? She is not +ill-looking, and might pass muster in her best dress were it not +for a squareness of build, like the set of a man rather than the +full curves associated with woman. She is rarely seen in the house +at all, and neither talks to the men nor the women who enter. She +sallies forth at night, and her friends are the scampish among the +sons of the lower class of tenant-farmers.</p> +<p>This is the family. How strange and yet how undeniable is it +that such a house should attract the men whose self-interest, one +would imagine, would lead them to shun it, and if they must spend +their hard-won earnings, at least to get a good article for their +money! It proves that an appeal to reason is not always the way to +manage the working man. Such a low house is always a nest of +agitation: there the idle, drunken, and ill-conditioned have their +rendezvous, there evil is hatched, and from there men take their +first step on the road that leads to the gaol. The place is often +crowded at night—there is scarcely room to sit or stand, the +atmosphere is thick with smoke, and a hoarse roar of jarring voices +fills it, above which rises the stave of a song shouted in one +unvarying key from some corner. Money pours in apace—the +draughts are deep, and long, and frequent, the mugs are large, the +thirst insatiate. The takings, compared with the size and situation +of the house, must be high, and yet, with all this custom and +profit, the landlord and his family still grovel. And grovel they +will in dirt, vice, low cunning, and iniquity—as the serpent +went on his belly in the dust—to the end of their days.</p> +<p>Why do these places exist? Because in England justice is ever +tempered with mercy; sometimes with too much mercy. The resident +squire and magistrate knows the extent of the evil only too well. +He sees it with his own eyes in the village; he sees it brought +before him on the bench; the clergyman tells him of it, so do the +gamekeeper and the policeman. His tenants complain of it. He is +perpetually reminded of it, and of what it may ultimately mean as +these places become the centres of communistic propagandas. But +though perfectly aware of the evil, to suppress it is quite another +matter.</p> +<p>First, you must find the power, and then, having the power, the +question arises, is it wise to exercise it? Though the men who +frequent such dens are often of the lowest type, or on their way to +that condition, they are not all of that character. Men of a +hard-working and honest stamp go there as well. All have their +rights alike—rights and liberties which must be held sacred +even at some disadvantage. In short, the reprobate nature of the +place may be established, but while it is the chosen resort of the +people, or of a section of them, unless some great and manifest +harm arises it cannot be touched. The magistrate will willingly +control it as far as lies in his province, but unless directly +instructed by the Legislature he cannot go farther. The truth is, +it lies with the labourer himself. He is not obliged to visit +there. A respectable inn may be found in every village if he +desires that wholesome conviviality which, when it does not +overstep certain bounds, forms a bond between man and man. Were +such low houses suddenly put down, what an outcry would be raised +of favouritism, tyranny, and so on! When the labourer turns against +them himself, he will speedily find powerful friends to assist in +attaining the object.</p> +<p>If ever a man deserved a good glass of beer it is the +agricultural labourer upon the conclusion of his day's work, +exposed as he is to the wear and tear of the elements. After +following the slow plough along the furrows through the mist; after +tending the sheep on the hills where the rain beats with furious +energy; after grubbing up the tough roots of trees, and splitting +them with axe and wedge and mallet, a man may naturally ask for +refreshment. And it is equally natural that he should desire to +take it in the society of his fellows, with whom he can associate +freely and speak his mind unchecked. The glass of ale would not +hurt him; it is the insidious temptation proffered in certain +quarters to do evil for an extra quart. Nothing forms so strong a +temptation as the knowledge that a safe receiver is near at +hand.</p> +<p>He must not be harshly judged because of the mere quantity he +can take, for a quart of ale to him is really no more than a glass +of wine to the 'City' gentleman who lives delicately. He is to be +pitied rather than condemned, and aided out of the blunder rather +than chastised. Punishment, indeed, waits upon him only too +doggedly, and overtakes him too quickly in the shape of sorrows and +privations at home. The evil lies not in the ale, but in the +character of the man that sold him the ale, and who is, at the same +time, the worst enemy of the legitimately-trading innkeeper. No +one, indeed, has better cause than the labourer to exclaim, 'Save +me from my friends!' To do the bulk of the labourers bare justice +it must be stated that there is a certain bluff honesty and +frankness among them, a rude candour, which entitles them to +considerable respect as a body. There are also men here and there +whose strength of character would certainty have obtained +favourable acknowledgment had their lot been cast in a higher rank +of life. But, at the same time, the labourer is not always so +innocent and free from guile—so lamblike as it suits the +purpose of some to proclaim, in order that his rural simplicity may +secure sympathy. There are very queer black sheep in the flock, and +it rather unfortunately happens that these, in more ways than one, +force themselves, sometimes most unpleasantly, upon the notice of +the tenant-farmer and the landlord.</p> +<p>A specimen or two may easily be selected from that circle of +choice manhood whose head-quarters are at the low 'public.' A tall, +well-built man stands forward, and at the first glance a stranger +might take him for a favourable example. He holds himself more +upright than most of his class, he is not ill-looking, and a marked +air of deference towards those who address him conveys rather a +pleasing impression. He can read fairly well and sign his name. +This man, who is still young, began life as carter's lad, in which +occupation he had not been long engaged before the horse-hair +carefully accumulated as a perquisite disappeared. Whipcord and +similar small articles next vanished, and finally a handsome new +whip. This last, not being so easily disposed of, was traced to his +possession and procured him a sound thrashing. Some short time +afterwards a carthorse was found in the fields stabbed in several +places, though, fortunately, not severely. Having already the bad +name that hangs the dog, he was strongly suspected of this +dastardly act in revenge for the thrashing from the carter, and +threat of dismissal from the employer. No evidence, however, could +be procured, and though he was sent about his business he escaped +punishment. As he grew older he fell in with a tribe of +semi-gipsies, and wandered in their company for a year or two, +learning their petty pilfering tricks. He then returned to +agriculture labour, and, notwithstanding the ill-flavour that clung +about his doings, found no difficulty in obtaining employment.</p> +<p>It is rare in agriculture for a man to be asked much about his +character, unless he is to be put into a position of some trust. In +trades and factories—on railways, too—an applicant for +employment is not only questioned, but has to produce evidence as +to his immediate antecedents at least. But the custom in farming +prescribes no such checks; if the farmer requires a man, the +applicant is put on to work at once, if he looks at all likely. +This is especially the case in times of pressure, as when there is +a great deal of hoeing to be done, in harvest, and when extra hands +are wanted to assist in feeding the threshing machine. Then the +first that comes along the road is received, and scarcely a +question asked. The custom operates well enough in one way, since a +man is nearly sure of procuring employment, and encounters no +obstacles; on the other hand, there is less encouragement to +preserve a good character. So the fellow mentioned quickly got work +when he applied for it, and went on pretty steadily for a period. +He then married, and speedily discovered the true use of +women—i.e. to work for idle men. The moment he learnt that he +could subsist upon her labour he ceased to make any effort, and +passed his time lounging about.</p> +<p>The wife, though neither handsome nor clever, was a hard-working +person, and supported herself and idle husband by taking in +washing. Indignation has often been expressed at the moral code of +savages, which permits the man to lie in his hammock while the +woman cultivates the maize; but, excepting the difference in the +colour of the skin, the substitution of dirty white for coppery +redness, there is really no distinction. Probably washing is of the +two harder work than hoeing maize. The fellow 'hung about,' and +doubtless occasionally put in practice the tricks he had acquired +from his nomad friends.</p> +<p>The only time he worked was in the height of the harvest, when +high wages are paid. But then his money went in drink, and drink +often caused him to neglect the labour he had undertaken, at an +important juncture when time was of consequence. On one such +occasion the employer lost his temper and gave him a piece of his +mind, ending by a threat of proceedings for breach of contract. A +night or two afterwards the farmer's rick-yard was ablaze, and a +few months later the incendiary found himself commencing a term of +penal servitude. There he was obliged to work, began to walk +upright, and acquired that peculiarly marked air of deference which +at first contrasts rather pleasantly with the somewhat gruff +address of most labourers. During his absence the wife almost +prospered, having plenty of employment and many kind friends. He +signalised his return by administering a thrashing—just to +re-assert his authority—which, however, the poor woman +received with equanimity, remarking that it was only his way. He +recommenced his lounging life, working occasionally when money was +to be easily earned—for the convict stain does not prevent a +man getting agricultural employment—and spending the money in +liquor. When tolerably sober he is, in a sense, harmless; if +intoxicated, his companions give him the road to himself.</p> +<p>Now there is nothing exceptionally characteristic of the +agricultural labourer in the career of such a man. Members of other +classes of the working community are often sent to penal servitude, +and sometimes men of education and social position. But it is +characteristic of agricultural life that a man with the stigma of +penal servitude can return and encounter no overpowering prejudice +against him. There are work and wages, for him if he likes to take +them. No one throws his former guilt in his face. He may not be +offered a place of confidence, nor be trusted with money, as the +upper labourers—carters for instance—sometimes are. But +the means of subsistence are open to him, and he will not be driven +by the memory of one crime to commit another.</p> +<p>There is no school of crime in the country. Children are not +brought up from the earliest age to beg and steal, to utter +loquacious falsehood, or entrap the benevolent with sham suffering. +Hoary thieves do not keep academies for the instruction of little +fingers in the art of theft. The science of burglary is unstudied. +Though farmhouses are often situate in the most lonely places a +case of burglary rarely occurs, and if it does, is still more +rarely traced to a local resident. In such houses there is +sometimes a good deal of old silver plate, accumulated in the +course of generations—a fact that must be perfectly well +known to the labouring class, through the women indoor-servants. +Yet such attempts are quite exceptional. So, too, are robberies +from the person with violence. Serious crime is, indeed, +comparatively scarce. The cases that come before the Petty Sessions +are, for the most part, drunkenness, quarreling, neglect or +absenteeism from work, affiliation, petty theft, and so on.</p> +<p>The fact speaks well for the rural population; it speaks very +badly for such characters as the one that has been described. If he +will not turn into the path of honest labour, that is his own +fault. The injury he does is this, that he encourages others to be +idle. Labouring men quit the field under the influence of temporary +thirst, or that desire for a few minutes' change which is not in +itself blameworthy. They enter the low 'public,' call for their +quart, and intend to leave again immediately. But the lazy fellow +in the corner opens conversation, is asked to drink, more is called +for, there is a toss-up to decide who shall pay, in which the idle +adept, of course, escapes, and so the thing goes on. Such a man +becomes a cause of idleness, and a nuisance to the farmers.</p> +<p>Another individual is a huge, raw-boned, double-jointed giant of +a man, whose muscular strength must be enormous, but whose weakness +is beer. He is a good workman, and of a civil, obliging +disposition. He will commence, for instance, making drains for a +farmer with the greatest energy, and in the best of tempers. A +drain requires some little skill. The farmer visits the work day by +day, and notes with approval that it is being done well. But about +the third or fourth day the clever workman, whose immense strength +makes the employment mere child's play to him, civilly asks for a +small advance of money. Now the farmer has no objection to that, +but hands it to him with some misgiving. Next morning no labourer +is to be seen. The day passes, and the next. Then a lad brings the +intelligence that his parent is just recovering from a heavy +drinking bout and will be back soon. There is the history of forty +years!</p> +<p>The same incident is repeated once or twice a month all the year +round. Now it is a drain, now hedge-cutting, now hoeing, now +haymaking, and now reaping. Three or four days' work excellently +performed; then a bed in a ditch and empty pockets. The man's +really vast strength carries him through the prostration, and the +knocks and bangs and tumbles received in a helpless state. But what +a life! The worst of it is the man is not a reprobate—not a +hang-dog, lounging rascal, but perfectly honest, willing to oblige, +harmless and inoffensive even when intoxicated, and skilful at his +labour. What is to be done with him? What is the farmer to do who +has only such men to rely on—perhaps in many +cases—without this fellow's honesty and good +temper—qualities which constantly give him a lift? It is +simply an epitome of the difficulties too commonly met with in the +field—bright sunshine, good weather, ripe crops, and men half +unconscious, or quite, snoring under a hedge! There is no +encouragement to the tenant to pay high wages in experiences like +this.</p> +<p>A third example is a rakish-looking lad just rising into +manhood. Such young men are very much in demand and he would not +have the slightest difficulty in obtaining employment, yet he is +constantly out of work. When a boy he began by summoning the carter +where he was engaged for cuffing him, charging the man with an +assault. It turned out to be a trumpery case, and the Bench advised +his parents to make him return and fulfil his contract. His parents +thought differently of it. They had become imbued with an +inordinate sense of their own importance. They had a high idea of +the rights of labour; Jack, in short, was a good deal better than +his master, and must be treated with distinguished respect. The +doctrines of the Union countenanced the deduction; so the boy did +not return. Another place was found for him.</p> +<p>In the course of a few months he came again before the Bench. +The complaint was now one of wrongful dismissal, and a claim for a +one pound bonus, which by the agreement was to have been paid at +the end of the year if his conduct proved satisfactory. It was +shown that his conduct had been the reverse of satisfactory; that +he refused to obey orders, that he 'cheeked' the carters, that he +ran away home for a day or two, and was encouraged in these goings +on by the father. The magistrates, always on the side of peace, +endeavoured to procure a reconciliation, the farmer even paid down +the bonus, but it was of no use. The lad did not return.</p> +<p>With little variations the same game has continued ever since. +Now it is he that complains, now it is his new master; but any way +there is always a summons, and his face is as familiar in the court +as that of the chairman. His case is typical. What is a farmer to +do who has to deal with a rising generation full of this +spirit?</p> +<p>Then there are the regular workhouse families, who are +perpetually applying for parochial relief. From the eldest down to +the youngest member they seem to have no stamina; they fall ill +when all others are well, as if afflicted with a species of +paralysis that affects body, mind, and moral sense at once. If the +phrase may be used without irreverence, there is no health in them. +The slightest difficulty is sufficient to send an apparently +strong, hale man whining to the workhouse. He localises his +complaint in his foot, or his arm, or his shoulder; but, in truth, +he does not know himself what is the matter with him. The real +illness is weakness of calibre—a looseness of fibre. Many a +labourer has an aching limb from rheumatism, and goes to plough all +the same; many a poor cottage woman suffers from that prevalent +agony, and bravely gets through her task, and keeps her cottage +tidy. But these people cannot do it—they positively cannot. +The summer brings them pain, the winter brings pain, their whole +life is one long appeal <i>ad misericordiam</i>.</p> +<p>The disease seems to spread with the multiplication of the +family: the sons have it, and the sons' sons after them, so much so +that even to bear the name is sufficient to stamp the owner as a +miserable helpless being. All human wretchedness is, of course, to +be deeply commiserated, and yet it is exasperating to see one man +still doing his best under real trouble, and another eating +contentedly the bread of idleness when there seems nothing wrong +except a total lack of energy. The old men go to the workhouse, the +young men go, the women and the children; if they are out one month +the next sees their return. These again are but broken reeds to +rely upon. The golden harvest might rot upon the ground for all +their gathering, the grass wither and die as it stands, without the +touch of the scythe, the very waggons and carts fall to pieces in +the sheds. There is no work to be got out of them.</p> +<p>The village, too, has its rookery, though not quite in the same +sense as the city. Traced to its beginning, it is generally found +to have originated upon a waste piece of ground, where some +squatters settled and built their cabins. These, by the growth of +better houses around, and the rise of property, have now become of +some value, not so much for the materials as the site. To the +original hovels additions have been made by degrees, and fresh huts +squeezed in till every inch of space is as closely occupied as in a +back court of the metropolis. Within the cottages are low pitched, +dirty, narrow, and contracted, without proper conveniences, or even +a yard or court.</p> +<p>The social condition of the inhabitants is unpleasant to +contemplate. The young men, as they grow up, arrive at an +exaggerated idea of the value of their parents' property—the +cottage of three rooms—and bitter animosities arise between +them. One is accused of having had his share out in money; another +has got into trouble and had his fine paid for him; the eldest was +probably born before wedlock; so there are plenty of materials for +recrimination. Then one, or even two of them bring home a wife, or +at least a woman, and three families live beneath a single +roof—with results it is easy to imagine, both as regards +bickering and immorality. They have no wish to quit the place and +enter cottages with better accommodation: they might rent others of +the farmers, but they prefer to be independent, and, besides, will +not move lest they should lose their rights. Very likely a few +lodgers are taken in to add to the confusion. As regularly as +clockwork cross summonses are taken out before the Bench, and then +the women on either side reveal an unequalled power of abuse and +loquacity, leaving a decided impression that it is six to one and +half a dozen to the other.</p> +<p>These rookeries do not furnish forth burglars and accomplished +pickpockets, like those of cities, but they do send out a gang of +lazy, scamping fellows and coarse women, who are almost useless. If +their employer does not please them—if he points out that a +waste of time has taken place, or that something has been +neglected—off they go, for, having a hole to creep into, they +do not care an atom whether they lose a job or not. The available +hands, therefore, upon whom the farmers can count are always very +much below the sum total of the able-bodied population. There must +be deducted the idle men and women, the drunkards, the never +satisfied, as the lad who sued every master; the workhouse +families, the rookery families, and those who every harvest leave +the place, and wander a great distance in search of exceptionally +high wages. When all these are subtracted, the residue remaining is +often insufficient to do the work of the farms in a proper manner. +It is got through somehow by scratch-packs, so to say—men +picked up from the roads, aged men who cannot do much, but whose +energy puts the younger fellows to shame, lads paid far beyond the +value of the work they actually accomplish.</p> +<p>Work done in this way is, of course, incomplete and +unsatisfactory, and the fact supplies one of the reasons why +farmers seem disinclined to pay high wages. It is not because they +object to pay well for hard work, but because they cannot get the +hard work. There is consequently a growing reliance upon floating +labour—upon the men and women who tramp round every +season—rather than on the resident population. Even in the +absence of any outward agitation—of a strike or open movement +in that direction—the farmer has considerable difficulties to +contend with in procuring labour. He has still further difficulties +in managing it when he has got it. Most labourers have their own +peculiar way of finishing a job; and however much that style of +doing it may run counter to the farmer's idea of the matter in +hand, he has to let the man proceed after his own fashion. If he +corrected, or showed the man what he wanted, he would run the risk +of not getting it done at all. There is no one so thoroughly +obstinate as an ignorant labourer full of his own consequence. +Giving, then, full credit to those men whose honest endeavours to +fulfil their duty have already been acknowledged, it is a complete +delusion to suppose that all are equally manly.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap24" id="chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h3> +<h3>THE COTTAGE CHARTER. FOUR-ACRE FARMERS</h3> +The songs sung by the labourer at the alehouse or the harvest home +are not of his own composing. The tunes whistled by the ploughboy +as he goes down the road to his work in the dawn were not written +for him. Green meads and rolling lands of wheat—true fields +of the cloth of gold—have never yet inspired those who dwell +upon them with songs uprising from the soil. The solitude of the +hills over whose tops the summer sun seems to linger so long has +not filled the shepherd's heart with a wistful yearning that must +be expressed in verse or music. Neither he nor the ploughman in the +vale have heard or seen aught that stirs them in Nature. The +shepherd has never surprised an Immortal reclining on the thyme +under the shade of a hawthorn bush at sunny noontide; nor has the +ploughman seen the shadowy outline of a divine huntress through the +mist that clings to the wood across the field. +<p>These people have no myths; no heroes. They look back on no +Heroic Age, no Achilles, no Agamemnon, and no Homer. The past is +vacant. The have not even a 'Wacht am Rhein' or 'Marseillaise' to +chaunt in chorus with quickened step and flashing eye. No; nor even +a ballad of the hearth, handed down from father to son, to be sung +at home festivals, as a treasured silver tankard is brought out to +drink the health of a honoured guest. Ballads there are in old +books—ballads of days when the yew bow was in every man's +hands, and war and the chase gave life a colour; but they are dead. +A cart comes slowly down the road, and the labourer with it sings +as he jogs along; but, if you listen, it tells you nothing of +wheat, or hay, or flocks and herds, nothing of the old gods and +heroes. It is a street ditty such as you may hear the gutter arabs +yelling in London, and coming from a music hall.</p> +<p>So, too, in material things—in the affairs of life, in +politics, and social hopes—the labourer has no well-defined +creed of race. He has no genuine programme of the future; that +which is put forward in his name is not from him. Some years ago, +talking with an aged labourer in a district where at that time no +'agitation' had taken place, I endeavoured to get from him +something like a definition of the wants of his class. He had lived +many years, and worked all the while in the field; what was his +experience of their secret wishes? what was the Cottage Charter? It +took some time to get him to understand what was required; he had +been ready enough previously to grumble about this or that detail, +but when it came to principles he was vague. The grumbles, the +complaints, and so forth, had never been codified. However, by +degrees I got at it, and very simple it was:—Point 1, Better +wages; (2) more cottages; (3) good-sized gardens; (4) 'larning' for +the children. That was the sum of the cottager's creed—his +own genuine aspirations.</p> +<p>Since then every one of these points has been obtained, or +substantial progress made towards it. Though wages are perhaps +slightly lower or rather stationary at the present moment, yet they +are much higher than used to be the case. At the same time vast +importations of foreign food keep the necessaries of life at a +lower figure. The number of cottages available has been greatly +increased—hardly a landlord but could produce accounts of +sums of money spent in this direction. To almost all of these large +gardens are now attached. Learning for the children is provided by +the schools erected in every single parish, for the most part by +the exertions of the owners and occupiers of land.</p> +<p>Practically, therefore, the four points of the real Cottage +Charter have been attained, or as nearly as is possible. Why, then, +is it that dissatisfaction is still expressed? The reply is, +because a new programme has been introduced to the labourer from +without. It originated in no labourer's mind, it is not the outcome +of a genuine feeling widespread among the masses, nor is it the +heartbroken call for deliverance issuing from the lips of the +poet-leader of a downtrodden people. It is totally foreign to the +cottage proper—something new, strange, and as yet scarcely +understood in its full meaning by those who nominally support +it.</p> +<p>The points of the new Cottage Charter are—(1) The +confiscation of large estates; (2) the subdivision of land; (3) the +abolition of the laws of settlement of land; (4) the administration +of the land by the authorities of State; (5) the confiscation of +glebe lands for division and distribution; (6) the abolition of +Church tithes; (7) extension of the county franchise; (8) education +gratis, free of fees, or payment of any kind; (9) high wages, +winter and summer alike, irrespective of season, prosperity, or +adversity. No. 6 is thrown in chiefly for the purpose of an +appearance of identity of interest between the labourer and the +tenant against the Church. Of late it has rather been the cue of +the leaders of the agitation to promote, or seem to promote, a +coalition between the labourer and the dissatisfied tenant, thereby +giving the movement a more colourable pretence in the eyes of the +public. Few tenants, however dissatisfied, have been deceived by +the shallow device.</p> +<p>This programme emanated from no carter or shepherd, ploughman or +fogger. It was not thought out under the hedge when the June roses +decked the bushes; nor painfully written down on the deal table in +the cottage while the winter rain pattered against the window, and, +coming down the wide chimney, hissed upon the embers. It was +brought to the cottage door from a distance; it has been iterated +and reiterated till at last some begin to think they really do want +all these things. But with the majority even now the propaganda +falls flat. They do not enter into the spirit of it. No. 9 they do +understand; that appeals direct, and men may be excused if, with a +view which as yet extends so short a space around, they have not +grasped the fact that wages cannot by any artificial combination +whatever be kept at a high level. The idea of high wages brings a +mass of labourers together; they vote for what they are instructed +to vote, and are thus nominally pledged to the other eight points +of the new charter Such a conception as the confiscation and +subdivision of estates never occurred to the genuine labourers.</p> +<p>An aged man was listening to a graphic account of what the new +state of things would be like. There would be no squire, no parson, +no woods or preserves—all grubbed for cabbage +gardens—no parks, no farmers. 'No farmers,' said the old +fellow, 'then who's to pay I my wages?' There he hit the blot, no +doubt. If the first four points of the new charter were carried +into effect, agricultural wages would no longer exist. But if such +a consummation depends upon the action of the cottager it will be a +long time coming. The idea did not originate with him—he +cares nothing for it—and can only be got to support it under +the guise of an agitation for wages. Except by persistent stirring +from without he cannot be got to move even then. The labourer, in +fact, is not by any means such a fool as his own leaders endeavour +to make him out. He is perfectly well aware that the farmer, or any +person who stands in the position of the farmer, cannot pay the +same money in winter as in summer.</p> +<p>Two new cottages of a very superior character were erected in +the corner of an arable field, abutting on the highway. As left by +the builders a more uninviting spot could scarcely be imagined. The +cottages themselves were well designed and well built, but the +surroundings were like a wilderness. Heaps of rubbish here, broken +bricks there, the ground trampled hard as the road itself. No +partition from the ploughed field behind beyond a mere shallow +trench enclosing what was supposed to be the garden. Everything +bleak, unpromising, cold, and unpleasant. Two families went into +these cottages, the men working on the adjoining farm. The aspect +of the place immediately began to change. The rubbish was removed, +the best of it going to improve the paths and approaches; a +quick-set hedge was planted round the enclosure. Evening after +evening, be the weather what it might, these two men were in that +garden at work—after a long day in the fields. In the dinner +hour even they sometimes snatched a few minutes to trim something. +Their spades turned over the whole of the soil, and planting +commenced. Plots were laid out for cabbage, plots for potatoes, +onions, parsnips.</p> +<p>Then having provided necessaries for the immediate future they +set about preparing for extras. Fruit trees—apple, plum, and +damson—were planted; also some roses. Next beehives appeared +and were elevated on stands and duly protected from the rain. The +last work was the building of pigsties—rude indeed and made +of a few slabs—but sufficient to answer the purpose. Flowers +in pots appeared in the windows, flowers appeared beside the garden +paths. The change was so complete and so quickly effected I could +hardly realise that so short a time since there had been nothing +there but a blank open space. Persons travelling along the road +could not choose but look on and admire the transformation.</p> +<p>I had often been struck with the flourishing appearance of +cottage gardens, but then those gardens were of old date and had +reached that perfection in course of years. But here the thing +seemed to grow up under one's eyes. All was effected by sheer +energy. Instead of spending their evenings wastefully at 'public,' +these men went out into their gardens and made what was a desert +literally bloom. Nor did they seem conscious of doing anything +extraordinary, but worked away in the most matter-of-fact manner, +calling no one's attention to their progress. It would be hard to +say which garden of the two showed the better result. Their wives +are tidy, their children clean, their cottages grow more cosy and +homelike day by day; yet they work in the fields that come up to +their very doors, and receive nothing but the ordinary agricultural +wages of the district.</p> +<p>This proves what can be done when the agricultural labourer +really wants to do it. And in a very large number of cases it must +further be admitted that he does want to do it, and succeeds. If +any one when passing through a rural district will look closely at +the cottages and gardens he will frequently find evidence of +similar energy, and not unfrequently of something approaching very +nearly to taste. For why does the labourer train honeysuckle up his +porch, and the out-of-door grape up the southern end of his house? +Why does he let the houseleek remain on the roof; why trim and +encourage the thick growth of ivy that clothes the chimney? +Certainly not for utility, nor pecuniary profit. It is because he +has some amount of appreciation of the beauty of flowers, of vine +leaf, and green ivy. Men like these are the real backbone of our +peasantry. They are not the agitators; it is the idle hang-dogs who +form the disturbing element in the village.</p> +<p>The settled agricultural labourer, of all others, has the least +inducement to strike or leave his work. The longer he can stay in +one place the better for him in many ways. His fruit-trees, which +he planted years ago, are coming to perfection, and bear sufficient +fruit in favourable years not only to give him some variety of +diet, but to bring in a sum in hard cash with which to purchase +extras. The soil of the garden, long manured and dug, is twice as +fertile as when he first disturbed the earth. The hedges have grown +high, and keep off the bitter winds. In short, the place is home, +and he sits under his own vine and fig-tree. It is not to his +advantage to leave this and go miles away. It is different with the +mechanic who lives in a back court devoid of sunshine, hardly +visited by the fresh breeze, without a tree, without a yard of +earth to which to become attached. The factory closes, the bell is +silent, the hands are discharged; provided he can get fresh +employment it matters little. He leaves the back court without +regret, and enters another in a distant town. But an agricultural +labourer who has planted his own place feels an affection for it. +The young men wander and are restless; the middle-aged men who have +once anchored do not like to quit. They have got the four points of +their own genuine charter; those who would infuse further vague +hopes are not doing them any other service than to divert them from +the substance to the shadow.</p> +<p>Past those two new cottages which have been mentioned there runs +a road which is a main thoroughfare. Along this road during the +year this change was worked there walked a mournful +procession—men and women on tramp. Some of these were +doubtless rogues and vagabonds by nature and choice; but many, very +many, were poor fellows who had really lost employment, and were +gradually becoming degraded to the company of the professional +beggar. The closing of collieries, mines, workshops, iron furnaces, +&c., had thrown hundreds on the mercy of chance charity, and +compelled them to wander to and fro. How men like these on tramp +must have envied the comfortable cottages, the well-stocked +gardens, the pigsties, the beehives, and the roses of the +labourers!</p> +<p>If the labourer has never gone up on the floodtide of prosperity +to the champagne wages of the miner, neither has he descended to +the woe which fell on South Wales when children searched the +dust-heaps for food, nor to that suffering which forces those whose +instinct is independence to the soup-kitchen. He has had, and still +has, steady employment at a rate of wages sufficient, as is shown +by the appearance of his cottage itself, to maintain him in +comparative comfort. The furnace may be blown out, and strong men +may ask themselves, What shall we do next? But still the plough +turns up the earth morning after morning. The colliery may close, +but still the corn ripens, and extra wages are paid to the harvest +men.</p> +<p>This continuous employment without even a fear of cessation is +an advantage, the value of which it is difficult to estimate. His +wages are not only sufficient to maintain him, he can even save a +little. The benefit clubs in so many villages are a proof of +it—each member subscribes so much. Whether conducted on a +'sound financial basis' or not, the fact of the subscriptions +cannot be denied, nor that assistance is derived from them. The +Union itself is supported in the same way; proving that the wages, +however complained of, are sufficient, at any rate, to permit of +subscriptions.</p> +<p>It is held out to the labourer, as an inducement to agitate +briskly, that, in time, a state of things will be brought about +when every man will have a small farm of four or five acres upon +which to live comfortably, independent of a master. Occasional +instances, however, of labourers endeavouring to exist upon a few +acres have already been observed, and illustrate the practical +working of the scheme. In one case a labourer occupied a piece of +ground, about three acres in extent, at a low rental paid to the +lord of the manor, the spot having originally been waste, though +the soil was fairly good. He started under favourable conditions, +because he possessed a cottage and garden and a pair of horses with +which he did a considerable amount of hauling.</p> +<p>He now set up as a farmer, ploughed and sowed, dug and weeded, +kept his own hours, and went into the market and walked about as +independent as any one. After a while the three acres began to +absorb nearly all his time, so that the hauling, which was the +really profitable part of the business, had to be neglected. Then, +the ready money not coming in so fast, the horses had to go without +corn, and pick up what they could along the roadside, on the sward, +and out of the hedges. They had, of course, to be looked after +while thus feeding, which occupied two of the children, so that +these could neither go to school nor earn anything by working on +the adjacent farms. The horses meantime grew poor in condition; the +winter tried them greatly from want of proper fodder; and when +called upon to do hauling they were not equal to the task. In the +country, at a distance from towns, there is not always a good +market for vegetables, even when grown. The residents mostly supply +themselves, and what is raised for export has to be sold at +wholesale prices.</p> +<p>The produce of the three acres consequently did not come up to +the tenant's expectation, particularly as potatoes, on account of +the disease, could not be relied on. Meantime he had no weekly +money coming in regularly, and his wife and family had often to +assist him, diminishing their own earnings at the same time; while +he was in the dilemma that if he did hauling he must employ and pay +a man to work on the 'farm,' and if he worked himself he could not +go out with his team. In harvest time, when the smaller farmers +would have hired his horses, waggon, and himself and family to +assist them, he had to get in his own harvest, and so lost the hard +cash.</p> +<p>He now discovered that there was one thing he had omitted, and +which was doubtless the cause why he did not flourish as he should +have done according to his calculations. All the agriculturists +around kept live stock—he had none. Here was the grand +secret—it was stock that paid: he must have a cow. So he set +to work industriously enough, and put up a shed. Then, partly by +his own small savings, partly by the assistance of the members of +the sect to which he belonged, he purchased the desired animal and +sold her milk. In summer this really answered fairly well while +there was green food for nothing in plenty by the side of +little-frequented roads, whither the cow was daily led. But so soon +as the winter approached the same difficulty as with the horses +arose, i.e., scarcity of fodder. The cow soon got miserably poor, +while the horses fell off yet further, if that were possible. The +calf that arrived died; next, one of the horses. The 'hat' was sent +round again, and a fresh horse bought; the spring came on, and +there seemed another chance. What with milking and attending to the +cow, and working on the 'farm,' scarcely an hour remained in which +to earn money with the horses. No provision could be laid by for +the winter. The live stock—the cow and horses—devoured +part of the produce of the three acres, so that there was less to +sell.</p> +<p>Another winter finished it. The cow had to be sold, but a third +time the 'hat' was sent round and saved the horses. Grown wiser +now, the 'farmer' stuck to his hauling, and only worked his plot at +odd times. In this way, by hauling and letting out his team in +harvest, and working himself and family at the same time for wages, +he earned a good deal of money, and kept afloat very comfortably. +He made no further attempt to live out of the 'farm,' which was now +sown with one or two crops only in the same rotation as a field, +and no longer cultivated on the garden system. Had it not been for +the subscriptions he must have given it up entirely long before. +Bitter experience demonstrated how false the calculations had been +which seemed to show—on the basis of the produce of a small +allotment—that a man might live on three or four acres.</p> +<p>He is not the only example of an extravagant estimate being put +upon the possible product of land: it is a fallacy that has been +fondly believed in by more logical minds than the poor cottager. +That more may be got out of the soil than is the case at present is +perfectly true; the mistake lies in the proposed method of doing +it.</p> +<p>There was a piece of land between thirty and forty acres in +extent, chiefly arable, which chanced to come into the possession +of a gentleman, who made no pretence to a knowledge of agriculture, +but was naturally desirous of receiving the highest rental. Up to +that time it had been occupied by a farmer at thirty shillings per +acre, which was thought the full value. He did not particularly +want it, as it lay separated from the farm proper, and gave it up +with the greatest alacrity when asked to do so in favour of a new +tenant. This man turned out to be a villager—a blustering, +ignorant fellow—who had, however, saved a small sum by +hauling, which had been increased by the receipt of a little +legacy. He was confident that he could show the farmers how to do +it—he had worked at plough, had reaped, and tended cattle, +and had horses of his own, and was quite sure that farming was a +profitable business, and that the tenants had their land dirt +cheap. He 'knowed' all about it.</p> +<p>He offered three pounds an acre for the piece at once, which was +accepted, notwithstanding a warning conveyed to the owner that his +new tenant had scarcely sufficient money to pay a year's rent at +that rate. But so rapid a rise in the value of his land quite +dazzled the proprietor, and the labourer—for he was really +nothing better, though fortunate enough to have a little +money—entered on his farm. When this was known, it was +triumphantly remarked that if a man could actually pay double the +former rent, what an enormous profit the tenant-farmers must have +been making! Yet they wanted to reduce the poor man's wages. On the +other hand, there were not wanting hints that the man's secret idea +was to exhaust the land and then leave it. But this was not the +case—he was honestly in earnest, only he had got an +exaggerated notion of the profits of farming. It is scarcely +necessary to say that the rent for the third half year was not +forthcoming, and the poor fellow lost his all. The land then went +begging at the old price, for it had become so dirty—full of +weeds from want of proper cleaning—that it was some time +before any one would take it.</p> +<p>In a third case the attempt of a labouring man to live upon a +small plot of land was successful—at least for some time. But +it happened in this way. The land he occupied, about six acres, was +situated on the outskirts of a populous town. It was moderately +rented and of fairly good quality. His method of procedure was to +cultivate a small portion—as much as he could conveniently +manage without having to pay too much for assistance—as a +market garden. Being close to his customers, and with a steady +demand at good prices all the season, this paid very well indeed. +The remainder was ploughed and cropped precisely the same as the +fields of larger farms. For these crops he could always get a +decent price. The wealthy owners of the villas scattered about, +some keeping as many horses as a gentleman with a country seat, +were glad to obtain fresh fodder for their stables, and often +bought the crops standing, which to him was especially profitable, +because he could not well afford the cost of the labour he must +employ to harvest them.</p> +<p>In addition, he kept several pigs, which were also profitable, +because the larger part of their food cost him nothing but the +trouble of fetching it. The occupants of the houses in the town +were glad to get rid of the refuse vegetables, &c.; of these he +had a constant supply. The pigs, too, helped him with manure. Next +he emptied ash-pits in the town, and sifted the cinders; the better +part went on his own fire, the other on his land. As he understood +gardening, he undertook the care of several small gardens, which +brought in a little money. All the rubbish, leaves, trimmings, +&c., which he swept from the gardens he burnt, and spread the +ashes abroad to fertilise his miniature farm.</p> +<p>In spring he beat carpets, and so made more shillings; he had +also a small shed, or workshop, and did rough carpentering. His +horse did his own work, and occasionally that of others; so that in +half a dozen different ways he made money independent of the +produce of his land. That produce, too, paid well, because of the +adjacent town, and he was able to engage assistance now and then. +Yet, even with all these things, it was hard work, and required +economical management to eke it out. Still it was done, and under +the same conditions doubtless might be done by others. But then +everything lies in those conditions. The town at hand, the +knowledge of gardening, carpentering, and so on, made just all the +difference.</p> +<p>If the land were subdivided in the manner the labourer is +instructed would be so advantageous, comparatively few of the plots +would be near towns. Some of the new 'farmers' would find +themselves in the centre of Salisbury Plain, with the stern +trilithons of Stonehenge looking down upon their efforts. The +occupier of a plot of four acres in such a position—many +miles from the nearest town—would experience a hard lot +indeed if he attempted to live by it. If he grew vegetables for +sale, the cost of carriage would diminish their value; if for food, +he could scarcely subsist upon cabbage and onions all the year +round. To thoroughly work four acres would occupy his whole time, +nor would the farmers care for the assistance of a man who could +only come now and then in an irregular manner. There would be no +villa gardens to attend to, no ash-pits to empty, no tubs of refuse +for the pig, no carpets to beat, no one who wanted rough +carpentering done. He could not pay any one to assist him in the +cultivation of the plot.</p> +<p>And then, how about his clothes, boots and shoes, and so forth? +Suppose him with a family, where would their boots and shoes come +from? Without any wages—that is, hard cash received +weekly—it would be next to impossible to purchase these +things. A man could hardly be condemned to a more miserable +existence. In the case of the tenant of a few acres who made a fair +living near a large town, it must be remembered that he understood +two trades, gardening and carpentering, and found constant +employment at these, which in all probability would indeed have +maintained him without any land at all. But it is not every man who +possesses technical knowledge of this kind, or who can turn his +hand to several things. Imagine a town surrounded by two or three +thousand such small occupiers, let them be never so clever; where +would the extra employment come from; where would be the ashpits to +empty? Where one could do well, a dozen could do nothing. If the +argument be carried still further, and we imagine the whole country +so cut up and settled, the difficulty only increases, because every +man living (or starving) on his own plot would be totally unable to +pay another to help him, or to get employment himself. No better +method could be contrived to cause a fall in the value of +labour.</p> +<p>The examples of France and China are continually quoted in +support of subdivision. In the case of France, let us ask whether +any of our stalwart labourers would for a single week consent to +live as the French peasant does? Would they forego their white, +wheaten bread, and eat rye bread in its place? Would they take +kindly to bread which contained a large proportion of meal ground +from the edible chestnut? Would they feel merry over vegetable +soups? Verily the nature of the man must change first; and we have +read something about the leopard and his spots. You cannot raise +beef and mutton upon four acres and feed yourself at the same time; +if you raise bacon you must sell it in order to buy clothes.</p> +<p>The French peasant saves by stinting, and puts aside a franc by +pinching both belly and back. He works extremely hard, and for long +hours. Our labourers can work as hard as he, but it must be in a +different way; they must have plenty to eat and drink, and they do +not understand little economies.</p> +<p>China, we are told, however, supports the largest population in +the world in this manner. Not a particle is wasted, not a square +foot of land but bears something edible. The sewage of towns is +utilised, and causes crops to spring forth; every scrap of refuse +manures a garden. The Chinese have attained that ideal agriculture +which puts the greatest amount into the soil, takes the greatest +amount out of it, and absolutely wastes nothing. The picture is +certainly charming.</p> +<p>There are, however, a few considerations on the other side. The +question arises whether our labourers would enjoy a plump rat for +supper? The question also arises why the Six Companies are engaged +in transhipping Chinese labour from China to America? In California +the Chinese work at a rate of wages absolutely impossible to the +white man—hence the Chinese difficulty there. In Queensland a +similar thing is going on. Crowds of Chinese enter, or have +entered, the country eager for work. If the agriculture of China is +so perfect; if the sewage is utilised; if every man has his plot; +if the population cannot possibly become too great, why on earth +are the Chinese labourers so anxious to get to America or +Australia, and to take the white man's wages? And is that system of +agriculture so perfect? It is not long since the Chinese Ambassador +formally conveyed the thanks of his countrymen for the generous +assistance forwarded from England during the late fearful famine in +China. The starvation of multitudes of wretched human beings is a +ghastly comment upon this ideal agriculture. The Chinese yellow +spectre has even threatened England; hints have been heard of +importing Chinese into this country to take that silver and gold +which our own men disdained. Those who desire to destroy our land +system should look round them for a more palatable illustration +than is afforded by the great Chinese problem.</p> +<p>The truth in the matter seems to be this. A labourer does very +well with a garden; he can do very well, too, if he has an +allotment in addition, provided it be not too far from home. Up to +a quarter of an acre—in some cases half an acre—it +answers, because he can cultivate it at odd times, and so receive +his weekly wages without interruption. But when the plot exceeds +what he can cultivate in this way—when he has to give whole +weeks to it—then, of course, he forfeits the cash every +Saturday night, and soon begins to lose ground. The original garden +of moderate size yielded very highly in proportion to its extent, +because of the amount of labour expended on it, and because it was +well manured. But three or four acres, to yield in like degree, +require an amount of manure which it is quite out of a labourer's +power to purchase; and he cannot keep live stock to produce it. +Neither can he pay men to work for him consequently, instead of +being more highly cultivated than the large farms, such plots would +not be kept so clean and free from weeds, or be so well manured and +deeply ploughed as the fields of the regular agriculturist.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap25" id="chap25">CHAPTER XXV</a></h3> +<h3>LANDLORDS' DIFFICULTIES. THE LABOURER AS A POWER. MODERN +CLERGY</h3> +The altered tone of the labouring population has caused the +position of the landlord, especially if resident, to be one of +considerable difficulty. Something like diplomatic tact is +necessary in dealing with the social and political problems which +now press themselves upon the country gentleman. Forces are at work +which are constantly endeavouring to upset the village equilibrium, +and it is quite in vain to ignore their existence. However honestly +he may desire peace and goodwill to reign, it is impossible for a +man to escape the influence of his own wealth and property. These +compel him to be a sort of centre around which everything revolves. +His duties extend far beyond the set, formal lines—the easy +groove of old times—and are concerned with matters which were +once thought the exclusive domain of the statesman or the +philosopher. +<p>The growth of a public opinion among the rural population is a +great fact which cannot be overlooked. Some analogy may be traced +between the awaking of a large class, hitherto almost silent, and +the strange new developments which occur in the freshly-settled +territories of the United States. There, all kinds of social +experiments are pushed to the extreme characteristic of American +energy. A Salt Lake City and civilised polygamy, and a variety of +small communities endeavouring to work out new theories of property +and government, attest a frame of mind escaped from the control of +tradition, and groping its way to the future. Nothing so +extravagant, of course, distinguishes the movement among the +agricultural labourers of this country. There have been strikes; +indignation meetings held expressly for the purpose of exciting +public opinion; an attempt to experimentalise by a kind of +joint-stock farming, labourers holding shares; and a preaching of +doctrines which savour much of Communism. There have been marches +to London, and annual gatherings on hill tops. These are all within +the pale of law, and outrage no social customs. But they proclaim a +state of mind restless and unsatisfied, striving for something new, +and not exactly knowing what.</p> +<p>Without a vote for the most part, without an all-embracing +organisation—for the Union is somewhat limited in +extent—with few newspapers expressing their views, with still +fewer champions in the upper ranks, the agricultural labourers have +become in a sense a power in the land. It is a power that is felt +rather individually than collectively—it affects isolated +places, but these in the aggregate reach importance. This power +presses on the landlord—the resident country +gentleman—upon one side; upon the other, the dissatisfied +tenant-farmers present a rugged front.</p> +<p>As a body the tenant-farmers are loyal to their +landlords—in some cases enthusiastically loyal. It cannot, +however, be denied that this is not universal. There are men who, +though unable to put forth a substantial grievance, are ceaselessly +agitating. The landlord, in view of unfavourable seasons, remits a +percentage of rent. He relaxes certain clauses in leases, he +reduces the ground game, he shows a disposition to meet reasonable, +and even unreasonable, demands. It is useless. There exists a class +of tenant-farmers who are not to be satisfied with the removal of +grievances in detail. They are animated by a +principle—something far beyond such trifles. Unconsciously, +no doubt, in many cases that principle approximates very nearly to +the doctrine proclaimed in so many words by the communistic circles +of cities. It amounts to a total abolition of the present system of +land tenure. The dissatisfied tenant does not go so far as minute +subdivisions of land into plots of a few acres. He pauses at the +moderate and middle way which would make the tenant of three or +four hundred acres the owner of the soil. In short, he would step +into the landlord's place.</p> +<p>Of course, many do not go so far as this; still there is a class +of farmers who are for ever writing to the papers, making speeches, +protesting, and so on, till the landlord feels that, do what he +may, he will be severely criticised. Even if personally insulted he +must betray no irritation, or desire to part with the tenant, lest +he be accused of stifling opinion. Probably no man in England is so +systematically browbeaten all round as the country gentleman. Here +are two main divisions—one on each side—ever pressing +upon him, and, besides these, there are other forces at work. A +village, in fact, at the present day, is often a perfect +battle-ground of struggling parties.</p> +<p>When the smouldering labour difficulty comes to a point in any +particular district the representatives of the labourers lose no +time in illustrating the cottager's case by contrast with the +landlord's position. He owns so many thousand acres, producing an +income of so many thousand pounds. Hodge, who has just received +notice of a reduction of a shilling per week, survives on bacon and +cabbage. Most mansions have a small home farm attached, where, of +course, some few men are employed in the direct service of the +landlord. This home farm becomes the bone of contention. Here, they +say, is a man with many thousands a year, who, in the midst of +bitter wintry weather, has struck a shilling a week off the wages +of his poor labourers. But the fact is that the landlord's +representative—his steward—has been forced to this step +by the action and opinion of the tenant-farmers.</p> +<p>The argument is very cogent and clear. They say, 'We pay a rent +which is almost as much as the land will bear; we suffer by foreign +competition, bad seasons and so on, the market is falling, and we +are compelled to reduce our labour expenditure. But then our +workmen say that at the home farm the wages paid are a shilling or +two higher, and therefore they will not accept a reduction. Now you +must reduce your wages or your tenants must suffer.' It is like a +tradesman with a large independent income giving his workmen high +wages out of that independent income, whilst other tradesmen, who +have only their business to rely on, are compelled by this example +to pay more than they can afford. This is obviously an unjust and +even cruel thing. Consequently though a landlord may possess an +income of many thousands, he cannot, without downright injustice to +his tenants, pay his immediate <i>employés</i> more than +those tenants find it possible to pay.</p> +<p>Such is the simple explanation of what has been described as a +piece of terrible tyranny. The very reduction of rent made by the +landlord to the tenant is seized as a proof by the labourer that +the farmer, having less now to pay, can afford to give him more +money. Thus the last move of the labour party has been to urge the +tenant-farmer to endeavour to become his own landlord. On the one +hand, certain dissatisfied tenants have made use of the labour +agitation to bring pressure upon the landlord to reduce rent, and +grant this and that privilege. They have done their best, and in +great part succeeded, in getting up a cry that rent must come down, +that the landlord's position must be altered, and so forth. On the +other hand, the labour party try to use the dissatisfied tenant as +a fulcrum by means of which to bring their lever to bear upon the +landlord. Both together, by every possible method, endeavour to +enlist popular sympathy against him.</p> +<p>There exists a party in cities who are animated by the most +extraordinary rancour against landlords without +exception—good, bad, and indifferent—just because they +are landlords. This party welcomes the agitating labourer and the +discontented tenant with open arms, and the chorus swells still +louder. Now the landlords, as a body, are quite aware of the +difficulties under which farming has been conducted of late, and +exhibit a decided inclination to meet and assist the tenant. But it +by no means suits the agitator to admit this; he would of the two +rather the landlord showed an impracticable disposition, in order +that there might be grounds for violent declamation.</p> +<p>Fortunately there is a solid substratum of tenants whose sound +common sense prevents them from listening to the rather enchanting +cry, 'Every man his own landlord.' They may desire and obtain a +reduction of rent, but they treat it as a purely business +transaction, and there lies all the difference. They do not make +the shilling an acre less the groundwork of a revolution; because +ten per cent, is remitted at the audit they do not cry for +confiscation. But it is characteristic of common sense to remain +silent, as it is of extravagance to make a noise. Thus the opinion +of the majority of tenants is not heard; but the restless minority +write and speak; the agitating labourer, through his agent, writes +and speaks, and the anti-landlord party in cities write and speak. +A pleasant position for the landlord this! Anxious to meet +reasonable wishes he is confronted with unreasonable demands, and +abused all round.</p> +<p>Besides the labour difficulty, which has been so blazed abroad +as to obscure the rest, there are really many other questions +agitating the village. The school erected under the Education Act, +whilst it is doing good work, is at the same time in many cases a +scene of conflict. The landlord can hardly remain aloof, try how he +will, because his larger tenants are so closely interested. He has +probably given the land and subscribed heavily—a school board +has been avoided; but, of course, there is a committee of +management, which is composed of members of every party and +religious denomination. That is fair enough, and the actual work +accomplished is really very good. But, if outwardly peace, it is +inwardly contention. First, the agitating labourer is strongly of +opinion that, besides giving the land and subscribing, and paying a +large voluntary rate, the landlord ought to defray the annual +expenses and save him the weekly pence. The sectarian bodies, +though neutralised by their own divisions, are ill-affected behind +their mask, and would throw it off if they got the opportunity. The +one thing, and the one thing only, that keeps them quiet is the +question of expense. Suppose by a united effort—and probably +on a poll of the parish the chapel-goers in mere numbers would +exceed the church people—they shake off the landlord and his +party, and proceed to a school board as provided by the Act? Well, +then they must find the annual expenses, and these must be raised +by a rate.</p> +<p>Now at present the cottager loudly grumbles because he is asked +to contribute a few coppers; but suppose he were called upon to pay +a heavy rate? Possibly he might in such a case turn round against +his present leaders, and throw them overboard in disgust. Seeing +this possibility all too clearly, the sectarian bodies remain +quiescent. They have no real grievance, because their prejudices +are carefully respected; but it is not the nature of men to prefer +being governed, even to their good, to governing. Consequently, +though no battle royal takes place, it is a mistake to suppose that +because 'education' is now tolerably quiet there is universal +satisfaction. Just the reverse is true, and under the surface there +is a constant undermining process proceeding. Without any downright +collision there is a distinct division into opposing ranks.</p> +<p>Another matter which looms larger as time goes on arises out of +the gradual—in some cases the rapid—filling up of the +village churchyards. It is melancholy to think that so solemn a +subject should threaten to become a ground for bitter controversy; +but that much animosity of feeling has already appeared is well +known. Already many village graveyards are overcrowded, and it is +becoming difficult to arrange for the future. From a practical +point of view there is really but little difficulty, because the +landlords in almost every instance are willing to give the +necessary ground. The contention arises in another form, which it +would be out of place to enter upon here. It will be sufficient to +recall the fact that such a question is approaching.</p> +<p>Rural sanitation, again, comes to the front day by day. The +prevention of overcrowding in cottages, the disposal of sewage, the +supply of water—these and similar matters press upon the +attention of the authorities. Out of consideration for the pockets +of the ratepayers—many of whom are of the poorest +class—these things are perhaps rather shelved than pushed +forward; but it is impossible to avoid them altogether. Every now +and then something has to be done. Whatever takes place, of course +the landlord, as the central person, comes in for the chief share +of the burden. If the rates increase, on the one hand, the +labourers complain that their wages are not sufficient to pay them; +and, on the other, the tenants state that the pressure on the +agriculturist is already as much as he can sustain. The labourer +expects the landlord to relieve him; the tenant grumbles if he also +is not relieved. Outside and beyond the landlord's power as the +owner of the soil, as magistrate and <i>ex-officio</i> guardian, +and so on, he cannot divest himself of a personal—a +family—influence, which at once gives him a leading position, +and causes everything to be expected of him. He must arbitrate +here, persuade there, compel yonder, conciliate everybody, and +subscribe all round.</p> +<p>This was, perhaps, easy enough years ago, but it is now a very +different matter. No little diplomatic skill is needful to balance +parties, and preserve at least an outward peace in the parish. He +has to note the variations of public opinion, and avoid giving +offence. In his official capacity as magistrate the same difficulty +arises. One of the most delicate tasks that the magistracy have had +set them of recent years has been arbitrating between tenant and +man—between, in effect, capital and labour. That is not, of +course, the legal, but it is the true, definition. It is a most +invidious position, and it speaks highly for the scrupulous justice +with which the law has been administered that a watchful and +jealous—a bitterly inimical party—ever ready, above all +things, to attempt a sensation—have not been able to detect a +magistrate giving a partial decision.</p> +<p>In cases which involve a question of wages or non-fulfilment of +contract it has often happened that a purely personal element has +been introduced. The labourer asserts that he has been unfairly +treated, that implied promises have been broken, perquisites +withheld, and abuse lavished upon him. On the opposite side, the +master alleges that he has been made a convenience—the man +staying with him in winter, when his services were of little use, +and leaving in summer; that his neglect has caused injury to accrue +to cattle; that he has used bad language. Here is a conflict of +class against class—feeling against feeling. The point in +dispute has, of course, to be decided by evidence, but whichever +way evidence leads the magistrates to pronounce their verdict, it +is distasteful. If the labourer is victorious, he and his friends +'crow' over the farmers; and the farmer himself grumbles that the +landlords are afraid of the men, and will never pronounce against +them. If the reverse, the labourers cry out upon the partiality of +the magistrates, who favour each other's tenants. In both cases the +decision has been given according to law. But the knowledge that +this kind of feeling exists—that he is in reality arbitrating +between capital and labour—renders the resident landlord +doubly careful what steps he takes at home in his private capacity. +He hardly knows which way to turn when a question crops up, +desiring, above all things, to preserve peace.</p> +<p>It has been said that of late there has come into existence in +the political world 'a power behind Parliament.' Somewhat in the +same sense it may be said that the labourer has become a power +behind the apparent authorities of the rural community. Whether +directly, or through the discontented tenant, or by aid of the +circles in cities who hold advanced views, the labourer brings a +pressure to bear upon almost every aspect of country life. That +pressure is not sufficient to break in pieces the existing order of +things; but it is sufficient to cause an unpleasant tension. Should +it increase, much of the peculiar attraction of country life will +be destroyed. Even hunting, which it would have been thought every +individual son of the soil would stand up for, is not allowed to +continue unchallenged. Displays of a most disagreeable spirit must +be fresh in the memories of all; and such instances have shown a +disposition to multiply. Besides the more public difficulties, +there are also social ones which beset the landowner. It is true +that all of these do not originate with the labourer, or even +concern him, but he it dragged into them to suit the convenience of +others. 'Coquetting with a vote' is an art tolerably well +understood in these days; the labourer has not got a nominal vote, +yet he is the 'power behind,' and may be utilised.</p> +<p>There is another feature of modern rural life too marked to be +ignored, and that is the increased activity of the resident clergy. +This energy is exhibited by all alike, irrespective of opinion upon +ecclesiastical questions, and concerns an inquiry into the +position, of the labourer, because for the most part it is directed +towards practical objects. It shows itself in matters that have no +direct bearing upon the Church, but are connected with the everyday +life of the people. It finds work to do outside the precincts of +the Church—beyond the walls of the building. This work is of +a nature that continually increases, and as it extends becomes more +laborious.</p> +<p>The parsonage is often an almost ideal presentment of peace and +repose. Trees cluster about it that in summer cast a pleasant +shade, and in winter the thick evergreen shrubberies shut out the +noisy winds. Upon the one side the green meadows go down to the +brook, upon the other the cornfields stretch away to the hills. +Footpaths lead out into the wheat and beside the hedge, where the +wild flowers bloom—flowers to be lovingly studied, food for +many a day-dream. The village is out of sight in the +hollow—all is quiet and still, save for the song of the lark +that drops from the sky. The house is old, very old; the tiles dull +coloured, the walls grey, the calm dignity of age clings to it.</p> +<p>A place surely this for reverie—the abode of thought. But +the man within is busy—full of action. The edge of the great +questions of the day has reached the village, and he must be up and +doing. He does not, indeed, lift the latch of the cottage or the +farmhouse door indiscreetly—not unless aware that his +presence will not be resented. He is anxious to avoid irritating +individual susceptibilities. But wherever people are gathered +together, be it for sport or be it in earnest, wherever a man may +go in open day, thither he goes, and with a set purpose beforehand +makes it felt that he is there. He does not remain a passive +spectator in the background, but comes as prominently to the front +as is compatible with due courtesy.</p> +<p>When the cloth is cleared at the ordinary in the market town, +and the farmers proceed to the business of their club, or chamber, +he appears in the doorway, and quietly takes a seat not far from +the chair. If the discussion be purely technical he says nothing; +if it touch, as it frequently does, upon social topics, such as +those that arise out of education, of the labour question, of the +position of the farmer apart from the mere ploughing and sowing, +then he delivers his opinion. When the local agricultural +exhibition is proceeding and the annual dinner is held he sits at +the social board, and presently makes his speech. The village +benefit club holds its fête—he is there too, perhaps +presiding at the dinner, and addresses the assembled men. He takes +part in the organisation of the cottage flower show; exerts himself +earnestly about the allotments and the winter coal club, and +endeavours to provide the younger people with amusements that do +not lead to evil—supporting cricket and such games as may be +played apart from gambling and liquor.</p> +<p>This is but the barest catalogue of his work; there is nothing +that arises, no part of the life of the village and the country +side, to which he does not set his hand. All this is apart from +abstract theology. Religion, of course, is in his heart; but he +does not carry a list of dogmas in his hand, rather keeping his own +peculiar office in the background, knowing that many of those with +whom he mingles are members of various sects. He is simply +preaching the practical Christianity of brotherhood and goodwill. +It is a work that can never be finished, and that is ever +extending. His leading idea is not to check the inevitable motion +of the age, but to lone it.</p> +<p>He is not permitted to pursue this course unmolested; there are +parties in the village that silently oppose his every footstep. If +the battle were open it would be easier to win it, but it is +concealed. The Church is not often denounced from the housetop, but +it is certainly denounced under the roof. The poor and ignorant are +instructed that the Church is their greatest enemy, the upholder of +tyranny, the instrument of their subjection, synonymous with +lowered wages and privation, more iniquitous than the landowner. +The clergyman is a Protestant Jesuit—a man of deepest guile. +The coal club, the cricket, the flower show, the allotments, the +village <i>fête</i>, everything in which he has a hand is +simply an effort to win the good will of the populace, to keep them +quiet, lest they arise and overthrow the property of the Church. +The poor man has but a few shillings a week, and the clergyman is +the friend of the farmer, who reduces his wages—the Church +owns millions and millions sterling. How self-evident, therefore, +that the Church is the cottager's enemy!</p> +<p>See, too, how he is beautifying that church, restoring it, +making it light and pleasant to those who resort to it; see how he +causes sweeter music and singing, and puts new life into the +service. This a lesson learnt from the City of the Seven +Hills—this is the mark of the Beast. But the ultimate aim may +be traced to the same base motive—the preservation of that +enormous property.</p> +<p>Another party is for pure secularism. This is not so numerously +represented, but has increased of recent years. From political +motives both of these silently oppose him. Nor are the poor and +ignorant alone among the ranks of his foes. There are some +tenant-farmers among them, but their attitude is not so coarsely +antagonistic. They take no action against, but they do not assist, +him. So that, although, as he goes about the parish, he is not +greeted with hisses, the clergyman is full well aware that his +activity is a thorn in the side of many. They once reproached him +with a too prolonged reverie in the seclusion of the parsonage; now +they would gladly thrust him back again.</p> +<p>It may be urged, too, that all his efforts have not produced +much visible effect. The pews are no more crowded than formerly; in +some cases the absence of visible effect is said to be extremely +disheartening. But the fact is that it is yet early to expect much; +neither must it be expected in that direction. It is almost the +first principle of science that reaction is equal to action; it may +be safely assumed, then, that after awhile these labours will bear +fruit. The tone of the rising generation must perforce be softened +and modified by them.</p> +<p>There exists at the present day a class that is morally +apathetic. In every village, in every hamlet, every detached group +of cottages, there are numbers of labouring men who are simply +indifferent to church and to chapel alike. They neither deny nor +affirm the primary truths taught in all places of worship; they are +simply indifferent. Sunday comes and sees them lounging about the +cottage door. They do not drink to excess, they are not more given +to swearing than others, they are equally honest, and are not of +ill-repute. But the moral sense seems extinct—the very idea +of anything beyond gross earthly advantages never occurs to them. +The days go past, the wages are paid, the food is eaten, and there +is all.</p> +<p>Looking at it from the purely philosophic point of view there is +something sad in this dull apathy. The most pronounced materialist +has a faith in some form of beauty—matter itself is capable +of ideal shapes in his conception. These people know no ideal. It +seems impossible to reach them, because there is no chord that will +respond to the most skilful touch. This class is very numerous +now—a disheartening fact. Yet perhaps the activity and energy +of the clergyman may be ultimately destined to find its reaction, +to produce its effect among these very people. They may slowly +learn to appreciate tangible, practical work, though utterly +insensible to direct moral teaching and the finest eloquence of the +pulpit. Finding by degrees that he is really endeavouring to +improve their material existence, they may in time awake to a sense +of something higher.</p> +<p>What is wanted is a perception of the truth that progress and +civilisation ought not to end with mere +material—mechanical—comfort or wealth. A cottager ought +to learn that when the highest wages of the best paid artisan are +readied it is <i>not</i> the greatest privilege of the man to throw +mutton chops to dogs and make piles of empty champagne bottles. It +might almost be said that one cause of the former extravagance and +the recent distress and turbulence of the working classes is the +absence of an ideal from their minds.</p> +<p>Besides this moral apathy, the cottager too often assumes an +attitude distinctly antagonistic to every species of authority, and +particularly to that <i>prestige</i> hitherto attached to property. +Each man is a law to himself, and does that which seems good in his +own eyes. He does not pause to ask himself, What will my neighbour +think of this? He simply thinks of no one but himself, takes +counsel of no one, and cares not what the result may be. It is the +same in little things as great. Respect for authority is extinct. +The modern progressive cottager is perfectly certain that he knows +as much as his immediate employer, the squire, and the parson put +together with the experience of the world at their back. He is now +the judge—the infallible authority himself. He is wiser far +than all the learned and the thoughtful, wiser than the prophets +themselves. Priest, politician, and philosopher must bow their +heads and listen to the dictum of the ploughman.</p> +<p>This feeling shows itself most strikingly in the disregard of +property. There used to be a certain tacit agreement among all men +that those who possessed capital, rank, or reputation should be +treated with courtesy. That courtesy did not imply that the +landowner, the capitalist, or the minister of religion, was +necessarily in himself superior. But it did imply that those who +administered property really represented the general order in which +all were interested. So in a court of justice, all who enter remove +their hats, not out of servile adulation of the person in +authority, but from respect for the majesty of the law, which it is +every individual's interest to uphold. But now, metaphorically +speaking, the labourer removes his hat for no man. Whether in the +case of a manufacturer or of a tenant of a thousand-acre farm the +thing is the same. The cottager can scarcely nod his employer a +common greeting in the morning. Courtesy is no longer practised. +The idea in the man's mind appears to be to express contempt for +big employer's property. It is an unpleasant symptom.</p> +<p>At present it is not, however, an active, but a passive force; a +moral <i>vis inertiæ</i>. Here again the clergyman meets with +a cold rebuff. No eloquence, persuasion, personal influence even, +can produce more than a passing impression. But here again, +perhaps, his practical activity may bring about its reaction. In +time the cottager will be compelled to admit that, at least, coal +club, benefit society, cricket, allotment, &c., have done him +no harm. In time he may even see that property and authority are +not always entirely selfish—that they may do good, and be +worthy, at all events, of courteous acknowledgment.</p> +<p>These two characteristics, moral apathy and contempt of +property—i.e., of social order—are probably exercising +considerable influence in shaping the labourer's future. Free of +mental restraint, his own will must work its way for good or evil. +It is true that the rise or fall of wages may check or hasten the +development of that future. In either case it is not, however, +probable that he will return to the old grooves; indeed, the +grooves themselves are gone, and the logic of events must force him +to move onwards. That motion, in its turn, must affect the rest of +the community. Let the mind's eye glance for a moment over the +country at large. The villages among the hills, the villages on the +plains, in the valleys, and beside the streams represent in the +aggregate an enormous power. Separately such hamlets seem small and +feeble—unable to impress their will upon the world. But +together they contain a vast crowd, which, united, may shoulder +itself an irresistible course, pushing aside all obstacles by mere +physical weight.</p> +<p>The effect of education has been, and seems likely to be, to +supply a certain unity of thought, if not of action, among these +people. The solid common sense—the law-abiding character of +the majority—is sufficient security against any violent +movement. But how important it becomes that that common sense +should be strengthened against the assaults of an insidious +Socialism! A man's education does not come to an end when he leaves +school. He then just begins to form his opinions, and in nine cases +out of ten thinks what he hears and what he reads. Here, in the +agricultural labourer class, are many hundred thousand young men +exactly in this stage, educating themselves in moral, social, and +political opinion.</p> +<p>In short, the future literature of the labourer becomes a +serious question. He will think what he reads; and what he reads at +the present moment is of anything but an elevating character. He +will think, too, what he hears; and he hears much of an enticing +but subversive political creed, and little of any other. There are +busy tongues earnestly teaching him to despise property and social +order, to suggest the overthrow of existing institutions; there is +scarcely any one to instruct him in the true lesson of history. Who +calls together an audience of agricultural labourers to explain to +and interest them in the story of their own country? There are many +who are only too anxious to use the agricultural labourer as the +means to effect ends which he scarcely understands. But there are +few, indeed, who are anxious to instruct him in science or +literature for his own sake.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap26" id="chap26">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h3> +<h3>A WHEAT COUNTRY</h3> +The aspect of a corn-growing district in the colder months is +perhaps more dreary than that of any other country scene. It is +winter made visible. The very houses at the edge of the village +stand out harsh and angular, especially if modern and slated, for +the old thatched cottages are not without a curve in the line of +the eaves. No trees or bushes shelter them from the bitter wind +that rushes across the plain, and, because of the absence of trees +round the outskirts, the village may be seen from a great distance. +<p>The wayfarer, as he approaches along the interminable road, that +now rises over a hill and now descends into a valley, observes it +from afar, his view uninterrupted by wood, but the vastness of the +plain seems to shorten his step, so that he barely gains on the +receding roofs. The hedges by the road are cropped—cut down +mercilessly—and do not afford the slightest protection +against wind, or rain, or sleet. If he would pause awhile to rest +his weary limbs no friendly bush keeps off the chilling blast. +Yonder, half a mile in front, a waggon creeps up the hill, always +just so much ahead, never overtaken, or seeming to alter its +position, whether he walks slow or fast. The only apparent +inhabitants of the solitude are the larks that every now and then +cross the road in small flocks. Above, the sky is dull and gloomy; +beneath, the earth, except, where some snow lingers, is of a still +darker tint. On the northern side the low mounds are white with +snow here and there. Mile after mile the open level fields extend +on either hand; now brown from the late passage of the plough, now +a pale yellow where the short stubble yet remains, divided by black +lines; the low-cropped hedges bare of leaves. A few small fir +copses are scattered about, the only relief to the eye; all else is +level, dull, monotonous.</p> +<p>When the village is reached at last, it is found to be of +considerable size. The population is much greater than might have +been anticipated from the desert-like solitude surrounding the +place. In actual numbers, of course, it will not bear comparison +with manufacturing districts, but for its situation, it is quite a +little town. Compared with the villages situate in the midst of +great pastures—where grass is the all-important crop—it +is really populous. Almost all the inhabitants find employment in +the fields around, helping to produce wheat and barley, oats and +roots. It is a little city of the staff of life—a metropolis +of the plough.</p> +<p>Every single house, from that of the landowner, through the +rent; that of the clergyman, through the tithe—down to the +humblest cottage, is directly interested in the crop of corn. The +very children playing about the gaps in the hedges are interested +in it, for can they not go gleaning? If the heralds had given the +place a coat of arms it should bear a sheaf of wheat. And the +reason of its comparative populousness is to be found in the wheat +also. For the stubborn earth will not yield its riches without +severe and sustained labour. Instead of tickling it with a hoe, and +watching the golden harvest leap forth, scarifier and plough, +harrow and drill in almost ceaseless succession, compel the clods +by sheer force of iron to deliver up their treasure. In another +form it is almost like the quartz-crushing at the gold +mines—the ore ground out from the solid rock. And here, in +addition, the ore has to be put into the rock first in the shape of +manure.</p> +<p>All this labour requires hands to do it, and so—the supply +for some time, at all events, answering the demand—the +village teemed with men. In the autumn comes the ploughing, the +couch-picking and burning, often second ploughing, the sowing by +drill or hand, the threshing, &c. In the spring will come more +ploughing, sowing, harrowing, hoeing. Modern agriculture has +increased the labour done in the fields. Crops are arranged to +succeed crops, and each of these necessitates labour, and labour a +second and a third time. The work on arable land is never finished. +A slackness there is in the dead of winter; but even then there is +still something doing—some draining, some trimming of hedges, +carting manure for open field work. But beyond this there are the +sheep in the pens to be attended to as the important time of +lambing approaches, and there are the horned cattle in the stalls +still fattening, and leaving, as they reach maturity, for the +butcher.</p> +<p>The arable agriculturist, indeed, has a double weight upon his +mind. He has money invested in the soil itself, seed lying awaiting +the genial warm rain that shall cause it to germinate, capital in +every furrow traced by the plough. He has money, on the other hand, +in his stock, sheep, and cattle. A double anxiety is his; first +that his crops may prosper, next that his stock may flourish. He +requires men to labour in the field, men to attend to the sheep, +men to feed the bullocks; a crowd of labourers are supported by +him, with their wives and families. In addition to these he needs +other labour—the inanimate assistance of the steam-engine, +and the semi-intelligent co-operation of the horse. These, again, +must be directed by men. Thus it is that the corn village has +become populous.</p> +<p>The original idea was that the introduction of machinery would +reduce all this labour. In point of fact, it has, if anything, +increased it. The steam-plough will not work itself; each of the +two engines requires two men to attend to it; one, and often two, +ride on the plough itself; another goes with the water-cart to feed +the boiler: others with the waggon for coal. The drill must have +men—and experienced men—with it, besides horses to draw +it, and these again want men The threshing-machine employs quite a +little troop to feed it; and, turning to the stock in the stalls, +roots will not pulp or slice themselves, nor will water pump itself +up into the troughs, nor chaff cut itself. The chaff-cutter and +pump, and so on, all depend on human hands to keep them going. Such +is but a very brief outline of the innumerable ways in which arable +agriculture gives employment. So the labourer and the labourer's +family flourish exceedingly in the corn tillage. Wages rise; he +waxes fat and strong and masterful, thinking that he holds the +farmer and the golden grain in the hollow of his hand.</p> +<p>But now a cloud arises and casts its shadow over the cottage. If +the farmer depends upon his men, so do the men in equal degree +depend upon the farmer. This they overlooked, but are now learning +again. The farmer, too, is not independent and self-sustained, but +is at the mercy of many masters. The weather and the seasons are +one master; the foreign producer is another; the markets, which are +further influenced by the condition of trade at large, form a third +master. He is, indeed, very much more in the position of a servant +than his labourer. Of late almost all these masters have combined +against the corn-growing farmer. Wheat is not only low but seems +likely to remain so. Foreign meat also competes with the +dearly-made meat of the stalls. The markets are dull and trade +depressed everywhere. Finally a fresh master starts up in the shape +of the labourer himself, and demands higher wages.</p> +<p>For some length of time the corn-grower puts a courageous face +on the difficulties which beset him, and struggles on, hoping for +better days. After awhile, however, seeing that his capital is +diminishing, because he has been, as it were, eating it, seeing +that there is no prospect of immediate relief, whatever may happen +in the future, he is driven to one of two courses. He must quit the +occupation or he must reduce his expenditure. He must not only ask +the labourer to accept a reduction, but he must, wherever +practicable, avoid employing labour at all.</p> +<p>Now comes the pressure on the corn village. Much but not all of +that pressure the inhabitants have brought upon themselves through +endeavouring to squeeze the farmer too closely. If there had been +no labour organisation whatever when the arable agriculturist began +to suffer, as he undoubtedly has been suffering, the labourer must +have felt it in his turn. He has himself to blame if he has made +the pain more acute. He finds it in this way. Throughout the +corn-producing district there has been proceeding a gradual +shrinkage, as it were, of speculative investment. Where an +agriculturist would have ploughed deeper, and placed extra +quantities of manure in the soil, with a view to an extra crop, he +has, instead, only just ploughed and cleaned and manured enough to +keep things going. Where he would have enlarged his flock of sheep, +or added to the cattle in the stalls, and carried as much stock as +he possibly could, he has barely filled the stalls, and bought but +just enough cake and foods. Just enough, indeed, of late has been +his watchword all through—just enough labour and no more.</p> +<p>This cutting down, stinting, and economy everywhere has told +upon the population of the village. The difference in the +expenditure upon a solitary farm may be but a trifle—a few +pounds; but when some score or more farms are taken, in the +aggregate the decrease in the cash transferred from the pocket of +the agriculturist to that of the labourer becomes something +considerable. The same percentage on a hundred farms would amount +to a large sum. In this manner the fact of the corn-producing +farmer being out of spirits with his profession reacts upon the +corn village. There is no positive distress, but there is just a +sense that there are more hands about than necessary. Yet at the +same moment there are not hands enough; a paradox which may be +explained in a measure by the introduction of machinery.</p> +<p>As already stated, machinery in the field does not reduce the +number of men employed. But they are employed in a different way. +The work all comes now in rushes. By the aid of the reaping machine +acres are levelled in a day, and the cut corn demands the services +of a crowd of men and women all at once, to tie it up in sheaves. +Should the self-binders come into general use, and tie the wheat +with wire or string at the moment of cutting it, the matter of +labour will be left much in the same stage. A crowd of workpeople +will be required all at once to pick up the sheaves, or to cart +them to the rick; and the difference will lie in this, that while +now the crowd are employed, say twelve hours, then they will be +employed only nine. Just the same number—perhaps +more—but for less time. Under the old system, a dozen men +worked all the winter through, hammering away with their flails in +the barns. Now the threshing-machine arrives, and the ricks are +threshed in a few days. As many men are wanted (and at double the +wages) to feed the machine, to tend the 'elevator' carrying up the +straw to make the straw rick, to fetch water and coal for the +engine, to drive it, &c. But instead of working for so many +months, this rush lasts as many days.</p> +<p>Much the same thing happens all throughout arable +agriculture—from the hoeing to the threshing—a troop +are wanted one day, scarcely anybody the next. There is, of course, +a steady undercurrent of continuous work for a certain fixed number +of hands; but over and above this are the periodical calls for +extra labour, which of recent years, from the high wages paid, have +been so profitable to the labourers. But when the agriculturist +draws in his investments, when he retrenches his expenditure, and +endeavours, as far as practicable, to confine it to his regular +men, then the intermittent character of the extra work puts a +strain upon the rest. They do not find so much to do, the pay is +insensibly decreasing, and they obtain, less casual employment +meantime.</p> +<p>In the olden times a succession of bad harvests caused +sufferings throughout the whole of England. Somewhat in like +manner, though in a greatly modified degree, the difficulties of +the arable agriculturist at the present day press upon the corn +villages. In a time when the inhabitants saw the farmers, as they +believed, flourishing and even treading on the heels of the squire, +the corn villagers, thinking that the farmer was absolutely +dependent upon them, led the van of the agitation for high wages. +Now, when the force of circumstances has compressed wages again, +they are both to submit. But discovering by slow degrees that no +organisation can compel, or create a demand for labour at any +price, there are now signs on the one hand of acquiescence, and on +the other of partial emigration.</p> +<p>Thus the comparative density of the population in arable +districts is at once a blessing and a trouble. It is not the +'pranks' of the farmers that have caused emigration, or threats of +it. The farmer is unable to pay high wages, the men will not accept +a moderate reduction, and the idle crowd, in effect, tread on each +other's heels. Pressure of that kind, and to that extent, is +limited to a few localities only. The majority have sufficient +common sense to see their error. But it is in arable districts that +agitation takes its extreme form. The very number of the population +gives any movement a vigour and emphasis that is wanting where +there may be as much discontent but fewer to exhibit it. That +populousness has been in the past of the greatest assistance to the +agriculturist, and there is no reason why it should not be so in +the future, for it does not by any means follow that because +agriculture is at present depressed it will always be so.</p> +<p>Let the months roll by and then approach the same village along +the same road under the summer sun. The hedges, though low, are +green, and bear the beautiful flowers of the wild convolvulus. +Trees that were scarcely observed before, because bare of leaves, +now appear, and crowds of birds, finches and sparrows, fly up from +the corn. The black swifts wheel overhead, and the white-breasted +swallows float in the azure. Over the broad plain extends a still +broader roof of the purest blue—the landscape is so open that +the sky seems as broad again as in the enclosed +countries—wide, limitless, very much as it does at sea. On +the rising ground pause a moment and look round. Wheat and barley +and oats stretch mile after mile on either hand. Here the red wheat +tinges the view, there the whiter barley; but the prevailing hue is +a light gold. Yonder green is the swede, or turnip, or mangold; but +frequent as are the fields of roots, the golden tint overpowers the +green. A golden sun looks down upon the golden wheat—the +winds are still and the heat broods over the corn. It is pleasant +to get under the scanty shadow of the stunted ash. Think what +wealth all that glorious beauty represents. Wealth to the rich man, +wealth to the poor.</p> +<p>Come again in a few weeks' time and look down upon it. The +swarthy reapers are at work. They bend to their labour till the +tall corn overtops their heads. Every now and then they rise up, +and stand breast high among the wheat. Every field is full of them, +men and women, young lads and girls, busy as they may be. Yonder +the reaping-machine, with its strange-looking arms revolving like +the vast claws of an unearthly monster beating down the grain, goes +rapidly round and round in an ever-narrowing circle till the last +ears fall. A crowd has pounced upon the cut corn. Behind +them—behind the reapers—everywhere abroad on the great +plain rises an army, regiment behind regiment, the sheaves stacked +in regular ranks down the fields. Yet a little while, and over that +immense expanse not one single, solitary straw will be left +standing. Then the green roots show more strongly, and tint the +landscape. Next come the waggons, and after that the children +searching for stray ears of wheat, for not one must be left behind. +After that, in the ploughing time, while yet the sun shines warm, +it is a sight to watch the teams from under the same ash tree, +returning from their labour in the afternoon. Six horses here, +eight horses there, twelve yonder, four far away; all in single +file, slowly walking home, and needing no order or touch of whip to +direct their steps to the well-known stables.</p> +<p>If any wish to see the work of farming in its full flush and +vigour, let them visit a corn district at the harvest time. Down in +the village there scarcely any one is left at home; every man, +woman, and child is out in the field. It is the day of prosperity, +of continuous work for all, of high wages. It is, then, easy to +understand why corn villages are populous. One cannot but feel the +strongest sympathy with these men. The scene altogether seems so +thoroughly, so intensely English. The spirit of it enters into the +spectator, and he feels that he, too, must try his hand at the +reaping, and then slake his thirst from the same cup with these +bronzed sons of toil. Yet what a difficult problem lies underneath +all this! While the reaper yonder slashes at the straw, huge ships +are on the ocean rushing through the foam to bring grain to the +great cities to whom—and to all—cheap bread is so +inestimable a blessing. Very likely, when he pauses in his work, +and takes his luncheon, the crust he eats is made of flour ground +out of grain that grew in far distant Minnesota, or some vast +Western State. Perhaps at the same moment the farmer himself sits +at his desk and adds up figure after figure, calculating the cost +of production, the expenditure on labour, the price of manure put +into the soil, the capital invested in the steam-plough, and the +cost of feeding the bullocks that are already intended for the next +Christmas. Against these he places the market price of that wheat +he can see being reaped from his window, and the price he receives +for his fattened bullock. Then a vision rises before him of green +meads and broad pastures slowly supplanting the corn; the plough +put away, and the scythe brought out and sharpened. If so, where +then will be the crowd of men and women yonder working in the +wheat? Is not this a great problem, one to be pondered over and not +hastily dismissed?</p> +<p>Logical conclusions do not always come to pass in practice; even +yet there is plenty of time for a change which shall retain these +stalwart reapers amongst us, the strength and pride of the land. +But if so, it is certain that it must be preceded by some earnest +on their part of a desire to remove that last straw from the +farmer's back—the last straw of extravagant labour +demands—which have slowly been dragging him down. They have +been doing their very best to bring about the substitution of grass +for corn. And the farmer, too, perhaps, must look at home, and be +content to live in simpler fashion. To do so will certainly require +no little moral courage, for a prevalent social custom, like that +of living fully up to the income (not solely characteristic of +farmers), is with difficulty faced and overcome.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap27" id="chap27">CHAPTER XXVII</a></h3> +<h3>GRASS COUNTRIES</h3> +On the ground beside the bramble bushes that project into the field +the grass is white with hoar frost at noon-day, when the rest of +the meadow has resumed its dull green winter tint. Behind the +copse, too, there is a broad belt of white—every place, +indeed, that would be in the shadow were the sun to shine forth is +of that colour. +<p>The eager hunter frowns with impatience, knowing that though the +eaves of the house may drip in the middle of the day, yet, while +those white patches show in the shelter of the bramble bushes the +earth will be hard and unyielding. His horse may clear the hedge, +but how about the landing on that iron-like surface? Every old +hoof-mark in the sward, cut out sharp and clear as if with a steel +die, is so firm that the heaviest roller would not produce the +smallest effect upon it. At the gateways where the passage of +cattle has trodden away the turf, the mud, once almost impassable, +is now hardened, and every cloven hoof that pressed it has left its +mark as if cast in metal. Along the furrows the ice has fallen in, +and lies on the slope white and broken, the shallow water having +dried away beneath it. Dark hedges, dark trees—in the +distance they look almost black—nearer at hand the smallest +branches devoid of leaves are clearly defined against the sky.</p> +<p>As the northerly wind drifts the clouds before it the sun shines +down, and the dead, dry grass and the innumerable tufts of the +'leaze' which the cattle have not eaten, take a dull grey hue. +Sheltered from the blast behind the thick, high hawthorn hedge and +double mound, which is like a rampart reared against Boreas, it is +pleasant even now to stroll to and fro in the sunshine. The +longtailed titmice come along in parties of six or eight, calling +to each other as in turn they visit every tree. Turning from +watching these—see, a redbreast has perched on a branch +barely two yards distant, for, wherever you may be, there the robin +comes and watches you. Whether looking in summer at the roses in +the garden, or waiting in winter for the pheasant to break cover or +the fox to steal forth, go where you will, in a minute or two, a +redbreast appears intent on your proceedings.</p> +<p>Now comes a discordant squeaking of iron axles that have not +been greased, and the jolting sound of wheels passing over ruts +whose edges are hard and frost-bound. From the lane two manure +carts enter the meadow in slow procession, and, stopping at regular +intervals, the men in charge take long poles with hooks at the end +and drag down a certain quantity of the fertilising material. The +sharp frost is so far an advantage to the tenant of meadow land +that he can cart manure without cutting and poaching the turf, and +even without changing the ordinary for the extra set of +broad-wheels on the cart. In the next meadow the hedge-cutters are +busy, their hands fenced with thick gloves to turn aside the +thorns.</p> +<p>Near by are the hay-ricks and cow-pen where a metallic rattling +sound rises every now and then—the bull in the shed moving +his neck and dragging his chain through the ring. More than one of +the hay-ricks have been already half cut away, for the severe +winter makes the cows hungry, and if their yield of milk is to be +kept up they must be well fed, so that the foggers have plenty to +do. If the dairy, as is most probably the case, sends the milk to +London, they have still more, because then a regular supply has to +be maintained, and for that a certain proportion of other food has +to be prepared in addition to the old-fashioned hay. The new +system, indeed, has led to the employment of more labour +out-of-doors, if less within. An extra fogger has to be put on, not +only because of the food, but because the milking has to be done in +less time—with a despatch, indeed, that would have seemed +unnatural to the old folk. Besides which the milk carts to and fro +the railway station require drivers, whose time—as they have +to go some miles twice a day—is pretty nearly occupied with +their horses and milk tins. So much is this the case that even in +summer they can scarcely be spared to do a few hours haymaking.</p> +<p>The new system, therefore, of selling the milk instead of making +butter and cheese is advantageous to the labourer by affording more +employment in grass districts. It is steady work, too, lasting the +entire year round, and well paid. The stock of cows in such cases +is kept up to the very highest that the land will carry, which, +again, gives more work. Although the closing of the cheese lofts +and the superannuation of the churn has reduced the number of +female servants in the house, yet that is more than balanced by the +extra work without. The cottage families, it is true, lose the +buttermilk which some farmers used to allow them; but wages are +certainly better.</p> +<p>There has been, in fact, a general stir and movement in dairy +districts since the milk selling commenced, which has been +favourable to labour. A renewed life and energy has been visible on +farms where for generations things had gone on in the same sleepy +manner. Efforts have been made to extend the area available for +feeding by grubbing hedges and cultivating pieces of ground +hitherto given over to thistles, rushes, and rough grasses. Drains +have been put in so that the stagnant water in the soil might not +cause the growth of those grasses which cattle will not touch. +Fresh seed has been sown, and 'rattles' and similar plants +destructive to the hay crop have been carefully eradicated. New +gales, new carts, and traps, all exhibit the same movement.</p> +<p>The cowyards in many districts were formerly in a very +dilapidated condition. The thatch of the sheds was all worn away, +mossgrown, and bored by the sparrows. Those in which the cows were +placed at calving time were mere dark holes. The floor of the yard +was often soft, so that the hoofs of the cattle trod deep into +it—a perfect slough in wet weather. The cows themselves were +of a poor character, and in truth as poorly treated, for the hay +was made badly—carelessly harvested, and the grass itself not +of good quality—nor were the men always very humane, thinking +little of knocking the animals about.</p> +<p>Quite a change has come over all this. The cows now kept are +much too valuable to be treated roughly, being selected from +shorthorn strains that yield large quantities of milk. No farmer +now would allow any such knocking about. The hay itself is better, +because the grass has been improved, and it is also harvested +carefully. Rickcloths prevent rain from spoiling the rising rick, +mowing machines, haymaking machines, and horse rakes enable a spell +of good weather to be taken advantage of, and the hay got in +quickly, instead of lying about till the rain returns. As for the +manure, it is recognised to be gold in another shape, and instead +of being trodden under foot by the cattle and washed away by the +rain, it is utilised. The yard is drained and stoned so as to be +dry—a change that effects a saving in litter, the value of +which has greatly risen. Sheds have been new thatched, and +generally renovated, and even new roads laid down across the farms, +and properly macadamised, in order that the milk carts might reach +the highway without the straining and difficulty consequent upon +wheels sinking half up to the axles in winter.</p> +<p>In short, dairy farms have been swept and garnished, and even +something like science introduced upon them. The thermometer in +summer is in constant use to determine if the milk is sufficiently +cooled to proceed upon its journey. That cooling of the milk alone +is a process that requires more labour to carry it out. Artificial +manures are spread abroad on the pastures. The dairy farmer has to +a considerable extent awakened to the times, and, like the arable +agriculturist, is endeavouring to bring modern appliances to bear +upon his business. To those who recollect the old style of dairy +farmer the change seems marvellous indeed. Nowhere was the farmer +more backward, more rude and primitive, than on the small dairy +farms. He was barely to be distinguished from the labourers, +amongst whom he worked shoulder to shoulder; he spoke with their +broad accent, and his ideas and theirs were nearly identical.</p> +<p>In ten years' time—just a short ten years only—what +an alteration has taken place! It is needless to say that this +could not go on without the spending of money, and the spending of +money means the benefit of the labouring class. New cottages have +been erected, of course on modern plans, so that many of the men +are much better lodged than they were, and live nearer to their +work—a great consideration where cows are the main object of +attention. The men have to be on the farm very early in the +morning, and if they have a long walk it is a heavy drag upon them. +Perhaps the constant intercourse with the towns and stations +resulting from the double daily visit of the milk carts has +quickened the minds of the labourers thus employed. Whatever may be +the cause, it is certain that they do exhibit an improvement, and +are much 'smarter' than they used to be. It would be untrue to say +that no troubles with the labourers have arisen in meadow +districts. There has been some friction about wages, but not nearly +approaching the agitation elsewhere. And when a recent reduction of +wages commenced, many of the men themselves admitted that it was +inevitable. But the average earnings throughout the year still +continue, and are likely to continue far above the old rate of +payment. Where special kinds of cheese are made the position of the +labourer has also improved.</p> +<p>Coming to the same district in summer time, the meadows have a +beauty all their own. The hedges are populous with birds, the trees +lovely, the brook green with flags, the luxuriantly-growing grass +decked with flowers. Nor has haymaking lost all its ancient charm. +Though the old-fashioned sound of the mower sharpening his scythe +is less often heard, being superseded by the continuous rattle of +the mowing machine, yet the hay smells as sweetly as ever. While +the mowing machine, the haymaking machine, and horse rake give the +farmer the power of using the sunshine, when it comes, to the best +purpose, they are not without an effect upon the labouring +population.</p> +<p>Just as in corn districts, machinery has not reduced the actual +number of hands employed, but has made the work come in spells or +rushes; so in the meadows the haymaking is shortened. The farmer +waits till good weather is assured for a few days. Then on goes his +mowing machine and levels the crop of an entire field in no time. +Immediately a whole crowd of labourers are required for making the +hay and getting it when ready on the waggons. Under the old system +the mowers usually got drunk about the third day of sunshine, and +the work came to a standstill. When it began to rain they recovered +themselves, and slashed away vigorously—when it was not +wanted. The effect of machinery has been much the same as on corn +lands, with the addition that fewer women are now employed in +haymaking. Those that are employed are much better paid.</p> +<p>The hamlets of grass districts are not, as a rule, at all +populous. There really are fewer people, and at the same time the +impression is increased by the scattered position of the dwellings. +Instead of a great central village there are three or four small +hamlets a mile or two apart, and solitary groups of cottages near +farmhouses. One result of this is, that allotment gardens are not +so common, for the sufficient reason that, if a field were set +apart for the purpose, the tenants of the plots would have to walk +so far to the place that it would scarcely pay them. Gardens are +consequently attached to most cottages, and answer the same +purpose; some have small orchards as well.</p> +<p>The cottagers have also more firewood than is the case in some +arable districts on account of the immense quantity of wood +annually cut in copses and double-mound hedges. The rougher part +becomes the labourers' perquisite, and they can also purchase wood +at a nominal rate from their employers. This more than compensates +for the absence of gleaning. In addition, quantities of wood are +collected from hedges and ditches and under the trees—dead +boughs that have fallen or been broken off by a gale.</p> +<p>The aspect of a grazing district presents a general resemblance +to that of a dairy one, with the difference that in the grazing +everything seems on a larger scale. Instead of small meadows shut +in with hedges and trees, the grazing farms often comprise fields +of immense extent; sometimes a single pasture is as large as a +small dairy farm. The herds of cattle are also more numerous; of +course they are of a different class, but, in mere numbers, a +grazier often has three times as many bullocks as a dairy farmer +has cows. The mounds are quite as thickly timbered as in dairy +districts, but as they are much farther apart, the landscape +appears more open.</p> +<p>To a spectator looking down upon mile after mile of such pasture +land in summer from an elevation it resembles a park of illimitable +extent. Great fields after great fields roll away to the +horizon—groups of trees and small copses dot the +slopes—roan and black cattle stand in the sheltering shadows. +A dreamy haze hangs over the distant woods—all is large, +open, noble. It suggests a life of freedom—the gun and the +saddle—and, indeed, it is here that hunting is enjoyed in its +full perfection. The labourer falls almost out of sight in these +vast pastures. The population is sparse and scattered, the hamlets +are few and far apart; even many of the farmhouses being only +occupied by bailiffs. In comparison with a dairy farm there is +little work to do. Cows have to be milked as well as foddered, and +the milk when obtained gives employment to many hands in the +various processes it goes through. Here the bullocks have simply to +be fed and watched, the sheep in like manner have to be tended. +Except in the haymaking season, therefore, there is scarcely ever a +press for labour. Those who are employed have steady, continuous +work the year through, and are for the most part men of experience +in attending upon cattle, as indeed they need be, seeing the value +of the herds under their charge.</p> +<p>Although little direct agitation has taken place in pasture +countries, yet wages have equally risen. Pasture districts almost +drop out of the labour dispute. On the one hand the men are few, on +the other the rise of a shilling or so scarcely affects the farmer +(so far as his grass land is concerned, if he has much corn as well +it is different), because of the small number of labourers he +wants.</p> +<p>The great utility of pasture is, of course, the comparatively +cheap production of meat, which goes to feed the population in +cities. Numbers of bullocks are fattened on corn land in stalls, +but of late it has been stated that the cost of feeding under such +conditions is so high that scarcely any profit can be obtained. The +pasture farmer has by no means escaped without encountering +difficulties; but still, with tolerably favourable seasons, he can +produce meat much more cheaply than the arable agriculturist. Yet +it is one of the avowed objects of the labour organisation to +prevent the increase of pasture land, to stop the laying down of +grass, and even to plough up some of the old pastures. The reason +given is that corn land supports so many more agricultural +labourers, which is so far true; but if corn farming cannot be +carried on profitably without great reduction of the labour +expenses the argument is not worth much, while the narrowness of +the view is at once evident. The proportion of pasture to arable +land must settle itself, and be governed entirely by the same +conditions that affect other trades—i.e.. profit and +loss.</p> +<p>It has already been pointed out that the labourer finds it +possible to support the Union with small payments, and also to +subscribe to benefit-clubs. The fact suggests the idea that, if +facilities were afforded, the labourer would become a considerable +depositor of pennies. The Post-office Savings Banks have done much +good, the drawback is that the offices are often too distant from +the labourer. There is an office in the village, but not half the +population live in the village. There are far-away hamlets and +things, besides lonely groups of three or four farmhouses, to which +a collective name can hardly be given, but which employ a number of +men. A rural parish is 'all abroad'—the people are scattered. +To go into the Post-office in the village may involve a walk of +several miles, and it is closed, too, on Saturday night when the +men are flush of money.</p> +<p>The great difficulty with penny banks on the other hand is the +receiver—who is to be responsible for the money? The +clergyman would be only too glad, but many will have nothing to do +with anything under his influence simply because he is the +clergyman. The estrangement that has been promoted between the +labourer and the tenant farmer effectually shuts the latter out. +The landlord's agent cannot reside in fifty places at once. The +sums are too small to pay for a bank agent to reside in the village +and go round. There remain the men themselves; and why should not +they be trusted with the money? Men of their own class collect the +Union subscriptions, and faithfully pay them in.</p> +<p>Take the case of a little hamlet two, three, perhaps more miles +from a Post-office Savings Bank, where some thirty labourers work +on the farms. Why should not these thirty elect one of their own +number to receive their savings over Saturday—to be paid in +by him at the Post-office? There are men among them who might be +safely trusted with ten times the money, and if the Post-office +cannot be opened on Saturday evenings for him to deposit it, it is +quite certain that his employer would permit of his absence, on one +day, sufficiently long to go to the office and back. If the men +wish to be absolutely independent in the matter, all they have to +do is to work an extra hour for their agent's employer, and so +compensate for his temporary absence. If the men had it in their +own hands like this they would enter into it with far greater +interest, and it would take root among them. All that is required +is the consent of the Post-office to receive moneys so deposited, +and some one to broach the idea to the men in the various +localities. The great recommendation of the Post-office is that the +labouring classes everywhere have come to feel implicit faith in +the safety of deposits made in it. They have a confidence in it +that can never be attained by a private enterprise, however +benevolent, and it should therefore be utilised to the utmost.</p> +<p>To gentlemen accustomed to receive a regular income, a small +lump sum like ten or twenty pounds appears a totally inadequate +provision against old age. They institute elaborate calculations by +professed accountants, to discover whether by any mode of +investment a small subscription proportionate to the labourer's +wages can be made to provide him with an annuity. The result is +scarcely satisfactory. But, in fact, though an annuity would be, of +course, preferable, even so small a sum as ten or twenty pounds is +of the very highest value to an aged agricultural labourer, +especially when he has a cottage, if not his own property, yet in +which he has a right to reside. The neighbouring farmers, who have +known him from their own boyhood, are always ready to give him +light jobs whenever practicable. So that in tolerable weather he +still earns something. His own children do a little for him. In the +dead of the winter come a few weeks when he can do nothing, and +feels the lack of small comforts. It is just then that a couple of +sovereigns out of a hoard of twenty pounds will tide him over the +interval.</p> +<p>It is difficult to convey an idea of the value of these two +extra sovereigns to a man of such frugal habits and in that +position. None but those who have mixed with the agricultural poor +can understand it. Now the wages that will hardly, by the most +careful management, allow of the gradual purchase of an annuity, +will readily permit such savings as these. It is simply a question +of the money-box. When the child's money-box is at hand the penny +is dropped in, and the amount accumulates; if there is no box handy +it is spent in sweets. The same holds true of young and old alike. +If, then, the annuity cannot be arranged, let the money-box, at all +events, be brought nearer. And the money-box in which the poor man +all over the country has the most faith is the Post-office.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a name="chap28" id="chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h3> +<h3>HODGE'S LAST MASTERS. CONCLUSION</h3> +After all the ploughing and the sowing, the hoeing and the harvest, +comes the miserable end. Strong as the labourer may be, thick-set +and capable of immense endurance; by slow degrees that strength +must wear away. The limbs totter, the back is bowed, the dimmed +sight can no longer guide the plough in a straight furrow, nor the +weak hands wield the reaping-hook, Hodge, who, Atlas-like, +supported upon his shoulders the agricultural world, comes in his +old age under the dominion of his last masters at the workhouse. +There, indeed, he finds almost the whole array of his rulers +assembled. Tenant farmers sit as the guardians of the poor for +their respective parishes; the clergyman and the squire by virtue +of their office as magistrates; and the tradesman as guardian for +the market town. Here are representatives of almost all his +masters, and it may seem to him a little strange that it should +require so many to govern such feeble folk. +<p>The board-room at the workhouse is a large and apparently +comfortable apartment. The fire is piled with glowing coals, the +red light from which gleams on the polished fender. A vast table +occupies the centre, and around it are arranged seats, for each of +the guardians. The chairman is, perhaps, a clergyman (and +magistrate), who for years has maintained something like peace +between discordant elements. For the board-room is often a +battle-field where political or sectarian animosities exhibit +themselves in a rugged way. The clergyman, by force of character, +has at all events succeeded in moderating the personal asperity of +the contending parties. Many of the stout, elderly farmers who sit +round the table have been elected year after year, no one disputing +with them that tedious and thankless office. The clerk, always a +solicitor, is also present, and his opinion is continually +required. Knotty points of law are for ever arising over what seems +so simple a matter as the grant of a dole of bread.</p> +<p>The business, indeed, of relieving the agricultural poor is no +light one—a dozen or fifteen gentlemen often sit here the +whole day. The routine of examining the relieving officers' books +and receiving their reports takes up at least two hours. +Agricultural unions often include a wide space of country, and +getting from one village to another consumes as much time as would +be needed for the actual relief of a much denser population. As a +consequence, more relieving officers are employed than would seem +at first glance necessary. Each of these has his records to +present, and his accounts to be practically audited, a process +naturally interspersed with inquiries respecting cottagers known to +the guardians present.</p> +<p>Personal applications for out-door relief are then heard. A +group of intending applicants has been waiting in the porch for +admission for some time. Women come for their daughters; daughters +for their mothers; some want assistance during an approaching +confinement, others ask for a small loan, to be repaid by +instalments, with which to tide over their difficulties. One +cottage woman is occasionally deputed by several of her neighbours +as their representative. The labourer or his wife stands before the +Board and makes a statement, supplemented by explanation from the +relieving officer of the district. Another hour thus passes. +Incidentally there arise cases of 'settlement' in distant parishes, +when persons have become chargeable whose place of residence was +recently, perhaps, half across the country. They have no parochial +rights here and must be returned thither, after due inquiries made +by the clerk and the exchange of considerable correspondence.</p> +<p>The master of the workhouse is now called in and delivers his +weekly report of the conduct of the inmates, and any events that +have happened. One inmate, an ancient labourer, died that morning +in the infirmary, not many hours before the meeting of the Board. +The announcement is received with regretful exclamations, and there +is a cessation of business for a few minutes. Some of the old +farmers who knew the deceased recount their connection with him, +how he worked for them, and how his family has lived in the parish +as cottagers from time immemorial. A reminiscence of a grim joke +that fell out forty years before, and of which the deceased was the +butt, causes a grave smile, and then to business again. The master +possibly asks permission to punish a refractory inmate; punishment +is now very sparingly given in the house. A good many cases, +however, come up from the Board to the magisterial +Bench—charges of tearing up clothing, fighting, damaging +property, or of neglecting to maintain, or to repay relief advanced +on loan. These cases are, of course, conducted by the clerk.</p> +<p>There is sometimes a report, to be read by one of the doctors +who receive salaries from the Board and attend to the various +districts, and occasionally some nuisance to be considered and +order taken for its compulsory removal on sanitary grounds. The +question of sanitation is becoming rather a difficult one in +agricultural unions.</p> +<p>After this the various committees of the Board have to give in +the result of their deliberations, and the representative of tho +ladies' boarding-out committee presents a record of the work +accomplished. These various committees at times are burdened with +the most onerous labours, for upon them falls the duty of verifying +all the petty details of management. Every pound of soap, or +candles, scrubbing-brushes, and similar domestic items, pass under +their inspection, not only the payments for them, but the actual +articles, or samples of them, being examined. Tenders for grocery, +bread, wines and spirits for cases of illness, meat, coals, and so +forth are opened and compared, vouchers, bills, receipts, invoices, +and so forth checked and audited.</p> +<p>The amount of detail thus attended to is something immense, and +the accuracy required occupies hour after hour. There are whole +libraries of account-books, ledgers, red-bound relief-books, stowed +away, pile upon pile, in the house; archives going back to the +opening of the establishment, and from which any trifling relief +given or expenditure inclined years ago can be extracted. Such +another carefully-administered institution it would be hard to +find; nor is any proposed innovation or change adopted without the +fullest discussion—it may be the suggested erection of +additional premises, or the introduction of some fresh feature of +the system, or some novel instructions sent down by the Local +Government Board.</p> +<p>When such matters or principles are to be discussed there is +certain to be a full gathering of the guardians and a trial of +strength between the parties. Those who habitually neglect to +attend, leaving the hard labour of administration to be borne by +their colleagues, now appear in numbers, and the board-room is +crowded, many squires otherwise seldom seen coming in to give their +votes. It is as much as the chairman can do to assuage the storm +and to maintain an approach to personal politeness. Quiet as the +country appears to the casual observer, there are, nevertheless, +strong feelings under the surface, and at such gatherings the +long-cherished animosities burst forth.</p> +<p>Nothing at all events is done in a corner; everything is openly +discussed and investigated. Every week the visiting committee go +round the house, and enter every ward and store-room. They taste +and test the provisions, and the least shortcoming is certain to be +severely brought home to those who are fulfilling the contracts. +They pass through the dormitories, and see that everything is +clean; woe betide those responsible if a spot of dirt be visible! +There is the further check of casual and unexpected visits from the +guardians or magistrates. It is probable that not one crumb of +bread consumed is otherwise than good, and that not one single +crumb is wasted. The waste is in the system—and a gigantic +waste it is, whether inevitable as some contend, or capable of +being superseded by a different plan.</p> +<p>Of every hundred pounds paid by the ratepayers how much is +absorbed in the maintenance of the institution and its +ramifications, and how very little reaches poor deserving Hodge! +The undeserving and mean-spirited, of whom there are plenty in +every village, who endeavour to live upon the parish, receive +relief thrice as long and to thrice the amount as the hard-working, +honest labourer, who keeps out to the very last moment. It is not +the fault of the guardians, but of the rigidity of the law. Surely +a larger amount of discretionary power might be vested in them with +advantage! Some exceptional consideration is the just due of men +who have worked from the morn to the very eve of life.</p> +<p>The labourer whose decease was reported to the Board upon their +assembling was born some seventy-eight or seventy-nine years ago. +The exact date is uncertain; many of the old men can only fix their +age by events that happened when they were growing from boys into +manhood. That it must have been nearer eighty than seventy years +since is known, however, to the elderly farmers, who recollect him +as a man with a family when they were young. The thatched cottage +stood beside the road at one end of a long, narrow garden, enclosed +from the highway by a hedge of elder. At the back there was a ditch +and mound with elm-trees, and green meadows beyond. A few poles +used to lean against the thatch, their tops rising above the ridge, +and close by was a stack of thorn faggots. In the garden three or +four aged and mossgrown apple-trees stood among the little plots of +potatoes, and as many plum-trees in the elder hedge. One tall +pear-tree with scored bark grew near the end of the cottage; it +bore a large crop of pears, which were often admired by the people +who came along the road, but were really hard and woody. As a child +he played in the ditch and hedge, or crept through into the meadow +and searched in the spring for violets to offer to the passers-by; +or he swung on the gate in the lane and held it open for the +farmers in their gigs, in hope of a halfpenny.</p> +<p>As a lad he went forth with his father to work in the fields, +and came home to the cabbage boiled for the evening meal. It was +not a very roomy or commodious home to return to after so many +hours in the field, exposed to rain and wind, to snow, or summer +sun. The stones of the floor were uneven, and did not fit at the +edges. There was a beam across the low ceiling, to avoid which, as +he grew older, he had to bow his head when crossing the apartment. +A wooden ladder, or steps, not a staircase proper, behind the +whitewashed partition, led to the bedroom. The steps were +worm-eaten and worn. In the sitting-room the narrow panes of the +small window were so overgrown with woodbine as to admit but little +light. But in summer the door was wide open, and the light and the +soft air came in. The thick walls and thatch kept it warm and cosy +in winter, when they gathered round the fire. Every day in his +manhood he went out to the field; every item, as it were, of life +centred in that little cottage. In time he came to occupy it with +his own wife, and his children in their turn crept through the +hedge, or swung upon the gate. They grew up, and one by one went +away, till at last he was left alone.</p> +<p>He had not taken much conscious note of the changing aspect of +the scene around him. The violets flowered year after year; still +he went to plough. The May bloomed and scented the hedges; still he +went to his work. The green summer foliage became brown and the +acorns fell from the oaks; still he laboured on, and saw the ice +and snow, and heard the wind roar in the old familiar trees without +much thought of it. But those old familiar trees, the particular +hedges he had worked among so many years, the very turf of the +meadows over which he had walked so many times, the view down the +road from the garden gate, the distant sign-post and the +red-bricked farmhouse—all these things had become part of his +life. There was no hope nor joy left to him, but he wanted to stay +on among them to the end. He liked to ridge up his little plot of +potatoes; he liked to creep up his ladder and mend the thatch of +his cottage; he liked to cut himself a cabbage, and to gather the +one small basketful of apples. There was a kind of dull pleasure in +cropping the elder hedge, and even in collecting the dead branches +scattered under the trees. To be about the hedges, in the meadows, +and along the brooks was necessary to him, and he liked to be at +work.</p> +<p>Three score and ten did not seem the limit of his working days; +he still could and would hoe—a bowed back is no impediment, +but perhaps rather an advantage, at that occupation. He could use a +prong in the haymaking; he could reap a little, and do good service +tying up the cut corn. There were many little jobs on the farm that +required experience, combined with the plodding patience of age, +and these he could do better than a stronger man. The years went +round again, and yet he worked. Indeed, the farther back a man's +birth dates in the beginning of the present century the more he +seems determined to labour. He worked on till every member of his +family had gone, most to their last home, and still went out at +times when the weather was not too severe. He worked on, and +pottered round the garden, and watched the young green plums +swelling on his trees, and did a bit of gleaning, and thought the +wheat would weigh bad when it was threshed out.</p> +<p>Presently people began to bestir themselves, and to ask whether +there was no one to take care of the old man, who might die from +age and none near. Where were his own friends and relations? One +strong son had enlisted and gone to India, and though his time had +expired long ago, nothing had ever been heard of him. Another son +had emigrated to Australia, and once sent back a present of money, +and a message, written for him by a friend, that he was doing well. +But of late, he, too, had dropped out of sight. Of three daughters +who grew up, two were known to be dead, and the third was believed +to be in New Zealand. The old man was quite alone. He had no hope +and no joy, yet he was almost happy in a slow unfeeling way +wandering about the garden and the cottage. But in the winter his +half-frozen blood refused to circulate, his sinews would not move +his willing limbs, and he could not work.</p> +<p>His case came before the Board of Guardians. Those who knew all +about him wished to give him substantial relief in his own cottage, +and to appoint some aged woman as nurse—a thing that is +occasionally done, and most humanely. But there were technical +difficulties in the way; the cottage was either his own or partly +his own, and relief could not be given to any one possessed of +'property' Just then, too, there was a great movement against, +out-door relief; official circulars came round warning Boards to +curtail it, and much fuss was made. In the result the old man was +driven into the workhouse; muttering and grumbling, he had to be +bodily carried to the trap, and thus by physical force was dragged +from his home. In the workhouse there is of necessity a dead level +of monotony—there are many persons but no individuals. The +dining-hall is crossed with forms and narrow tables, somewhat +resembling those formerly used in schools. On these at dinner-time +are placed a tin mug and a tin soup-plate for each person; every +mug and every plate exactly alike. When the unfortunates have taken +their places, the master pronounces grace from an elevated desk at +the end of the hall.</p> +<p>Plain as is the fare, it was better than the old man had existed +on for years; but though better it was not his dinner. He was not +sitting in his old chair, at his own old table, round which his +children had once gathered. He had not planted the cabbage, and +tended it while it grew, and cut it himself. So it was, all through +the workhouse life. The dormitories were clean, but the ward was +not his old bedroom up the worm-eaten steps, with the slanting +ceiling, where as he woke in the morning he could hear the sparrows +chirping, the chaffinch calling, and the lark singing aloft. There +was a garden attached to the workhouse, where he could do a little +if he liked, but it was not his garden. He missed his plum-trees +and apples, and the tall pear, and the lowly elder hedge. He looked +round raising his head with difficulty, and he could not see the +sign-post, nor the familiar red-bricked farmhouse. He knew all the +rain that had fallen must have come through the thatch of the old +cottage in at least one place, and he would have liked to have gone +and rethatched it with trembling hand. At home he could lift the +latch of the garden gate and go down the road when he wished. Here +he could not go outside the boundary—it was against the +regulations. Everything to appearance had been monotonous in the +cottage—but there he did not feel it monotonous.</p> +<p>At the workhouse the monotony weighed upon him. He used to think +as he lay awake in bed that when the spring came nothing should +keep him in this place. He would take his discharge and go out, and +borrow a hoe from somebody, and go and do a bit of work again, and +be about in the fields. That was his one hope all through his first +winter. Nothing else enlivened it, except an occasional little +present of tobacco from the guardians who knew him. The spring +came, but the rain was ceaseless. No work of the kind he could do +was possible in such weather. Still there was the summer, but the +summer was no improvement; in the autumn he felt weak, and was not +able to walk far. The chance for which he had waited had gone. +Again the winter came, and he now rapidly grew more feeble.</p> +<p>When once an aged man gives up, it seems strange at first that +he should be so utterly helpless. In the infirmary the real benefit +of the workhouse reached him. The food, the little luxuries, the +attention were far superior to anything he could possibly have had +at home. But still it was not home. The windows did not permit him +from his bed to see the leafless trees or the dark woods and +distant hills. Left to himself, it is certain that of choice he +would have crawled under a rick, or into a hedge, if he could not +have reached his cottage.</p> +<p>The end came very slowly; he ceased to exist by imperceptible +degrees, like an oak-tree. He remained for days in a +semi-unconscious state, neither moving nor speaking. It happened at +last. In the grey of the winter dawn, as the stars paled and the +whitened grass was stiff with hoar frost, and the rime coated every +branch of the tall elms, as the milker came from the pen and the +young ploughboy whistled down the road to his work, the spirit of +the aged man departed.</p> +<p>What amount of production did that old man's life of labour +represent? What value must be put upon the service of the son that +fought in India; of the son that worked in Australia; of the +daughter in New Zealand, whose children will help to build up a new +nation? These things surely have their value. Hodge died, and the +very grave-digger grumbled as he delved through the earth +hard-bound in the iron frost, for it jarred his hand and might +break his spade. The low mound will soon be level, and the place of +his burial shall not be known.</p> +<br> +<hr size="5" noshade> +<pre> + + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11874 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |