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diff --git a/31710-h/31710-h.htm b/31710-h/31710-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c4d4af --- /dev/null +++ b/31710-h/31710-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11420 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title>The Hills and the Vale, by Richard Jefferies; an eBook from Project Gutenberg</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /* <![CDATA[ */ +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.pagenum { + /*visibility: hidden;*/ + color: #999; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 8%; + margin-right: 8%; +} + +.center { text-align: center; } +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps; } +.smcaplc { font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase; } +.caps { text-transform: uppercase; } +.smaller { font-size: smaller; } +.larger { font-size: larger; } + +/* Images */ +img { border: 1px solid black; } +.nobord { border: none; } +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes { border: dashed 1px; } +.footnote { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em; } +.footnote .label { position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right; } + +.fnanchor { + font-size: 80%; + text-decoration: none; +} +h2 .fnanchor { font-size: 60%; font-weight: normal; } + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left; } +.poem br { display: none; } +.poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } +.poem span { display: block; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; } +.poem span.i0 { margin-left: 0em; } +.poem span.i1 { margin-left: 1em; } +.poem span.i2 { margin-left: 2em; } +.poem span.i4 { margin-left: 4em; } + +/***/ + +.trnote { + font-family: sans-serif; + background-color: #ccc; + color: #000; + border: black 1px dotted; + margin: 2em 10% 2em 10%; + padding: .6em; +} +.trnote ul li { list-style-type: none; } + +.toc { margin: 0 24% auto 24%; padding: 0 2em 0 0; } +p.toc { font-size: 60%; margin-bottom: 0; padding-bottom: 0; } +.toc li { list-style-type: none; } +.toc li p { margin-top: 0; padding-top: 0; margin-bottom: .4em; text-align: left; } +.toc .num { position: absolute; right: 29%; top: auto; } +.topmarg { margin-top: 2.6em; } + +p.theend { text-align: center; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em; } +p.theend span { border-top: solid 1px black; padding-top: 3px; } +.sansserif { font-family: sans-serif; } +.snip { font-size: 90%; padding: 0; margin: -.5em 0 -.7em 1em; text-align: left; letter-spacing: 1.4em; } +.deco { letter-spacing: .1em; } + +hr.chapbreak { width: 25%; } +hr.tb, .w65 { width: 65%; } +.w45 { width: 45%; } +.w25 { width: 25%; } + +a.corr { /*border-bottom: 1px dotted #333;*/ } + + /* ]]> */ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hills and the Vale, by Richard Jefferies + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Hills and the Vale + +Author: Richard Jefferies + +Commentator: Edward Thomas + +Release Date: March 20, 2010 [EBook #31710] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HILLS AND THE VALE *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="trnote"> +<h2>Transcriber's note</h2> +<ol> +<li>Obvious punctuation errors have been repaired silently.</li> +<li>Word errors have been corrected and a <a href="#trcorrections">list + of corrections</a> can be found after the book.</li> +</ol> +</div> + + + +<h1 class="caps">The Hills and the Vale</h1> + + + +<hr class="w25" /> +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + + + +<hr class="w25" /> +<h1 class="caps">The Hills and the Vale</h1> + +<h2 class="caps"><span class="smaller">By</span><br /> +<span class="deco">Richard Jefferies</span></h2> + +<p class="topmarg center caps"><span class="smaller">With an introduction by</span><br /> +<span class="deco">Edward Thomas</span></p> + +<div class="topmarg figcenter"><img class="nobord" alt="Publisher logo" src="images/logo.png" width="137" height="148" /></div> + +<p class="topmarg center caps"><span class="deco">London: Duckworth & Co.</span><br /> +3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden<br /> +1909</p> + + + +<hr class="w25" /> +<p class="center caps">To<br /> +<span class="deco">John Williams</span><br /> +of Waun Wen</p> + + +<hr class="w45" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></div> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class="toc"> <span class="num caps">Page</span></p> +<ul class="toc"> + +<li><p><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a> +<span class="num">ix</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#CHOOSING_A_GUN">CHOOSING A GUN</a> +<span class="num">1</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#SKATING">SKATING</a> +<span class="num">22</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#MARLBOROUGH_FOREST">MARLBOROUGH FOREST</a> +<span class="num">27</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#VILLAGE_CHURCHES">VILLAGE CHURCHES</a> +<span class="num">35</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#BIRDS_OF_SPRING">BIRDS OF SPRING</a> +<span class="num">43</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#THE_SPRING_OF_THE_YEAR">THE SPRING OF THE YEAR</a> +<span class="num">54</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#VIGNETTES_FROM_NATURE">VIGNETTES FROM NATURE</a> +<span class="num">70</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#A_KING_OF_ACRES">A KING OF ACRES</a> +<span class="num">79</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_SWINDON">THE STORY OF SWINDON</a> +<span class="num">104</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#UNEQUAL_AGRICULTURE">UNEQUAL AGRICULTURE</a> +<span class="num">134</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#VILLAGE_ORGANIZATION">VILLAGE ORGANIZATION</a> +<span class="num">151</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#THE_IDLE_EARTH">THE IDLE EARTH</a> +<span class="num">207</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#AFTER_THE_COUNTY_FRANCHISE">AFTER THE COUNTY FRANCHISE</a> +<span class="num">224</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#THE_WILTSHIRE_LABOURER">THE WILTSHIRE LABOURER</a> +<span class="num">247</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#ON_THE_DOWNS">ON THE DOWNS</a> +<span class="num">270</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#THE_SUN_AND_THE_BROOK">THE SUN AND THE BROOK</a> +<span class="num">280</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#NATURE_AND_ETERNITY">NATURE AND ETERNITY</a> +<span class="num">284</span></p></li> + +<li><p><a href="#THE_DAWN">THE DAWN</a> +<span class="num">306</span></p></li> +</ul> + + + +<hr class="w45" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>This book consists of three unpublished essays and +of fifteen reprinted from <i>Longman's Magazine</i>, +<i>Fraser's Magazine</i>, the <i>New Quarterly</i>, <i>Knowledge</i>, +<i>Chambers's Magazine</i>, the <i>Graphic</i>, and the <i>Standard</i>, +where they have probably been little noticed since +the time of their appearance. Several more volumes +of this size might have been made by collecting all +the articles which were not reprinted in Jefferies' +lifetime, or in 'Field and Hedgerow' and 'Toilers +of the Field,' shortly after his death. But the +work in such volumes could only have attracted +those very few of the omnivorous lovers of +Jefferies who have not already found it out. After +the letters on the Wiltshire labourer, addressed to +the <i>Times</i> in 1872, he wrote nothing that was not +perhaps at the time his best, but, being a journalist, +he had often to deal immediately, and in a transitory +manner, with passing events, or to empty a page or +two of his note-books in response to an impulse +assuredly no higher than habit or necessity. Many +of these he passed over or rejected in making up +volumes of essays for publication; some he certainly +included. Of those he passed over, some are equal +to the best, or all but the best, of those which he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> +admitted, and I think these will be found in 'The +Hills and the Vale.' There are others which need +more excuse. The two early papers on 'Marlborough +Forest' and 'Village Churches,' which were +quoted in Besant's 'Eulogy,' are interesting on +account of their earliness (1875), and charming +enough to please those who read all Jefferies' books. +'The Story of Swindon,' 'Unequal Agriculture,' and +'Village Organization,' will be valued for their +matter, and because they are examples of his writing, +and of his interests and opinions, before he was +thirty. That they are partly out of date is true, but +they are worth remembering by the student of +Jefferies and of his times; they do credit to his +insight and even to his foresight; and there is still +upon them, here and there, some ungathered fruit. +The later agricultural articles, 'The Idle Earth,' +'After the County Franchise,' and 'The Wiltshire +Labourer,' are the work of his ripe years. There +were also several papers published not only after +his death, but after the posthumous collections. I +have included all of these, for none of them needs +defence, while 'Nature and Eternity' ranks with his +finest work. The three papers now for the first +time printed might have been, but are not, admitted +on that ground alone. 'On Choosing a Gun' and +'Skating' belong to the period of 'The Amateur +Poacher,' and are still alive, and too good to destroy. +'The Dawn' is beautiful.</p> + +<p>Among these eighteen papers are examples from +nearly every kind and period of Jefferies' work, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> +though his earliest writing is still decently interred +where it was born, in Wiltshire and Gloucestershire +papers (chiefly the <i>North Wilts Herald</i>), except such +as was disinterred by the late Miss Toplis for +'Jefferies Land,' 'T.T.T.,' and 'The Early Fiction +of Richard Jefferies.' From his early youth Jefferies +was a reporter in the north of Wiltshire and south of +Gloucestershire, at political and agricultural meetings, +elections, police-courts, markets, and Boards of Guardians. +He inquired privately or officially into the +history of the Great Western Railway works at New +Swindon, of the local churches and families, of ancient +monuments, and he announced the facts with such +reflections as came to him, or might be expected from +him, in newspaper articles, papers read before the Wiltshire +Archæological Society, and in a booklet on 'The +Goddards of North Wilts.' As reporter, archæologist, +and sportsman, he was continually walking to and +fro across the vale and over the downs; or writing +down what he saw, for the most part in a manner +dictated by the writing of other men engaged in the +same way; or reading everything that came in his +way, but especially natural history, chronicles, and +Greek philosophy in English translations. He was +bred entirely on English, and in a very late paper he +could be so hazy about the meaning of 'illiterate' as to +say that the labourers 'never were illiterate mentally; +they are now no more illiterate in the partial sense of +book-knowledge.' He tried his hand at topical +humour, and again and again at short sensational +tales. But until he was twenty-four he wrote nothing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> +which could have suggested that he was much above +the cleverer young men of the same calling. There +was nothing fine or strong in his writing. His +researches were industrious, but not illuminated. If +his range of reading was uncommon, it gave him +only some quotations of no exceptional felicity. His +point of view could have given no cause for admiration +or alarm. And yet he was not considered an +ordinary young man, being apparently idle, ambitious, +discontented, and morose, and certainly unsociable +and negligently dressed. He walked about night +and day, chiefly alone and with a noticeable long +stride. But if he was ambitious, it was only that he +desired success—the success of a writer, and probably +a novelist, in the public eye. His possessions were +the fruits of his wandering, his self-chosen books +and a sensitive, solitary temperament. He might +have been described as a clever young man, well-informed, +a little independent, not first-rate at shorthand, +and yet possibly too good for his place; and +the description would have been all that was possible +to anyone not intimate with him, and there was no +one intimate with him but himself. He had as yet +neither a manner nor a matter of his own. It is not +clear from anything remaining that he had discovered +that writing could be something more than a means +of making party views plausible or information +picturesque. In 1867, at the age of nineteen, he +opened a description of Swindon as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'Whenever a man imbued with republican politics +and progressionist views ascends the platform and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> +delivers an oration, it is a safe wager that he makes +some allusion at least to Chicago, the famous mushroom +city of the United States, which sprang up in +a night, and thirty years ago consisted of a dozen +miserable fishermen's huts, and now counts over two +hundred thousand inhabitants. Chicago! Chicago! +look at Chicago! and see in its development the +vigour which invariably follows republican institutions.... +Men need not go so far from their +own doors to see another instance of rapid expansion +and development which has taken place under a +monarchical government. The Swindon of to-day is +almost ridiculously disproportioned to the Swindon +of forty years ago....'</p></div> + +<p>Eight years later Jefferies rewrote 'The Story of +Swindon' as it is given in this book, and the allusion +to Chicago was reduced to this:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The workmen required food; tradesmen came +and supplied that food, and Swindon rose as Chicago +rose, as if by magic.'</p></div> + +<p>Yet it is certain that in 1867 Jefferies was already +carrying about with him an experience and a power +which were to ripen very slowly into something +unique. He was observing; he was developing +a sense of the beauty in Nature, in humanity, in +thought, and the arts; and he was 'not more than +eighteen when an inner and esoteric meaning began +to come to him from all the visible universe, and +undefinable aspirations filled him.'</p> + +<p>In 1872 he discovered part of his power almost in +its perfection. He wrote several letters to the <i>Times</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> +about the Wiltshire labourer, and they were lucid, +simple, moderate, founded on his own observation, +and arranged in a telling, harmonious manner. What +he said and thought about the labourers then is of +no great importance now, and even in 1872 it was +only a journalist's grain in the scale against the +labourer's agitation. But it was admirably done. +It was clear, easy writing, and a clear, easy writer he +was thenceforth to the end.</p> + +<p>These letters procured for him admission to +<i>Fraser's</i> and other magazines, and he now began for +them a long series of articles, mainly connected with +the land and those who work on the land. He had +now freedom and space to put on paper something +of what he had seen and thought. The people, +their homes, and their fields, he described and +criticized with moderation and some spirit. He +showed that he saw more things than most writing +men, but it was in an ordinary light, in the same +way as most of the readers whom he addressed. His +gravity, tenderness and courage were discernible, but +the articles were not more than a clever presentation +of a set of facts and an intelligent, lucid point +of view, which were good grist to the mills of that +decade. They had neither the sagacity nor the +passion which could have helped that calm style to +make literature.</p> + +<p>'The Story of Swindon' (<i>Fraser's</i>, May, 1875) +is one of three or four articles which Jefferies wrote +at that time on a subject not purely his own. As a +journalist he had had to do a hundred things for which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> +he had no strong natural taste. This article is a +good example of his adaptable gifts. He was probably +equal to grappling with any set of facts and +ideas at the word of command. In 'coming to this +very abode of the Cyclops' the <i>North Wilts Herald</i> +reporter survives, and nothing could be more like +everybody else than the phrasing and the atmosphere +of the greater part, as in 'the ten minutes for +refreshment, now in the case of certain trains reduced +to five, have made thousands of travellers familiar +with the name of the spot.' This is probably due +to lack not so much of skill as of developed personality. +When he describes and states facts, he is lucid +and forcible; when he reflects or decorates, he is +often showy or ill at ease, or both, though the +thought on p. 130 is valid enough. Through the +cold, colourless light between him and the object, he +saw and remembered clearly; short of creativeness, +he was a master—or one of those skilled servants +who appear masters—of words. The power is, at +this distance, more worthy of attention than the +achievement. The power of retaining and handling +facts was one which he never lost, but it was absorbed +and even concealed among powers of later development, +when reality was a richer thing to him than is +to be surmised from anything in 'The Story of +Swindon.'</p> + +<p>'Unequal Agriculture' (<i>Fraser's</i>, May, 1877) +and 'Village Organization' (<i>New Quarterly</i>, October, +1875) belong to the same period. They +describe and debate matters which are now not so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span> +new, though often as debatable. The description +is sometimes felicitous, as in the 'steady jerk' of the +sower's arm, but is not destined for immortality; +and the picture of a steam-plough at work he himself +surpassed in a later paper. But it is sufficiently +vivid to survive for another generation. Since +Cobbett no keener agriculturist's eye or better pen +had surveyed North Wiltshire. The most advanced +and the most antiquated style of farming remain the +same in our own day. Whether these articles were +commissioned or not, their form and direction was +probably dictated as much by the expressed or +supposed needs of the magazine as by Jefferies himself. +His own line was not yet clear and strong, +and he consciously or unconsciously adopted one +which was a compromise between his own and that +of his contemporaries. In fact, it is hard in places +to tell whether he is expressing his own opinion or +those of the farmers whom he has consulted; and he +still writes as one of an agricultural community who +is to remain in it. But many of the suggestions in +'Village Organization' may still be found stimulating, +and the inactivity of men in country parishes is not yet +in need of further description; while the fact that 'the +great centres of population have almost entirely occupied +the attention of our legislators of late years' is +still only fitfully perceived. It should be noticed, also, +that he is true to himself and his later self, if not in +his valiant asseveration of the farmer's sturdy independence, +yet in the wish that there should be an +authority to 'cause a parish to be supplied with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span> +good drinking water,' or that there should be a +tank, 'the public property of the village.'</p> + +<p>To 'Unequal Agriculture' the editor of <i>Fraser's +Magazine</i> appended a note, saying that if England +were to be brought to such a pitch of perfection under +scientific cultivation as Jefferies desired, 'a few of +us would then prefer to go away and live elsewhere.' +And there is no doubt that he was carried away by +his subject into an indiscriminate optimism, for he +turned upon it sadly and with equal firmness in later +life. But the writing is beyond that of the letters +to the <i>Times</i>, and in the sentences—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The plough is drawn by dull, patient oxen, +plodding onwards now just as they were depicted +upon the tombs and temples, the graves and +worshipping-places, of races who had their being +three thousand years ago. Think of the suns that +have shone since then; of the summers and the +bronzed grain waving in the wind; of the human +teeth that have ground that grain, and are now +hidden in the abyss of earth; yet still the oxen plod +on, like slow Time itself, here this day in our land +of steam and telegraph'</p></div> + +<p>—in these sentences, though they are commonplace +enough, there is proof that the writer already had +that curious consciousness of the past which was to +give so deep a tone to many of his pages later on. +But in these papers, again, what is most noticeable +is the practical knowledge and the power of +handling practical things. Though he himself, +brought up on his father's farm, had no taste for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span> +farming, and seldom did any practical work except +splitting timber, he yet confines himself severely to +things as they are, or as they may quickly be made to +become by a patching-up. These are 'practical +politics for practical men.' Consequently the clear +and forcible writing is only better in degree than +other writing of the moment with an element of +controversy, and represents not the whole truth, but +an aspect of selected portions of the truth. When +it is turned to other purposes it shows a poor grace, +as in 'a widespread ocean of wheat, an English gold-field, +a veritable Yellow Sea, bowing in waves before +the southern breeze—a sight full of peaceful poetry;' +and the sluggish, customary euphemism of phrases +like 'a few calves find their way to the butcher' is +tedious enough.</p> + +<p>'The Idle Earth' (<i>Longman's</i>, December, 1894), +'After the County Franchise' (<i>Longman's</i>, February, +1884), and 'The Wiltshire Labourer' (<i>Longman's</i>, +1887), belong to Jefferies' later years. 'The Idle +Earth' was published only after his death, but, like +the other two, was written, probably, between 1884 +and 1887. He was no longer writing as a practical +man, but as a critical outsider with an inside knowledge. +'The Idle Earth' is an astonishing curiosity—an +extreme example of Jefferies' discontent with +things as they are. 'Why is it,' he asks, 'that this +cry arises that agriculture will not pay?... The +answer is simple enough. It is because the earth +is idle one-third of the year.' He looks round a +January field and sees 'not an animal in sight, not a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span> +single machine for making money, not a penny being +turned.' He wishes to know, 'What would a manufacturer +think of a business in which he was compelled +to let his engines rest for a third of the year?' Then +he falls upon the miserable Down-land because that is +still more idle and still less productive. 'With all its +progress,' he cries, 'how little real advance has +agriculture made! All because of the stubborn, idle +earth.' It is a genuine cry, to be paralleled by +'Life is short, art long,' and by his own wonder +that 'in twelve thousand written years the world +has not yet built itself a House, unfilled a Granary, +nor organized itself for its own comfort,' by his +contempt for 'this little petty life of seventy years,' +and for the short sleep permitted to men.</p> + +<p>The editor of <i>Longman's</i> had to explain that, in +publishing 'After the County Franchise,' he was not +really 'overstepping the limit which he laid down in +undertaking to keep <i>Longman's Magazine</i> free from +the strife of party politics, because it might be profitable +to consider what changes this Bill will make, +when it becomes law, in the lives and the social +relations of our rural population.' It was true that +Jefferies was no longer a party politician. He was +by that time above and before either party. He is +so still, and the reappearance of these no longer +novel ideas is excusable simply because Jefferies' +name is likely to gain for them still more of the consideration +and support which they deserve, for it +may be hoped that our day is ready to receive the +seed of trouble and advance contained in the modest +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span> +suggestion which he believed to be compatible with +'the acquisition of public and the preservation of +private liberty.'</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>['We now govern our village ourselves;] why +should we not possess our village? Why should +we not live in our own houses? Why should we +not have a little share in the land, as much, at least, +as we can pay for?... Can an owner of this kind +of property be permitted to refuse to sell? Must +he be compelled to sell?'</p></div> + +<p>Twenty-five years ago Jefferies, knowing that +neither land nor cottages were to be had, that there +was no security of tenure for the labourer, hoped for +the day when 'some, at least, of our people may be +able to set up homes for themselves in their own +country.' He believed that 'the greater his freedom, +the greater his attachment to home, the more settled +the labourer,' the firmer would become the position +of labourer, farmer, and landowner. Yet an advanced +reformer of our own day—Mr. Montague Fordham +in 'Mother Earth'—has still to cry the same thing +in the wilderness; and it is still true that 'you +cannot have a fixed population unless it has a home, +and the labouring population is practically homeless.' +On the other hand, it should be remembered that +Jefferies also says: 'Parks and woods are becoming +of priceless value; we should have to preserve a few +landowners, if only to have parks and woods.'</p> + +<p>These later articles are far more persuasive than +their predecessors, for here there is no doubt, not +merely that they are sincere, but that they are the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span> +unprejudiced opinion of the man as well as of the +agriculturist. He has ceased to be concerned only +with things as they are, or as they may be made to-morrow. +He allows himself to think as much of justice +as of expediency, of what is fitting as well as of what is +at once possible. The phrases, 'Sentiment is more +stubborn than fact,' 'Service is no inheritance,' 'I do +not want any paupers,' 'I should not like men under +my thumb,' 'Men demanding to be paid in full for +full work, but refusing favours and petty assistance +to be recouped hereafter; ... men with the +franchise, voting under the protection of the ballot, +and voting first and foremost for the demolition of +the infernal Poor Law and workhouse system'—these +simple phrases fall with peculiar and even pathetic +force, in their context, from the mystic optimist whom +pain was ripening fast in those last years. Even +here he uses phrases like 'the serious work which +brings in money' and commends 'push and enterprise' +as a substitute for 'the slow plodding manner +of the labourer.' But these are exceptional. As to +the writing itself, of which this is an example,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'By home life I mean that which gathers about a +house, however small, standing in its own grounds. +Something comes into existence about such a house, +an influence, a pervading feeling, like some warm +colour softening the whole, tinting the lichen on the +wall, even the very smoke-marks on the chimney. +It is home, and the men and women born there will +never lose the tone it has given them. Such homes +are the strength of a land'</p></div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span></p> + +<p>—it remains simple; but by the use of far fewer +words, and of fewer orator's phrases, its unadorned +directness has almost a positive spiritual quality.</p> + +<p>But these agricultural essays, good as they were, +and absorbing as they did all of Jefferies' social +thoughts to the end of his life, became less and less +frequent as he grew less inclined and less able to +adapt his mind and style to the affairs of the +moment.</p> + +<p>In the same year as 'The Story of Swindon' he +published 'Village Churches' and 'Marlborough +Forest' (<i>Graphic</i>, December 4 and October 23, +1875). These and his unsuccessful novels remain +to show the direction of his more intimate thoughts +in the third decade of his life. They are as imperfect +in their class as 'The Story of Swindon' is perfect +in its own. They are the earliest of their kind +from Jefferies' pen which have survived. He is dealing +already with another and a more individual kind of +reality, and he is not yet at home with it in words. +He approaches it with ceremony—with the ceremony +of phrases like 'the great painter Autumn,' 'a very +tiger to the rabbit,' 'the titles and pomp of belted +earl and knight.' But here for the first time he is +so bent upon himself and his object that he casts +only an occasional glance upon his audience, whereas +in his practical papers he has it continually in view, +or even ready to jog his elbow if he dreams. The +full English hedges, which he condemns as an +agriculturist, he would now save from the modern +Goths; he can even be sorry for the death of beautiful +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span> +jays. Here, for the first time, it might occur to +a student of the man that he is more than his words +express. He does not see Nature as he sees the +factory, and when he and Nature touch there is an +emotional discharge which blurs the sight, though +presently it is to enrich it. As yet we cannot be +sure whether he is perfectly genuine or is striving +for an effect based upon a recollection of someone +else—probably it is both—when he writes:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The heart has a yearning for the unknown, a +longing to penetrate the deep shadow and the winding +glade, where, as it seems, no human foot has +been';</p></div> + +<p>when he speaks of the '<i>visible</i> silence' of the old +church, or exclaims:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'To us, each hour is of consequence, especially in +this modern day, which has invented the detestable +creed that time is money. But time is not money +to Nature. She never hastens....'</p></div> + +<p>But already he is expressing a thought, which he +was often to repeat in his maturity and in his best +work, when he says of the church-bell that 'In the +day when this bell was made, men put their souls +into their works. Their one great object was not +to turn out 100,000 all alike.'</p> + +<p>It was in the next year, 1876, that he began to +think of using his observation and feeling in a +'chatty style,' of setting down 'some of the +glamour—the magic of sunshine, and green things, +and clear waters.' But it was not until 1878 that he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span> +succeeded in doing so. In 'The Amateur Poacher' +and its companions, there was not between Jefferies +and Nature the colourless, clear light of the factory +or the journalist's workshop, but the tender English +atmosphere or, if you like, that of the happy and +thoughtful mind which had grown up in that +atmosphere.</p> + +<p>'Choosing a Gun' and 'Skating' belong to the +period, if not the year, of 'The Amateur Poacher.' +In fact, the passage about the pleasure of having the +freedom of the woods with a wheel-lock, is either a +first draft of one of the best in that book, or it is an +unconscious repetition. Here again is a characteristic +complaint that 'the leading idea of the gunmaker +nowadays is to turn out a hundred thousand +guns of one particular pattern.' The suggestion +that some clever workman should go and set himself +up in some village is one that has been followed in +other trades, and is not yet exhausted. The writing +is now excellent of its kind, but for the word +'Metropolis' and the phrase 'no great distance from' +Pall Mall. The negligent—but slowly acquired—conversational +simplicity captures the open air as +calmly and pleasantly as the humour of the city +dialogue.</p> + +<p>'Skating' is slight enough, but ends with grace +and an unsought solemnity which comes more and +more into his later writing, so that in 'The Spring +of the Year' (<i>Longman's</i>, June, 1894), after many +notes about wood-pigeons, there comes such a genuine +landscape as this: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The bare, slender tips of the birches on which +they perched exposed them against the sky. Once +six alighted on a long birch-branch, bending it down +with their weight, not unlike a heavy load of fruit. +As the stormy sunset flamed up, tinting the fields +with momentary red, their hollow voices sounded +among the trees.'</p></div> + +<p>These notes for April and May, 1881, were continued +in 'The Coming of Summer,' which forms +part of 'Toilers of the Field.' This informal chitchat, +addressed chiefly to the amateur naturalist, +became an easy habit with Jefferies. The talk is of +the plainest and pleasantest here, and full of himself. +With his 'I like sparrows,' he was an older and +tenderer man than in 'The Gamekeeper' period. +The paper gives some idea of his habits and haunts +round about Surbiton before the fatal chain of illnesses +began at the end of this year. Personally, I +like to know that it was finished on May 10, 1881, +at midnight, with 'Antares visible, the summer star,' +very low in the south-east above Banstead Downs, +and Lyra and Arcturus high above in the south, if +Jefferies was writing at Tolworth, as presumably he +was. This paper is to be preferred to 'Birds of +Spring'—likeable mainly for the pages on the chiff-chaff +and sedge-warbler—which does much the same +thing, in a more formal manner, for the instruction +of readers of <i>Chambers's</i> (March, 1884), who wished +to know about our 'feathered visitors.'</p> + +<p>'Vignettes from Nature' were posthumously +published in <i>Longman's</i> (July, 1895). They abound +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span> +in touches from the depth and tenderness of his +nature, and when they were written Jefferies had +passed into the most distinct period of his life—the +period which gave birth to his mature ideas, and, in +particular, to 'The Story of My Heart.' The light +which he had carried about with him since his youth—a +light so faint that we cannot be sure he was +aware of it in retrospect—now leaped up with a mystic +significance. Professor William James, in 'Varieties +of Religious Experience,' describes four marks by +which states of mind may be recognized as mystical. +The subject says that they defy expression. They +are 'states of insight into depths of truth unplumbed +by the discursive intellect ... and, as a rule, they +carry with them a curious sense of authority for after-time,' +because the mystic believes that 'we both +become one with the Absolute, and we become +aware of our oneness.' They 'cannot be sustained +for long ... except in rare instances half an hour, +or at most an hour or two, seems to be the limit +beyond which they fade into the light of common +day.' And when the mystic consciousness has set +in, 'the mystic feels as if his own will were in +abeyance, and, indeed, sometimes as if he were +grasped and held by a superior power.' Most of the +striking cases in Professor James's collection occurred +out of doors. These marks may all be recognized +in Jefferies' record of his own experience—'The +Story of My Heart.' Yet it was, in the opinion of a +very high authority—Dr. Maurice Bucke, in 'Cosmic +Consciousness'—an imperfect experience, and his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span> +state is described as 'the twilight of cosmic consciousness.' +Dr. Bucke gives as the marks of the cosmic +sense—a subjective light on its appearance; moral +elevation; intellectual illumination; the sense of immortality; +loss of the fear of death and of the sense +of sin; the suddenness of the awakening which +takes place usually at a little past the thirtieth year, +and comes only to noble characters (<i>e.g.</i>, Pascal, +Blake, Balzac, and Whitman); a charm added to +the personality; a transfiguration of the subject in +the eyes of others when the cosmic sense is actually +present. Jefferies appears to have lacked the subjective +light and the full sense of immortality. 'If,' +says Dr. Bucke, 'he had attained to cosmic consciousness, +he would have entered into eternal life, and +there would be no "seems" about it;' while he finds +positive evidence against Jefferies' possession of the +perfect cosmic sense in his 'contempt for the assertion +that all things occur for the best.' The sense varied +in intensity with Jefferies, and in its everyday force +was not much more than Kingsley's 'innate feeling +that everything I see has a meaning, if I could but +understand it,' which 'feeling of being surrounded +with truths which I cannot grasp amounts to indescribable +awe sometimes.'</p> + +<p>Cosmic consciousness, the half-grasped power +which gave its significance to his autobiography, to +'The Dawn,' 'The Sun and the Brook' (<i>Knowledge</i>, +October 13, 1882), 'On the Downs' (<i>Standard</i>, +March 23, 1883), 'Nature and Eternity' (<i>Longman's</i>, +May, 1895), and many other papers, may have been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</a></span> +the faculty for which Jefferies prayed in 'The Story +of My Heart,' and to which he desired that mankind +should advance. In Dr. Bucke's view, an imperfectly +supported one, men with this faculty are becoming +more and more common, and he thinks that 'our +descendants will sooner or later reach, as a race, the +condition of cosmic consciousness, just as long ago our +ancestors passed from simple to self consciousness.'</p> + +<p>In Jefferies the development of this sense was +gradual. Phrases suggesting that it is in progress +may be found in earlier books—in the novels, in +'Wood Magic' and 'Bevis'—but 'The Story of My +Heart' is the first that is inspired by it; and after +that, all his best work is affected either by the same +fervour and solemnity, or by its accompanying ideas, +or by both. It is to be detected in many sentences +in 'Vignettes,' and in the concluding prayer, 'Let +the heart come out from the shadow of roofs to the +open glow of the sky...'—even in the plea to the +mechanics in 'A King of Acres' (<i>Chambers's</i>, +January, 1884) not to 'pin their faith to any theory +born and sprung up among the crushed and pale-faced +life of modern time, but to look for themselves +at the sky above the highest branches ... that they +might gather to themselves some of the leaves—mental +and spiritual leaves—of the ancient forest, +feeling nearer to the truth and soul, as it were, that +lives on in it.' It is in the aspiration and hope—in the +sense of 'hovering on the verge of a great truth,' of +'a meaning waiting in the grass and water,' of a +'wider existence yet to be enjoyed on the earth'—in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></span> +the 'increased consciousness of our own life,' gained +from sun and sky and sea—it is everywhere in 'Sun +and Brook' and 'On the Downs.' It suffuses the +sensuous delicacy and exuberance and the spiritual +joy of 'Nature and Eternity.' That paper belongs +to, and in a measure corrects, 'The Story of My +Heart.' There is less eloquence than in the autobiography, +and a greater proportion of that beautiful +simplicity that is so spiritual when combined with +the characteristic cadence of Jefferies at his best. +The mystic has a view of things by which all knowledge +becomes real—or disappears—and all things +are seen related to the whole in a manner which +gives a wonderful value to the least of them. The +combination of sensuousness and spiritual aspiration +in this and other essays produces a beauty perhaps +peculiar to Jefferies—often a vague beauty imperfectly +adumbrated, as was the meaning of the +universe itself in his mood of 'thoughts without +words, mobile like the stream, nothing compact that +can be grasped and stayed: dreams that slip silently +as water slips through the fingers.' In 'Nature and +Eternity' this is all the more impressive because +Coate Farm and its fields, Jefferies' birthplace and +early home, is the scene of it. That beauty haunts +the last four essays of this book as it haunts 'The +Story of My Heart,' like a theme of music, always +a repetition, and yet never exactly the same. 'The +Dawn' is one of the most beautiful things which +Jefferies wrote after his awakening. The cadences +are his best—gentle, wistful, not quite certain +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span> +cadences, where the effect of the mere sound cannot +be detached from the effect of the thought hovering +behind the sound. How they kindle such a passage +as this, where Jefferies again brings before us his +sense of past time!—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'But though so familiar, that spectral light in the +silence has never lost its meaning, the violets are +sweet year by year though never so many summers +pass away; indeed, its meaning grows wider and +more difficult as the time goes on. For think, this +spectre of light—light's double-ganger—has stood by +the couch of every human being for thousands and +thousands of years. Sleeping or waking, happily +dreaming, or wrenched with pain, whether they have +noticed it or not, the finger of this light has pointed +towards them. When they were building the +pyramids, five thousand years ago, straight the arrow +of light shot from the sun, lit their dusky forms, and +glowed on the endless sand....'</p></div> + +<p>The whole essay is delicately perfect—as free +from the spiritual eloquence of the autobiography +and from the rhetoric of the agricultural papers as +from the everyday atmosphere of earlier work and +the decoration of the first outdoor essays. It is pure +spirit. Take any passage, and it will be seen that in +thought and style Jefferies' evolution is now complete. +He has mounted from being a member of a +class, at first undistinguishable from it, then clearly +more enlightened, but still of it, and seeing things in +the same way, up to the position of a poet with an +outlook that is purely individual, and, though deeply +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</a></span> +human, yet of a spirituality now close as the grass, +and now as the stars. The date of 'The Dawn' is +uncertain. It may have been 1883, the year of 'The +Story of My Heart,' or it may have been as late as +1885. This book, therefore, contains, like no other +single volume, the record of Jefferies' progress during +about ten of his most important years. It was not +for nothing that Jefferies, man and boy, had gone +through the phases of sportsman, naturalist, and +artist, and always worshipper, upon the hills, 'that +he lived in a perpetual commerce with external +Nature, and nourished himself upon the spirit of its +forms.' Air and sun so cleaned and sweetened his +work that in the end the cleanness and sweetness of +Nature herself become inseparable from it in our +minds.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="CHOOSING_A_GUN" id="CHOOSING_A_GUN"></a>CHOOSING A GUN</h2> + + +<p>The first thought of the amateur sportsman naturally +refers to his gun, and the questions arise: What sort +of a gun do I want? Where can I get it? What +price shall I pay? In appearance there can be no +great difficulty in settling these matters, but in +practice it is really by no means easy. Some time +since, being on a visit to the Metropolis, I was +requested by a friend to get him a gun, and accepted +the commission, as M. Emile Ollivier went to war, +with a light heart, little dreaming of the troubles that +would start up in the attempt to conscientiously carry +it out. He wanted a good gun, and was not very +scrupulous as to maker or price, provided that the +latter was not absolutely extravagant. With such <i>carte +blanche</i> as this it seemed plain-sailing, and, indeed, +I never gave a second thought to the business till I +opened the door of the first respectable gunmaker's +shop I came across, which happened to be no great +distance from Pall Mall. A very polite gentleman +immediately came forward, rubbing his hands as if he +were washing them (which is an odd habit with +many), and asked if there was anything he could do +for me. Well, yes, I wanted a gun. Just so—they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +had one of the largest stocks in London, and would +be most happy to show me specimens of all kinds. +But was there any special sort of gun required, as +then they could suit me in an instant.</p> + +<p>'Hum! Ah! Well, I—I'—feeling rather +vague—'perhaps you would let me see your catalogue——'</p> + +<p>'Certainly.' And a handsomely got-up pamphlet, +illustrated with woodcuts, was placed in my hands, +and I began to study the pages. But this did not +suit him; doubtless, with the practice of his profession, +he saw at once the uncertain manner of the customer +who was feeling his way, and thought to bring it to +a point.</p> + +<p>'You want a good, useful gun, sir, I presume?'</p> + +<p>'That is just it'—shutting the catalogue; quite a +relief to have the thing put into shape for one!</p> + +<p>'Then you can't do better than take our new +patent double-action so-and-so. Here it is'—handing +me a decent-looking weapon in thorough polish, +which I begin to weigh in my hands, poise it to +ascertain the balance, and to try how it comes to the +present, and whether I can catch the rib quick enough, +when he goes on: 'We can let you have that gun, +sir, for ten guineas.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, indeed! But that's very cheap, isn't it?' +I thoughtlessly observe, putting the gun down.</p> + +<p>My friend D. had mentioned a much higher +amount as his ultimatum. The next instant I saw +in what light my remark would be taken. It would +be interpreted in this way: Here we have either a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +rich amateur, who doesn't care what he gives, or else +a fool who knows nothing about it.</p> + +<p>'Well, sir, of course it's our very plainest gun'—the +weapon is tossed carelessly into the background—'in +fact, we sometimes call it our gamekeeper +gun. Now, here is a really fine thing—neatly +finished, engraved plates, first choice stock, the very +best walnut, price——' He names a sum very +close to D.'s outside.</p> + +<p>I handle the weapon in the same manner, and for +the life of me cannot meet his eye, for I know that +he is reading me, or thinks he is, like a book. +With the exception that the gun is a trifle more +elaborately got up, I cannot see or feel the slightest +difference, and begin secretly to suspect that the +price of guns is regulated according to the inexperience +of the purchaser—a sort of sliding scale, +gauged to ignorance, and rising or falling with its +density! He expatiates on the gun and points out +all its beauties.</p> + +<p>'Shooting carefully registered, sir. Can see it +tried, or try it yourself, sir. Our range is barely +three-quarters of an hour's ride. If the stock doesn't +quite fit your shoulder, you can have another—the +same price. You won't find a better gun in all +London.'</p> + +<p>I can see that it really is a very fair article, but do +not detect the extraordinary excellencies so glibly +described. I recollect an old proverb about the fool +and the money he is said to part with hastily. I +resolve to see more variety before making the final +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +plunge; and what the eloquent shopkeeper thinks is +my growing admiration for the gun which I continue +to handle is really my embarrassment, for as yet I +am not hardened, and dislike the idea of leaving the +shop without making a purchase after actually touching +the goods. But D.'s money—I must lay it out +to the best advantage. Desperately I fling the gun +into his hands, snatch up the catalogue, mutter incoherently, +'Will look it through—like the look of +the thing—call again,' and find myself walking aimlessly +along the pavement outside.</p> + +<p>An unpleasant sense of having played a rather +small part lingered for some time, and ultimately +resolved itself into a determination to make up my +mind as to exactly what D. wanted, and on entering +the next shop, to ask to see that, and that only. So, +turning to the address of another gunmaker, I +walked towards it slowly, revolving in my mind the +sort of shooting D. usually enjoyed. Visions of +green fields, woods just beginning to turn colour, +puffs of smoke hanging over the ground, rose up, +and blotted out the bustling London scene. The +shops glittering with their brightest goods placed in +front, the throng of vehicles, the crowds of people, +faded away, the pace increased and the stride +lengthened as if stepping over the elastic turf, and +the roar of the traffic sounded low, like a distant +waterfall. From this reverie the rude apostrophes +of a hansom-cabman awoke me—I had walked right +into the stream of the street, and instead of the +awning boughs of the wood found a whip upheld, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +threatening chastisement for getting in the way. This +brought me up from imagination to logic with a +jerk, and I began to check off the uses D. could put +his gun to on the fingers. (1) I knew he had a +friend in Yorkshire, and shot over his moor every +August. His gun, then, must be suited to grouse-shooting, +and must be light, because of the heat which +often prevails at that time, and renders dragging a +heavy gun many miles over the heather—before they +pack—a serious drawback to the pleasure of the +sport. (2) He had some partridge-shooting of his +own, and was peculiarly fond of it. (3) He was +always invited to at least two battues. (4) A part +of his own shooting was on the hills, where the hares +were very wild, where there was no cover, and they +had to be knocked over at long distances, and took a +hard blow. That would require (<i>a</i>) a choke-bore, +which was not suitable either, because in covers the +pheasants at short ranges would not unlikely get +'blown,' which would annoy the host; or (<i>b</i>) a heavy, +strong gun, which would take a stiff charge without +too much recoil. But that, again, clashed with the +light gun for shooting in August. (5) He had +latterly taken a fancy to wild-fowl shooting by the +coast, for which a very hard-hitting, long-range gun +was needed. It would never do if D. could not +bring down a duck. (6) He was notorious as a +dead shot on snipe—this told rather in favour of a +light gun, old system of boring; for where would a +snipe or a woodcock be if it chanced to get 200 +pellets into it at twenty yards? You might find the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +claws and fragments of the bill if you looked with a +microscope. (7) No delicate piece of workmanship +would do, because he was careless of his gun, knocked +it about anyhow, and occasionally dropped it in a +brook. And here was the shop-door; imagine the +state of confusion my mind was in when I entered!</p> + +<p>This was a very 'big' place: the gentleman who +approached had a way of waving his hand—very +white and jewelled—and a grand, lofty idea of what +a gun should cost. 'Twenty, thirty, forty pounds—some +of the £30 were second-hand, of course—we +have a few, a very few, second-hand guns'—such +was the sweeping answer to my first mild inquiry +about prices. Then, seeing at once my vacillating +manner, he, too, took me in hand, only in a terribly +earnest, ponderous way from which there was no +escape. 'You wanted a good general gun—yes; a +thoroughly good, well-finished, <i>plain</i> gun (great +emphasis on the 'plain'). Of course, you can't get +anything new for <i>that</i> money, finished in style. Still, +the plain gun will shoot just as well (as if the +shooting part was scarcely worth consideration). +We make the very best plain-finished article for five-and-twenty +guineas in London. By-the-by, where +is your shooting, sir?' Thrust home like this, not +over-gratified by a manner which seemed to say, +'Listen to an authority,' and desiring to keep an +incog., I mutter something about 'abroad.' 'Ah—well, +then, this article is precisely the thing, because +it will carry ball, an immense advantage in any +country where you may come across large game.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>'How far will it throw a ball?' I ask, rather +curious on that subject, for I was under the impression +that a smooth-bore of the usual build is not +much to be relied on in that way—far less, indeed, than +the matchlocks made by semi-civilized nations. But +it seems I was mistaken.</p> + +<p>'Why—a hundred yards point-blank, and ten +times better to shoot with than a rifle.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed!'</p> + +<p>'Of course, I mean in cover, as you're pretty sure +to be. Say a wild boar is suddenly started: well, you +pull out your No. 4 shot-cartridge, and push in a ball; +you shoot as well again—snap-shooting with a +smooth-bore in jungle or bush. There's not a better +gun turned out in town than that. It's not the +slightest use your looking for anything cheaper—rebounding +locks, best stocks, steel damascene barrels; +fit for anything from snipe to deer, from dust to +buck-shot——'</p> + +<p>'But I think——' Another torrent overwhelms me.</p> + +<p>'Here's an order for twenty of these guns for +Texas, to shoot from horseback at buffalo—ride in +among them, you know.'</p> + +<p>I look at my watch, find it's much later than I +imagine, remark that it is really a difficult thing to +pick out a gun, and seize the door-handle.</p> + +<p>'When gentlemen don't exactly know what they're +looking for it <i>is</i> a hard job to choose a gun'—he +smiles sarcastically, and shuts me out politely.</p> + +<p>The observation seems hard, after thinking over +guns so intently; yet it must be aggravating to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +attempt to serve a man who does not know what he +wants—yet (one's mood changes quickly) it was his +own fault for trying to force, to positively force, that +twenty-five-guinea thing on me instead of giving me +a chance to choose. I had seen rows on rows of +guns stacked round the shop, rank upon rank; in +the background a door partly open permitted a +glimpse of a second room, also perfectly coated with +guns, if such an expression is permissible. Now, I +look on ranges of guns like this much the same as on +a library. Is there anything so delicious as the first +exploration of a great library—alone—unwatched? +You shut the heavy door behind you slowly, +reverently, lest a noise should jar on the sleepers of +the shelves. For as the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus +were dead and yet alive, so are the souls of the +authors in the care of their ancient leathern binding. +You walk gently round the walls, pausing here to +read a title, there to draw out a tome and support it +for a passing glance—half in your arms, half against +the shelf. The passing glance lengthens till the +weight becomes too great, and with a sigh you replace +it, and move again, peering up at those titles which +are foreshortened from the elevation of the shelf, and +so roam from folio to octavo, from octavo to quarto, +till at last, finding a little work whose value, were it +in the mart, would be more than its weight in gold, you +bear it to the low leather-covered arm-chair and enjoy +it at your ease. But to sip the full pleasure of a +library you must be alone, and you must take the books +yourself from the shelves. A man to read must read +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +alone. He may make extracts, he may <i>work</i> at books +in company; but to read, to absorb, he must be +solitary. Something in the same way—except in the +necessity for solitude, which does not exist in this +case—I like to go through a battery of guns, picking +up this one, or that, glancing up one, trying the locks +of another, examining the thickness of the breech. +Why did not the fellow say, 'There are our guns; +walk round, take down what you please, do as you +like, and don't hurry. I will go on with some work +while you examine them. Call me if you want any +explanation. Spend the day there if you like, and +come again to-morrow.' It would have been a hundred +chances to one that I had found a gun to suit D., +for the shop was a famous one, the guns really good, +the workmanship unimpeachable, and the stock to +select from immense. But let a thing be never so +good, one does not care to have it positively thrust +on one.</p> + +<p>By this time my temper was up, and I determined +to go through with the business, and get the precise +article likely to please D., if I went to every maker +in the Metropolis. I went to very nearly every +prominent man—I spent several days at it. I called +at shops whose names are household words wherever +an English sportsman can be found. Some of them, +though bright to look at from the pavement, within +were mean, and even lacked cleanliness. The attendants +were often incapable of comprehending that +a customer <i>may</i> be as good a judge of what he wants +as themselves; they have got into a narrow routine +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +of offering the same thing to everybody. No two +shops were of the same opinion: at one you were +told that the choke was the greatest success in the +world; at another, that they only shot well for one +season, quickly wearing out; at a third, that such and +such a 'grip' or breech-action was perfect; at a +fourth, that there never was such a mistake; at a +fifth, that hammerless guns were the guns of the +future, and elsewhere, that people detested hammerless +guns because it seemed like learning to shoot +over again. Finally, I visited several of the second-hand +shops. They had some remarkably good +guns—for the leading second-hand shops do not +care to buy a gun unless by a crack maker—but the +cheapness was a delusion. A new gun might be got +for the same money, or very little more. Their +system was like this. Suppose they had a really good +gun, but, for aught you could tell, twenty or thirty +years old (the breech-action might have been altered), +for this they would ask, say £25. The original +price of the gun may have been £50, and if viewed +<i>only</i> with regard to the original price, of course that +would be a great reduction. But for the £25 a new +gun could be got from a maker whose goods, if not so +famous, were thoroughly reliable, and who guaranteed +the shooting. In the one case you bought a gun +about whose previous history you knew absolutely +nothing beyond the mere fact of the barrels having +come at first-hand from a leading maker. But they +may have been battered about—rebored; they may +be scored inside by someone loading with flints; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +twenty things that are quite unascertainable may have +combined to injure its original perfection. The +cheapness will not stand the test of a moment's +thought—that is, if you are in search of excellence. +You buy a name and trust to chance. After several +days of such work as this, becoming less and less +satisfied at every fresh attempt, and physically more +fatigued than if I had walked a hundred miles, I gave +it up for awhile, and wrote to D. for more precise +instructions.</p> + +<p>When I came to quietly reflect on these experiences, +I found that the effect of carefully studying +the subject had been to plunge me into utter confusion. +It seemed as difficult to choose a gun as to +choose a horse, which is saying a good deal. Most +of us take our shooting as we take other things—from +our fathers—very likely use their guns, get into +their style of shooting; or if we buy guns, buy them +because a friend wants to sell, and so get hold of the +gun that suits us by a kind of happy chance. But +to begin <i>de novo</i>, to select a gun from the thousand +and one exhibited in London, to go conscientiously +into the merits and demerits of the endless varieties +of locks and breeches, and to come to an impartial +decision, is a task the magnitude of which is not +easily described. How many others who have been +placed in somewhat similar positions must have felt +the same ultimate confusion of mind, and perhaps at +last, in sheer despair, plunged, and bought the first +that came to hand, regretting for years afterwards +that they had not bought this or that weapon, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +had taken their fancy, but which some gunsmith interested +in a patent had declared obsolete!</p> + +<p>D. settled the question, so far as he was concerned, +by ordering two guns: one bored in the old style +for ordinary shooting, and a choked gun of larger +bore for the ducks. But all this trouble and investigation +gave rise to several not altogether satisfactory +reflections. For one thing, there seems a too great +desire on the part of gunmakers to achieve a colossal +reputation by means of some new patent, which is +thrust on the notice of the sportsman and of the +public generally at every step and turn. The patent +very likely is an admirable thing, and quite fulfils +the promise so far as the actual object in view is +concerned. But it is immediately declared to supersede +everything—no gun is of any use without it: +you are compelled to purchase it whether or no, or +you are given to understand that you are quite +behind the age. The leading idea of the gunmaker +nowadays is to turn out a hundred thousand guns of +one particular pattern, like so many bales of cloth; +everybody is to shoot with this, their speciality, and +everything that has been previously done is totally +ignored. The workman in the true sense of the +word—the artist in guns—is either extinct, or hidden +in an obscure corner. There is no individuality +about modern guns. One is exactly like another. +That is very well, and necessary for military arms, +because an army must be supplied with a single +pattern cartridge in order to simplify the difficulty of +providing ammunition. They fail even in the matter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +of ornament. The design—if it can be called design—on +one lock-plate is repeated on a thousand others, +so with the hammers. There is no originality about +a modern gun; as you handle it you are conscious +that it is well put together, that the mechanism is +perfect, the barrels true, but somehow it feels <i>hard</i>; +it conveys the impression of being machine-made. +You cannot feel the <i>hand</i> of the maker anywhere, +and the failure, the flatness, the formality of the +supposed ornament, is depressing. The ancient +harquebuss makers far surpassed the very best manufacturers +of the present day. Their guns are really +artistic—works of true art. The stocks of some of +the German wheel-lock guns of the sixteenth and +<a class="corr" name="TC_1" id="TC_1" title="seventeeth">seventeenth</a> centuries are really beautiful specimens of +carving and design. Their powder-horns are gems +of workmanship—hunting-scenes cut out in ivory, +the minutest detail rendered with life-like accuracy. +They graved their stags and boars from Nature, +not from conventional designs; the result is that we +admire them now because Nature is constant, and +her fashions endure. The conventional 'designs' +on our lock-plates, etc., will in a few years be +despised; they have no intrinsic beauty. The Arab +of the desert, wild, untrammelled, ornaments his +matchlock with turquoise. Our machine-made +guns, double-barrel, breech-loading, double-grip, rebounding +locks, first-choice stocks, laminated steel, +or damascus barrels, choke-bore, and so forth, will, +it is true, mow down the pheasants at the battue as +the scythe cuts down the grass. There is slaughter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +in every line of them. But is slaughter everything? +In my idea it is not, but very far from it. Were I +offered the choice of participation in the bloodiest +battue ever arranged—such as are reserved for +princes—the very best position, and the best-finished +and swiftest breech-loader invented, or the freedom +of an English forest, to go forth at any time and +shoot whatever I chose, untrammelled by any attendants, +on condition that I only carried a wheel-lock, +I should unhesitatingly select the second alternative. +There would be an abiding pleasure in the very fact +of using so beautiful a weapon—just in the very +handling of it, to pass the fingers over the intricate +and exquisite carving. There would be pleasure in +winding up the lock with the spanner; in adjusting +the pyrites to strike fire from the notches of the +wheel; in priming from a delicate flask graven with +stag and hounds. There would be delight in stealing +from tree to tree, in creeping from bush to +bush, through the bracken, keeping the wind carefully, +noiselessly gliding forward—so silently that +the woodpecker should not cease tapping in the +beech, or the pigeon her hoarse call in the oak, +till at last within range of the buck. And then! +First, if the ball did not hit the vital spot, if +it did not pass through the neck, or break the +shoulder, inevitably he would be lost, for the round +bullet would not break up like a shell, and smash +the creature's flesh and bones into a ghastly jelly, as +do the missiles from our nineteenth century express +rifles. Secondly, if the wheel did not knock a spark +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +out quickly, if the priming had not been kept dry, +and did not ignite instantly, the aim might waver, +and all the previous labour be lost. Something like +skill would be necessary here. There would be art +in the weapon itself, skill in the very loading, skill +in the approach, nerve in holding the gun steady +while the slow powder caught from the priming and +expelled the ball. That would be sport. An imperfect +weapon—well, yes; but the imperfect weapon +would somehow harmonize with the forest, with the +huge old hollow oaks, the beeches full of knot-holes, +the mysterious thickets, the tall fern, the silence and +solitude. It would make the forest seem a forest—such +as existed hundreds of years ago; it would +make the chase a real chase, not a foregone conclusion. +It would equalize the chances, and give +the buck 'law.' In short, it would be real shooting. +Or with smaller game—I fancy I could hit a pheasant +with a wheel-lock if I went alone, and <i>flushed the bird +myself</i>. In that lies all the difference. If your +birds are flushed by beaters, you may be on the +watch, but that very watching unnerves by straining +the nerves, and then the sudden rush and noise +flusters you, and even with the best gun of modern +construction you often miss. If you spring the +bird yourself the noise may startle you, and yet +somehow you settle down to your aim and drop +him. With a wheel-lock, if I could get a tolerably +clear view, I think I could bring him down. If +only a brace rewarded a day's roaming under oak +and beech, through fern and past thicket, I should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +be amply satisfied. With the antique weapon the +spirit of the wood would enter into one. The chances +of failure add zest to the pursuit. For slaughter, +however, our modern guns are unsurpassed.</p> + +<p>Another point which occurs to one after such an +overhauling of guns as I went through is the price +charged for them. There does seem something very +arbitrary in the charges demanded, and one cannot +help a feeling that they bear no proportion to the +real value or cost of production. It may, of course, +be said that the wages of workmen are very high—although +workmen as a mass have long been complaining +that such is not really the case. The rent +of premises in fashionable localities is also high, no +doubt. For my part, I would quite as soon buy a +gun in a village as in a crowded thoroughfare of the +Metropolis; indeed rather sooner, since there would +probably be a range attached where it could be tried. +To be offered a range, as is often the case in London, +half an hour out—which, with getting to the station +and from the station at the other end, to the place +and back, may practically mean half a day—is of little +use. If you could pick up the gun in the shop, +stroll outside and try it at once, it would be ten +times more pleasant and satisfactory. A good gun +is like the good wine of the proverb—if it were made +in a village, to that village men would go or send +for it. The materials for gun making are, surely, +not very expensive—processes for cheapening steel +and metal generally are now carried to such an +extent, and the market for metals has fallen to an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +extraordinary extent. Machinery and steam-power +to drive it is, no doubt, a very heavy item; but are +we so anxious for machinery and machine-made +guns? Are you and I anxious that ten thousand +other persons should shoot with guns exactly, precisely +like ours in every single particular? That is the +meaning of machinery. It destroys the individuality +of sport. We are all like so many soldiers in an +army corps firing Government Martini-Henries. In +the sporting ranks one does not want to be a private. +I wonder some clever workman does not go and set +himself up in some village where rent and premises +are low, and where a range could be got close to his +door, and deliberately set down to make a name for +really first-rate guns, at a moderate price, and with +some pretensions to individuality and beauty. There +is water-power, which is cheaper than steam, running +to waste all over the country now. The old gristmills, +which may be found three or four in a single +parish sometimes, are half of them falling into decay, +because we eat American wheat now, which is ground +in the city steam-mills, and a good deal imported +ready ground as flour. Here and there one would +think sufficient water-power might be obtained in +this way. But even if we admit that great manufactories +are extremely expensive to maintain, wages +high, rent dear, premises in fashionable streets +fabulously costly, yet even then there is something +in the price of guns not quite the thing. You buy +a gun and pay a long price for it: but if you +attempt to sell it again you find it is the same as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +with jewellery, you can get hardly a third of its +original cost. The intrinsic value of the gun then +is less than half its advertised first cost-price. The +second-hand gun offered to you for £20 has probably +cost the dealer about £6, or £10 at the most. So +that, manage it 'how you will,' you pay a sum quite +out of proportion to the intrinsic value. It is all +very well to talk about the market, custom of trade, +supply and demand, and so forth, though some of +the cries of the political economist (notably the +Free Trade cry) are now beginning to be questioned. +The value of a thing is what it will fetch, no doubt, +and yet that is a doctrine which metes out half-justice +only. It is justice to the seller, but, argue as +sophistically as you like, it is <i>not</i> justice to the +purchaser.</p> + +<p>I should recommend any gentleman who is going +to equip himself as a sportsman to ask himself before +he starts the question that occurred to me too late in +D.'s case: What kind of shooting am I likely to +enjoy? Then, if not wishing to go to more expense +than absolutely necessary, let him purchase a gun +precisely suited to the game he will meet. As briefly +observed before, if the sportsman takes his sport +early in the year, and practically in the summer—August +is certainly a summer month—he will like a +light gun; and as the grouse at that time have not +packed, and are not difficult of access, a light gun +will answer quite as well as a heavy arm, whose +powerful charges are not required, and which simply +adds to the fatigue. Much lighter guns are used +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +now than formerly; they do not last so long, but +few of us now look forward forty years. A gun of +6½ pounds' weight will be better than anything else +for summer work. All sportsmen say it is a toy +and so it is, but a very deadly one. The same +weapon will equally well do for the first of September +(unless the weather has been very bad), and for a +few weeks of partridge-shooting. But if the sport +comes later in the autumn, a heavier gun with a +stronger charge (alluding to guns of the old style of +boring) will be found useful. For shooting when +the leaves are off a heavier gun has, perhaps, some +advantages.</p> + +<p>Battue-shooting puts a great strain upon a gun, +from the rapid and continuous firing, and a pheasant +often requires a hard knock to grass him successfully. +You never know, either, at what range you are likely +to meet with him. It may be ten yards, it may be +sixty; so that a strong charge, a long range, and +considerable power of penetration are desirable, if it +is wished to make a good performance. I recommend +a powerful gun for pheasant-shooting, because +probably in no other sport is a miss so annoying. +The bird is large and in popular estimation, therefore +ought not to get away. There is generally a party +at the house at the time, and shots are sure to be +talked about, good or bad, but especially the latter, +which some men have a knack of noticing, though +they may be apparently out of sight, and bring up +against you in the pleasantest way possible: 'I +say, you were rather in a fluster, weren't you, this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +morning? Nerves out of order—eh?' Now, is +there anything so aggravating as to be asked about +your nerves? It is, perhaps, from the operation of +competition that pheasants, as a rule, get very little +law allowed them. If you want to shine at this kind +of sport, knock the bird over, no matter when you +see him—if his tail brushes the muzzle of your gun: +every head counts. The fact is, if a pheasant is +allowed law, and really treated as game, he is not by +any means so easy a bird to kill as may be supposed.</p> + +<p>If money is no particular object, of course the +sportsman can allow himself a gun for every different +kind of sport, although luxury in that respect is apt +to bring with it its punishment, by making him but +an indifferent shot with either of his weapons. But +if anyone wishes to be a really good shot, to be +equipped for almost every contingency, and yet not +to go to great expense, the very best course to follow +is to buy two good guns, one of the old style of +boring, and the other nearly or quite choked. The +first should be neither heavy nor light—a moderately +weighted weapon, upon which thorough reliance may +be placed up to fifty yards, and that under favourable +circumstances may kill much farther. Choose +it with care, pay a fair price for it, and adhere to it. +This gun, with a little variation in the charge, will +suit almost every kind of shooting, from snipe to +pheasant. The choke-bore is the reserve gun, in +case of specially long range and great penetration +being required. It should, perhaps, be a size larger +in the bore than the other. Twelve-bore for the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +ordinary gun, and ten for the second, will cover most +contingencies. With a ten-bore choke, hares running +wild on hills without cover, partridge coveys getting +up at fifty or sixty yards in the same kind of country, +grouse wild as hawks, ducks, plovers, and wild-fowl +generally, are pretty well accessible. If not likely to +meet with duck, a twelve-bore choke will do equally +well. Thus armed, if opportunity offers, you may +shoot anywhere in Europe. The cylinder-bore will +carry an occasional ball for a boar, a wolf, or fallow-deer, +though large shot out of the choke will, perhaps, +be more effective—so far, at least, as small deer +are concerned. If you can afford it, a spare gun (old-style +boring) is a great comfort, in case of an accident +to the mechanism.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="SKATING" id="SKATING"></a>SKATING</h2> + + +<p>The rime of the early morning on the rail nearest +the bank is easily brushed off by sliding the walking-stick +along it, and then forms a convenient seat while +the skates are fastened. An old hand selects his +gimlet with the greatest care, for if too large the +screw speedily works loose, if too small the thread, +as it is frantically forced in or out by main strength, +cuts and tears the leather. A bad gimlet has spoilt +many a day's skating. Nor should the straps be +drawn too tight at first, for if hauled up to the last +hole at starting the blood cannot circulate, and the +muscles of the foot become cramped. What miseries +have not ladies heroically endured in this way at the +hands of incompetent assistants! In half an hour's +time the straps will have worked to the boot, and +will bear pulling another hole or even more without +pain. On skates thus fastened anything may be +accomplished.</p> + +<p>Always put your own skates on, and put them on +deliberately; for if you really mean skating in earnest, +limbs, and even life, may depend on their running +true, and not failing at a critical moment. The +slope of the bank must be descended sideways—avoid +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +the stones concealed by snow, for they will +destroy the edge of the skate. When within a foot +or so, leap on, and the impetus will carry you some +yards out upon the lake, clear of the shadow of the +bank and the willows above, out to where the ice +gleams under the sunshine. A glance round shows +that it is a solitude; the marks of skates that went +past yesterday are visible, but no one has yet arrived: +it is the time for an exploring expedition. Following +the shore, note how every stone or stick that has been +thrown on by thoughtless persons has sunk into and +become firmly fixed in the ice. The slight heat of +midday has radiated from the surface of the stone, +causing the ice to melt around it, when it has sunk +a little, and at night been frozen hard in that position, +forming an immovable obstacle, extremely awkward +to come into contact with. A few minutes and the +marks of skates become less frequent, and in a short +time almost cease, for the gregarious nature of man +exhibits itself even on ice. One spot is crowded +with people, and beyond that extends a broad expanse +scarcely visited. Here a sand-bank rises almost to +the surface, and the yellow sand beneath causes the +ice to assume a lighter tint; beyond it, over the deep +water, it is dark.</p> + +<p>Then a fir-copse bordering the shore shuts out the +faintest breath of the north wind, and the surface in +the bay thus sheltered is sleek to a degree. This is +the place for <a class="corr" name="TC_2" id="TC_2" title="figure-shating">figure-skating</a>; the ice is perfect, and +the wind cannot interfere with the balance. Here +you may turn and revolve and twist and go through +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +those endless evolutions and endless repetitions of +curves which exercise so singular a fascination. Look +at a common figure of 8 that a man has cut out! +How many hundreds of times has he gone round +and round those two narrow crossing loops or circles! +No variation, no change; the art of it is to keep +almost to the same groove, and not to make the +figure broad and splay. Yet by the wearing away +of the ice it is evident that a length of time has been +spent thus for ever wheeling round. And when the +skater visits the ice again, back he will come and resume +the wheeling at intervals. On past a low waterfall +where a brook runs in—the water has frozen right up +to the cascade. A long stretch of marshy shore +succeeds—now frozen hard enough, at other times +not to be passed without sinking over the ankles +in mud. The ice is rough with the aquatic weeds +frozen in it, so that it is necessary to leave the shore +some thirty yards. The lake widens, and yonder in +the centre—scarcely within range of a deer-rifle—stand +four or five disconsolate wild-duck watching +every motion. They are quite unapproachable, but +sometimes an unfortunate dabchick that has been +discovered in a tuft of grass is hunted and struck +down by sticks. A rabbit on ice can also be easily +overtaken by a skater. If one should venture out +from the furze there, and make for the copse opposite, +put on the pace, and you will be speedily alongside. +As he doubles quickly, however, it is not so easy to catch +him when overtaken: still, it can be done. Rabbits +previously netted are occasionally turned out on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +purpose for a course, and afford considerable sport, +with a very fair chance—if dogs be eschewed—of +gaining their liberty. But they must have 'law,' +and the presence of a crowd spoils all; the poor +animal is simply surrounded, and knows not where +to run. Tracks of wild rabbits crossing the ice are +frequent. Now, having gained the farthest extremity +of the lake, pause a minute and take breath for a burst +down the centre. The regular sound of the axe comes +from the wood hard by, and every now and then the +crash as some tall ash-pole falls to the ground, no +more to bear the wood-pigeon's nest in spring, no +more to impede the startled pheasant in autumn as +he rises like a rocket till clear of the boughs.</p> + +<p>Now for it: the wind, hardly felt before under +shelter of the banks and trees, strikes the chest like +the blow of a strong man as you rush against it. +The chest responds with a long-drawn heave, the +pliable ribs bend outwards, and the cavity within +enlarges, filled with the elastic air. The stride grows +longer and longer—the momentum increases—the +shadow slips over the surface; the fierce joy of +reckless speed seizes on the mind. In the glow, +and the speed, and the savage north wind, the old +Norse spirit rises, and one feels a giant. Oh that +such a sense of vigour—of the fulness of life—could +but last!</p> + +<p>By now others have found their way to the shore; +a crowd has already assembled at that spot which +a gregarious instinct has marked out for the ice-fair, +and approaching it speed must be slackened. Sounds +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +of merry laughter, and the 'knock, knock' of the +hockey-sticks arise. Ladies are gracefully gliding +hither and thither. Dancing-parties are formed, and +thus among friends the short winter's day passes too +soon, and sunset is at hand. But how beautiful that +sunset! Under the level beams of the sun the ice +assumes a delicate rosy hue; yonder the white snow-covered +hills to the eastward are rosy too. Above +them the misty vapour thickening in the sky turns +to the dull red the shepherd knows to mean another +frost and another fine day. Westwards where the +disc has just gone down, the white ridges of the hills +stand out for the moment sharp against the sky, as +if cut by the graver's tool. Then the vapours thicken; +then, too, behind them, and slowly, the night falls.</p> + +<p>Come back again in a few hours' time. The laugh +is still, the noise has fled, and the first sound of the +skate on the black ice seems almost a desecration. +Shadows stretch out and cover the once gleaming +surface. But through the bare boughs of the great +oak yonder the moon—almost full—looks athwart +the lake, and will soon be high in the sky.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="MARLBOROUGH_FOREST" id="MARLBOROUGH_FOREST"></a>MARLBOROUGH FOREST</h2> + + +<p>The great painter, Autumn, has just touched with +the tip of his brush a branch of the beech-tree, here +and there leaving an orange spot, and the green +acorns are tinged with a faint yellow. The hedges, +perfect mines of beauty, look almost red from a +distance, so innumerable are the peggles.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Let not +the modern Goths destroy our hedges, so typical of +an English landscape, so full of all that can delight +the eye and please the mind. Spare them, if only +for the sake of the 'days when we went gipsying—a +long time ago'; spare them for the children to +gather the flowers of May and the blackberries of +September.</p> + +<p>When the orange spot glows upon the beech, then +the nuts are ripe, and the hawthorn-bushes are hung +with festoons of the buff-coloured, heart-shaped leaves +of a once-green creeper. That 'deepe and enclosed +country of Northe Wiltes,' which old Clarendon, in +his famous 'Civill Warre,' says the troops of King +Charles had so much difficulty to hurry through, is +pleasant to those who can linger by the wayside and +the copse, and do not fear to hear the ordnance make +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +the 'woods ring again,' though to this day a rusty +old cannon-ball may sometimes be found under the +dead brown leaves of Aldbourne Chase, where the +skirmish took place before 'Newbury Battle.'</p> + +<p>Perhaps it is because no such outbursts of human +passions have swept along beneath its trees that the +'Forest' is unsung by the poet and unvisited by the +artist. Yet its very name is poetical—Savernake—<i>i.e.</i>, +savernes-acres—like the God's-acres of Longfellow. +Saverne—a peculiar species of sweet fern; +acre—land.' So we may call it 'Fern-land Forest,' and +with truth, for but one step beneath those beeches +away from the path plunges us to our shoulders in +an ocean of bracken.</p> + +<p>The yellow stalks, stout and strong as wood, make +walking through the brake difficult, and the route +pursued devious, till, from the constant turning and +twisting, the way is lost. For this is no narrow copse, +but a veritable forest in which it is easy to lose oneself; +and the stranger who attempts to pass it away +from the beaten track must possess some of the Indian +instinct which sees signs and directions in the sun and +wind, in the trees and humble plants of the ground.</p> + +<p>And this is its great charm. The heart has a +yearning for the unknown, a longing to penetrate +the deep shadow and the winding glade, where, as it +seems, no human foot has been.</p> + +<p>High overhead in the beech-tree the squirrel +peeps down from behind a bough, his long bushy +tail curled up over his back, and his bright eyes full +of mischievous cunning. Listen, and you will hear +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +the tap, tap of the woodpecker, and see! away he +goes in undulating flight with a wild, unearthly +chuckle, his green and gold plumage glancing in the +sun, like the parrots of far-distant lands. He will +alight in some open space upon an ant-hill, and lick +up the red insects with his tongue. In the fir-tree +there, what a chattering and fluttering of gaily-painted +wings!—three or four jays are quarrelling +noisily. These beautiful birds are slain by scores +because of their hawk-like capacities for destruction +of game, and because of the delicate colours of their +feathers, which are used in fly-fishing.</p> + +<p>There darts across the glade a scared rabbit, straining +each little limb for speed, almost rushing against +us, a greater terror overcoming the less. In a moment +there darts forth from the dried grass a fierce red-furred +hunter, a very tiger to the rabbit tribe, with +back slightly arched, bounding along, and sniffing +the scent; another, and another, still a fourth—a +whole pack of stoats (elder brothers of the smaller +weasels). In vain will the rabbit trust to his speed, +these untiring wolves will overtake him. In vain +will he turn and double: their unerring noses will +find him out. In vain the tunnels of the 'bury,' +they will as surely come under ground as above. +At last, wearied, panting, frightened almost to death, +the timid creature will hide in a cul-de-sac, a hole that +has no outlet, burying its head in the sand. Then +the tiny bloodhounds will steal with swift, noiseless +rush, and fasten upon the veins of the neck. What +a rattling the wings of the pigeons make as they rise +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +out of the trees in hot haste and alarm! As we +pass a fir-copse we stoop down and look along the +ground under the foliage. The sharp 'needles' or +leaves which fall will not decay, and they kill all +vegetation, so that there is no underwood or herbage +to obstruct the view. It is like looking into a vast +cellar supported upon innumerable slender columns. +The pheasants run swiftly away underneath.</p> + +<p>High up the cones are ripening—those mysterious +emblems sculptured in the hands of the gods at +Nineveh, perhaps typifying the secret of life. More +bracken. What a strong, tall fern! it is like a miniature +tree. So thick is the cover, a thousand archers +might be hid in it easily. In this wild solitude, +utterly separated from civilization, the whistle of an +arrow would not surprise us—the shout of a savage +before he hurled his spear would seem natural, and +in keeping. What are those strange, clattering +noises, like the sound of men fighting with wooden +'backswords'? Now it is near—now afar off—a +spreading battle seems to be raging all round, but +the combatants are out of sight. But, gently—step +lightly, and avoid placing the foot on dead sticks, +which break with a loud crack—softly peep round +the trunk of this noble oak, whose hard furrowed +bark defends it like armour.</p> + +<p>The red-deer! Two splendid stags are fighting—fighting +for their lady-love, the timid doe. They +rush at each other with head down and horns extended; +the horns meet and rattle; they fence with +them skilfully. This was the cause of the noise. It +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +is the tilting season—these tournaments between the +knights of the forest are going on all around. There +is just a trifle of danger in approaching these combatants, +but not much, just enough to make the +forest still more enticing; none whatever to those +who use common caution. At the noise of our footsteps +away go the stags, their 'branching antlers' +seen high above the tall fern, bounding over the +ground in a series of jumps, all four feet leaving the +earth at once. There are immense oaks that we +come to now, each with an open space beneath it, +where Titania and the fairies may dance their rings +at night. These enormous trunks—what <i>time</i> they +represent! To us, each hour is of consequence, +especially in this modern day, which has invented the +detestable creed that time is money. But time is not +money to Nature. She never hastens. Slowly from +the tiny acorn grew up this gigantic trunk, and +spread abroad those limbs which in themselves are +trees. And from the trunk itself to the smallest +leaf, every infinitesimal atom of which it is composed +was perfected slowly, gradually—there was no hurry, +no attempt to discount effect. A little farther and +the ground declines; through the tall fern we come +upon a valley. But the soft warm sunshine, the +stillness, the solitude, have induced an irresistible +idleness. Let us lie down upon the fern, on the +edge of the green vale, and gaze up at the slow +clouds as they drift across the blue vault.</p> + +<p>The subtle influence of Nature penetrates every +limb and every vein, fills the soul with a perfect +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +contentment, an absence of all wish except to lie there, +half in sunshine, half in shade, for ever in a Nirvana +of indifference to all but the exquisite delight of +simply <i>living</i>. The wind in the tree-tops overhead +sighs in soft music, and ever and anon a leaf falls +with a slight rustle to mark time.</p> + +<p>The clouds go by in rhythmic motion, the ferns +whisper verses in the ear, the beams of the wondrous +sun in endless song, for he, also,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In his motion like an angel sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such harmony is in immortal souls!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Time is to us now no more than it was to the oak; +we have no consciousness of it. Only we feel the +broad earth beneath us, and as to the ancient giant, +so there passes through us a strength renewing itself, +of vital energy flowing into the frame. It may be +an hour, it may be two hours, when, without the aid +of sound or sight, we become aware by an indescribable, +supersensuous perception that living creatures +are approaching. Sit up without noise and look: +there is a herd of deer feeding down the narrow +valley close at hand, within a stone's-throw. And +these are deer indeed—no puny creatures, but the +'tall deer' that William the Conqueror loved 'as if +he were their father.' Fawns are darting here and +there, frisking round the does. How many may +there be in this herd? Fifty, perhaps more. Nor +is this a single isolated instance, but dozens more of +such herds may be found in this true old English +forest, all running free and unconstrained. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the sun gets low. Following this broad green +drive, it leads us past vistas of endless glades, going +no man knows where, into shadow and gloom; past +grand old oaks; past places where the edge of a +veritable wilderness comes up to the trees—a wilderness +of gnarled hawthorn trunks of unknown ages, +of holly with shining metallic-green leaves, and hazel-bushes. +Past tall trees bearing the edible chestnut in +prickly clusters; past maples which in a little while will +be painted in crimson and gold, with the deer peeping +out of the fern everywhere, and once, perhaps, catching +a glimpse of a shy, beautiful, milk-white doe. +Past a huge hollow trunk in the midst of a greensward, +where merry picnic parties under the 'King +Oak' tread the social quadrille, or whirl waltzes to the +harp and flute. For there are certain spots even in +this grand solitude consecrated to Cytherea and +Bacchus, as he is now worshipped in champagne. +And where can graceful forms look finer, happy eyes +more bright, than in this natural ballroom, under its +incomparable roof of blue, supported upon living +columns of stately trees? Still onward, into a gravel +carriage-road now, returning by degrees to civilization, +and here, with happy judgment, the hand of +man has aided Nature. Far as the eye can see +extends an avenue of beech, passing right through +the forest. The tall, smooth trunks rise up to a +great height, and then branch overhead, looking like +the roof of a Gothic cathedral. The growth is so +regular and so perfect that the comparison springs +unbidden to the lip, and here, if anywhere, that order +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +of architecture might have taken its inspiration. +There is a continuous Gothic arch of green for miles, +beneath which one may drive or walk, as in the aisles +of a forest abbey. But it is impossible to even mention +all the beauties of this place within so short a +space. It must suffice to say that the visitor may +walk for whole days in this great wood, and never +pass the same spot twice. No gates or jealous walls +will bar his progress. As the fancy seizes him, so +he may wander. If he has a taste for archæological +studies, especially the prehistoric, the edge of the +forest melts away upon downs that bear grander +specimens than can be seen elsewhere. Stonehenge +and Avebury are near. The trout-fisher can approach +very close to it. The rail gives easy communication, +but has not spoilt the seclusion.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Lesseps, of Suez Canal fame, is reported +to have said that Marlborough Forest was the finest +he had seen in Europe. Certainly no one who had +not seen it would believe that a forest still existed in +the very heart of Southern England so completely +recalling those woods and 'chases' upon which the +ancient feudal monarchs set such store.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="VILLAGE_CHURCHES" id="VILLAGE_CHURCHES"></a>VILLAGE CHURCHES</h2> + + +<p>The black rooks are busy in the old oak-trees, carrying +away the brown acorns one by one in their strong +beaks to some open place where, undisturbed, they +can feast upon the fruit. The nuts have fallen from +the boughs, and the mice garner them out of the +ditches; but the blue-black sloes cling tight to the +thorn-branch still. The first frost has withered up +the weak sap left in the leaves, and they whirl away +in yellow clouds before the gusts of wind. It is +the season, the hour of half-sorrowful, half-mystic +thought, when the past becomes a reality and the +present a dream, and unbidden memories of sunny +days and sunny faces, seen when life was all spring, +float around:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dim dream-like forms! your shadowy train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around me gathers once again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same as in life's morning hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before my troubled gaze you passed.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="snip">* * * * *</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forms known in happy days you bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And much-loved shades amid you spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a tradition, half expired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worn out with many a passing year.<br /></span> +</div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></div> + +<p>In so busy a land as ours there is no place where +the mind can, as it were, turn in upon itself so fully +as in the silence and solitude of a village church.</p> + +<p>There is no ponderous vastness, no oppressive +weight of gloomy roof, no weird cavernous crypts, +as in the cathedral; only a <i>visible</i> silence, which at +once isolates the soul, separates it from external +present influences, and compels it, in falling back +upon itself, to recognize its own depth and powers. +In daily life we sit as in a vast library filled with +tomes, hurriedly writing frivolous letters upon +'vexatious nothings,' snatching our food and slumber, +for ever rushing forward with beating pulse, never +able to turn our gaze away from the goal to examine +the great storehouse, the library around us. Upon the +infinitely delicate organization of the brain innumerable +pictures are hourly painted; these, too, we +hurry by, ignoring them, pushing them back into +oblivion. But here, in silence, they pass again +before the gaze. Let no man know for what real +purpose we come here; tell the aged clerk our +business is with brasses and inscriptions, press half +a crown into his hand, and let him pass to his +potato-digging. There is one advantage at least in +the closing of the church on week-days, so much +complained of—to those who do visit it there is a +certainty that their thoughts will not be disturbed. +And the sense of man's presence has departed from +the walls and oaken seats; the dust here is not the +dust of the highway, of the quick footstep; it is +the dust of the past. The ancient heavy key creaks +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +in the cumbrous lock, and the iron latch-ring has +worn a deep groove in the solid stone. The narrow +nail-studded door of black oak yields slowly to the +push—it is not easy to enter, not easy to quit the +present—but once close it, and the living world is +gone. The very style of ornament upon the door, +the broad-headed nails, has come down from the +remotest antiquity. After the battle, says the rude +bard in the Saxon chronicle,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Northmen departed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their nailed barks,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and, earlier still, the treacherous troop that seized the +sleeping magician in iron, Wayland the Smith, were +clad in 'nailed armour,' in both instances meaning +ornamented with nails. Incidentally, it may be noted +that, until very recently, at least one village church +in England had part of the skin of a Dane nailed to +the door—a stern reminder of the days when 'the +Pagans' harried the land. This narrow window, +deep in the thick wall, has no painted magnificence +to boast of; but as you sit beside it in the square, +high-sided pew, it possesses a human interest which +even art cannot supply.</p> + +<p>The tall grass growing rank on the graves without +rustles as it waves to and fro in the wind against the +small diamond panes, yellow and green with age—rustles +with a melancholy sound; for we know that +this window was once far above the ground, but the +earth has risen till nearly on a level—risen from the +accumulation of human remains. Yet, but a day or +two before, on the Sunday morning, in this pew, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +bright, restless children smiled at each other, exchanged +guilty pushes, while the sunbeams from the +arrow-slit above shone upon their golden hair.</p> + +<p>Let us not think of this further, but dimly through +the window, 'as through a glass darkly,' see the +green yew with its red berries, and afar the elms +and beeches, brown and yellow. The steep down +rises over them, and the moving grey patch upon +it is a flock of <a class="corr" name="TC_3" id="TC_3" title="sleep">sheep</a>. The white wall is cold and +damp, and the beams of the roof overhead, though +the varnish is gone from them, are dark with slow +decay.</p> + +<p>In the recess lies the figure of a knight in armour, +rudely carved, beside his lady, still more rudely +rendered in her stiff robes, and of him an ill-spelt +inscription proudly records that he 'builded ye +greate howse at'—no matter where; but history +records that cruel war wrapped it in flames before +half a generation was gone, so that the boast of his +building great houses reads as a bitter mockery. +There stands opposite a grander monument to a +mighty earl, and over it hangs a breastplate and +gauntlets of steel.</p> + +<p>The villagers will tell that in yonder deep shady +'combe' or valley, in the thick hazel-bushes, when +the 'beetle with his drowsy hum' rises through the +night air, there comes the wicked old earl, wearing +this very breastplate, these iron gloves, to expiate +one evil deed of yore. And if we sit in this pew +long enough, till the mind is magnetized with the +spirit of the past, till the early evening sends its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +shadowy troops to fill the distant corners of the +silent church, then, perhaps, there may come to us +forms gliding noiselessly over the stone pavement of +the aisles—forms not repelling or ghastly, but filling +us with an eager curiosity. Then through the slit +made for that very purpose centuries since, when the +pew was in a family chapel—through the slit in the +pillar, we may see cowled monks assemble at the +altar, muttering as magicians might over vessels of +gold. The clank of scabbards upon the stones is +stilled, the rustle of gowns is silent; if there is a +sound, it is of subdued sobs, as the aged monk +blesses the troop on the eve of their march. Not +even yet has the stern idol of war ceased to demand +its victims; even yet brave hearts and noble minds +must perish, and leave sterile the hopes of the elders +and the love of woman. There is still light enough +left to read the few simple lines on the plain marble +slab, telling how 'Lieutenant ——,' at Inkerman, +at Lucknow, or, later still, at Coomassie, fell doing +his duty. And these plain slabs are dearer to us +far than all the sculptured grandeur, and the titles +and pomp of belted earl and knight; their simple +words go straighter to our hearts than all the quaint +curt Latin of the olden time.</p> + +<p>The belfry door is ajar—those winding stairs are +not easy of access. The edges are worn away, and +the steps strewn with small sticks of wood; sticks +once used by the jackdaws in building their nests in +the tower. It is needful to take much care, lest the +foot should stumble in the semi-darkness. Listen! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +there is now a slight sound: it is the dull ticking of +the old, old clock above. It is the only thing with +motion here; all else is still, and even its motion is +not life. A strange old clock, a study in itself; +all the works open and visible, simple, but ingenious. +For a hundred years it has carried round the one +hour-hand upon the square-faced dial without, marking +every second of time for a century with its pendulum. +Here, too, are the bells, and one, the chief +bell, is a noble tenor, a mighty maker of sound. Its +curves are full and beautiful, its colour clear; its +tone, if you do but tap it, sonorous, yet not harsh. +It is an artistic bell. Round the rim runs a rhyme +in the monkish tongue, which has a chime in the +words, recording the donor, and breathing a prayer +for his soul. In the day when this bell was made +men put their souls into their works. Their one +great object was not to turn out 100,000 all alike, +it was rarely they made two alike. Their one +great object was to construct a work which should +carry their very spirit in it, which should excel all +similar works, and cause men in after-times to inquire +with wonder for the maker's name, whether it was +such a common thing as a knife-handle, or a bell, or +a ship. Longfellow has caught the spirit well in the +saga of the 'Long Serpent,' where the builder of the +vessel listens to axe and hammer:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All this tumult heard the master,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It was music to his ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancy whispered all the faster,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a hundred year!'<br /></span> +</div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></div> + +<p>Would that there were more of this spirit in the +workshops of our day! They did not, when such a +work was finished, hasten to blaze it abroad with +trumpet and shouting; it was not carried to the +topmost pinnacle of the mountain in sight of all +the kingdoms of the earth. They were contented +with the result of their labour, and cared little where +it was placed or who saw it; and so it is that some +of the finest-toned bells in the world are at this +moment to be found in village churches; and for so +local a fame the maker worked as truly, and in as +careful a manner, as if he had known his bell was to +be hung in St. Peter's, at Rome. This was the true +spirit of art. Yet it is not altogether pleasant to +contemplate this bell; the mind cannot but reflect +upon the length of time it has survived those to +whose joys or sorrows it has lent a passing utterance, +and who are dust in the yard beneath.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For full five hundred years I've swung<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In my old grey turret high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a changing theme I've sung<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the time went stealing by.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Even the 'old grey turret' shows more signs of +age and of decay than the bell, for it is strengthened +with iron clamps and rods to bind its feeble walls +together. Of the pavements, whose flagstones are +monuments, the dates and names worn by footsteps; +of the vaults beneath, with their grim and ghastly +traditions of coffins moved out of place, as was supposed, +by supernatural agency, but, as explained, by +water; of the thick walls, in which, in at least one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +village church, the trembling victim of priestly cruelty +was immured alive—of these and a thousand other +matters that suggest themselves there is no time to +speak.</p> + +<p>But just a word must be spared to notice one +lovely spot where two village churches stand not a +hundred yards apart, separated by a stream, both in +the hands of one Vicar, whose 'cure' is, nevertheless, +so scant of souls that service in the morning in +one and in the evening in the other church is amply +sufficient. And where is there a place where springtime +possesses such a tender yet melancholy interest +to the heart as in a village churchyard, where the +budding leaves and flowers in the grass may naturally +be taken as symbolical of a still more beautiful springtime +yet in store for the soul?</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="BIRDS_OF_SPRING" id="BIRDS_OF_SPRING"></a>BIRDS OF SPRING</h2> + + +<p>The birds of spring come as imperceptibly as the +leaves. One by one the buds open on hawthorn and +willow, till all at once the hedges appear green, and +so the birds steal quietly into the bushes and trees, +till by-and-by a chorus fills the wood, and each warm +shower is welcomed with varied song. To many, the +majority of spring-birds are really unknown; the +cuckoo, the nightingale, and the swallow, are all with +which they are acquainted, and these three make the +summer. The loud cuckoo cannot be overlooked by +anyone passing even a short time in the fields; the +nightingale is so familiar in verse that everyone tries +to hear it; and the swallows enter the towns and +twitter at the chimney-top. But these are really only +the principal representatives of the crowd of birds +that flock to our hedges in the early summer; and +perhaps it would be accurate to say that no other +area of equal extent, either in Europe or elsewhere, +receives so many feathered visitors. The English +climate is the established subject of abuse, yet it is +the climate most preferred and sought by the birds, +who have the choice of immense continents.</p> + +<p>Nothing that I have ever read of, or seen, or that +I expect to see, equals the beauty and the delight of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +a summer spent in our woods and meadows. Green +leaves and grass, and sunshine, blue skies, and sweet +brooks—there is nothing to approach it; it is no +wonder the birds are tempted to us. The food they +find is so abundant, that after all their efforts, little +apparent diminution can be noticed; to this fertile +and lovely country, therefore, they hasten every year. +It might be said that the spring-birds begin to come +to us in the autumn, as early as October, when +hedge-sparrows and golden-crested wrens, larks, +blackbirds, and thrushes, and many others, float over +on the gales from the coasts of Norway. Their +numbers, especially of the smaller birds, such as larks, +are immense, and their line of flight so extended that +it strikes our shores for a distance of two hundred +miles. The vastness of these numbers, indeed, makes +me question whether they all come from Scandinavia. +That is their route; Norway seems to be the last +land they see before crossing; but I think it possible +that their original homes may have been farther still. +Though many go back in the spring, many individuals +remain here, and rejoice in the plenty of the +hedgerows. As all roads of old time led to Rome, +so do bird-routes lead to these islands. Some of +these birds appear to pair in November, and so have +settled their courtship long before the crocuses of +St. Valentine. Much difference is apparent in the +dates recorded of the arrivals in spring; they vary +year by year, and now one and now another bird +presents itself first, so that I shall not in these notes +attempt to arrange them in strict order. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>One of the first noticeable in southern fields is the +common wagtail. When his shrill note is heard +echoing against the walls of the outhouses as he rises +from the ground, the carters and ploughmen know +that there will not be much more frost. If icicles +hang from the thatched eaves, they will not long +hang, but melt before the softer wind. The bitter +part of winter is over. The wagtail is a house-bird, +making the houses or cattle-pens its centre, and +remaining about them for months. There is not +a farmhouse in the South of England without its +summer pair of wagtails—not more than one pair, as +a rule, for they are not gregarious till winter; but +considering that every farmhouse has its pair, their +numbers must be really large.</p> + +<p>Where wheatears frequent, their return is very +marked; they appear suddenly in the gardens and +open places, and cannot be overlooked. Swallows +return one by one at first, and we get used to them +by degrees. The wheatears seem to drop out of the +night, and to be showered down on the ground in the +morning. A white bar on the tail renders them +conspicuous, for at that time much of the surface of +the earth is bare and dark. Naturally birds of the +wildest and most open country, they yet show no +dread, but approach the houses closely. They are +local in their habits, or perhaps follow a broad but +well-defined route of migration; so that while +common in one place, they are rare in others. In +two localities with which I am familiar, and know +every path, I never saw a wheatear. I heard of them +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +occasionally as passing over, but they were not birds +of the district. In Sussex, on the contrary, the +wheatear is as regularly seen as the blackbird; and in +the spring and summer you cannot go for a walk without +finding them. They change their ground three +times: first, on arrival, they feed in the gardens and +arable fields; next, they go up on the hills; lastly, +they return to the coast, and frequent the extreme +edge of the cliffs and the land by the shore. Every +bird has its different manner; I do not know how +else to express it. Now, the wheatears move in +numbers, and yet not in concert; in spring, perhaps +twenty may be counted in sight at once on the +ground, feeding together and yet quite separate; just +opposite in manner to starlings, who feed side by +side and rise and fly as one. Every wheatear feeds +by himself, a space between him and his neighbour, +dotted about, and yet they obviously have a certain +amount of mutual understanding: they recognize +that they belong to the same family, but maintain +their individuality. On the hills in their breeding +season they act in the same way: each pair has a +wide piece of turf, sometimes many acres. But if +you see one pair, it is certain that other pairs are in +the neighbourhood. In their breeding-grounds they +will not permit a man to approach so near as when +they arrive, or as when the nesting is over. At the +time of their arrival, anyone can walk up within +a short distance; so, again, in autumn. During the +nesting-time the wheatear perches on a molehill, or a +large flint, or any slight elevation above the open +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +surface of the downs, and allows no one to come +closer than fifty yards.</p> + +<p>The hedge-sparrows, that creep about the bushes +of the hedgerow as mice creep about the banks, are +early in spring joined by the whitethroats, almost the +first hedge-birds to return. The thicker the undergrowth +of nettles and wild parsley, rushes and rough +grasses, the more the whitethroat likes the spot. +Amongst this tangled mass he lives and feeds, slipping +about under the brambles and ferns as rapidly as if +the way was clear. Loudest of all, the chiff-chaff +sings in the ash woods, bare and leafless, while yet +the sharp winds rush between the poles, rattling +them together, and bringing down the dead twigs to +the earth. The violets are difficult to find, few, and +scattered; but his clear note rings in the hushes +of the eastern breeze, encouraging the flowers. It is +very pleasant indeed to hear him. One's hands are +dry, and the skin rough with the east wind; the +trunks of the trees look dry, and the lichens have +shrivelled on the bark; the brook looks dark; grey +dust rises and drifts, and the grey clouds hurry over; +but the chiff-chaff sings, and it is certainly spring. +The first green leaves which the elder put forth in +January have been burned up by frost, and the +woodbine, which looked as if it would soon be +entirely green then, has been checked, and remains a +promise only. The chiff-chaff tells the buds of the +coming April rains and the sweet soft intervals of +warm sun. He is a sure forerunner. He defies the +bitter wind; his little heart is as true as steel. He +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +is one of the birds in which I feel a personal interest, +as if I could converse with him. The willow-wren, +his friend, comes later, and has a gentler, plaintive +song.</p> + +<p>Meadow-pipits are not migrants in the sense that +the swallows are; but they move about and so +change their localities that when they come back +they have much of the interest of a spring-bird. +They rise from the ground and sing in the air like +larks, but not at such a height, nor is the song +so beautiful. These, too, are early birds. They +often frequent very exposed places, as the side of +a hill where the air is keen, and where one would not +expect to meet with so lively a little creature. The +pond has not yet any of the growths that will +presently render its margin green; the willow-herbs +are still low, the aquatic grasses have not become +strong, and the osiers are without leaf. If examined +closely, evidences of growth would be found everywhere +around it; but as yet the surface is open, and +it looks cold. Along the brook the shoals are visible, +as the flags have not risen from the stems which were +cut down in the autumn. In the sedges, however, +the first young shoots are thrusting up, and the +reeds have started slender green stalks tipped with +the first leaves. At the verge of the water, a thick +green plant of marsh-marigold has one or two great +golden flowers open. This is the appearance of his +home when the sedge-reedling returns to it. Sometimes +he may be seen flitting across the pond, or +perched for a moment on an exposed branch; but he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +quickly returns to the dry sedges or the bushes, or +climbs in and out the willow-stoles. It is too bare +and open for him at the pond, or even by the brookside. +So much does he love concealment, that +although to be near the water is his habit, for a while +he prefers to keep back among the bushes. As the +reeds and reed canary-grass come up and form a +cover—as the sedges grow green and advance to the +edge of the water—as the sword-flags lift up and +expand, opening from a centre, the sedge-reedling +issues from the bushes and enters these vigorous +growths, on which he perches, and about which he +climbs as if they were trees. In the pleasant mornings, +when the sun grows warm about eleven o'clock, +he calls and sings with scarcely a cessation, and +is answered by his companions up and down the +stream. He does but just interrupt his search for +food to sing; he stays a moment, calls, and immediately +resumes his prying into every crevice of +the branches and stoles. The thrush often sits on a +bough and sings for a length of time, apart from his +food, and without thinking of it, absorbed in his +song, and full of the sweetness of the day. These +restless sedge-reedlings cannot pause; their little feet +are for ever at work, climbing about the willow-stoles +where the wands spring from the trunk; they never +reflect; they are always engaged. This restlessness is +to them a great pleasure; they are filled with the +life which the sun gives, and express it in every +motion; they are so joyful, they cannot be still. +Step into the osier-bed amongst them gently; they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +will chirp—a note like a sparrow's—just in front, +and only recede a yard at a time as you push through +the tall grass, flags, and underwood. Stand where +you can see the brook, not too near, but so as to see +it through a fringe of sedges and willows. The pink +lychnis or ragged robin grows among the grasses; +the iris flowers higher on the shore. The water-vole +comes swimming past, on his way to nibble the green +weeds in the stream round about the great branch +which fell two winters since, and remains in the +water. Aquatic plants take root in its shelter. +There, too, a moorhen goes, sometimes diving under +the bough. A blackbird flies up to drink or bathe, +never at the grassy edge, but always choosing a spot +where he can get at the stream free from obstruction. +The sound of many birds singing comes from the +hedge across the meadow; it mingles with the rush +of the water through a drawn hatch—finches and +linnets, thrush and chiff-chaff, wren and whitethroat, +and others farther away, whose louder notes only +reach. The singing is so mixed and interwoven, and +is made of so many notes, it seems as if it were the +leaves singing—the countless leaves—as if they had +voices.</p> + +<p>A brightly-coloured bird, the redstart, appears +suddenly in spring, like a flower that has bloomed +before the bud was noticed. Red is his chief colour, +and as he rushes out from his perch to take an insect +on the wing, he looks like a red streak. These birds +sometimes nest near farm-houses in the rickyards, +sometimes by copses, and sometimes in the deepest +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +and most secluded combes or glens, the farthest +places from habitation; so that they cannot be said +to have any preference, as so many birds have, for +a particular kind of locality; but they return year +by year to the places they have chosen. The return +of the corncrake or landrail is quickly recognized by +the noise he makes in the grass; he is the noisiest of +all the spring-birds. The return of the goat-sucker +is hardly noticed at first. This is not at all a rare, +but rather a local bird, well known in many places, +but in others unnoticed, except by those who feel +a special interest. A bird must be common and +plentiful before people generally observe it, so that +there are many of the labouring class who have never +seen the goat-sucker, or would say so, if you asked +them.</p> + +<p>Few observe the migration of the turtle-doves, +perhaps confusing them with the wood-pigeons, +which stay in the fields all the winter. By the time +the sap is well up in the oaks all the birds have +arrived, and the tremulous cooing of the turtle-dove +is heard by those engaged in barking the felled trees. +The sap rises slowly in the oaks, moving gradually +through the minute interstices or capillary tubes of +this close-grained wood; the softer timber-trees are +full of it long before the oak; and when the oak is +putting forth its leaves it is high spring. Doves +stay so much at this time in the great hawthorns of +the hedgerows and at the edge of the copses that +they are seldom noticed, though comparatively large +birds. They are easily seen by any who wish; the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +'coo-coo' tells where they are; and in walking gently +to find them, many other lesser birds will be observed. +A wryneck may be caught sight of on a bough overhead; +a black-headed bunting, in the hedge where +there is a wet ditch and rushes; a blackcap, in the +birches; and the 'zee-zee-zee' of the tree-pipit by +the oaks just through the narrow copse.</p> + +<p>This is the most pleasant and the best way to +observe—to have an object, when so many things +will be seen that would have been passed unnoticed. +To steal softly along the hedgerow, keeping out of +sight as much as possible, pausing now and then to +listen as the 'coo-coo' is approached; and then, when +near enough to see the doves, to remain quiet behind +a tree, is the surest way to see everything else. The +thrush will not move from her nest if passed so +quietly; the chaffinch's lichen-made nest will be +caught sight of against the elm-trunk—it would +escape notice otherwise; the whitethroat may be +watched in the nettles almost underneath; a rabbit +will sit on his haunches and look at you from among +the bare green stalks of brake rising; mice will rustle +under the ground-ivy's purple flowers; a mole perhaps +may be seen, for at this time they often leave their +burrows and run along the surface; and, indeed, so +numerous are the sights and sounds and interesting +things, that you will soon be conscious of the fact +that, while you watch one, two or three more are +escaping you. It would be the same with any other +search as well as the dove; I choose the dove because +by then all the other creatures are come and are busy, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +and because it is a fairly large bird with a distinctive +note, and consequently a good guide.</p> + +<p>But these are not all the spring-birds: there are +the whinchats, fly-catchers, sandpipers, ring-ousels, +and others that are occasional or rare. There is not +a corner of the fields, woods, streams, or hills, which +does not receive a new inhabitant: the sandpiper +comes to the open sandy margins of the pool; the +fly-catcher, to the old post by the garden; the whinchat, +to the furze; the tree-pipit, to the oaks, where +their boughs overhang meadow or cornfield; the +sedge-reedling, to the osiers; the dove, to the thick +hedgerows; the wheatear, to the hills; and I see +I have overlooked the butcher-bird or shrike, as, +indeed, in writing of these things one is certain to +overlook something, so wide is the subject. Many +of the spring-birds do not sing on their first arrival, +but stay a little while; by that time others are here. +Grass-blade comes up by grass-blade till the meadows +are freshly green; leaf comes forth by leaf till the +trees are covered; and, like the leaves, the birds +gently take their places, till the hedges are imperceptibly +filled.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="THE_SPRING_OF_THE_YEAR" id="THE_SPRING_OF_THE_YEAR"></a>THE SPRING OF THE YEAR</h2> + + +<p>'There's the cuckoo!' Everyone looked up and +listened as the notes came indoors from the copse by +the garden. He had returned to the same spot for +the fourth time. The tallest birch-tree—it is as tall +as an elm—stands close to the hedge, about three +parts of the way up it, and it is just round there +that the cuckoo generally sings. From the garden +gate it is only a hundred yards to this tree, walking +beside the hedge which extends all the way, so that +the very first time the cuckoo calls upon his arrival +he is certain to be heard. His voice travels that +little distance with ease, and can be heard in every +room. This year (1881) he came back to the copse +on April 27, just ten days after I first heard one in +the fields by Worcester Park. The difference in +time is usual; the bird which frequents this copse +does not arrive there till a week or so after others in +the neighbourhood may be heard calling. So marked +is the interval that once or twice I began to think +the copse would be deserted—there were cuckoos +crying all round in the fields, but none came near. +He has, however, always returned, and this difference +in time makes his notes all the more remarked. I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +have, therefore, always two dates for the cuckoo: +one, when I first hear the note, no matter where, +and the second, when the copse bird sings. When +he once comes he continues so long as he stays in +this country, visiting the spot every day, sometimes +singing for a few minutes, sometimes for an hour, +and one season he seemed to call every morning and +all the morning long. In the copse the ring of the +two notes is a little toned down and lost by passing +through the boughs, which hold and check the vibration +of the sound. One year a detached ash in +Cooper's Field, not fifty yards from the houses, was +a favourite resort, and while perched there the notes +echoed along the buildings, one following the other +as waves roll on the summer sands. Flying from +the ash to the copse, or along the copse hedge, the +cuckoo that year was as often seen as the sparrows, +and as little notice was taken of him. Several times +cuckoos have flown over this house, but just clearing +the roof, and descending directly they were over to +the copse. He has not called so much this year yet, +but on the evening of May 8 he was crying in the +copse at half-past eight while the moon was shining.</p> + +<p>On the morning of May 2, standing in the garden, +or at the window of any of the rooms facing south, +you could hear five birds calling together. The +cuckoo was calling not far from the tallest birch; +there was a turtle-dove cooing in the copse much +closer; and a wood-pigeon overpowered the dove's +soft voice every two or three minutes—the pigeon +was not fifty yards distant; a wryneck was perched +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +up in an oak at the end of the garden, and uttered +his peculiar note from time to time, and a nightingale +was singing on Tolworth Common, just opposite the +house, though on the other side. These were all +audible, sometimes together, sometimes alternately; +and if you went to the northern windows or the front +door, looking towards the common, then you might +also hear the chatter of a brook-sparrow. The dove +has a way of gurgling his coo in the throat. The +wryneck's 'kie-kie-kie,' the last syllable plaintively +prolonged, is not like the call or songs of other +birds; it reminds one of the peacock's strange scream, +not in its actual sound, but its singularity. When +it is suddenly heard from the midst of the thick +green hedges of a summer's day, the bird itself unseen, +it has a weird sound, which does not accord, +like the blackbird's whistle, with our trees; it seems +as if some tropical bird had wandered hither. I have +heard the wryneck calling in the oak at the end of +the garden every morning this season before rising, +and suspect, from his constant presence, that a nest +will be built close by. Last year the wryneck was +a scarce bird in this neighbourhood; in all my walks +I heard but two or three, and at long intervals. +This year there are plenty; I hear them in almost +every walk I take. There is one in the orchard +beside the Red Lion Inn; another frequents the +hedges and trees behind St. Matthew's Church; up +Claygate Lane there is another—the third or fourth +gateway on the left side is the place to listen. One +year a pair built, I am sure, close to the cottage which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +stands by itself near the road on Tolworth Common. +I saw them daily perched on the trees in +front, and heard them every time I passed. There +were not many, or we did not notice them, at home, +and therefore I have observed them with interest. +Now there is one every morning at the end of the +garden. This nightingale, too, that sings on Tolworth +Common just opposite, returns there every +year, and, like the cuckoo to the copse, he is late in +his arrival—at least a week later than other nightingales +whose haunts are not far off. His cover is in +some young birch-trees, which form a leafy thicket +among the furze. On the contrary, the brook-sparrow, +or sedge-reedling, that sings there is the +first, I think, of all his species to return in this place. +He comes so soon that, remembering the usual date +in other districts, I have more than once tried to +persuade myself that I was mistaken, and that it was +not the sedge-bird, but some other. But he has a +note that it is not possible to confuse, and as it has +happened several seasons running, this early appearance, +there can be no doubt it is a fixed period with +him. These two, the sedge-bird and the nightingale, +have their homes so near together that the one often +sings in the branches above, while the other chatters +in the underwood beneath.</p> + +<p>Besides these, before I get up I hear now a wren +regularly. Little as he is, his notes rise in a crescendo +above all; he sings on a small twig growing +from the trunk of an oak—a bare twig which gives +him a view all round. There is a bold ring in some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +of the notes of the wren which might give an idea to +a composer desirous of producing a merry tune. +The chirp of sparrows, of course, underlies all. I +like sparrows. The chirp has a tang in it, a sound +within a sound, just as a piece of metal rings; there +is not only the noise of the blow as you strike it, but +a sound of the metal itself. Just now the cock birds +are much together; a month or two since the little +bevies of sparrows were all hens, six or seven together, +as if there were a partial separation of the +sexes at times. I like sparrows, and am always glad +to hear their chirp; the house seems still and quiet +after this nesting-time, when they leave us for the +wheatfields, where they stay the rest of the summer. +What happy days they have among the ripening corn!</p> + +<p>But this year the thrushes do not sing: I have +listened for them morning after morning, but have +not heard them. They used to sing so continuously +in the copse that their silence is very marked: I see +them, but they are silent—they want rain. Nor +have our old missel-thrushes sung here this spring. +One season there seem more of one kind of bird, and +another of another species. None are more constant +than the turtle-dove: he always comes to the same +place in the copse, about forty yards from the garden +gate.</p> + +<p>The wood-pigeons are the most prominent birds +in the copse this year. In previous seasons there +were hardly any—one or two, perhaps; sometimes +the note was not heard for weeks. There might +have been a nest; I do not think so; the pigeons +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +that come seemed merely to rest <i>en route</i> elsewhere—occasional +visitors only. But last autumn (1880) a +small flock of seven or eight took up their residence +here, and returned to roost every evening. They +remained the winter through, and even in the January +frosts, if the sun shone a little, called now and then. +Their hollow cooing came from the copse at midday +on January 1, and it was heard again on the 2nd. +During the deep snows they were silent, but I constantly +saw them flying to and fro, and immediately +it became milder they recommenced to call. So that +the wood-pigeon's notes have been heard in the +garden—and the house—with only short intervals +ever since last October, and it is now May. In the +early spring, while walking up the Long Ditton +road towards sunset, the place from whence you can +get the most extended view of the copse, they were +always flying about the tops of the trees preparatory +to roosting. The bare slender tips of the birches on +which they perched exposed them against the sky. +Once six alighted on a long birch-branch, bending it +down with their weight, not unlike a heavy load of +fruit. As the stormy sunset flamed up, tinting the +fields with momentary red, their hollow voices +sounded among the trees.</p> + +<p>Now, in May, they are busy; they have paired, and +each couple has a part of the copse to themselves. +Just level with the gardens the wood is almost bare +of undergrowth; there is little to obstruct the sight +but the dead hanging branches, and one couple are +always up and down here. They are near enough +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +for us to see the dark marking at the end of the tail +as it is spread open to assist the upward flight from +the ground to the tree. Outside the garden gate, +about twenty yards distant, there stand three or four +young spruce-firs; they are in the field, but so close +as to touch the copse hedge. To the largest of these +one of the pigeons comes now and then; he is half +inclined to choose it for his nest, and yet hesitates. +The noise of their wings, as they rise and thresh their +strong feathers together over the tops of the trees, +may often be heard in the garden; or you may see +one come from a distance, swift as the wind, suddenly +half close two wings, and, shooting forward, +alight among the branches. They seem with us like +the sparrows, as much as if the house stood in the +midst of the woods at home. The coo itself is not +tuneful in any sense; it is hoarse and hollow, yet it +has a pleasant sound to me—a sound of the woods +and the forest. I can almost feel the gun in my +hand again. They are pre-eminently the birds of +the woods. Other birds frequent them at times, and +then quit the trees: but the ring-dove is the wood-bird, +always there some part of the day. So that the +sound soothes by its associations.</p> + +<p>Coming down the Long Ditton road on May 1, +at the corner of the copse, where there are some +hornbeams, I heard some low sweet notes that came +from the trees, and, after a little difficulty, discovered +a blackcap perched on a branch, humped up. Another +answered within ten yards, and then they sang one +against the other. The foliage of the hornbeam was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +still pale, and the blackcaps' colours being so pale +also (with the exception of the poll), it was not easy +to see them. The song is sweet and cultured, but +does not last many seconds. In its beginning it +something resembles that of the hedge-sparrow—not +the pipe, but the song which the hedge-sparrows are +now delivering from the top sprays of the hawthorn +hedges. It is sweet indeed and cultured, and it is a +pleasure to welcome another arrival, but I do not feel +enraptured with the blackcap's notes. One came +into the garden, visiting some ivy on the wall, but +they are not plentiful just now. By these hornbeam +trees a little streamlet flows out from the copse and +under the road by a culvert. At the hedge it is +crossed by a pole (to prevent cattle straying in), and +this pole is the robin's especial perch. He is always +there, or near; he was there all through the winter, +and is there now. Beneath, where there are a few +inches of sand beside the water, a wagtail comes now +and then; but the robin does not like the intrusion, +and drives him away.</p> + +<p>The same oak at the end of the garden, where the +wryneck calls, is also the favourite tree of a cock +chaffinch, and every morning he sings there for at +least two hours at a stretch. I hear him first between +waking and sleeping, and listen to his song +before my eyes are open. No starlings whistle on +the house-tops this year; I am disappointed that +they have not returned; last year, and the year +before that—indeed, since we have been here—a pair +built under the eaves just above the window of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +room I then used. Last spring, indeed, they filled +the gutter with the materials of their nest, and long +after they had left a storm descended, and the rain, +unable to escape, flooded the corner. It cost eight +shillings to repair the damage; but it did not matter, +they had been happy. It is a disappointment not to +hear their whistle again this spring, and the flutter +of their wings as they vibrate them superbly while +hovering a moment before entering their cavern. +A pair of house-martins built under the eaves near +by one season; they, too, have disappointed me by +not returning, though their nest was not disturbed. +Some fate has probably overtaken late starlings and +house-martins.</p> + +<p>Then in the sunny mornings, too, there is the +twittering of the swallows. They were very late +this spring at Surbiton. The first of the species was +a bank-martin flying over the Wandle by Wimbledon +on April 25; the first swallow appeared at Surbiton +on April 30. As the bank-martins skim the surface +of the Thames—there are plenty everywhere near +the osier-beds and eyots, as just below Kingston +Bridge—their brown colour, and the black mark +behind the eye, and the thickness of the body near +the head, cause them to bear a resemblance to moths. +A fortnight before the first swallow the large bats +were hawking up and down the road in the evenings. +They seem to prefer to follow the course of the +road, flying straight up it from the copse to the +pond, half-way to Red Lion Lane, then back again, +and so to and fro, sometimes wheeling over the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +Common, but usually resuming their voyaging above +the highway. Passing on a level with the windows +in the dusk, their wings seem to expand nine or ten +inches. Bats are sensitive to heat and cold. When +the north or east wind blows they do not come out; +they like a warm evening.</p> + +<p>A shrike flew down from a hedge on May 9, just +in front of me, and alighted on a dandelion, bending +the flower to the ground and clasping the stalk in +his claws. There must have been an insect on the +flower: the bright yellow disk was dashed to the +ground in an instant by the ferocious bird, who came +with such force as almost to lose his balance. Though +small, the butcher-bird's decision is marked in every +action, in his very outline. His eagle-like head +sweeps the grass, and in a second he is on his victim. +Perhaps it was a humble-bee. The humble-bees are +now searching about for the crevices in which they +make their nests, and go down into every hole or +opening, exploring the depressions left by the hoofs +of horses on the sward when it was wet, and peering +under stones and flints beside the way. Wasps, too, are +about with the same purpose, and wild bees hover in +the sunshine. The shrikes are numerous here, and +all have their special haunts, to which they annually +return. The bird that darted on the dandelion flew +from the hedge by the footpath, through the meadow +where the stag is generally uncarted, beside the +Hogsmill brook. A pair frequent the bushes beside +the Long Ditton road, not far from the milestone; +another pair come to the railway arch at the foot of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +Cockrow Hill. In Claygate Lane there are several +places, and in June and July, when they are feeding +their young, the 'chuck-chucking' is incessant.</p> + +<p>Beside the copse on the sward by the Long +Ditton road is a favourite resort of peacock butterflies. +On sunny days now one may often be seen +there floating over the grass. White butterflies go +flutter-flutter, continually fanning; the peacock +spreads his wide wings and floats above the bennets. +Yellow or sulphur butterflies are almost rare—things +common enough in other places. I seldom see one +here, and, unless it is fancy, fewer the last two +seasons than previously.</p> + +<p>In the ploughed field by Southborough Park, +towards the Long Ditton road, partridges sometimes +call now as the sun goes down. The corn is yet so +short and thin that the necks of partridges stand up +above it. One stole out the other evening from the +hedge of a field beside the Ewell road into the +corn; his head was high over the green blades. +The meadow close by, the second past the turn, is a +favourite with partridges, though so close to the +road and to Tolworth Farm. Beside Claygate Lane, +where the signpost points to Hook, there is a withybed +which is a favourite cover for hares. There is +a gateway (on the left of the lane) just past the signpost, +from which you can see all one side of the +osiers; the best time is when the clover begins to +close its leaves for the evening. On May 3, looking +over the gate there, I watched two hares enjoying +themselves in the corn; they towered high above it—it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +was not more than four or five inches—and fed +with great unconcern, though I was not concealed. +A nightingale sang in the bushes within a few yards, +and two cuckoos chased each other, calling as they +flew across the lane; once one passed just overhead. +The cuckoo has a note like 'chuck, chuck,' besides +the well-known cry, which is uttered apparently +when the bird is much exerted. These two were +quite restless; they were to and fro from the fields +on one side of the lane to those on the other, now +up the hedge, now in a tree, and continually scolding +each other with these 'chuck-chucking' sounds. +Chaffinches were calling from the tops of the trees; +the chaffinches now have a note much like one used +by the yellow-hammer, different from their song and +from their common 'fink tink.' I was walking by +the same place, on April 24, when there was suddenly +a tremendous screaming and threatening, and, +glancing over the fields bordering on the Waffrons, +there were six jays fighting. They screamed at and +followed each other in a fury, real or apparent, up +and down the hedge, and then across the fields out +of sight. There were three jays together in a field +by the Ewell road on May 1.</p> + +<p>Just past the bridge over the Hogsmill brook at +Tolworth Court there begins, on the left-hand side +of the road, a broad mound, almost a cover in itself. +At this time, before the underwood is up, much +that goes on in the mound can be seen. There are +several nightingales here, and they sometimes run or +dart along under the trailing ivy, as if a mouse had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +rushed through it. The rufous colour of the back +increases the impression; the hedgerows look red in +the sunshine. Whitethroats are in full song everywhere: +they have a twitter sometimes like swallows. +A magpie flew up from the short green corn to a +branch low down an elm, his back towards me, and +as he rose his tail seemed to project from a white +circle. The white tips of his wings met—or apparently +so—as he fluttered, both above and beneath +his body, so that he appeared encircled with a white +ring.</p> + +<p>The swifts have not come, up to the 10th, but +there are young thrushes about able to fly. There +was one at the top of the garden the other day almost +as large as his parent. Nesting is in the fullest +progress. I chanced on a hedge-sparrow's lately, the +whole groundwork of which was composed of the +dry vines of the wild white convolvulus. All +the birds are come, I think, except the swift, the +chat, and the redstart: very likely the last two are in +the neighbourhood, though I have not seen them. +In the furze on Tolworth Common—a resort of +chats—the land-lizards are busy every sunny day. +They run over the bunches of dead, dry grass—quite +white and blanched—grasping it in their claws, +like a monkey with hands and prehensile feet. They +are much swifter than would be supposed. There +was one on the sward by the Ewell road the other +morning, quite without a tail; the creature was as +quick as possible, but the grass too short to hide +under till it reached some nettles. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>The roan and white cattle happily grazing in the +meadows by the Hogsmill brook look as if they had +never been absent, as if they belonged to the place, like +the trees, and had never been shut up in the yards +through so terrible a winter. The water of the +Hogsmill has a way of escaping like that of larger +channels, and has made for itself a course for its +overflow across a corner of the meadow by the road. +A thin place in the rather raised bank lets it through +in flood-time (like a bursting loose of the Mississippi), +and down it rushes towards the moat. Beside +the furrows thus soaked now and then, there are +bunches of marsh-marigold in flower, and though +the field is bright with dandelions and buttercups, +the marigolds are numerous enough to be visible on +the other side of it, 300 yards or more distant, and +are easily distinguished by their different yellow. +White cuckoo-flowers (<i>Cardamine</i>) are so thick in +many fields that the green tint of the grass is lost +under their silvery hue. Bluebells are in full bloom. +There are some on the mound between Claygate and +the Ewell road; the footpath to Chessington from +Roxby Farm passes a copse on the left which shimmers +in the azure; on the mound on the right of +the lane to Horton they are plentiful this year—the +hedge has been cut, and consequently more have +shot up. Cowslips innumerable. The pond by +the Ewell road, between this and Red Lion Lane, +is dotted with white water-crowfoot. The first that +flowered were in the pond in the centre of Tolworth +Common. The understalks are long and slender, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +and with a filament rather than leaves—like seaweed—but +when the flower appears these larger leaves +float on the surface. Quantities of this ranunculus +come floating down the Hogsmill brook, at times +catching against the bridge. A little pond by the +lane near Bone's Gate was white with this flower +lately, quite covered from bank to bank, not a +spare inch without its silver cup. Vetches are in +flower; there are always some up the Long +Ditton road on the bank by Swaynes-Thorp. Shepherd's +purse stands up in flower in the waste places, +and on the side of the ditches thick branches of +hedge-mustard lift their white petals. The delicate +wind anemones flowered thickly in Claygate Lane +this year. On April 24 the mound on the right-hand +side was dotted with them. They had pushed +up through the dead dry oak-leaves of last autumn. +The foliage of the wind anemone is finely cut and +divided, so that it casts a lovely shadow on any +chance leaf that lies under it: it might suggest a +design. The anemones have not flowered there like +this since I have known the lane before. They were +thicker than I have ever seen them there. Dog-violets, +barren strawberry, and the yellowish-green +spurge are in flower there now.</p> + +<p>The pine in front of my north window began to +put forth its catkins some time since; those up the +Long Ditton road are now covered thick with the +sulphur farina or dust. I fancy three different sets of +fruit may sometimes be seen on pines: this year's +small and green, last year's ripe and mature, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +that of the year before dry and withered. The trees +are all in leaf now, except the Turkey oaks—there +are some fine young Turkey oaks by Oak Hill Path—and +the black poplars. Oaks have been in leaf +some time, except those that flower and are now +garlanded with green. Ash, too, is now in leaf, and +beech. The bees have been humming in the sycamores; +the limes are in leaf, but their flower does +not come yet. There were round, rosy oak-apples +on the oak by the garden in the copse on the 9th. +This tree is singular for bearing a crop of these +apples every year. Its top was snapped by the snow +that fell last October while yet the leaf was on. I +think the apples appear on this oak earlier than on +any about here. As for the orchards, now they are +beautiful with bloom; walking along the hedges, +too, you light once now and then on a crab or a +wild apple, with its broad rosy petals showing +behind the hawthorn. On the 7th I heard a corncrake +in the meadow over Thames, opposite the +Promenade, a hundred yards below Messenger's +Eyot. It is a favourite spot with the corncrake—almost +the only place where you are nearly sure +to hear him. Crake! crake! So it is now high +May, and now midnight. Antares is visible—the +summer star.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="VIGNETTES_FROM_NATURE" id="VIGNETTES_FROM_NATURE"></a>VIGNETTES FROM NATURE</h2> + + +<p>I.—SPRING</p> + +<p>The soft sound of water moving among thousands +of grass-blades is to the hearing as the sweetness +of spring air to the scent. It is so faint and so +diffused that the exact spot whence it issues cannot +be discerned, yet it is distinct, and my footsteps are +slower as I listen. Yonder, in the corners of the +mead, the atmosphere is full of some ethereal vapour. +The sunshine stays in the air there as if the green +hedges held the wind from brushing it away. Low +and plaintive comes the notes of a lapwing; the +same notes, but tender with love.</p> + +<p>On this side by the hedge the ground is a little +higher and dry, hung over with the lengthy boughs +of an oak which give some shade. I always feel +a sense of regret when I see a seedling oak in the +grass. The two green leaves—the little stem so +upright and confident, and though but a few inches +high, already so completely a tree—are in themselves +beautiful. Power, endurance, grandeur are there; +you can grasp all with your hand and take a ship +between the finger and thumb. Time, that sweeps +away everything, is for a while repelled: the oak +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +will grow when the time we know is forgotten, and +when felled will be mainstay and safety of a generation +in a future century. That the plant should +start among the grass to be severed by the scythe, or +crushed by cattle, is very pitiful; I cannot help wishing +that it could be transplanted and protected. O! +the countless acorns that drop in autumn not one in +a million is permitted to become a tree: a vast waste +of strength and beauty. From the bushes by the +stile on the left hand (which I have just passed) +follows the long whistle of a nightingale. His nest +is near; he sings night and day. Had I waited on the +stile, in a few minutes, becoming used to my presence, +he would have made the hawthorn vibrate, so powerful +is his voice when heard close at hand. There +is not another nightingale along this path for at least +a mile, though it crosses meadows and runs by hedges +to all appearance equally suitable. But nightingales +will not pass their limits; they seem to have a +marked-out range as strictly defined as the line of +a geological map. They will not go over to the +next hedge, hardly into the field on one side of a +favourite spot, nor a yard farther along the mound. +Opposite the oak is a low fence of serrated green. +Just projecting above the edges of a brook, fast-growing +flags have thrust up their bayonet-tips. +Beneath, these stalks are so thick in the shallow +places that a pike can scarcely push a way +between them. Over the brook stand some high +maple-trees: to their thick foliage wood-pigeons +come. The entrance to a combe—the widening +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +mouth of a valley—is beyond, with copses on the +slopes.</p> + +<p>Again the plover's notes, this time in the field +immediately behind; repeated, too, in the field on +the right hand. One comes over, and as he flies +he jerks a wing upwards and partly turns on his side +in the air, rolling like a vessel in a swell. He seems +to beat the air sideways, as if against a wall, not +downwards. This habit makes his course appear so +uncertain: he may go there, or yonder, or in a third +direction, more undecided than a startled snipe. Is +there a little vanity in that wanton flight? Is there +a little consciousness of the spring-freshened colours +of his plumage and pride in the dainty touch of his +wings on the sweet wind? His love is watching his +wayward course. He prolongs it. He has but a +few yards to fly to reach the well-known feeding-ground +by the brook where the grass is short; +perhaps it has been eaten off by sheep. It is a +straight and easy line—as a starling would fly. The +plover thinks nothing of a straight line: he winds +first with the curve of the hedge, then rises, uttering +his cry, aslant, wheels, and returns; now this way, +direct at me, as if his object was to display his snowy +breast; suddenly rising aslant again, he wheels once +more, and goes right away from his object over above +the field whence he came. Another moment and he +returns, and so to and fro, and round and round, +till, with a sidelong, unexpected sweep, he alights by +the brook. He stands a minute, then utters his cry, +and runs a yard or so forward. In a little while a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +second plover arrives from the field behind; he, too, +dances a maze in the air before he settles. Soon a third +joins them. They are visible at that spot because +the grass is short; elsewhere they would be hidden. +If one of these rises and flies to and fro, almost instantly +another follows, and then it is indeed a dance +before they alight. The wheeling, maze-tracing, +devious windings continue till the eye wearies and +rests with pleasure on a passing butterfly. These +birds have nests in the meadows adjoining; they +meet here as a common feeding-ground. Presently +they will disperse, each returning to his mate at the +nest. Half an hour afterwards they will meet once +more, either here or on the wing.</p> + +<p>In this manner they spend their time from dawn, +through the flower-growing day, till dusk. When +the sun arises over the hill into the sky, already +blue, the plovers have been up a long while. All +the busy morning they go to and fro: the busy +morning when the wood-pigeons cannot rest in the +copses on the combe side, but continually fly in and +out; when the blackbirds whistle in the oaks; when +the bluebells gleam with purplish lustre. At noontide +in the dry heat it is pleasant to listen to the +sound of water moving among the thousand thousand +grass-blades of the mead. The flower-growing day +lengthens out beyond the sunset, and till the hedges +are dim the lapwings do not cease.</p> + +<p>Leaving now the shade of the oak, I follow the +path into the meadow on the right, stepping by the +way over a streamlet which diffuses its rapid current +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +broadcast over the sward till it collects again and +pours into the brook. This next meadow is somewhat +more raised, and not watered; the grass is high, +and full of buttercups. Before I have gone twenty +yards a lapwing rises out in the field, rushes towards +me through the air, and circles round my head, making +as if to dash at me, and uttering shrill cries. Immediately +another comes from the mead behind the +oak; then a third from over the hedge, and all those +that have been feeding by the bank, till I am encircled +with them. They wheel round, dive, rise aslant, cry, +and wheel again, always close over me, till I have +walked some distance, when one by one they fall off, +and, still uttering threats, retire. There is a nest in +this meadow, and, although it is, no doubt, a long way +from the path, my presence even in the field, large +as it is, is resented. The couple who imagine themselves +threatened are quickly joined by their friends, +and there is no rest till I have left their treasures far +behind.</p> + + +<p>II.—THE GREEN CORN</p> + +<p>Pure colour almost always gives the idea of fire, +or, rather, it is perhaps as if a light shone through as +well as the colour itself. The fresh green blade of +corn is like this—so pellucid, so clear and pure in +its green as to seem to shine with colour. It is not +brilliant—not a surface gleam nor an enamel—it is +stained through. Beside the moist clods the slender +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +flags arise, filled with the sweetness of the earth. +Out of the darkness under—that darkness which +knows no day save when the ploughshare opens its +chinks—they have come to the light. To the light +they have brought a colour which will attract the +sunbeams from now till harvest. They fall more +pleasantly on the corn, toned, as if they mingled +with it. Seldom do we realize that the world is +practically no thicker to us than the print of our +footsteps on the path. Upon that surface we walk +and act our comedy of life, and what is beneath is +nothing to us. But it is out from that underworld, +from the dead and the unknown, from the cold, +moist ground, that these green blades have sprung. +Yonder a steam-plough pants up the hill, groaning +with its own strength, yet all that strength and might +of wheels, and piston, and chains cannot drag from +the earth one single blade like these. Force cannot +make it; it must grow—an easy word to speak or +write, in fact full of potency.</p> + +<p>It is this mystery—of growth and life, of beauty +and sweetness and colour, and sun-loved ways starting +forth from the clods—that gives the corn its +power over me. Somehow I identify myself with +it; I live again as I see it. Year by year it is the +same, and when I see it I feel that I have once more +entered on a new life. And to my fancy, the spring, +with its green corn, its violets, and hawthorn leaves, +and increasing song, grows yearly dearer and more +dear to this our ancient earth. So many centuries +have flown. Now it is the manner with all natural +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +things to gather as it were by smallest particles. +The merest grain of sand drifts unseen into a crevice, +and by-and-by another; after a while there is a heap; +a century and it is a mound, and then everyone +observes and comments on it. Time itself has gone +on like this; the years have accumulated, first in +drifts, then in heaps, and now a vast mound, to +which the mountains are knolls, rises up and overshadows +us. Time lies heavy on the world. The +old, old earth is glad to turn from the cark and care +of driftless centuries to the first sweet blades of +green.</p> + +<p>There is sunshine to-day, after rain, and every lark +is singing. Across the vale a broad cloud-shadow +descends the hillside, is lost in the hollow, and presently, +without warning, slips over the edge, crossing +swiftly along the green tips. The sunshine follows—the +warmer for its momentary absence. Far, far +down in a grassy combe stands a solitary corn-rick, +conical-roofed, casting a lonely shadow—marked +because so solitary—and beyond it, on the rising +slope, is a brown copse. The leafless branches take +a brown tint in the sunlight; on the summit above +there is furze; then more hill-lines drawn against +the sky. In the tops of the dark pines at the corner +of the copse, could the glance sustain itself to see +them, there are finches warming themselves in the +sunbeams. The thick needles shelter them from the +current of air, and the sky is bluer above the pines. +Their hearts are full already of the happy days to +come, when the moss yonder by the beech, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +lichen on the fir-trunk, and the loose fibres caught +in the fork of an unbending bough, shall furnish forth +a sufficient mansion for their young. Another broad +cloud-shadow, and another warm embrace of sunlight. +All the serried ranks of the green corn +bow at the word of command as the wind rushes +over them.</p> + +<p>There is largeness and freedom here. Broad as +the down and free as the wind, the thought can +roam high over the narrow roofs in the vale. Nature +has affixed no bounds to thought. All the palings, +and walls, and crooked fences deep down yonder are +artificial. The fetters and traditions, the routine, the +dull roundabout, which deadens the spirit like the cold +moist earth, are the merest nothing. Here it is easy +with the physical eye to look over the highest roof, +which must also always be the narrowest. The +moment the eye of the mind is filled with the beauty +of things natural an equal freedom and width of view +comes to it. Step aside from the trodden footpath +of personal experience, throwing away the petty +cynicism bred of petty hopes disappointed. Step +out upon the broad down beside the green corn, and +let its freshness become part of life.</p> + +<p>The wind passes and it bends—let the wind, +too, pass over the spirit. From the cloud-shadow +it emerges to the sunshine—let the heart come out +from the shadow of roofs to the open glow of the +sky. High above, the songs of the larks fall as rain—receive +it with open hands. Pure is the colour of +the green flags, the slender, pointed blades—let the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +thought be pure as the light that shines through that +colour. Broad are the downs and open the aspect—gather +the breadth and largeness of view. Never +can that view be wide enough and large enough; +there will always be room to aim higher. As the +air of the hills enriches the blood, so let the presence +of these beautiful things enrich the inner sense.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="A_KING_OF_ACRES" id="A_KING_OF_ACRES"></a>A KING OF ACRES</h2> + + +<p>I.—JAMES THARDOVER</p> + +<p>A weather-beaten man stood by a gateway watching +some teams at plough. The bleak March wind +rushed across the field, reddening his face; rougher +than a flesh-brush, it rubbed the skin, and gave it a +glow as if each puff were a blow with the 'gloves.' +His short brown beard was full of dust blown into +it. Between the line of the hat and the exposed part +of the forehead the skin had peeled slightly, literally +worn off by the unsparing rudeness of wintry mornings. +Like the early field veronica, which flowered +at his feet in the short grass under the hedge, his +eyes were blue and grey. The petals are partly of +either hue, and so his eyes varied according to the +light—now somewhat more grey, and now more +blue. Tall and upright, he stood straight as a bolt, +though both arms were on the gate, and his ashen +walking-stick swung over it. He wore a grey overcoat, +a grey felt hat, grey leggings, and his boots +were grey with the dust which had settled on them.</p> + +<p>He was thinking: 'Farmer Bartholomew is doing +the place better this year; he scarcely hoed a weed +last season; the stubble was a tangle of weeds; one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +could hardly walk across it. That second team +stops too long at the end of the furrow—idle fellow +that. Third team goes too fast; horses will be soon +tired. Fourth team—he's getting beyond his work—too +old; the stilts nearly threw him over there. +This ground has paid for the draining—one, at all +events. Never saw land look better. Looks +brownish and moist—moist brownish red. Query, +what colour is that? Ask Mary—the artist. Never +saw it in a picture. Keeps his hedges well; this one +is like a board on the top, thorn-boughs molten +together; a hare could run along it (as they will +sometimes with harriers behind them, and jump off +the other side to baffle scent). Now, why is Bartholomew +doing his land better this year? Keen old +fellow! Something behind this. Has he got that +bit of money that was coming to him? Done something, +they said, last Doncaster; no one could get +anything out of him. Dark as night. Sold the +trainer some oats—that I know. Wonder how much +the trainer pocketed over that transaction? Expect +he did not charge them all. Still, he's a decent +fellow. Honesty is uncertain—never met an honest +man. Doubt if world could hang together. Bartholomew +is honest enough; but either he has won +some money, or he really does not want the drawback +at audit. Takes care his horses don't look too +well. Notice myself that farmers do not let their +teams look so glossy as a few years ago. Like them +to seem rough and uncared for—can't afford smooth +coats these hard times. Don't look very glossy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +myself; don't feel very glossy. Hate this wind—hang +kings' ransoms! People who like these winds +are telling falsehoods. That's broken (as one of the +teams stopped); have to send to blacksmith. Knock +off now; no good your pottering there. Next team +stops to go and help potter. Third team stops to +help second. Fourth team comes across to help +third. All pottering. Wants Bartholomew among +them. That's the way to do a morning's work. +Did anyone ever see such idleness! Group about a +broken chain—link snapped. Tie it up with your +leathern garter—not he; no resource. What +patience a man needs to have anything to do with +land! Four teams idle over a snapped link! Rent!—of +course they can't pay rent. Wonder if a gang +of American labourers could make anything out of +our farms? There they work from sunrise to +sunset. Suppose import a gang and try. Did anyone +ever see such a helpless set as that yonder? +Depression—of course. No go-ahead in them.'</p> + +<p>'Mind opening the gate, you?' said a voice behind; +and, turning, the thinker saw a dealer in a +trap, who wanted the gate opened, to save him the +trouble of getting down to do it himself. The +thinker did as he was asked, and held the gate open. +The trap went slowly through.</p> + +<p>'Will you come on and take a glass?' said the +dealer, pointing with the butt-end of his whip. +'Crown.' This was sententious for the Crown in the +hamlet. Country-folk speak in pieces, putting the +principal word in a sentence for the entire paragraph. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>The thinker shook his head and shut the gate, +carefully hasping it. The dealer drove on.</p> + +<p>'Who's that?' thought the grey man, watching +the trap jolt down the rough road. 'Wants veal, I +suppose. No veal here—no good. Now, look!'</p> + +<p>The group by the broken chain beckoned to the +trap; a lad went across to it with the chain, got up, +and was driven off, so saving himself half a mile on +his road to the forge.</p> + +<p>'Anything to save themselves exertion. Nothing +will make them move faster—like whipping a carthorse +into a gallop; it soon dies away in the old +jog-trot. Why, they have actually started again—actually +started!'</p> + +<p>He watched the teams a little longer, heedless of +the wind, which he abused, but which really did not +affect him, and then walked along the hedgerow +downhill. Two men were sowing a field on the +slope, swinging the hand full of grain from the hip +regular as time itself, a swing calculated to throw the +seed so far, but not too far, and without jerk. The +next field had just been manured, and he stopped to +glance at the crowds of small birds which were looking +over the straw—finches and sparrows, and the +bluish grey of pied wagtails. There were hundreds +of small birds. While he stood, a hedge-sparrow +uttered his thin, pleading song on the hedge-top, and +a meadow-pipit, which had mounted a little way in +the air, came down with outspread wings, with a +short 'Seep, seep,' to the ground. Lark and pipit +seem near relations; only the skylark sings rising, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +descending, anywhere, but the pipits chiefly while +slowly descending. There had been a rough attempt +at market-gardening in the field after this, and rows +of cabbage gone up to seed stood forlorn and ragged. +On the top of one of these a skylark was perched, +calling at intervals; for though classed as a non-percher, +perch he does sometimes. Meadows succeeded +on the level ground; one had been covered +with the scrapings of roads, a whitish, crumbling +dirt, dry, and falling to pieces in the wind. The +grass was pale, its wintry hue not yet gone, and the +clods seemed to make it appear paler. Among these +clods four or five thrushes were seeking their food; +on a bare oak a blackbird was perched, his mate no +doubt close by in the hedgerow; at the margin of a +pond a black-and-white wagtail waded in the water; +a blue tit flew across to the corner. Brown thrushes, +dark blackbird, blue tit, and wagtail gave a little +colour to the angle of the meadow. A gleam of +passing sunlight brightened it. Two wood-pigeons +came to a thick bush growing over a grey wall on +the other side—for ivy-berries, probably.</p> + +<p>A cart passed at a little distance, laden with red +mangolds, fresh from the pit in which they had been +stored; the roots had grown out a trifle, and the rootlets +were mauve. A goldfinch perched on a dry dead +stalk of wild carrot, a stalk that looked too slender +to bear the bird. As the weather-beaten man moved, +the goldfinch flew, and the golden wings outspread +formed a bright contrast with the dull white clods. +Crossing the meadow, and startling the wood-pigeons, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +our friend scaled the grey walls, putting his +foot in a hole left for the purpose. Dark moss lined +the interstices between the irregular and loosely +placed stones. Above, on the bank, and greener +than the grass, grew moss at the roots of ash-stoles +and wherever there was shelter. Broad, rank, green +arum leaves crowded each other in places. Red +stalks of herb-robert spread open. The weather-beaten +man gathered a white wild violet from the +shelter of a dead dry oak-leaf, and as he placed it in +his buttonhole, paused to listen to the baying of +hounds. Yowp! yow! The cries echoed from the +bank and filled the narrow beechwood within. A +shot followed, and then another, and a third after an +interval. More yowping. The grey-brown head of +a rabbit suddenly appeared over the top of the bank, +within three yards of him, and he could see the +creature's whiskers nervously working, as its mind +estimated its chances of escape. Instead of turning +back, the rabbit made a rush to get under an ash-stole, +where was a burrow. The yowping went +slowly away; the beeches rang again as if the beagles +were in cry. Two assistant-keepers were working +the outskirts, and shooting the rabbits which sat out +in the brushwood, and so were not to be captured by +nets and ferrets. The ground-game was strictly kept +down; the noise was made by half a dozen puppies +they had with them. Passing through the ash-stoles, +and next the narrow beechwood, the grey man walked +across the open park, and after awhile came in sight +of Thardover House. His steps were directed to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +the great arched porch, beneath which the village +folk boasted a waggon-load could pass. The inner +door swung open as if by instinct at his approach. +The man who had so neighbourly opened the gate +to the dealer in the trap was James Thardover, the +owner of the property. Historic as was his name +and residence, he was utterly devoid of affectation—a +true man of the land.</p> + + +<p>II.—NEW TITLE-DEEDS</p> + +<p>Deed, seal, and charter give but a feeble hold compared +with that which is afforded by labour. James +Thardover held his lands again by right of labour; +he had taken possession of them once more with +thought, design, and actual work, as his ancestors +had with the sword. He had laid hands, as it were, +on every acre. Those who work, own. There are +many who receive rent who do not own; they are +proprietors, not owners; like receiving dividends on +stock, which stock is never seen or handled. Their +rights are legal only; his right was the right of +labour, and, it might be added, of forbearance. It is +a condition of ownership in the United States that +the settler clears so much and brings so many acres +into cultivation. It was just this condition which he +had practically carried out upon the Thardover estate. +He had done so much, and in so varied a manner, +that it is difficult to select particular acts for enumeration. +All the great agricultural movements of the +last thirty years he had energetically supported. +There was the draining movement. The undulating +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +contour of the country, deep vales alternating with +moderate brows, gave a sufficient supply of water to +every farm, and on the lower lands led to flooding +and the formation of marshes. Horley Bottom, +where the hay used to be frequently carried into the +river by a June freshet, was now safe from flood. +Flag Marsh had been completely drained, and made +some of the best wheat-land in the neighbourhood. +Part of a bark canoe was found in it; the remnants +were preserved at Thardover House, but gradually +fell to pieces.</p> + +<p>Longboro' Farm was as dry now as any such soil +could be. More or less draining had been carried +out on twenty other farms, sometimes entirely at his +expense. Sometimes the tenant paid a small percentage +on the sum expended; generally this percentage +fell off in the course of a year or two. The +tenant found he could not pay it. Except on Flag +Marsh, the drainage did not pay him £50. Perhaps +it might have done, had the seasons been +better; but, as it had actually happened, the rents +had decreased instead of increasing. Tile-pipes had +not availed against rain and American wheat. So far +as income was concerned, he would have been richer +had the money so expended been allowed to accumulate +at the banker's. The land as land was certainly +improved in places, as on Bartholomew's farm. +Thardover never cared for the steam-plough; personally, +he disliked it. Those who represented agricultural +opinion at the farmers' clubs and in the +agricultural papers raised so loud a cry for it that he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +went half-way to meet them. One of the large +tenants was encouraged to invest in the steam-plough +by a drawback on his rent, on condition that it +should be hired out to others. The steam-plough, +Thardover soon discovered, was not profitable to the +landowner. It reduced the fields to a dead level. +They had previously been thrown into 'lands,' with +a drain-trench on each side. On this dead level +water did not run off quickly, and the growth of +weeds increased. Tenants got into a habit of shirking +the extirpation of the weeds. The best farmers +on the estate would not use it at all. To very large +tenants, and to small tenants who could not keep +enough horses, it was profitable at times. It did +not appear that a single sack more of wheat was +raised, nor a single additional head of stock maintained, +since the steam-plough arrived.</p> + +<p>Paul of Embersbury, who occupied some of the +best meadow and upland country, a man of some +character and standing, had taken to the shorthorns +before Thardover succeeded to the property. Thardover +assisted him in every way, and bought some +of the best blood. There was no home-farm; the +house was supplied from Bartholomew's dairy, and +the Squire did not care to upset the old traditionary +arrangements by taking a farm in hand. What he +bought went to Embersbury, and Paul did well. As +a consequence, there were good cattle all over the +estate. The long prices formerly fetched by Paul's +method had much fallen off, but substantial sums +were still paid. Paul had faced the depression better +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +than most of them. He was bitter, as was only +natural, against the reaction in favour of black cattle. +The upland tenants, though, had a good many of +the black, in spite of Paul's frowns and thunders +after the market ordinary at Barnboro' town. He +would put down his pipe, bustle upon his feet, lean +his somewhat protuberant person on the American +leather of the table, and address the dozen or so who +stayed for spirits and water after dinner, without the +pretence of a formal meeting. He spoke in very +fair language, short, jerky sentences, but well-chosen +words. He who had taken the van in improvements +thirty years ago was the bitterest against any proposed +change now. Black cattle were thoroughly bad.</p> + +<p>Another of his topics was the hiring fair, where +servant-girls stood waiting for engagements, and +which it was proposed to abolish. Paul considered +it was taking the bread and cheese out of the poor +wenches' mouths. They could stand there and get +hired for nothing, instead of having to pay half a +crown for advertising, and get nothing then. But +though the Squire had supported the shorthorns, +even the shorthorns had not prevented the downward +course things agricultural were following.</p> + +<p>Then there was the scientific movement, the cry +for science among the farmers. He founded a +scholarship, invited the professors to his place, +lunched them, let them experiment on little pieces of +land, mournful-looking plots. Nothing came of it. +He drew a design for a new cottage himself, a +practical plain place. The builders told him it was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +far dearer to put up than ornamental but inconvenient +structures. Thardover sunk his money his +own way, and very comfortable cottages they were. +Ground-game he had kept down for years before the +Act. Farm-buildings he had improved freely. The +education movement, however, stirred him most. +He went into it enthusiastically. Thardover village +was one of the first places to become efficient under +the new legislation. This was a piece of practical +work after his own heart. Generally, legislative +measures were so far off from country people. They +affected the condition of large towns, of the Black +Country, of the weavers or miners, distant folk. To +the villages and hamlets of purely agricultural districts +these Acts had no existence. The Education +Act was just the reverse. This was a statute which +came right down into the hamlets, which was nailed +up at the cross-roads, and ruled the barn, the plough, +and scythe. Something tangible, that could be +carried out and made into a fact—something he +could do. Thardover did it with the thoroughness +of his nature. He found the ground, lent the money, +saw to the building, met the Government inspectors, +and organized the whole. A committee of the +tenants were the ostensible authority, the motive-power +was the Squire. He worked at it till it was +completely organized, for he felt as if he were helping +to mould the future of this great country. Broad-minded +himself, he understood the immense value of +education, looked at generally; and he thought, too, +that by its aid the farmer and the landowner might +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +be enabled to compete with the foreigner, who was +driving them from the market. No speeches and no +agitation could equal the power concentrated in that +plain school-house; there was nothing from which +he hoped so much.</p> + +<p>Only one held aloof and showed hostility to the +movement, or rather to the form it took. His +youngest and favourite daughter, Mary, the artist, +rebelled against it. Hitherto she had ruled him as +she choose. She had led in every kind act—acts too +kind to be called charity. She had been the life of +the place. Perhaps it was the strong-minded women +whom the cry of education brought to Thardover +House that set ajar some chord in her sensitive +mind. Strident voices checked her sympathies, and +hard rule-and-line work like this repelled her. Till +then she had been the constant companion of the +Squire's walks; but while the school was being +organized she would not go with him. She walked +where she could not see the plain angular building; +she said it set her teeth on edge.</p> + +<p>When the strident voices had departed, when time +had made the school-house part and parcel of the +place, like the cottages, Mary changed her ways, and +occasionally called there. She took a class once a +week of the elder girls, and taught them in her own +fashion at home—most unorthodox teaching it was—in +which the works of the best poets were the chief +subjects, and portfolios of engravings were found on +the table. Long since father and daughter had +resumed their walks together. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was in this way that James Thardover made his +estate his own—he held possession by right of labour. +He was resident ten months out of twelve, and after +all these public and open works he did far more in +private. There was not an acre on the property +which he had not personally visited. The farm-houses +and farm-buildings were all known to him. +He rode from tenancy to tenancy; he visited the +men at plough, and stood among the reapers. +Neither the summer heat nor the winds of March +prevented him from seeing with his own eyes. The +latest movement was the silo system, the burying of +grass under pressure, instead of making it into hay. +By these means the clouds are to be defied, and a +plentiful supply of fodder secured. Time alone can +show whether this, the latest invention, is any more +powerful than steam-plough or guano to uphold agriculture +against the shocks of fortune. But James +Thardover would have tried any plan that had been +suggested to him. It was thus that he laid hold on +his lands with the strongest of titles—the work of +his own hands. Yet still the tenants were unable to +pay the former rent. Some had failed or left, and +their farms were vacant; and nothing could be more +discouraging than the condition of affairs upon the +property.</p> + + +<p>III.—A RING-FENCE: CONCLUSION</p> + +<p>There were great elms in the Out-park, whose limbs +or boughs, as large as the trunk itself, came down +almost to the ground. They touched the tops of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +the white wild parsley; and when sheep were lying +beneath, the jackdaws stepped from the sheep's back +to the bough and returned again. The jackdaws +had their nests in the hollow places of these elms; +for the elm as it ages becomes full of cavities. These +great trees often divided into two main boughs, rising +side by side, and afar off visible as two dark streaks +among the green. For many years no cattle had +been permitted in the park, and the boughs of the +trees had grown in a drooping form, as they naturally +do unless eaten or broken by animals pushing against +them. But since the times of agricultural pressure, +a large part of the domain had been fenced off, and +was now partly grazed and partly mown, being called +the Out-park. There were copses at the farther side, +where in spring the may flowered; the purple orchis +was drawn up high by the trees and bushes—twice +as high as its fellows in the mead, where a stray +spindle-tree grew; and from these copses the cuckoos +flew round the park.</p> + +<p>But the thinnest hedge about the wheat-fields was +as interesting as the park or the covers; and this is +the remarkable feature of English scenery—that its +perfection, its beauty, and its interest are not confined +to any masterpiece here and there, walled in or +enclosed, or at least difficult of access and isolated, +but it extends to the smallest portion of the country. +Wheatfield hedges are the thinnest of hedges, kept +so that the birds may find no shelter, and that the +numerous caterpillars may not breed in them more +than can be helped. Such a hedge is so low it can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +be leaped over, and so narrow that it is a mere +screen of twisted hawthorn branches which can be +seen through, like screens of twisted stone in ancient +chapels. But the sparrows come to it, and the finches, +the mice, and weasles, and now and then a crow, who +searches along, and goes in and out and quests like +a spaniel. It is so tough, this twisted screen of branches, +that a charge of shot would be stopped by it; if a pellet +or two slid through an interstice, the majority would +be held as if by a shield of wicker-work. Old Bartholomew, +the farmer, sent his men once or twice +along with reaping-hooks to clear away the weeds +that grew up here under such slight shelter; but other +farmers were not so careful. Then convolvulus +grew over the thin screen, a corncockle stood up +taller than the hedge itself; in time of harvest, yellow +St. John's wort flowered beside it, and later on, bunches +of yellow-weed.</p> + +<p>A lark rose on the other side, and so caused the +glance to be lifted and to look farther, and away +yonder was a farm-house at the foot of a hill. Pale +yellow stubble covered the hill, rising like a background +to the red-tile roof, and to the elms beside +the house, among whose branches there were pale +yellow spots. Round wheat-ricks stood in a double +row on the left hand—count them, and you counted +the coin of the land, bank-notes in straw—and on +the right and in front were green meads, and horses +feeding—horses who had done good work in plough-time +and harvest-time, and would soon be at plough +again. There were green meads, because some green +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +meads are a necessity of an English farm-house, and +there are few without them, even when in the midst +of corn. Meads in which the horses feed, a pony +for the children and for the pony-cart, turkeys, two +or three cows—all the large and small creatures that +live about the place. When the land was torn up +and ploughed for corn of old time, these green +enclosures were left to stay on, till now it seems as +if pressure of low prices for wheat would cause the +corn-land to again become pasture. Of old time, +golden wheat conquered and held possession, and +now the grass threatens to oust the conqueror.</p> + +<p>Had anyone studied either of these three—the great +elms in the Out-park, or the thin twisted screen of +hedge, or the red-tile roof, and the yellow stubble +behind it on the hill—he might have found material +for a picture in each. There was, in truth, in each +far more than anyone could put into a picture, or +than anyone could put into a book; for the painter +can but give one aspect of one day, and the writer +a mere catalogue of things; but Nature refreshes the +reality every day with different tints, and as it were +new ideas, so that, although it is always there, it is +never twice the same. Over that stubble on the hill +there were other hills, and among these a combe or +valley, in which stood just such another farm-house, +but differently placed, with few trees, and those +low, somewhat bare in its immediate surroundings, +but above, on each side, close at hand, sloping ramparts +of green turf rising high, till the larks that sang +above seemed to sing in another land, like that found +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +by Jack when he clomb the beanstalk. Along this +combe was a cover of gorse, and in spring there was +a mile of golden bloom, richer than gold in colour, +leading like a broad highway of gold down to the +house. From those ramparts in high summer—which +is when the corn is ripe and the reapers in +it—there could be seen a slope divided into squares +of varied grain. This on the left of the fertile undulation +was a maize colour, which, when the sunlight +touched it, seemed to have a fleeting hue of purple +somewhere within. There is no purple in ripe wheat +visible to direct and considering vision; look for it +specially, and it will not be seen. Purple forms no +part of any separate wheat-ear or straw; brown and +yellow in the ear, yellow in the upper part of the +straw, and still green towards the earth. But when +the distant beams of sunlight travelling over the hill +swept through the rich ripe grain, for a moment there +was a sense of purple on the retina. Beyond this +square was a pale gold piece, and then one where +the reapers had worked hard, and the shocks stood +in diagonal rows; this was a bronze, or brown and +bronze, and beside it was a green of clover.</p> + +<p>Farther on, the different green of the hill turf, and +white sheep, feeding in an extended crescent, the bow +of the crescent gradually descending the sward. The +hills of themselves beautiful, and possessing views +which are their property and belong to them—a twofold +value. The woods on the lower slopes full of +tall brake fern, and holding in their shadowy depths +the spirit of old time. In the woods it is still the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +past, and the noisy mechanic present of this manufacturing +century has no place. Enter in among the +round-boled beeches which the squirrels rush up, +twining round like ivy in ascent, where they nibble +the beech-nuts forty feet aloft, and let the husks drop +to your feet; where the wood-pigeon sits and does not +move, safe in the height and thickness of the spray. +There are jew-berries or dew-berries on a bramble-bush, +which grows where the sunlight and rain fall +direct to the ground, unchecked by boughs. They +are full of the juice of autumn, black, rich, vine-like, +taken fresh from the prickly bough. Low +down in the hollow is a marshy spot, sedge-grown, +and in the sedge lie yellow leaves of willow already +fallen. Here in the later months will come a woodcock +or two, with feathers so brown and leaf-like of +hue and markings that the plumage might have been +printed in colours from brown leaves of beech. No +springes are set for the woodcocks now, but the +markings are the same on the feathers as centuries +since; the brown beech-leaves lie in the dry hollows +the year through just as they did then; the large +dew-berries are as rich; and the nuts as sweet. It +is the past in the wood, and Time here never grows +any older. Could you bring back the red stag—as +you may easily in fancy—and place him among the +tall brake, and under the beeches, he should not +know that a day had gone by since the stern Roundheads +shot down the last of his race hereabouts in +Charles I.'s days. For the leaves are turning as they +turned then to the altered colour of the sun's rays as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +he declines in his noonday arch, lower and lower every +day; his rays are somewhat yellower than in dry hot +June; a little of the tint of the ripe wheat floats in +the sunshine. To this the woods turn. First, the +nut-tree leaves drop, and the green brake is quickly +yellow; the slender birch becomes lemon on its upper +branches; the beech reddens; by-and-by the first ripe +acorn falls, and there's as much cawing of the rooks +in the oaks at acorn-time as at their nests in the elms +in March.</p> + +<p>All these things happened in the old, old time +before the red stags were shot down; the leaves +changed as the sunbeams became less brilliantly +white; the woodcocks arrived; the mice had the last +of the acorns which had fallen, and which the rooks +and jays and squirrels had spared for them after +feasting to the full of their greediness. This ancient +oak, whose thick bark, like cast-iron for ruggedness +at the base, has grown on steadily ever since the last +deer bounded beneath it, utterly heedless of the noisy +rattle of machinery in the northern cities, unmoved +by any shriek of engine, or hum, or flapping of loose +belting, or any volume of smoke drifting into the air—I +wish that the men now serving the great polished +wheels, and works in iron and steel and brass, could +somehow be spared an hour to sit under this ancient +oak in Thardover South Wood, and come to know +from actual touch of its rugged bark that the past is +living now, that Time is no older, that Nature still +exists as full as ever, and to see that all the factories +of the world have made no difference, and therefore +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +not to pin their faith to any theory born and sprung +up among the crush and pale-faced life of modern +time; but to look for themselves at the rugged oak-bark, +and up to the sky above the highest branches, +and to take an acorn and consider its story and possibilities, +and to watch the sly squirrel coming down, +as they sit quietly, to play almost at their feet. That +they might gather to themselves some of the leaves—mental +and spiritual leaves—of the ancient forest, +feeling nearer to the truth and soul, as it were, that +lives on in it. They would feel as if they had got +back to their original existence, and had become +themselves, as they ought to be, could they live +such life, untouched by artificial care. Then, how +hurt they would be if any proposed to cut down that +oak; if any proposed the felling of the forest, and +the death of its meaning. It would be like a blow +aimed at themselves. No picture that could be +bought at a thousand guineas could come near that +ancient oak; but you can carry away the memory of +it, the picture and thought in your mind for nothing. +If the oak were cut down, it would be like thrusting +a stick through some valuable painting on your walls +at home.</p> + +<p>The common below the South Wood, even James +Thardover with all his desire for improvement could +not do much good with; the soil, and the impossibility +of getting a fall for draining, all checked effort there. +A wild, rugged waste, you say, at first, glancing at the +rushes, and the gaunt signpost standing up among +them, the anthills, and thistles. Thistles have colour +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +in their bloom, and the prickly leaves are finely cut; +rushes—green rushes—are notes of the season, and +with their slender tips point to the days in the book +of the year; they are brown now at the tip, and some +bent downwards in an angle. The brown will descend +the stalk till the snipes come with grey-grass colours +in their wings. But all the beatings of the rain will +not cast the rushes utterly down; they will send up +fresh green successors for the spring, for the cuckoo +to float along over on his way to the signpost, where +he will perch a few minutes, and call in the midst of +the wilderness. There, too, the lapwings leave their +eggs on the ground among the rushes, and rise, and +complainingly call. The warm showers of June call +up the iris in the corner where the streamlet widens, +and under the willows appear large yellow flowers +above the flags. Pink and white blossom of the +rest-harrow comes on bushy plants where the common +is dry, and there is heath, and heather, and fern. +The waste has its treasures too—as the song-thrush +has his in the hawthorn bush—its treasures of flowers, +as the wood its beauties of tree and leaf, and the hills +their wheat.</p> + +<p>The ring-fence goes farther than this; it encloses +the living creatures, yet without confining them. The +wing of the wood-pigeon, as the bird perches, forms +a defined curve against its body. The forward edge +of the wing—its thickest part—as it is pressed to its +side, draws a line sweeping round—a painter's line. +How many wood-pigeons are there in the South +Wood alone, besides the copses and the fir-plantations? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +How many turtle-doves in spring in the +hedges and outlying thickets, in summer among the +shocks of corn? And all these are his—the Squire's—not +in the sense of possession, for no true wild +creature was ever anyone's yet; it would die first; +but still, within his ring-fence, and their destinies +affected by his will, since he can cut down their +favourite ash and hawthorn, or thin them with shot. +Neither of which he does. The robin, methinks, +sings sweetest of autumn-tide in the deep woods, +when no other birds speak or trill, unexpectedly +giving forth his plaintive note, complaining that the +summer is going, and the time of love, and the sweet +cares of the nest; telling you that the berries are +brown, the dew-berries over-ripe, and dropping of +over-ripeness like dew as the morning wind shakes +the branch; that the wheat is going to the stack, and +that the rusty plough will soon be bright once more +by the attrition of the earth.</p> + +<p>Many of them sing thus in the South Wood, yet +scarce any two within sound of each other, for the +robin is jealous, and likes to have you all to himself +as he tells his tale. Song-thrushes—what ranks of +them in April; larks, what hundreds and hundreds +of them on the hills above the green wheat; finches +of varied species; blackbirds; nightingales; crakes +in the meadows; partridges; a whole page might be +filled merely with their names.</p> + +<p>These, too, are in the ring-fence with the hills +and woods, the yellow iris of the common, and the +red-roofed farm-houses. Besides which, there are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +beings infinitely higher—namely, men and women in +village and hamlet, and more precious still, those +little children with hobnail boots and clean jackets +and pinafores, who go a-blackberrying on their way +to school. All these are in the ring-fence. Upon +their physical destinies the Squire can exercise a +powerful influence, and has done so, as the school +itself testifies.</p> + +<p>Now, is not a large estate a living picture? Or +rather, is it not formed of a hundred living pictures? +So beautiful it looks, its hills, its ripe wheat, its red-roofed +farm-houses, and acres upon acres of oaks; so +beautiful, it must be valuable—most valuable; it is +visible, tangible wealth. It is difficult to disabuse +anyone's mind of that idea; yet, as we have seen, +with all the skill, science, and expenditure Thardover +could bring to bear upon it, all his personal +effort was in vain. It was a possession, not a profit. +Had not James Thardover's ancestors invested their +wealth in building streets of villas in the outskirts of +a great city, he could not have done one-fifth what +he had. Men who had made their fortunes in +factories—the noisy factories of the present century—paid +him high rents for these residences; and thus +it was that the labour and time of the many-handed +operatives in mill, factory, and workshop really went +to aid in maintaining these living pictures. Without +that outside income the Squire could not have reduced +the rents of his tenants, so that they could push through +the depression; without that outside income he could +not have drained the lands, put up those good +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +buildings, assisted the school, and in a hundred ways +helped the people. Those who watched the polished +machinery under the revolving shaft, and tended the +loom, really helped to keep the beauties of South +Wood, the grain-grown hills, the flower-strewn +meadows. These were so beautiful, it seemed as +if they must represent money—riches; but they did +not. They had a value much higher than that. As +the spring rises in the valley at the foot of the hills +and slowly increases till it forms a river, to which +ships resort, so these fields and woods, meads and +brooks, were the source from which the city was +derived. If the operative in the factory, or tending +the loom, had traced his descent, he would have +found that his grandfather, or some scarcely more +remote ancestor, was a man of the land. He followed +the plough, or tended the cattle, and his +children went forth to earn higher wages in the +town. For the hamlet and the outlying cottage are +the springs whence the sinew and muscle of populous +cities are derived. The land is the fountain-head +from which the spring of life flows, widening into +a river. The river at its broad mouth disdains the +spring; the city in its immensity disdains the hamlet +and the ploughman. Yet if the spring ceased, the +ships could not frequent the river; if the hamlet and +the ploughman were wiped out by degrees, the city +must run dry of life. Therefore the South Wood +and the park, the hamlet and the fields, had a value +no one can tell how many times above the actual +money rental, and the money earned by the operatives +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +in factory and workshop could not have been better +expended than in supporting it.</p> + +<p>But it had another value still—which they too +helped to sustain—the value of beauty. Parliament +has several times intervened to save the Lake District +from the desecrating intrusion of useless railways. +So, too, the beauty of these woods, and grain-grown +hills, of the very common, is worth preservation at +the hands and votes of the operatives in factory and +mill. If a man loves the brick walls of his narrow +dwelling in a close-built city, and the flowers which +he has trained with care in the window, how much +more would he love the hundred living pictures like +those round about Thardover House! After any +artificer had once seen such an oak and rested under +it, if any threatened to cut it down, he would feel as +if a blow had been delivered at his heart. His efforts, +therefore, should be not to destroy these pictures, but +to preserve them. All the help that they can give is +needed to assist a King of Acres in his struggle, and +the struggle of the farmers and labourers—equally +involved—against the adverse influences which press +so heavily on English agriculture.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_SWINDON" id="THE_STORY_OF_SWINDON"></a>THE STORY OF SWINDON</h2> + + +<p>We have all of us passed through Swindon Station, +whether <i>en route</i> to Southern Wales, to warm Devon—the +fern-land—to the Channel Islands, or to +Ireland. The ten minutes for refreshment, now in +the case of certain trains reduced to five, have made +thousands of travellers familiar with the name of the +spot. Those who have not actually been there can +recall to memory a shadowy tradition which has +grown up and propagated itself, that here the soup +skins the tongue, and that generally it is a near +relative of the famous 'Mugby Junction.' Those +who have been there retain at least a confused recollection +of large and lofty saloons, velvet sofas, painted +walls, and long semicircular bars covered with glittering +glasses and decanters. Or it may be that the +cleverly executed silver model of a locomotive under +a glass case lingers still in their memories. At all +events Swindon is a well-known oasis, familiar to the +travelling public. Here let us do an act of justice. +Much has been done of late to ameliorate many of +the institutions which formerly led to bitter things +being said against the place. The soup is no longer +liquid fire, the beer is not lukewarm, the charges are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +more moderate; the lady manager has succeeded in +substituting order for disorder, comfort and attention +in place of lofty disdain. Passengers have not got +to cross the line for a fresh ticket or to telegraph; +the whole place is reformed. So much the better +for the traveller. But how little do these birds of +passage imagine the varied interest of the strange +and even romantic story which is hidden in this +most unromantic spot, given over, as it seems, to +bricks and mortar!</p> + +<p>Not that it ever had a history in the usual sense. +There is but a faint, dim legend that the great +Sweyn halted with his army on this hill—thence +called Sweyn's dune, and so Swindon. There is a +family here whose ancestry goes back to the times +of the Vikings; which was in honour when Fair +Rosamond bloomed at Woodstock; which fought in +the great Civil War. Nothing further. The real +history, written in iron and steel, of the place began +forty years ago only. Then a certain small party of +gentlemen sat down to luncheon on the greensward +which was then where the platform is now. The +furze was in blossom around them; the rabbits +frisked in and out of their burrows; two or three +distant farm-houses, one or two cottages, these were +all the signs of human habitation, except a few cart-ruts +indicating a track used for field purposes. There +these gentlemen lunched, and one among them, +ay, two among them, meditated great things, which +the first planned, and the second lived to see realize +the most sanguine anticipations. These two gentlemen +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +were Isambard Brunel and Daniel Gooch. +Driven away from the original plan, which was to +follow the old coach-road, they had come here to +survey and reconnoitre a possible track running in +the valley at the northern edge of the great range of +Wiltshire Downs. They decided that here should +be their junction and their workshop. Immense +sacrifices, enormous expenditure, the directors of the +new railway incurred in their one great idea of getting +it finished! They could not stay to cart the +earth from the cuttings to the places where it was +required for embanking, so where they excavated +thousands of tons of clay they purchased land to +cast it upon out of their way; and where they +required an embankment they purchased a hill, and +boldly removed it to fill up the hollow. They +could not stay for the seasons, for proper weather +to work in, and in consequence of this their clay +embankment, thrown up wet and saturated, swelled +out, bulged at the sides, and could not be made +stable, till at last they drove rows of piles on each +side, and chained them together with chain-cables, +and so confined the slippery soil. They drove these +piles, tall beech-trees, 20 feet into the earth, and at +this day every train passes over tons of chain-cables +hidden beneath the ballast. The world yet remembers +the gigantic cost of the Box Tunnel, and how +heaven and earth were moved to get the line open; +and at last it was open, but at what a cost!—a cost +that hung like a millstone round the neck of the +company, till a man rose into power who had the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +talent of administration, and that man was the very +companion of Brunel whom we saw lunching among +the furze-bushes. Reckless as the expenditure was, +one cannot but admire the determination which +overcame every obstacle. For the great line a +workshop was needed, and that workshop was built +at Swindon. The green fields were covered with +forges, the hedges disappeared to make way for +cottages for the workmen. The workmen required +food—tradesmen came and supplied that food—and +Swindon rose as Chicago rose, as if by magic. From +that day to this additions have been made, and other +departments concentrated upon this one spot, till at +the present time the factory covers a space equal +to that of a moderate farm, and employs nearly +four thousand workmen, to whom three hundred +thousand pounds are yearly paid, whereby to purchase +their daily bread. But at that early stage +the difficulty was to find experienced workmen, +and still greater to discover men who could superintend +them. For these it was necessary to go up +into the shrewd North, which had already foreseen +the demand that must arise, and had partially educated +her children in the new life that was about to +dawn on the world; and so it is that to this time the +names of those who are in authority over this army +of workers carry with them in their sound a strong +flavour of the heather and the brae, and seem more +in accordance with ideas of 'following the wild deer' +than of a dwelling in the midst of the clangour and +smoke. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>All these new inhabitants of the hitherto deserted +fields had to be lodged, and in endeavouring to solve +this problem the company were induced to try an +experiment which savoured not a little of communism, +though not so intended. A building was +erected which was locally called the 'barracks,' and +it well deserved the name, for at one time as many as +perhaps five hundred men found shelter in it. It was +a vast place, with innumerable rooms and corridors. +The experiment did not altogether answer, and was +in time abandoned, when the company built whole +streets, and even erected a covered market-place for +their labourers. They went further, and bore the +chief expense in building a church. A reading-room +was started, and grew and grew till a substantial +place was required for the accommodation of the +members. Finally, the 'barracks' was converted +into a place of worship for a Dissenting body, and a +grand hall it afforded when the interior was removed +and only the shell left. But by this time vast changes +had taken place, and great extensions had arisen +through private energy. This land was the poorest +in the neighbourhood; low-lying, shallow soil on +top of an endless depth of stiff clay, worthless for +arable purposes, of small value for pasture, covered +with furze, rushes, and rowen; so much so that +when a certain man with a little money purchased a +good strip of it, he was talked of as a fool, and considered +to have committed a most egregious error. +How vain is human wisdom! In a few years the +railway came. Land rose in price, and this very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +strip brought its owner thousands; so that the fool +became wise, and the wise was deemed of no account. +Private speculators, seeing the turn things were +taking, ran up rows of houses; building societies +stepped in and laid out streets; a whole town +seemed to start into being at once. Still the company +continued to concentrate their works at the +junction, and at last added the culminating stroke +by bringing the carriage department here, which was +like planting a new colony. A fresh impulse was +given to building; fresh blocks and streets arose; +companies were formed to burn bricks—one of these +makes bricks by steam, and can burn a quarter of +a million at once in their kiln. This in a place +where previously the rate of building was five new +houses in twenty years! Sanitary districts were +mapped out; boards of control elected; gas companies; +water companies—who brought water out of +the chalk hills three miles distant: all the distinctive +characteristics of a city arose into being. Lastly +came a sewage farm, for so great was the sewage +that it became a burning question how to dispose of +it, and on this sewage farm some most extraordinary +results have been obtained, such as mangolds with +leaves four feet in length—a tropical luxuriance of +growth. One postman had sufficed, then two, then +three, till a strong staff had to be organized, in +regular uniform, provided with bull's-eye lanthorns +to pick their way in and out of the dark and dirty +back-streets. One single constable had sufficed, +and a dark hole had done duty as a prison. Now +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +a superintendent and other officers, a full staff, and +a complete police-station, with cells, justice-room, all +the paraphernalia were required; and so preposterous +did this seem to other towns, formerly leading towns +in the country, but which had remained stagnant +while Swindon went ahead, that they bitterly resented +the building, and satirized it as a 'Palace of Justice,' +though, in good truth, sorely needed. A vast corn +exchange, a vaster drill-hall for the workmen—who +had formed a volunteer corps—to drill in, chapels of +every description, and some of really large size—all +these arose.</p> + +<p>The little old town on the hill a mile from the +station felt the wave of progress strongly. The +streets were paved; sewers driven under the town +at a depth of 40 feet through solid stone, in +order to dispose of the sewage on a second sewage +farm of over 100 acres. Shops, banks, and, above +all, public-houses, abounded and increased apace, +especially in the new town, where every third house +seemed to be licensed premises. The cart-track seen +by the luncheon-party in the furze was laid down +and macadamized, and a street erected, named after +the finest street in London, full of shops of all descriptions. +Every denomination, from the Plymouth +Brethren to the Roman Catholics, had their place +of worship. Most of the tradesmen had two +branches, one in the upper and one in the lower +town, and the banks followed their example. Not +satisfied with two railways, two others are now in +embryo—one a link in the long-talked-of through +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +communication between North and South, from Manchester +to Southampton, the other a local line with +possible extensions. A population of barely 2,000 +has risen to 15,000, and this does not nearly represent +the real number of inhabitants, for there is a +large floating population, and, in addition, five or six +villages surrounding the town are in reality merely +suburbs, and in great part populated by men working +in the town. These villages have shared in the +general movement, and some of them have almost +trebled in size and importance. This population is +made up of the most incongruous elements: labouring +men of the adjacent counties who have left the +plough and the sickle for the hammer and the spade; +Irish in large numbers; Welshmen, Scotch, and +North of England men; stalwart fellows from York +and places in a similar latitude. Yet, notwithstanding +all the building that has been going on, despite +the rush of building societies and private speculators, +the cry is still, 'More bricks and mortar,' for there +exists an enormous amount of overcrowding. The +high rents are almost prohibitory, and those who +take houses, underlet them and sublet them, till in six +rooms three families may be living. The wages are +good, ranging from 18s. for common labourers to +30s., 36s., 40s., and more for skilled mechanics, and +the mode in which they live affords an illustrative +contrast to the agricultural population immediately +surrounding the place. As if to complete the +picture, that nothing might be wanting, a music-hall +has been opened, where for threepence the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +workman may listen to the dulcet strains of 'London +artistes' while he smokes his pipe.</p> + +<p>Can a more striking, a more wonderful and interesting +spectacle be seen than this busy, Black-Country-looking +town, with its modern associations, its +go-ahead ways, in the midst of a purely agricultural +country, where there are no coal or iron mines, where +in the memory of middle-aged men there was nothing +but pasture-fields, furze, and rabbits? In itself it +affords a perfect epitome of the spirit of the nineteenth +century.</p> + +<p>And much, if not all, of this marvellous transformation, +of this abounding life and vigorous +vitality, is due to the energy and the forethought, the +will of one man. It is notorious that the Swindon +of to-day is the creation of the companion of Brunel +at the lunch in the furze-bushes. Sir Daniel Gooch +has had a wonderful life. Beginning literally at the +beginning, he rose from stage to stage, till he became +the responsible head of the vast company in whose +service he had commenced life. In that position he +did not forget the place where his early years were +passed, but used his influence to enrich it with the +real secret of wealth, employment for the people. +In so doing, time has proved that he acted for the +best interests of the company, for, apart from monetary +matters, the mass of workmen assembled at this spot +are possessed of overwhelming political power, and +can return the man they choose to Parliament. Thus +the company secures a representative in the House +of Commons. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>Among the institutions which the railway company +fostered was the primitive reading-room which has +been alluded to. Under their care this grew and +grew, until it became a Mechanics' Institute, or, rather, +a department of science and art, which at the present +day has an intimate connection with South Kensington. +Some hundred prizes are here annually distributed +to the numerous students, both male and +female, who can here obtain the very best instruction, +at the very smallest cost, in almost every branch of +learning, from sewing to shorthand, from freehand +drawing to algebra and conic sections. On one +occasion, while distributing the prizes to the successful +competitors, Sir Daniel Gooch laid bare some of his +early struggles as an incentive to the youth around +him. He admitted that there was a time, and a dark +hour, when he all but gave up hopes of ultimate +success, when it seemed that the dearest wish of his +heart must for ever go without fulfilment. In this +desponding mood he was slowly crossing a bridge in +London, when he observed an inscription upon the +parapet—<i>Nil Desperandum</i> (Never despair). How +he took heart at this as an omen, and went forth and +persevered till——The speaker did not complete the +sentence, but all the world knows what ultimately +happened, and remembers the man who laid the first +Atlantic cable. The great lesson of perseverance, of +patience, was never drawn with better effect.</p> + +<p>In the Eastern tales of magicians one reads of a +town being found one day where there was nothing +but sand the day before. Here the fable is fact, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +the potent magician is Steam. Here is, perhaps, the +greatest temple that has ever been built to that great +god of our day. Taking little note of its immense +extent, of the vast walls which enclose it, like some +fortress, of the tunnel which gives entrance, and +through which three thousand workmen pass four +times a day, let us enter at once and go straight to +the manufacture of those wheels and tires and axles +of which we have heard so much since the tragedy at +Shipton. To look at a carriage-wheel, the iron +carriage-wheel, one would imagine that it was all one +piece, that it was stamped out at a blow, so little sign +is there of a junction of parts. The very contrary is +the fact: the wheel is made of a large number of +pieces of iron welded together, and again and again +welded together, till at last it forms one solid homogeneous +mass. The first of these processes consists +in the manufacture of the spokes, which are made +out of fine iron. The spoke is made in two pieces, +at two different forges, and by two distinct gangs of +men. A third forge and a third gang are constantly +employed in welding these two detached parts in one +continuous piece, forming a spoke. One of these +parts resembles a <span class="sansserif">T</span> with the downward stroke very +short, and the cross stroke at the top slightly bent, +so as to form a section of a curve. The other piece +is about the same length, but rather thicker, and at its +larger end somewhat wedge-shaped. This last piece +forms that part of the spoke which goes nearest to +the centre of the wheel. These two parts, when +completed, are again heated to a red heat, and in that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +ductile state hammered with dexterous blows into +one, which then resembles the same letter <span class="sansserif">T</span>, only +with the downward stroke disproportionately long. +Eight or more of these spokes, according to the size +of the wheel, and whether it is intended for a carriage, +an engine, or tender, are then arranged together on +the ground, so that the wedge-shaped ends fit close +together, and in that position are firmly fixed by the +imposition above them of what is called a 'washer,' a +flat circular piece of iron, which is laid red-hot on the +centre of the embryo wheel, and there hammered into +cohesion. The wheel is then turned over, and a +second 'washer' beaten on, so that the partially +molten metal runs, and joins together with the +particles of the spokes, and the whole is one mass. +In the ordinary cart-wheel or gig-wheel the spokes +are placed in mortise-holes made in a solid central +block; but in this wheel before us, the ends of the +spokes, well cemented together by the two washers, +form the central block or boss. The ends of the +spokes do not quite touch each other, and so a small +circular space is left which is subsequently bored to +fit the axle. The wheel now presents a curiously +incomplete appearance, for the top strokes of the <span class="sansserif">T</span>'s +do not touch each other. There is a space between +each, and these spaces have now to be filled with +pieces of red-hot iron well welded and hammered +together. To the uninitiated it would seem that all +this work is superfluous; that the wheel might be +made much more quickly in two or three pieces, +instead of all these, and that it would be stronger. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +But the practical men engaged in the work say +differently. It is their maxim that the more iron is +hammered, the stronger and better it becomes; therefore +all this welding adds to the strength of the +wheel. In practice it is found quicker and more +convenient to thus divide the labour than to endeavour +to form the wheel of fewer component parts. +The wheel is now taken to the lathe, and a portion is +cut away from its edge, till a groove is left so as to +dovetail into the tyre.</p> + +<p>The tyres, which are of steel, are not made here; +they come ready to be placed upon the wheel, and +some care has to be taken in moving them, for, +although several inches in thickness and of enormous +strength, it has occasionally happened that a sudden +jar from other solid bodies has fractured them. One +outer edge of the tyre is prolonged, so to say, and +forms the projecting flange which holds the rails and +prevents the carriage from running off the road. +So important a part requires the best metal and the +most careful manufacture, and accordingly no trouble +or expense is spared to secure suitable tyres. One of +the inner edges of the tyre, on the opposite side +to the flange, is grooved, and this groove is intended +to receive the edge of the wheel itself; they dovetail +together here. The tyre is now made hot, and the +result of that heating is an expansion of the metal, so +that the circle of the tyre becomes larger. The +wheel is then driven into the tyre, which fits round +it like a band. As it grows cool the steel tyre clasps +the iron wheel with enormous force, and the softer +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +metal is driven into the groove of the steel. But +this is not all. The wheel is turned over, and the +iron wheel is seen to be some little distance sunk, as +it were, beneath the surface of the tyre. Immediately +on a level with the iron wheel there runs round the +steel tyre another deeper groove. The wheel is again +heated—not to redness, for the steel will not bear +blows if too hot—and when the tyre is sufficiently +warm, a long, thin strip of iron is driven into this +groove, and so shuts the iron wheel into the tyre as +with a continuous wedge. Yet another process has +to follow—yet another safeguard against accident. +The tyre, once more heated, is attacked with the +blows of three heavy sledge-hammers, wielded by as +many stalwart smiths, and its inner edge, by their +well-directed blows, bent down over the narrow band +of iron, or continuous wedge, so that this wedge is +closed in by what may be called a continuous rivet. +The wheel is now complete, so far as its body is +concerned, and to look at, it seems very nearly +impossible that any wear or tear, or jar or accident, +could disconnect its parts—all welded, overlapped, +dovetailed as they are. Practically it seems the perfection +of safety; nor was it to a wheel of this +character that <i>the</i> accident happened. The only +apparent risk is that there may be some slight undiscovered +flaw in the solid steel which, under the +pressure of unforeseen circumstances, may give way. +But the whole design of the wheel is to guard against +the ill-effects that would follow the snapping of a +tyre. Suppose a tyre to 'fly'—the result would be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +a small crack; supposing there were two cracks, or +ten cracks, the speciality of this wheel is that not one +of those pieces could come off—that the wheel would +run as well and as safely with a tyre cracked through +in a dozen places as when perfectly sound. The +reason of this is that every single quarter of an inch +of the tyre is fixed irremovably to the outer edge of +the iron wheel, by the continuous dovetail, by the +continuous wedge, and by the continuous overlapping. +So that under no condition could any +portion of the tyre fly off from the wheel. Close by +this wheel thus finished upon this patent process +there was an old riveted wheel which had been +brought in to receive a new tyre on the new process. +This old wheel aptly illustrates the advantages of +the new one. Its tyre is fixed to the wheel by rivets +or bolts placed at regular intervals. Now, the holes +made for these bolts to some extent weaken both +tyre and wheel. The bolt is liable, with constant +shaking, to wear loose. The bolt only holds a very +limited area of tyre to the wheel. If the tyre breaks +in two places between the bolts, it comes off. If a +bolt breaks, or the tyre breaks at the bolt, it flies. +The tyre is, in fact, only fixed on in spots with +intervals between. The new fastening leaves no +intervals, and instead of spots is fixed everywhere. +This is called the Gibson process, and was invented +by an employé of the company. Latterly another +process has partially come into vogue, particularly +for wooden wheels, which are preferred sometimes on +account of their noiselessness. By this (the Mansell) +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +process, the tyres, which are similar, are fastened to +the wheels by two circular bands which dovetail into +the tyre, and are then bolted to the wood.</p> + +<p>To return to the wheel—now really and substantially +a wheel, but which has still to be turned +so as to run perfectly true upon the metals—it is +conveyed to the wheel lathe, and affixed to what +looks like another wheel, which is set in motion by +steam-power, and carries our wheel round with it. +A workman sets a tool to plane its edge, which shaves +off the steel as if it were wood, and reduces it to the +prescribed scale. Then, when its centre has been +bored to receive the axle, the genesis of the wheel is +complete, and it enters upon its life of perpetual +revolution. How little do the innumerable travellers +who are carried to their destination upon it imagine +the immense expenditure of care, skill, labour, and +thought that has been expended before a perfect +wheel was produced.</p> + +<p>Next in natural order come the rails upon which +the wheel must run. The former type of rail was a +solid bar of iron, whose end presented a general +resemblance to the letter <span class="sansserif">T</span>, which was thick at the +top and at the bottom, and smaller in the middle. +It was thought that this rail was not entirely satisfactory, +for reasons that cannot be enumerated here, +and accordingly a patent was taken out for a rail +which, it is believed, can be more easily and cheaply +manufactured, with a less expenditure of metal, and +which can be more readily attached to the sleepers. +In reality it is designed upon the principle of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +arch, and the end of these rails somewhat resembles +the Greek letter Ω, for they are hollow, and formed +of a thin plate of metal rolled into this shape. +Coming to this very abode of the Cyclops, the rail-mill, +the first machine that appears resembles a pair +of gigantic scissors, which are employed day and +night in snipping off old rails and other pieces of iron +into lengths suitable for the manufacture of new +rails.</p> + +<p>These scissors, or, perhaps, rather pincers, are +driven by steam-power, and bite off the solid iron as +if it were merely strips of ribbon. There is some +danger in this process, for occasionally the metal +breaks and flies, and men's hands are severely injured. +At a guess, the lengths of iron for manufacture into +rails may be about four feet long, and are piled up in +flat pieces eight or nine inches or more in height. +These pieces are carried to the furnace, heated to an +intense heat, and then placed under the resistless +blows of a steam-hammer, which welds them into one +solid bar of iron, longer than the separate pieces +were. The bar then goes back to the furnace, and +again comes out white-hot. The swinging-shears +seize it, and it is swung along to the rollers. These +rollers are two massive cylindrical iron bars which +revolve rapidly one over the other. The end of the +white-hot metal is placed between these rollers, and +is at once drawn out into a long strip of iron, much +as a piece of dough is rolled out under the cook's +rolling-pin. It is now perfectly flat, and entirely +malleable. It is returned to the furnace, heated, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +brought back, and placed in a second pair of rollers. +This second pair have projections upon them, which +so impress the flat strip of iron that it is drawn out +into the required shape. The rail passes twice +through these rollers, once forwards, then backwards. +Terrible is the heat in this fiery spot. The experienced +workman who guides the long red-hot +rails to the mouth of the rollers is protected with +a mask, with iron-shod shoes, iron greaves on his +legs, an iron apron, and, even further, with a shield of +iron. The very floor beneath is formed of slabs +of iron instead of slabs of stone, and the visitor very +soon finds this iron floor too hot for his feet. The +perfect rail, still red-hot or nearly, is run back to the +circular saw, which cuts it off in regular lengths; for +it is not possible to so apportion the iron in each +bundle as to form absolutely identical strips. They +are proportioned so as to be a little longer than +required, and then sawn off to the exact length. +While still hot, a workman files the sawn ends so +that they may fit together closely when laid down on +the sleepers. The completed rails are then stacked +for removal on trucks to their destination. The +rollers which turn out these rails in so regular and +beautiful a manner are driven by a pair of engines of +enormous power. The huge fly-wheel is twenty feet +in diameter, and weighs, with its axle, thirty-five tons. +When these rails were first manufactured, the rollers +were driven direct from the axle of the fly-wheel, and +the rails had to be lifted right over the roller—a +difficult and dangerous process—and again inserted +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +between them on the side at which it started. Since +then an improvement has been effected, by which +the rails are sent backwards through the rollers, +thus avoiding the trouble of lifting them over. +This is managed by reversing the motion of the +rollers, which is done in an instant by means of a +'crab.'</p> + +<p>Immediately adjacent to these rail-mills are the +steam-hammers, whose blows shake the solid earth. +The largest descends with the force of seventy tons, +yet so delicate is the machinery that visitors are +shown how the same ponderous mass of metal and +the same irresistible might can be so gently administered +as to crush the shell of a nut without injuring +the kernel. These hammers are employed in beating +huge masses of iron into cranks for engines, and +other heavy work which is beyond the unaided +strength of man. Each of the hammers has its own +steam-boiler and its furnace close at hand, and overhead +there are travelling cranes which convey the +metal to and fro. These boilers may be called +vertical, and with the structure on which they are +supported have a dome-like shape. Hissing, with +small puffs of white steam curling stealthily upwards, +they resemble a group of volcanoes on the eve of an +eruption. This place presents a wonderful and even +terrible aspect at night, when the rail-mill and steam-hammers +are in full swing. The open doors of the +glaring furnaces shoot forth an insupportable beam +of brilliant white light, and out from among the +glowing fire comes a massive bar of iron, hotter, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +whiter than the fire itself—barely to be looked upon. +It is dragged and swung along under the great +hammer; Thor strikes, and the metal doubles up, +and bends as if of plastic clay, and showers of sparks +fly high and far. What looks like a long strip of +solid flame is guided between the rollers, and flattened +and shaped, till it comes out a dull-red-hot rail, and +the sharp teeth of the circular saw cut through it, +throwing out a circle of sparks. The vast fly-wheel +whirls round endless shaftings, and drums are revolving +overhead, and the ear is full of a ceaseless +overpowering hum, varied at intervals with the +sharp scraping, ringing sound of the saw. The +great boilers hiss, the furnaces roar, all around there +is a sense of an irresistible power, but just held in +by bars and rivets, ready in a moment to rend all +asunder. Masses of glowing iron are wheeled hither +and thither in wheelbarrows; smaller blocks are slid +along the iron floor. Here is a heap of red-hot +scraps hissing. A sulphurous hot smell prevails, a +burning wind, a fierce heat, now from this side, now +from that, and ever and anon bright streaks of light +flow out from the open furnace doors, casting +grotesque shadows upon the roof and walls. The +men have barely a human look, with the reflection +of the fire upon them; mingling thus with flame and +heat, toying with danger, handling, <a class="corr" name="TC_4" id="TC_4" title="at">as</a> it seems, red-hot +metal with ease. The whole scene suggests the +infernal regions. A mingled hiss and roar and thud +fill the building with reverberation, and the glare of +the flames rising above the chimneys throws a reflection +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +upon the sky, which is visible miles away, +like that of a conflagration.</p> + +<p>Stepping out of this pandemonium, there are rows +upon rows of gleaming forges, each with its appointed +smiths, whose hammers rise and fall in rhythmic +strokes, and who manufacture the minor portions of +the incipient locomotive. Here is a machine the +central part of which resembles a great corkscrew or +spiral constantly revolving. A weight is affixed to +its inclined plane, and is carried up to the required +height by the revolution of the screw, to be let fall +upon a piece of red-hot iron, which in that moment becomes +a bolt, with its projecting head or cap. Though +they do not properly belong to our subject, the +great marine boilers in course of construction in the +adjoining department cannot be overlooked, even if +only for their size—vast cylinders of twelve feet +diameter. Next comes the erecting shop, where the +various parts of the locomotive are fitted together, +and it is built up much as a ship from the keel. +These semi-completed engines have a singularly helpless +look—out of proportion, without limbs, and +many mere skeletons. Close by is the department +where engines out of repair are made good. Some +American engineer started the idea of a railway thirty +feet wide, an idea which in this place is partially +realized. The engine to be repaired is run on to +what may be described as a turn-table resting upon +wheels, and this turn-table is bodily rolled along, like +a truck, with the engine on it, to the place where tools +and cranes and all the necessary gear are ready for the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +work upon it. Now by a yard, which seems one vast +assemblage of wheels of all kinds—big wheels, little +wheels, wheels of all sizes, nothing but wheels; past +great mounds of iron, shapeless heaps of scrap, and +then, perhaps, the most interesting shop of all, +though the least capable of description, is entered. +It is where the endless pieces of metal of which the +locomotive is composed are filed and planed and +smoothed into an accurate fit; an immense building, +with shafting overhead and shafting below in endless +revolution, yielding an incessant hum like the sound +of armies of bees—a building which may be said to +have a score of aisles, up which one may walk with +machinery upon either side. Hundreds of lathes of +every conceivable pattern are planing the solid steel +and the solid iron as if it were wood, cutting off +with each revolution a more or less thick slice of the +hard metal, which curls up like a shaving of deal. +So delicate is the touch of some of these tools, so +good the metal they are employed to cut, that shavings +are taken off three or more feet long, curled +up like a spiral spring, and which may be wound +round the hand like string. The interiors of the +cylinders, the bearings, those portions of the engines +which slide one upon the other, and require the most +accurate fit, are here adjusted by unerring machinery, +which turns out the work with an ease and exactness +which the hand of man, delicate and wonderful organ +as it is, cannot reach. From the smallest fitting up +to the great engine cranks, the lathes smooth them +all—reduce them to the precise size which they were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +intended to be by the draughtsman. These cranks +and larger pieces of metal are conveyed to their +lathes and placed in position by a steam crane, which +glides along upon a single rail at the will of the +driver, who rides on it, and which handles the +massive metal almost with the same facility that an +elephant would move a log of wood with his trunk. +Most of us have an inherent idea that iron is exceedingly +hard, but the ease with which it is cut and +smoothed by these machines goes far to remove that +impression.</p> + +<p>The carriage department does not offer so much +that will strike the eye, yet it is of the highest importance. +To the uninitiated it is difficult to trace +the connection between the various stages of the +carriage, as it is progressively built up, and finally +painted and gilded and fitted with cushions. Generally, +the impression left from an inspection is that +the frames of the carriages are made in a way calculated +to secure great strength, the material being +solid oak. The brake-vans especially are made +strong. The carriages made here are for the narrow +gauge, and are immensely superior in every way to +the old broad-gauge carriage, being much more +roomy, although not so wide. Over the department +there lingers an odour of wood. It is common to +speak of the scented woods of the East and the +South, but even our English woods are not devoid +of pleasant odour under the carpenter's hands. +Hidden away amongst the piles of wood there is +here a triumph of human ingenuity. It is an endless +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +saw which revolves around two wheels, much in the +same way as a band revolves around two drums. +The wheels are perhaps three feet in diameter, and +two inches in thickness at the circumference. They +are placed—one as low as the workman's feet, +another rather above his head—six or seven feet +apart. Round the wheels there stretches an endless +narrow band of blue steel, just as a ribbon might. +This band of steel is very thin, and almost half an +inch in width. Its edge towards the workman is +serrated with sharp deep teeth. The wheels revolve +by steam rapidly, and carry with them the saw, so +that, instead of the old up and down motion, the +teeth are continually running one way. The band +of steel is so extremely flexible that it sustains the +state of perpetual curve. There are stories in ancient +chronicles of the wonderful swords of famous warriors +made of such good steel that the blade could be bent +till the point touched the hilt, and even till the blade +was tied in a knot. These stories do not seem like +fables before this endless saw, which does not bend +once or twice, but is incessantly curved, and incessantly +in the act of curving. A more beautiful +machine cannot be imagined. Its chief use is to cut +out the designs for cornices, and similar ornamental +work in thin wood; but it is sufficiently strong to +cut through a two-inch plank like paper. Every +possible support that can be afforded by runners is +given to the saw; still, with every aid, it is astonishing +to see metal, which we have been taught to +believe rigid, flexible as indiarubber. Adjoining are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +frame saws, working up and down by steam, and +cutting half a dozen or more boards at the same +time. It was in this department that the Queen's +carriage was built at a great expenditure of skill and +money—a carriage which is considered one of the +masterpieces of this particular craft.</p> + +<p>There rises up in the mind, after the contemplation +of this vast workshop, with its endless examples +of human ingenuity, a conviction that safety in railway +travelling is not only possible, but probable, and +even now on the way to us. No one can behold the +degree of excellence to which the art of manufacturing +material has been brought, no one can inspect the +processes by which the wheel, for instance, is finally +welded into one compact mass, without a firm belief +that, where so much has been done, in a little time +still more will be done. That safer plans, that +better designs, that closer compacted forms will arise +seems as certain and assured a fact as that those forms +now in use arose out of the rude beginnings of the +past; for this great factory, both in its machine-tools +and in its products, the wheels and rails and +locomotives, is a standing proof of the development +which goes on in the mind of man when brought +constantly to bear upon one subject. As with the +development of species, so it is with that of +machinery: rude and more general forms first, finer +and more specialized forms afterwards. There is +every reason to hope, for this factory is a proof of +the advance that has been made. It would seem +that the capability of metal is practically infinite. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>But what an enormous amount of labour, what +skill, and what complicated machinery must be first +employed before what is in itself a very small result +can be arrived at! In order that an individual may +travel from London to Oxford, see what innumerable +conditions have to be fulfilled. Three thousand men +have to work night and day that we may merely +seat ourselves and remain passive till our destination +is reached.</p> + +<p>This small nation of workers, this army of the +hammer, lathe, and drill, affords matter for deep +meditation in its sociological aspect. Though so +numerous that no one of them can be personally +acquainted with more than a fractional part, yet there +is a strong <i>esprit de corps</i>, a spirit that ascends to the +highest among them; for it is well known that the +chief manager has a genuine feeling of almost fatherly +affection for these his men, and will on no account let +them suffer, and will, if possible, obtain for them +every advantage. The influence he thereby acquires +among them is principally used for moral and religious +ends. Under these auspices have arisen the +great chapels and places of worship of which the +town is full. Of the men themselves, the majority +are intelligent, contrasting strongly with the agricultural +poor around them, and not a few are well +educated and thoughtful. This gleaning of intellectual +men are full of social life, or, rather, of an +interest in the problems of social existence. They +eagerly discuss the claims of religion <i>versus</i> the +allegations of secularism; they are shrewd to detect +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +the weak points of an argument; they lean, in fact, +towards an eclecticism: they select the most rational +part of every theory. They are full of information +on every subject—information obtained not only +from newspapers, books, conversation, and lectures, +but from travel, for most have at least been over the +greater part of England. They are probably higher +in their intellectual life than a large proportion of +the so-called middle classes. One is, indeed, tempted +to declare, after considering the energy with which +they enter on all questions, that this class of educated +mechanics forms in reality the protoplasm, or living +matter, out of which modern society is evolved. +The great and well-supplied reading-room of the +Mechanics' Institute is always full of readers; the +library, now an extensive one, is constantly in use. +Where one book is read in agricultural districts, +fifty are read in the vicinity of the factory. Social +questions of marriage, of religion, of politics, sanitary +science, are for ever on the simmer among these men. +It would almost seem as if the hammer, the lathe, +and the drill would one day bring forth a creed of its +own. A characteristic of all classes of these workmen +is their demand for meat, of which great quantities +are consumed. Nor do they stay at meat alone, but +revel in fish and other luxuries at times, though the +champagne of the miner is not known here. Notwithstanding +the number of public-houses, it is a +remarkable fact that there is very little drunkenness +in proportion to the population, few crimes of +violence, and, what is more singular still, and has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +been often remarked, very little immorality. Where +there are some hundreds, perhaps thousands, of +young uneducated girls, without work to occupy +their time, there must of course exist a certain +amount of lax conduct; but never, or extremely +rarely, does a girl apply to the magistrates for an +affiliation order, while from agricultural parishes such +applications are common. The number of absolutely +immoral women openly practising infamy is also +remarkably small. There was a time when the workmen +at this factory enjoyed an unpleasant notoriety +for mischief and drunkenness, but that time has +passed away, a most marked improvement having +taken place in the last few years.</p> + +<p>There appears, however, to be very little prudence +amongst them. The man who receives some extra +money for extra work simply spends it on unusual +luxuries in food or drink; or, if it be summer, takes +his wife and children a drive in a hired conveyance. +To this latter there can be no objection; but still, the +fact remains prominent that men in the receipt of +good wages do not save. They do not put by +money; this is, of course, speaking of the majority. +It would almost seem to be a characteristic of human +nature that those who receive wages for work done, +so much per week or fortnight, do not contract +saving habits. The small struggling tradesman, +whose income is very little more than that of the +mechanic, often makes great exertions and practises +much economy to put by a sum to assist him in +difficulty or to extend his business. It may be that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +the very certainty of the wages acts as a deterrent—inasmuch +as the mechanic feels safe of his weekly +money, while the shopkeeper runs much risk. It is +doubtful whether mechanics with good wages save +more than agricultural labourers, except in indirect +ways—ways which are thrust upon them. First of +all, there is the yard club, to which all are compelled +to pay by their employers, the object being to provide +medical assistance in case of sickness. This is +in some sense a saving. Then there are the building +societies, which offer opportunities of possessing a +house, and the mechanic who becomes a member has +to pay for it by instalments. This also may be called +an indirect saving, since the effect is the same. But +of direct saving—putting money in a bank, or investing +it—there is scarcely any. The quarter of a +million annually paid in wages mostly finds its way +into the pockets of the various trades-people, and at +the end of the year the mechanic is none the better +off. This is a grave defect in his character. Much +of it results from a generous, liberal disposition: a +readiness to treat a friend with a drink, to drive the +family out into the country, to treat the daughter +with a new dress. The mechanic does not set a +value upon money in itself.</p> + +<p>The effect of the existence of this factory upon +the whole surrounding district has been marked. A +large proportion of the lower class of mechanics, +especially the factory labourers, are drawn from the +agricultural poor of the adjacent villages. These +work all day at the factory, and return at night. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +They daily walk great distances to secure this employment: +three miles to and three miles back is +common, four miles not uncommon, and some have +been known to walk six or twelve miles per day. +These carry back with them into the villages the +knowledge they insensibly acquire from their better-informed +comrades, and exhibit an independent spirit. +For a radius of six miles round the poorer class are +better informed, quicker in perception, more ready +with an answer to a question, than those who dwell +farther back out of the track of modern life. Wages +had materially risen long before the movement among +the agricultural labourers took place.</p> + +<p>Where there was lately nothing but furze and +rabbits there is now a busy human population. Why +was it that for so many hundreds of years the population +of England remained nearly stationary? and +why has it so marvellously increased in this last forty +years? The history of this place seems to answer +that interesting question. The increase is due to the +facilities of communication which now exist, and to +the numberless new employments in which that +facility of communication took rise, and which it in +turn adds to and fosters.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="UNEQUAL_AGRICULTURE" id="UNEQUAL_AGRICULTURE"></a>UNEQUAL AGRICULTURE</h2> + + +<p>In the way of sheer, downright force few effects +of machinery are more striking than a steam-ploughing +engine dragging the shares across a wide expanse +of stiff clay. The huge engines used in our ironclad +vessels work with a graceful ease which deceives the +eye; the ponderous cranks revolve so smoothly, and +shine so brightly with oil and polish, that the mind +is apt to underrate the work performed. But these +ploughing engines stand out solitary and apart from +other machinery, and their shape itself suggests crude +force, such force as may have existed in the mastodon +or other unwieldy monster of the prehistoric ages. +The broad wheels sink into the earth under the +pressure; the steam hissing from the escape valves +is carried by the breeze through the hawthorn hedge, +hiding the red berries with a strange, unwonted +cloud; the thick dark brown smoke, rising from +the funnel as the stoker casts its food of coal into +the fiery mouth of the beast, falls again and floats +heavily over the yellow stubble, smothering and +driving away the partridges and hares. There is +a smell of oil, and cotton-waste, and gas, and steam, +and smoke, which overcomes the fresh, sweet odour +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +of the earth and green things after a shower. Stray +lumps of coal crush the delicate pimpernel and +creeping convolvulus. A shrill, short scream rushes +forth and echoes back from an adjacent rick—puff! +the fly-wheel revolves, and the drum underneath +tightens its hold upon the wire rope. Across yonder +a curious, shapeless thing, with a man riding upon +it, comes jerking forward, tearing its way through +stubble and clay, dragging its iron teeth with sheer +strength deep through the solid earth. The thick +wire rope stretches and strains as if it would snap +and curl up like a tortured snake; the engine pants +loudly and quick; the plough now glides forward, +now pauses, and, as it were, eats its way through +a tougher place, then glides again, and presently +there is a pause, and behold the long furrow with +the upturned subsoil is completed. A brief pause, +and back it travels again, this time drawn from the +other side, where a twin monster puffs and pants +and belches smoke, while the one that has done its +work uncoils its metal sinews. When the furrows +run up and down a slope, the savage force, the +fierce, remorseless energy of the engine pulling the +plough upwards, gives an idea of power which cannot +but impress the mind.</p> + +<p>This is what is going on upon one side of the +hedge. These engines cost as much as the fee-simple +of a small farm; they consume expensive +coal, and water that on the hills has to be brought +long distances; they require skilled workmen to +attend to them, and they do the work with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +thoroughness which leaves little to be desired. +Each puff and pant echoing from the ricks, each +shrill whistle rolling along from hill to hill, proclaims +as loudly as iron and steel can shout, 'Progress! +Onwards!' Now step through this gap in +the hedge and see what is going on in the next field.</p> + +<p>It is a smaller ground, of irregular shape and +uneven surface. Steam-ploughs mean <i>plains</i> rather +than fields—broad, square expanses of land without +awkward corners—and as level as possible, with +mounds that may have been tumuli worked down, +rising places smoothed away, old ditch-like drains +filled up, and fairly good roads. This field may be +triangular or some indescribable figure, with narrow +corners where the high hedges come close together, +with deep furrows to carry away the water, rising +here and sinking there into curious hollows, entered +by a narrow gateway leading from a muddy lane +where the ruts are a foot deep. The plough is +at work here also, such a plough as was used when +the Corn Laws were in existence, chiefly made of +wood—yes, actually wood, in this age of iron—bound +and strengthened with metal, but principally +made from the tree—the tree which furnishes the +African savage at this day with the crooked branch +with which to scratch the earth, which furnished the +ancient agriculturists of the Nile Valley with their +primitive implements. It is drawn by dull, patient +oxen, plodding onwards now just as they were +depicted upon the tombs and temples, the graves +and worshipping places, of races who had their being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +three thousand years ago. Think of the suns that +have shone since then; of the summers and the +bronzed grain waving in the wind, of the human +teeth that have ground that grain, and are now +hidden in the abyss of earth; yet still the oxen plod +on, like slow Time itself, here this day in our land +of steam and telegraph. Are not these striking +pictures, remarkable contrasts? On the one side +steam, on the other the oxen of the Egyptians, only +a few thorn-bushes between dividing the nineteenth +century <span class="smcaplc">B.C.</span> from the nineteenth century <span class="smcaplc">A.D.</span> After +these oxen follows an aged man, slow like themselves, +sowing the seed. A basket is at his side, from +which at every stride, regular as machinery, he +takes a handful of that corn round which so many +mysteries have gathered from the time of Ceres to +the hallowed words of the great Teacher, taking His +parable from the sower. He throws it with a peculiar +<i>steady</i> jerk, so to say, and the grains, impelled +with the exact force and skill, which can only be +attained by long practice, scatter in an even shower. +Listen! On the other side of the hedge the rattle of +the complicated drill resounds as it drops the seed +in regular rows—and, perhaps, manures it at the +same time—so that the plants can be easily thinned +out, or the weeds removed, after the magical influence +of the despised clods has brought on the +miracle of vegetation.</p> + +<p>These are not extreme and isolated instances; no +one will need to walk far afield to witness similar +contrasts. There is a medium between the two—a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +third class—an intermediate agriculture. The +pride of this farm is in its horses, its teams of magnificent +animals, sleek and glossy of skin, which the +carters spend hours in feeding lest they should lose +their appetites—more hours than ever they spend in +feeding their own children. These noble creatures, +whose walk is power and whose step is strength, +work a few hours daily, stopping early in the afternoon, +taking also an ample margin for lunch. They +pull the plough also like the oxen, but it is a modern +implement, of iron, light, and with all the latest +improvements. It is typical of the system itself—half +and half—neither the old oxen nor the new +steam, but midway, a compromise. The fields are +small and irregular in shape, but the hedges are cut, +and the mounds partially grubbed and reduced to +the thinnest of banks, the trees thrown, and some +draining done. Some improvements have been +adopted, others have been omitted.</p> + +<p>Upon those broad acres where the steam-plough +was at work, what tons of artificial manure, superphosphate, +and guano, liquid and solid, have been +sown by the progressive tenant! Lavishly and yet +judiciously, not once only, but many times, have the +fertilizing elements been restored to the soil, and more +than restored—added to it, till the earth itself has +grown richer and stronger. The scarifier and the +deep plough have turned up the subsoil and exposed +the hard, stiff under-clods to the crumbling action of +the air and the mysterious influence of light. Never +before since Nature deposited those earthy atoms there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +in the slow process of some geological change has the +sunshine fallen on them, or their latent power been +called forth. Well-made and judiciously laid drains +carry away the flow of water from the winter rains +and floods—no longer does there remain a species of +reservoir at a certain depth, chilling the tender roots +of the plants as they strike downwards, lowering the +entire temperature of the field. Mounds have been +levelled, good roads laid down, nothing left undone +that can facilitate operations or aid in the production +of strong, succulent vegetation. Large flocks of well-fed +sheep, folded on the corn-lands, assist the artificial +manure, and perhaps even surpass it. When at last +the plant comes to maturity and turns colour under +the scorching sun, behold a widespread ocean of +wheat, an English gold-field, a veritable Yellow Sea, +bowing in waves before the southern breeze—a sight +full of peaceful poetry. The stalk is tall and strong, +good in colour, fit for all purposes. The ear is full, +large; the increase is truly a hundredfold. Or it +may be roots. By these means the progressive agriculturist +has produced a crop of swedes or mangolds +which in individual size and collective weight per +acre would seem to an old-fashioned farmer perfectly +fabulous. Now, here are many great benefits. First, +the tenant himself reaps his reward, and justly adds +to his private store. Next, the property of the +landlord is improved, and increases in value. The +labourer gets better house accommodation, gardens, +and higher wages. The country at large is supplied +with finer qualities and greater quantities of food, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +and those who are engaged in trade and manufactures, +and even in commerce, feel an increased +vitality in their various occupations.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the hedge, where the oxen +were at plough, the earth is forced to be self-supporting—to +restore to itself how it can the +elements carried away in wheat and straw and root. +Except a few ill-fed sheep, except some small quantities +of manure from the cattle-yards, no human +aid, so to say, reaches the much-abused soil. A +crop of green mustard is sometimes ploughed in +to decompose and fertilize, but as it had to be grown +first the advantage is doubtful. The one object is to +spend as little as possible upon the soil, and to get as +much out of it as may be. Granted that in numbers +of cases no trickery be practised, that the old rotation +of crops is honestly followed, and no evil meant, +yet even then, in course of time, a soil just scratched +on the surface, never fairly manured, and always in +use, must of necessity deteriorate. Then, when such +an effect is too patent to be any longer overlooked, +when the decline of the produce begins to alarm +him, the farmer, perhaps, buys a few hundredweight +of artificial manure, and frugally scatters it abroad. +This causes 'a flash in the pan'; it acts as a +momentary stimulus; it is like endeavouring to +repair a worn-out constitution with doses of strong +cordial; there springs up a vigorous vegetation one +year, and the next the earth is more exhausted than +before. Soils cannot be made highly fertile all at +once even by superphosphates; it is the inability to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +discern this fact which leads many to still argue in the +face of experience that artificial manures are of no +avail. The slow oxen, the lumbering wooden plough, +the equally lumbering heavy waggon, the primitive +bush-harrow, made simply of a bush cut down and +dragged at a horse's tail—these are symbols of a +standstill policy utterly at variance with the times. +Then this man loudly complains that things are not +as they used to be—that wheat is so low in price +it will not yield any profit, that labour is so high +and everything so dear; and, truly, it is easy to conceive +that the present age, with its competition and +eagerness to advance, must really press very seriously +upon him.</p> + +<p>Most persons have been interested enough, however +little connected with agriculture, to at least once +in their lives walk round an agricultural show, and +to express their astonishment at the size and rotundity +of the cattle exhibited. How easy, judging +from such a passing view of the finest products of +the country centred in one spot, to go away with the +idea that under every hawthorn hedge a prize bullock +of enormous girth is peacefully grazing! Should the +same person ever go across country, through gaps +and over brooks, taking an Asmodeus-like glance +into every field, how marvellously would he find +that he had been deceived! He might travel miles, +and fly over scores of fields, and find no such animals, +nor anything approaching to them. By making inquiries +he would perhaps discover in most districts +one spot where something of the kind could be seen—an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +oasis in the midst of a desert. On the farm he +would see a long range of handsome outhouses, tiled +or slated, with comfortable stalls and every means of +removing litter and manure, tanks for liquid manure, +skilled attendants busy in feeding, in preparing food, +storehouses full of cake. A steam-engine in one of +the sheds—perhaps a portable engine, used also for +threshing—drives the machinery which slices up or +pulps roots, cuts up chaff, pumps up water, and performs +a score of other useful functions. The yards +are dry, well paved, and clean; everything smells +clean; there are no foul heaps of decaying matter +breeding loathsome things and fungi; yet nothing is +wasted, not even the rain that falls upon the slates +and drops from the eaves. The stock within are +worthy to compare with those magnificent beasts +seen at the show. It is from these places that the +prize animals are drawn; it is here that the beef +which makes England famous is fattened; it is from +here that splendid creatures are sent abroad to +America or the Colonies, to improve the breed in +those distant countries. Now step forth again over +the hedge, down yonder in the meadows.</p> + +<p>This is a cow-pen, one of the old-fashioned style; +in the dairy and pasture counties you may find +them by hundreds still. It is pitched by the side of +a tall hedge, or in an angle of two hedges, which +themselves form two walls of the enclosure. The +third is the cow-house and shedding itself; the +fourth is made of willow rods. These rods are +placed upright, confined between horizontal poles, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +and when new this simple contrivance is not +wholly to be despised; but when the rods decay, +as they do quickly, then gaps are formed, through +which the rain and sleet and bitter wind penetrate +with ease. Inside this willow paling is a lower +hedge, so to say, two feet distant from the other, +made of willow work twisted—like a continuous +hurdle. Into this rude manger, when the yard is +full of cattle, the fodder is thrown. Here and there +about the yard, also, stand cumbrous cribs for fodder, +at which two cows can feed at once. In one corner +there is a small pond, muddy, stagnant, covered with +duckweed, perhaps reached by a steep, 'pitched' +descent, slippery, and difficult for the cattle to get +down. They foul the very water they drink. The +cow-house, as it is called, is really merely adapted +for one or two cows at a time, at the period of +calving—dark, narrow, awkward. The skilling, or +open house where the cows lie and chew the cud in +winter, is built of boards or slabs at the back, and in +front supported upon oaken posts standing on stones. +The roof is of thatch, green with moss; in wet +weather the water drips steadily from the eaves, +making one long gutter. In the eaves the wrens +make their nests in the spring, and roost there in +winter. The floor here is hard, certainly, and dry; +the yard itself is a sea of muck. Never properly +stoned or pitched, and without a drain, the loose +stones cannot keep the mud down, and it works up +under the hoofs of the cattle in a filthy mass. Over +this there is litter and manure a foot deep; or, if the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +fogger does clean up the manure, he leaves it in great +heaps scattered about, and on the huge dunghill just +outside the yard he will show you a fine crop of +mushrooms cunningly hidden under a light layer of +litter. It is his boast that the cow-pen was built +in the three sevens; on one ancient beam, worm-eaten +and cracked, there may perhaps be seen the +inscription '1777' cut deep into the wood. Over +all, at the back of the cow-pen, stands a row of tall +elm-trees, dripping in wet weather upon the thatch, +in the autumn showering their yellow leaves into the +hay, in a gale dropping dead branches into the yard. +The tenant seems to think even this shelter effeminate, +and speaks regretfully of the old hardy breed +which stood all weathers, and wanted no more cover +than was afforded by a hawthorn bush. From here +a few calves find their way to the butcher, and +towards Christmas one or two moderately fat beasts.</p> + +<p>Near by lives a dairy farmer, who, without going +to the length of the famous stock-breeder whose +stalls are the pride of the district, yet fills his +meadows with a handsome herd of productive shorthorns, +giving splendid results in butter, milk, and +cheese, and who sends to the market a succession +of animals which, if not equal to the gigantic prize +beasts, are nevertheless valuable to the consumer. +This tenant does good work, both for himself and +for the labourers, the landlord, and the country. +His meadows are a sight in themselves to the experienced +eye—well drained, great double mounds +thinned out, but the supply of wood not quite +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +destroyed—not a rush, a 'bullpoll,' a thistle, or a +'rattle,' those yellow pests of mowing grass, to be +seen. They have been weeded out as carefully as +the arable farmer weeds his plants. Where broad +deep furrows used to breed those aquatic grasses +which the cattle left, drains have been put in and +soil thrown over till the level was brought up to the +rest of the field. The manure carts have evidently +been at work here, perhaps the liquid manure tank +also, and some artificial aid in places where required, +both of seed and manure. The number of stock kept +is the fullest tale the land will bear, and he does <a class="corr" name="TC_5" id="TC_5" title="no">not</a> +hesitate to help the hay with cake in the fattening +stalls. For there are stalls, not so elaborately furnished +as those of the famous stock-breeder, but +comfortable, clean, and healthy. Nothing is wasted +here either. So far as practicable the fields have +been enlarged by throwing two or three smaller +enclosures together. He does not require so much +machinery as the great arable farmer, but here are +mowing machines, haymaking machines, horse-rakes, +chain harrows, chaff-cutters, light carts +instead of heavy waggons—every labour-saving +appliance. Without any noise or puff this man is +doing good work, and silently reaping his reward. +Glance for a moment at an adjacent field: it is an +old 'leaze' or ground not mown, but used for +grazing. It has the appearance of a desert, a +wilderness. The high, thick hedges encroach upon +the land; the ditches are quite arched over by the +brambles and briars which trail out far into the grass. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +Broad deep furrows are full of tough, grey aquatic +grass, 'bullpolls,' and short brown rushes; in winter +they are so many small brooks. Tall bennets from +last year and thistle abound—half the growth is useless +for cattle; in autumn the air here is white with +the clouds of thistle-down. It is a tolerably large +field, but the meadows held by the same tenant are +small, with double mounds and trees, rows of spreading +oaks and tall elms; these meadows run up into +the strangest nooks and corners. Sometimes, where +they follow the course of a brook which winds and +turns, actually an area equal to about half the available +field is occupied by the hedges. Into this +brook the liquid sewage from the cow-pens filtrates, +or, worse still, accumulates in a hollow, making a +pond, disgusting to look at, but which liquid, if +properly applied, is worth almost its weight in gold. +The very gateways of the fields in winter are a Slough +of Despond, where the wheels sink in up to the +axles, and in summer great ruts jolt the loads almost +off the waggons.</p> + +<p>Where the steam-plough is kept, where first-class +stock are bred, there the labourer is well housed, +and his complaints are few and faint. There +cottages with decent and even really capital accommodation +for the families spring up, and are provided +with extensive gardens. It is not easy, in the absence +of statistics, to compare the difference in the +amount of money put in circulation by these contrasted +farms, but it must be something extraordinary. +First comes the capital expenditure upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +machinery—ploughs, engines, drills, what not—then +the annual expenditure upon labour, which, despite +the employment of machinery, is as great or greater +upon a progressive farm as upon one conducted on +stagnant principle. Add to this the cost of artificial +manure, of cake and feeding-stuffs, etc., and the +total will be something very heavy. Now, all this +expenditure, this circulation of coin, means not only +gain to the individual, but gain to the country at +large. Whenever in a town a great manufactory is +opened and gives employment to several hundred +hands, at the same time increasing the production of +a valuable material, the profit—the <i>outside</i> profit, so +to say—is as great to others as to the proprietors. +But these half-cultivated lands, these tons upon tons +of wasted manure, these broad hedges and weed-grown +fields, represent upon the other hand an +equal loss. The labouring classes in the rural districts +are eager for more work. They may popularly +be supposed to look with suspicion upon +change, but such an idea is a mistaken one. They +anxiously wait the approach of such works as new +railways or extension of old ones in the hope of +additional employment. Work is their gold-mine, +and the best mine of all. The capitalist, therefore, +who sets himself to improve his holding is the very +man they most desire to see. What scope is there +for work upon a stagnant dairy farm of one hundred +and fifty acres? A couple of foggers and milkers, a +hedger and ditcher, two or three women at times, +and there is the end. And such work!—mere +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +animal labour, leading to so little result. The effect +of constant, of lifelong application in such labour +cannot but be deteriorating to the mind. The +master himself must feel the dull routine. The +steam-plough teaches the labourer who works near it +something; the sight must react upon him, utterly opposed +as it is to all the traditions of the past. The +enterprise of the master must convey some small +spirit of energy into the mind of the man. Where +the cottages are built of wattle and daub, low and +thatched—mere sheds, in fact—where the gardens +are small, and the allotments, if any, far distant, and +where the men wear a sullen, apathetic look, be sure +the agriculture of the district is at a low ebb.</p> + +<p>Are not these few pictures sufficient to show +beyond a cavil that the agriculture of this country +exhibits the strangest inequalities? Anyone who +chooses can verify the facts stated, and may perhaps +discover more curious anomalies still. The spirit of +science is undoubtedly abroad in the homes of the +English farmers, and immense are the strides that +have been taken; but still greater is the work that +remains to be done. Suppose anyone had a garden, +and carefully manured, and dug over and over again, +and raked, and broke up all the larger clods, and +well watered one particular section of it, leaving all +the rest to follow the dictates of wild nature, could +he possibly expect the same amount of produce from +those portions which, practically speaking, took care +of themselves? Here are men of intellect and +energy employing every possible means to develop +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +the latent powers of the soil, and producing extraordinary +results in grain and meat. Here also are +others who, in so far as circumstances permit, follow +in their footsteps. But there remains a large area in +the great garden of England which, practically speaking, +takes care of itself. The grass grows, the seed +sprouts and germinates, very much how they may, +with little or no aid from man. It does not require +much penetration to arrive at the obvious conclusion +that the yield does not nearly approach the possible +production. Neither in meat nor corn is the tale +equal to what it well might be. All due allowance +must be made for barren soils of sand or chalk with +thinnest layers of earth; yet then there is an enormous +area, where the soil is good and fertile, not +properly productive. It would be extremely unfair +to cast the blame wholly upon the tenants. They +have achieved wonders in the past twenty years; +they have made gigantic efforts and bestirred themselves +right manfully. But a man may wander over +his farm and note with discontented eye the many +things he would like to do—the drains he would +like to lay down, the manure he would like to +spread abroad, the new stalls he would gladly build, +the machine he so much wants—and then, shrugging +his shoulders, reflect that he has not got the capital +to do it with. Almost to a man they are sincerely +desirous of progress; those who cannot follow in +great things do in little. Science and invention +have done almost all that they can be expected to +do; chemistry and research have supplied powerful +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +fertilizers. Machinery has been made to do work +which at first sight seems incapable of being carried +on by wheels and cranks. Science and invention +may rest awhile: what is wanted is the universal +application of their improvements by the aid of more +capital. We want the great garden equally highly +cultivated everywhere.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="VILLAGE_ORGANIZATION" id="VILLAGE_ORGANIZATION"></a>VILLAGE ORGANIZATION</h2> + + +<p>The great centres of population have almost entirely +occupied the attention of our legislators of late +years, and even those measures which affect the rural +districts, or which may be extended to affect them at +the will of the residents, have had their origin in the +wish to provide for large towns. The Education +Act arose out of a natural desire to place the means +of learning within the reach of the dense population +of such centres as London, Birmingham, Manchester, +and others of that class; and although its operation +extends to the whole country, yet those who have +had any experience of its method of working in +agricultural parishes will recognize at once that its +designers did not contemplate the conditions of <a class="corr" name="TC_6" id="TC_6" title="rurul">rural</a> +life when they were framing their Bill. What is +reasonable enough when applied to cities is often +extremely inconvenient when applied to villages. It +would almost seem as if the framers of the Bill left +out of sight the circumstances which obtain in agricultural +districts. It was obviously drawn up with a +view to cities and towns, where an organization exists +which can be called in to assist the new institution. +This indifference of the Bill to the conditions of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +country life is one of the reasons why it is so reluctantly +complied with. The number of School +Boards which have been called into existence in the +country is extremely small, and even where they do +exist they cannot be taken as representing a real +outcome of opinion on the part of the inhabitants. +They owe their establishment to certain causes which, +in process of time, bring the parish under the operation +of the Act, with or without the will of the residents. +This is particularly the case in parishes where +there is no large landlord, no one to take the initiative, +and no large farmers to support the clergyman +in his attempt to obtain, or maintain, an independent +school. The matter is distinct from political feelings. +It arises in a measure from the desultory village life, +which possesses no organization, no power of combination. +Here is a large and fairly populous parish +without any great landowners, and, as a natural consequence, +also without any large farmers. The +property of the parish is in the hands of some score +of persons; it may be split up into almost infinitesimal +holdings in the village itself. Now, everyone +knows the thoroughly independent character of +an English farmer. He will follow what he considers +the natural lead of his landlord, if he occupy a +superior social position. He will follow his landlord +in a sturdy, independent way, but he will follow no +one else. Let there be no great landowner in the +parish, and any combination on the part of the agriculturists +becomes impossible. One man has one +idea, another another, and each and all are determined +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +not to yield an inch. Most of them are decidedly +against the introduction of a School Board, and are +quite ready to subscribe towards an independent +school; but, then, when it comes to the administration +of the school funds, there must be managers +appointed to carry the plan into execution, and these +managers must confer with the clergyman. Now here +are endless elements of confusion and disagreement. +One man thinks he ought to be a manager, and does +not approve of the conduct of those who are in +charge. Another dislikes the tone of the clergyman. +A third takes a personal dislike to the schoolmaster +who is employed. One little discord leads to further +complication; someone loses his temper, and personalities +are introduced; then it is all over with the +subscription, and the school ceases, simply because +there are no funds. Finally, the Imperial authorities +step in, and finding education at a dead-lock, a +School Board is presently established, though in all +probability nine out of ten are against it, but hold +their peace in the hope of at last getting some kind +of organization. So it will be found that the few +country School Boards which exist are in parishes +where there is no large landowner, or where the +owner is a non-resident, or the property in Chancery. +In other words, they exist in places where there is no +natural chief to give expression to the feelings of the +parish.</p> + +<p>Agriculturists of all shades of political opinions +are usually averse to a School Board. An ill-defined +feeling is very often the strongest rule of conduct. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +Now there is an ill-defined but very strong feeling +that the introduction of a School Board means the +placing of the parish more or less under imperial +rule, and curtailing the freedom that has hitherto +existed. This has been much strengthened by the +experience gained during the last few years of the +actual working of the Bill with respect to schools +which are not Board Schools, but which come under +the Government inspection. Every step of the proceedings +shows only too plainly the utter unfitness of +the clauses of the Bill to rural conditions. One of +the most important clauses is that which insists +upon a given amount of cubic space for each individual +child. This has often entailed the greatest +inconveniences, and very unnecessary expense. It +was most certainly desirable that overcrowding and +the consequent evolution of foul gases should be +guarded against; and in great cities, where the air +is always more or less impure, and contaminated +with the effluvia from factories as well as from human +breath, a large amount of cubic feet of space might +properly be insisted upon; but in villages where the +air is pure and free from the slightest contamination, +villages situated often on breezy hills, or at worst in +the midst of sweet meadow land, the hard-and-fast +rule of so many cubic feet is an intolerable burden +upon the supporters of the school. Still, that would +not be so objectionable were it confined to the actual +number of attendants at the school; but it would +appear that the Government grant is not applicable +to schools, unless they are large enough to allow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +to all children in the parish a certain given cubic +space.</p> + +<p>Now, as a matter of fact, nothing like all the +children of the parish attend the school. In rural +districts, especially, where the distance of cottages +from the school is often very great, there will always +be a heavy percentage of absentees. There will +also be a percentage who attend schools in connection +with a Dissenting establishment, and even a +certain number who attend private schools, to say +nothing of the numbers who never attend at all. It +is, then, extremely hard that the subscribers to a +school should be compelled to erect a building +sufficiently large to allow of the given quantity +of space to each and every child in the parish. +Matters like these have convinced the residents in +rural districts that the Act was framed without any +consideration of their peculiar position, and they +naturally feel repugnant to its introduction amongst +them, and decline to make it in any way a foundation +of village organization. The Act regulating the +age at which children may be employed in agriculture +was also an extension of an original Act, +passed to protect the interest of children in cities and +manufacturing districts. There is no objection to +the Act except that it is a dead-letter. How many +prosecutions have taken place under it? No one +ever hears of anything of the kind, and probably no +one ever will. The fact is, that since the universal +use of machinery there is not so ready an employment +for boys and children of that tender age as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +formerly. They are not by any means so greatly in +demand, neither do they pay so well, on account of +the much larger wages they now ask for. In addition, +the farmers are strongly in favour of the education +of their labourers' children, and place every +facility in the way of those attending school. In +many parishes a very strong moral pressure is +voluntarily put upon the labouring poor to induce +them to send their children, and the labouring poor +themselves have awakened in a measure to the +advantages of education. The Act, therefore, is +practically a dead-letter, and bears no influence upon +village life. These two Acts, and the alteration of +the law relating to sanitary matters—by which the +Guardians of the Poor become the rural sanitary +authority—are the only legislation of modern days +that goes direct to the heart of rural districts. The +rural sanitary authority possesses great powers, but +rarely exercises them. The constitution of that body +forbids an active supervision. It is made up of one +or two gentlemen from each parish, who are generally +elected to that office without any contest, and simply +because their brother farmers feel confidence in their +judgment. The principal objects to which their +attention is directed while at the board is to see that +no unnecessary expenditure is permitted, so as to +keep the rates at the lowest possible figure, and to +state all they know of the conduct and position of +the poor of their own parishes who apply for relief, +in which latter matter they afford the most valuable +assistance, many of the applicants having been known +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +to them for a score of years or more. But if there is +one thing a farmer dislikes more than another it is +meddling and interfering with other persons' business. +He would sooner put up with any amount of +inconvenience, and even serious annoyance, than take +an active step to remove the cause of his grumbling, +if that step involves the operation of the law against +his neighbours. The guardian who rides to the +board meeting week after week may be perfectly +well aware that the village which he represents is +suffering under a common nuisance: that there is a +pond in the middle of the place which emits an +offensive odour; that there are three or four cottages +in a dilapidated condition and unfit for human habitation, +or crowded to excess with dirty tenants; or +that the sewage of the place flows in an open ditch +into the brook which supplies the inhabitants with +water. He has not got power to deal with these +matters personally, but he can, if he chooses, bring +them before the notice of the board, which can +instruct its inspector (probably also its relieving +officer) to take action at law against the nuisance. +But it is not to be expected that a single person will +do anything of the kind.</p> + +<p>There is in all properly-balanced minds an instinctive +dislike to the office of public prosecutor, +and nothing more unpopular could be imagined. +The agriculturist who holds the office of guardian +does not feel it his duty to act as common spy and +informer, and he may certainly be pardoned if he +neglects to act contrary to his feelings as a gentleman. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +Therefore he rides by the stinking pond, the overcrowded +cottages, the polluted water, week by week, +and says nothing whatever. It is easy to remark +that the board has its inspector, who is paid to report +upon these matters; but the inspector has, in the +first place, to traverse an enormous extent of country, +and has no opportunity of becoming acquainted with +nuisances which are not unbearably offensive. He +has usually other duties to perform which occupy +the greater part of his time, and he is certainly not +overpaid for the work he does and the distance he +travels. He also has his natural feelings upon the +subject of making himself disagreeable, and he +shrinks from interference, unless instructed by his +superiors. His position is not sufficiently independent +to render him, in all cases, a free agent; so +it happens that the rural sanitary authority is practically +a nullity. It is too cumbrous, it meets at too +great a distance, and its powers, after all, even when +at last set in motion, are too limited to have any +appreciable effect in ameliorating the condition of +village life. But even if this nominal body were +actively engaged in prosecuting offenders, the desired +result would be far from being attained. One of +the most serious matters is the supply of water for +public use in villages. At the present moment there +exists no authority which can cause a parish to be +supplied with good drinking water. While the +great centres of population have received the most +minute attention from the Legislature, the large +population which resides in villages has been left to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +its own devices, with the exception of the three +measures, the first of which is unsuitable and strenuously +opposed, the second a dead-letter, and the third +cumbrous and practically inoperative.</p> + +<p>Let us now examine the authorities which act +under ancient enactments, or by reason of long standing, +immemorial custom. The first of these may be +taken to be the Vestry. The powers of the vestries +appear to have formerly been somewhat extended, +but in these latter times the influence they exercise +has been very much curtailed. At the time when +each parish relieved its own poor, the Vestry was +practically the governing authority of the village, +and possessed almost unlimited power, so far as the +poor were concerned. That power was derived from +its control over the supply of bread to the destitute. +As the greater part of the working population received +relief, it followed that the Vestry, composed +of the agriculturists and landowners, was practically +autocratic. Still longer ago, when the laws of the +land contained certain enactments as to the attendance +of persons at church, the Vestry had still greater +powers. But at present, in most parishes, the Vestry +is a nominal assembly, and frequently there is a +difficulty in getting sufficient numbers of people +together to constitute a legal authority. The poor +rate is no longer made at the Vestry; the church +rate is a thing of the past; and what is then left? +There is the appointment of overseers, churchwardens, +and similar formal matters; but the power +has departed. In all probability they will never be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +resuscitated, because in all authorities of the kind +there is a suspicion of Church influence; and there +seems to be almost as much dislike to any shadow of +that as against the political and temporal claims of +the Roman Pontiff. The Vestry can never again +become a popular vehicle of administration. The +second is the Board of Guardians—though this is +not properly a village or local authority at all, but +merely a representative firm for the supervision of +certain funds in which a number of villages are +partners, and which can only be applied to a few +stated purposes, under strictly limited conditions. +There is no popular feeling involved in the expenditure +of this fund, except that of economy, and +almost any ratepayer may be trusted to vote for this; +so that the office of guardian is a most routine one, +and offers no opportunity of reform. Often one +gentleman will represent a village for twenty years, +being simply nominated, or even not as much as +nominated, from year to year. If at last he grows +tired of the monotony, and mentions it to his friends, +they nominate another gentleman, always chosen for +his good-fellowship and known dislike to change or +interference—a man, in fact, without any violent +opinions. He is nominated, and takes his seat. +There is no emulation, no excitement. The Board +of Guardians would assume more of the character +of a local authority if it possessed greater freedom of +action. But its course is so rigidly bound down by +minute regulations and precedents that it really has +no volition of its own, and can only deal with circumstances +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +as they arise, according to a code laid down +at a distance. It is not permitted to discriminate; it +can neither relax nor repress; it is absolutely inelastic. +In consequence it does not approach to the +idea of a real local power, but rather resembles an +assembly of unpaid clerks doling out infinitesimal +sums of money to an endless stream of creditors, +according to written instructions left by the absent +head of the firm. Next there is the Highway +Board; but this also possesses but limited authority, +and deals only with roads. It has merely to see that +the roads are kept in good repair, and that no encroachments +are made upon them. Like the Board +of Guardians, it is a most useful body; but its +influence upon village life is indirect and indeterminate. +There only remains the Court Leet. +This, the most ancient and absolute of all, nevertheless +approaches in principle nearest to the ideal of a +local village authority. It is supposed to be composed +of the lord of the manor, and of his court or +jury of tenants, and its object is to see that the rights +of the manor are maintained. The Court Leet was +formerly a very important assembly, but in our time +its offices are minute, and only apply to small +interests. It is held at long intervals of time—as +long, in some instances, as seven years—and is summoned +by the steward of the lord of the manor, and +commonly held at an inn, refreshments being supplied +by the lord. Here come all the poor persons +who occupy cottages or garden grounds on quit-rent, +and pay their rent, which may amount in seven years +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +to as much as fourteen shillings. A member of the +court will, perhaps, draw the attention of the court +to the fact that a certain ditch or watercourse has +become choked up, and requires clearing out or +diverting; and if this ditch be upon the manor, the +court can order it to be attended to. On the manor +they have also jurisdiction over timber, paths, and +similar matters, and can order that a cottage which +is dilapidated shall be repaired or removed. In point +of fact, however, the Court Leet is merely a jovial +assembly of the tenants upon the estate of the landowner, +who drink so many bottles of sherry at his +expense, and set to right a few minute grievances.</p> + +<p>In many places—the vast majority, indeed—there +is no longer any Court Leet held, because the +manorial rights have become faint and indistinct +with the passage of time; the manor has been sold, +split up into two or three estates, the entail cut off; +or the manor as a manor has totally disappeared +under the changes of ownership, and the various +deeds and liabilities which have arisen. But this +merely general gathering of the farmers of the village—where +Court Leets are still held, all farmers are +invited, irrespective of their supposed allegiance to +the lord of the manor or not—this pleasant dinner +and sherry party, which meets to go through obsolete +customs, and exercise minute and barely legal rights, +contains nevertheless many of the elements of a +desirable local authority. It is composed of gentlemen +of all shades of opinion; no politics are introduced. +It meets in the village itself, and under the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +direct sanction of the landowner. Its powers are +confined to strictly local matters, and its members +are thoroughly acquainted with those matters. The +affairs of the village are discussed without acrimony, +and a certain amount of understanding arrived at. +It regulates disputes and grievances arising between +the inhabitants of cottage property, and can see that +that property is habitable. It acts more by custom, +habit, more by acquiescence of the parties than by +any imperious, hard-and-fast law laid down at a +distance from the scene. But any hope of the +resuscitation of Court Leets must not be entertained, +because in so many places the manor is now merely +'reputed,' and has no proper existence; because, too, +the lord of the manor may be living at a distance, and +possess scarcely any property in the parish, except his +'rights.' The idea, however, of the agriculturists and +principal residents in a village meeting in a friendly +manner together, under the direct leadership of the +largest landowner, to discuss village matters, is one +that may be revived with some prospect of success. +At present, who, pray, has the power of so much as +convening a meeting of the parishioners, or of taking +the sense of the village? It may be done by the +churchwardens convening a Vestry, but a Vestry is +extremely limited in authority, unpopular, and without +any cohesion. Under the new Education Acts +the signatures of a certain number of ratepayers to +a requisition compels the officer appointed by law to +call a meeting, but only for objects connected with +the school. Upon consideration it appears that there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +really is no village authority at all; no recognized +place or time at which the principal inhabitants can +meet together and discuss the affairs of the parish +with a prospect of immediate action resulting. The +meetings of the magistrates at petty sessions, quarter +sessions, and at various other times are purposely +omitted from this argument, because there is rarely +more than one magistrate resident in a village, or at +most two, and the assemblies of these gentlemen at +a distance from their homes cannot be taken to form +a village council in any sense of the term.</p> + +<p>The places where agriculturists and the principal +inhabitants of the parish do meet together and discuss +matters in a friendly spirit are the churchyard, before +service, the market dinner, the hunting-field, and the +village inn. The last has fallen into disuse. It used +to be the custom to meet at the central village inn +night after night to hear the news, as well as for convivial +purposes. In those days of slow travelling and +few posts, the news was communicated from village +to village by pedlars, or carriers' carts calling, as they +went, at each inn. But now it is a rare thing to find +farmers at the inn in their own village. The old +drinking habits have died out. It is not that there +is any prejudice against the inn; but there is a cessation +of the inducement to sit there night after night. +People do not care to drink as they used to, and they +can get the news just as well at home. The parlour +at the inn has ceased to be the village parliament. +The hunting-field is an unfavourable place for discussion, +since in the midst of a remark the hounds may +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +start, and away go speaker and listener, and the subject +is forgotten. The market dinner is not so general +and friendly a meeting as it was. There is a large +admixture of manure and machinery agents, travellers +for seed-merchants, corn-dealers, and others who have +no interest in purely local matters, and the dinner +itself is somewhat formal, with its regular courses of +fish and so forth, till the talk is more or less constrained +and general. The churchyard is a singular place of +meeting, but it is still popular. The agriculturist +walks into the yard about a quarter to eleven, sees a +friend; a third joins; then the squire strolls round from +his carriage, and a pleasant chat ensues, till the ceasing +bell reminds them that service is about to commence. +But this is a very narrow representation of the village, +and is perhaps never made up on two occasions of the +same persons. The duration of the gathering is extremely +short, and it has no cohesion or power of action.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to convey an adequate idea of the +desultory nature of village life. There is an utter +lack of any kind of cohesion, a total absence of any +common interest, or social bond of union. There is +no <i>esprit de corps</i>. In old times there was, to a certain +extent—in the days when each village was divided +against its neighbour, and fiercely contested with it +the honour of sending forth the best backsword +player. No one wishes those times to return. We +have still village cricket clubs, who meet each other +in friendly battle, but there is no enthusiasm over it. +The players themselves are scarcely excited, and it is +often difficult to get sufficient together to fulfil an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +engagement. There is the dinner of the village +benefit club, year after year. The object of the club +is of the best, but its appearance upon club-day is +a woeful spectacle to eyes that naturally look for +a little taste upon an occasion of supposed festivity. +What can be more melancholy than a procession of +men clad in ill-fitting black clothes, in which they +are evidently uncomfortable, with blue scarves over +the shoulder, headed with a blatant brass band, and +going first to church, and then all round the place +for beer? They eat their dinner and disperse, and +then there is an end of the matter. There is no +social bond of union, no connection.</p> + +<p>It is questionable whether this desultoriness is +a matter for congratulation. It fosters an idle, slow, +clumsy, heedless race of men—men who are but +great children, who have no public feeling whatever—without +a leading idea. This fact was most patently +exhibited at the last General Election, when the agricultural +labourers for the first time exercised the franchise +freely to any extent. The great majority of them +voted plump for the candidate favoured by the squire +or by the farmer. There was nothing unreasonable +in this; it is natural and fit that men should support +the candidate who comes nearest to their interest; +but, then, let there be some better reason for it than +the simple fact 'that master goes that way.' Whether +it be for Liberal or Conservative, whatever be the +party, surely it is desirable that the labourer should +possess a leading idea, an independent conviction of +what is for the public good. Let it be a mistaken +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +conviction, it is better than an absence of all feeling; +but politics are no part of the question. Politics +apart, the villager might surely have some conception +of what is best for his own native place, the parish +in which he was born and bred, and with every field +in which he is familiar. But no, nothing of the kind. +He goes to and fro his work, receives his wages, spends +them at the ale-house, and wanders listlessly about. +The very conception of a public feeling never occurs +to him; it is all desultory. A little desultory work—except +in harvest, labourer's work cannot be called +downright <i>work</i>—a little desultory talk, a little +desultory rambling about, a good deal of desultory +drinking: these are the sum and total of it; no, add +a little desultory smoking and purposeless mischief +to make it complete. Why should not the labourer +be made to feel an interest in the welfare, the prosperity, +and progress of his own village? Why should +he not be supplied with a motive for united action? +All experience teaches that united action, even on +small matters, has a tendency to enlarge the minds +and the whole powers of those engaged. The labourer +feels so little interest in his own progress, because the +matter is only brought before him in its individual +bearing. You can rarely interest a single person in +the improvement of himself, but you can interest +a number in the progress of that number as a body. +The vacancy of mind, the absence of any ennobling +aspiration, so noticeable in the agricultural labourer, +is a painful fact. Does it not, in great measure, arise +from this very desultory life—from this procrastinating +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +dislike to active exertion? Supply a motive—a general +public motive—and the labourer will wake up. At +the present moment, what interest has an ordinary +agricultural labourer in the affairs of his own village? +Practically none whatever. He may, perhaps, pay +rates; but these are administered at a distance, and +he knows nothing of the system by which they are +dispensed. If his next-door neighbour's cottage is +tumbling down, the thatch in holes, the doors off +their hinges, it matters nothing to him. Certainly, +he cannot himself pay for its renovation, and there is +no fund to which he can subscribe so much as a penny +with that object in view. A number of cottages may +be without a supply of water. Well, he cannot help +it; probably he never gives a thought to it. There +is no governing body in the place responsible for such +things—no body in the election of which he has any +hand. He puts his hands in his pockets and slouches +about, smoking a short pipe, and drinks a quart at +the nearest ale-house. He is totally indifferent. +To go still further, there can be no doubt that the +absence of any such ruling body, even if ruling only +on sufferance, has a deteriorating effect upon the +minds of the best-informed and broadest-minded +agriculturist. He sees a nuisance or a grievance, +possibly something that may approach the nature of +a calamity. 'Ah, well,' he sighs, 'I can't help it; +I've no power to interfere.' He walks round his +farm, examines his sheep, pats his horses, and rides +to market, and naturally forgets all about it. Were +there any ready and available means by which the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +nuisance could be removed, or the calamity in some +measure averted, the very same man would at once +put it in motion, and never cease till the desired +result was attained; but the total absence of any +authority, any common centre, tends to foster what +appears an utter indifference. How can it be otherwise? +The absence of such a body tends, therefore, +in two ways to the injury of the labourer: first, +because he has no means of helping himself; and, +secondly, because those above him in social station +have no means of assisting him. But why cannot +the squire step in and do all that is wanted? What +is there that the landowner is not expected to do? +He is compelled by the law to contribute to the +maintenance of roads by heavy subscriptions, while +men of much larger income, but no real property, +ride over them free of cost. He is expected by +public opinion to rebuild all the cottages on his +estate, introducing all the modern improvements, to +furnish them with large plots of garden ground, to +supply them with coal during the winter at nominal +cost, to pay three parts of the expense of erecting +schools, and what not. He is expected to extend +the farm-buildings upon the farms, to rebuild the +farmsteads, and now to compensate the tenants for +improvements, though he may not particularly care +for them, knowing full well by experience that improvements +are a long time before they pay any +interest on the principal invested. Now we expect +him to remove all nuisances in the village, to supply +water, to exercise a wise paternal authority, and all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +at his own cost. The whole thing is unreasonable. +Many landowners have succeeded to heavily-burdened +estates. The best estates pay, it must be remembered, +but a very small comparative interest upon their value—in +some instances not more than two and a half per +cent. Moreover, almost all landowners do take an +interest in improvements, and are ready to forward +them; but can a gentleman be expected to go round +from cottage to cottage performing the duties of an +inspector of nuisances? and, if he did so, would it be +tolerated for an instant? The outcry would be raised +of interference, tyranny, overbearing insolence, intolerable +intrusion. It is undoubtedly the landowner's +duty to forward all reasonable schemes of +improvement; but if the inhabitants are utterly +indifferent to progress of any kind, it is not his duty +to issue an autocratical ukase. Let the inhabitants +combine, in however loose and informal a manner, +and the landowner will always be ready to assist +them with purse and moral support.</p> + +<p>Granting, then, that there is at present no such +local authority, and that it is desirable—what are the +objects which would come within its sphere of operation? +In an article which had the honour of appearing +in a former number of this magazine,<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> the +writer pointed out that the extension of the allotment +system was only delayed because there was no +body or authority which had power to increase the +area under spade cultivation. Throughout the +country there is an undoubted conviction that such +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +extension is extremely desirable, but who is to take +the initiative? There is an increasing demand for +these gardens—a demand that will probably make +itself loudly felt as time goes on and the population +grows larger. Even those villages that possess allotment +grounds would be in a better position if there +were some body who held rule over the gardens, +and administered them according to varying circumstances. +Some of these allotments are upon the +domain of the landowner, and have been broken +up for the purpose under his directions; but it is +not every gentleman who has either the time or the +inclination to superintend the actual working of the +gardens, and they are often left pretty much to take +care of themselves. Other allotment grounds are +simply matters of speculation with the owner, and +are let out to the highest bidder in order to make +money, without any species of control whatever. +This is not desirable for many reasons, and such +owners deprecate the extension of the system, because +if a larger area were offered to the labourer, the +letting value would diminish, since there would be +less competition for the lots. There can be very +little doubt that the allotment garden will form an +integral part of the social system of the future, and, +as such, will require proper regulation. If it is to be +so, it is obviously desirable that it should be in the +hands of a body of local gentlemen with a perfect +knowledge of the position and resource of the +numerous small tenants, and a thorough comprehension +of the practical details which are essential to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +success in such cultivation. It may be predicted +that the first step which would ensue upon the +formation of such a body would be an extension +of allotments. There would be no difficulty in +renting a field or fields for that purpose. The village +council, as we may for convenience term it, would +select a piece of ground possessing an easily-moved +soil, avoiding stiff clay on the one hand, and too +light, sandy ground on the other. For this piece +they would give a somewhat higher rent than it +would obtain for agricultural purposes—say £3 per +acre—which they would guarantee to the owner after +the manner of a syndicate. They would cause the +hedges to be pared down to the very smallest proportions, +but the mounds to be somewhat raised, +so as to avoid harbouring birds, and at the same +time safely exclude cattle, which in a short time +would play havoc with the vegetables. If possible, a +road should run right across the plot, with a gateway +on either side, so that a cart might pass straight +through, pick up its load, and go on and out without +turning. Each plot should have a frontage upon +this road, or to branch roads running at right angles +to it, so that each tenant could remove his produce +without trespassing upon the plot of his neighbour. +Such trespasses often lead to much ill-will. The +narrow paths dividing these strips should be sufficiently +wide to allow of wheeling a barrow down +them, and should on no account be permitted to be +overgrown with grass. Grass-paths are much prettier, +but are simply reservoirs of couch, weeds, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +slugs, and therefore to be avoided. The whole field +should be accurately mapped, and each plot numbered +on the map, and a strong plug driven into the +plot with a similar number upon it—a plan which +renders identification easy, and prevents disputes. +A book should be kept, with the name of every +tenant entered into it, and indexed, like a ledger, +with the initial letter. Against the name of the +tenant should be placed the area of his holdings, and +the numbers of his plots upon the map; and in this +book the date of his tenancy, and any change of +holding, should be registered. There should be a +book of printed forms (not to be torn out) of agreement, +with blank spaces for name, date, and number, +which should be signed by the tenant. In a third +book all payments and receipts should be entered. +This sounds commercial, and looks like serious business; +but as the rent would be payable half-yearly +only, there would be really very little trouble required, +and the saving of disputes very great. +During the season of cropping, the payment of a +small gratuity to the village policeman would insure +the allotment being well watched, and if pilferers +were detected they should invariably be prosecuted. +As many of the tenants would come from long distances, +and would not frequent their plots every +evening, there might possibly be a small lock-up +tool-house in which to deposit their tools, the key +being left in charge of some old man living in an +adjacent cottage. The rules of cultivation would +depend in some measure upon the nature of the soil, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +but such a village council would be composed of +practical men, who would have no difficulty whatever +in drawing up concise and accurate instructions. +The council could depute one or more members to +receive the rent-money and to keep the books, and if +any labour were required, there are always bailiffs +and trustworthy men who could be employed to do +it. At a small expense the field should be properly +drained before being opened, and even though let at +a very low charge per perch, there would still remain +an overplus above the rent paid by the council for +the field, sufficient in a short time to clear off the +debt incurred in draining.</p> + +<p>It is very rarely that allotment gardens are sufficiently +manured, and this is a subject that would +come very properly under the jurisdiction of the +allotment committee of our village council. Some +labourers keep a pig or two, but all do not; and +many living at a considerable distance would find, +and do find, a difficulty in conveying any manure +they may possess to the spot. So it often happens +that gardens are cropped year after year without any +substances being restored to the soil, which gradually +becomes less productive. Means should be devised +of supplying this deficiency. Manure is valuable to +the farmer, but still he could spare a little—quite +sufficient for this purpose. Suppose the allotment +gardens consisted of twelve acres, then let one-fourth, +or three acres, be properly manured every year. This +would be no strain upon the product of manure in +the vicinity, and in four years—four years' system—the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +whole of the field would receive a proper amount, +in addition to the small quantities the labourer's pig +produced. Every tenant, in his agreement, could be +caused to pay, in addition to his rent, once every +four years, a small sum in part-payment for this +manuring, and also for the hauling of the material +to the field. This payment would not represent the +actual value of the manure, but it would maintain +the principle of self-help; and, as far as possible, the +allotments should be self-supporting. In cases of +dispute, the committee would simply have to refer +the matter to the council, and the thing would be +definitely settled; but under a regular system of +this kind, as it were mapped down and written out, +no obstinate disputes could arise. In this one matter +of allotment-gardens alone there is plenty of scope +for the exertions of a village council, and incalculable +good might be attained. The very order and systematic +working of the thing would have a salutary +effect upon the desultory life of the village.</p> + +<p>Next comes the water-supply of the village. This +is a matter of vital importance. There are, of course, +villages where water is abundant, even too abundant, +as in low-lying meadow-land by the side of rivers +which are liable to overflow. There are villages +traversed throughout the whole of their length by +a brook running parallel with the road, so that to +gain access to each cottage it is necessary to cross +a 'drock,' or small bridge, and in summer-time such +villages are very picturesque. In the colder months, +the mist on the water and damp air are not so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +pleasant or healthy. Many villages, situated at the +edge of a range of hills—a most favourite position +for villages—are supplied with good springs of the +clearest water rising in those hills. But there are +also large numbers of villages placed high up above +the water-level on the same hills, which are most +scantily supplied with water; and there are also +villages far away down in the valley which are liable +to run short in the summer or dry time, when the +'bourne,' or winter watercourse, fails them. Such +places, situated in the midst of rich meadows, can +sometimes barely find water enough for the cattle, +who are not so particular as to quality. Even in +places where there is a good natural spring, or a +brook which is rarely dry, the cottagers experience +no little difficulty in conveying it to their homes, +which may be situated a mile away. It is not +uncommon in country places to see the water trickling +along in the ditch by the roadside bayed up +with a miniature dam in front of a cottage, and from +the turbid pool thus formed the woman fills her +kettle. People who live in towns, and can turn on +the water in any room of their houses without the +slightest exertion, have no idea of the difficulty the +poor experience in the country in procuring good +water, despite all the beautiful rivers and springs +and brooks which poetry sings of. After a man or +woman has worked all day in the field, perhaps at +a distance of two miles from home, it is weary and +discouraging work to have to trudge with the pail +another weary half-mile or so to the pool for water. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +It is harder still, after trudging that weary half-mile, +pail in hand, to find the water almost too low to dip, +muddied by cattle, and diminished in quantity to +serve the pressing needs of the animals living higher +up the stream. Now, in starting, it may be assumed +that the nearest source of water in a village is certain +to be found upon the premises of some agriculturist. +He will, doubtless, be perfectly willing to allow free +access to his stream or pool; but he cannot be expected +to construct conveniences for the public use, +and he may even feel naturally annoyed if continual +use by thirty people, twice a day, finally breaks his +pump. He naturally believes that other gentlemen +in the village should take an equal interest with +himself in the public welfare, but they do not appear +to do so. It may be that the path to the pump +leads through the private garden, right before his +sitting-room window, and the constant passage of +women and children for water, particularly children, +who are apt to lounge and stare about them, becomes +a downright nuisance. This, surely, ought not to +be. A very little amount of united action on the +part of the principal inhabitants of the village would +put this straight. The pump could be repaired, a +new path made, and the water conveyed to a stone +trough by a hose, or something of the kind, and the +owner would be quite willing to sanction it, but +he does not see why it should all be done at his +expense. The other inhabitants of the village see +the difficulty, recognize it, perhaps talk about remedying +it, but nothing is done, simply because there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +exists no body, no council to undertake it. Spontaneous +combination is extremely uncertain in its +action; the organization should exist before the +necessity for utilizing it arises. In other places what +is wanted is a well, but cottagers cannot afford to dig +a deep well, and certainly no combination can be +expected from them alone and unassisted. Village +wells require also to be under some kind of supervision. +At intervals they require cleaning out. The +machinery for raising water must be prepared; the +cover to prevent accidents to children renewed. A +well that has no one to look after it quickly becomes +the receptacle of all the stones and old boots and +dead cats in the place. But if there is a terror of +prosecution, the well remains clear and useful. The +digging of a deep well is an event of national importance, +so to say, to a village. It may happen +that a noble spring of water bursts out some little +distance from the village, but is practically useless to +the inhabitants because of its distance. What more +easy than to run a hose from it right to a stone +trough, or dipping-place, in the centre of the village? +In most cases, very simple engineering ability would +be sufficient to supply the hamlet. The hose, or +whatever the plan might be, need not take half nor +a quarter of the water thrown out by the spring. +The owner might object; certainly he would object +to any forcible carrying away of his water; but if he +were himself a party to the scheme, and to receive +compensation for any injury, he would not do so.</p> + +<p>Water has been the cause of more disputes, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +probably, than anything else between neighbouring +agriculturists. One wishes it for his water-meadows, +another for his cattle, a third for his home-consumption; +then there is, perhaps, the miller to be consulted. +After all, there is, in most cases, more than +enough water for everybody, and a very little mutual +yielding would accommodate all, and supply the +village in the bargain. But each party being alone +in his view, without any mediator, the result may be +a lawsuit, or ill-blood, lasting for years; the cutting +down of bays and dams, the possible collision of the +men employed.</p> + +<p>Between these parties, between agriculturists themselves, +the establishment of a species of village council +would often lead to peace and harmony. The advice +and expressed wishes of their neighbour, the influence +of the clergyman and the resident landlord, and the +existence of a common public want in the village, +would have an irresistible effect; and what neither +would yield to his opponent, all would yield to a +body of friends. Taken in this way it may safely be +considered that there would be no difficulty in obtaining +access to water. In places which are still less +fortunate and, especially in dry times, are at a greater +distance from the precious element, there still remains +a plan by which sufficient could be secured, and +that is the portable water-tank. Our agricultural +machinists now turn out handsome and capacious +iron tanks which are coming into general use. Now, +no one farmer can be expected to send water-tank +and team three or four times every evening to fetch +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +up water for the use of cottagers, not one-twentieth +of whom work for him. But why should there not +be a tank, the public property of the village, and why +should not teams take it in turn? Undoubtedly +something of the kind would immediately spring into +existence were there any village organization whatever. +In a large number of villages, the natural +supply would be sufficient during three parts of the +year, and it would be only in summer that any +assistance would be necessary.</p> + +<p>While on the subject of water, another matter may +as well be dealt with, and that is the establishment of +bathing-places near villages. This is, of course, impossible +over considerable areas of country where +water is scarce, and especially scarce in the bathing +season. Even in many places, however, where water +is comparatively deficient in quantity, there are +usually some great ponds, which for part of the +season could be made applicable for bathing purposes. +There then remain an immense number of villages +situated on or near a stream, and wherever there is a +stream a bathing-place is practicable. At the present +moment it would be difficult to find one such place, +unless on the banks of a large river, and rivers are far +between. The boys and young men who feel a +natural desire to bathe in the warm weather resort to +muddy ponds, with a filthy bottom of black slush, or +paddle about in shallow brooks no more than knee-deep, +or in the water-carriers in water meadows. +This species of bathing is practically useless; it does +not answer any purposes of cleanliness, and learning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +to swim is out of the question. The formation of a +proper bathing-place presents few difficulties. A spot +must be chosen near to the village, but far enough +away for decency. The bottom of the stream should +be covered with a layer of sand and small gravel, +carefully avoiding large stones and sharp-edged flints. +Much of the pleasure of bathing depends upon a good +bottom, and nothing is more likely to deter a young +beginner than the feeling that he cannot place his +feet on the ground without the danger of lacerating +them. For this reason, also, care should be taken +to exclude all boughs and branches, and particularly +the prickly bushes cut from hedges, which are most +annoying to bathers. The stream should be bayed +up to a depth at the deepest part of about five feet, +which is quite deep enough for ordinary swimming, +and reduces the danger to a minimum. If possible, +a strong smooth rail should run across the pool, or +partly across. This is for the encouragement of +boys and young bathers, who like something to catch +hold of, and it is also an adjunct in learning to swim, +for the boy can stand opposite to it, and after two or +three strokes place his hand on it, and so gradually +increasing the distance, he can swim without once +losing confidence. Those who cannot swim can hold +to the rail and splash about and enjoy themselves. +Such a bathing-place will sound childish enough to +strong swimmers, who have learnt to go long +distances with ease in the Thames or in the sea, but +it must be remembered that we are dealing with an +inland population who are timid of water. A boy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +who can cross such a small pool without touching the +bottom with his feet, would soon feel at home in +broader waters, if ever circumstances should bring +him near them. If there is no stream a large pond +could be cleaned out, and sand and gravel placed +upon the bottom—almost anything is better than the +soft oozy mud, which, once stirred up, will not settle +for hours, and destroys all pleasure or benefit from +bathing. No building is necessary to dress in, or +anything of that kind. The place selected would be, +of course, at a distance from any public footpath, and +even if it were near there are so few passing in rural +outlying districts that no one need be shocked. +But if it was considered necessary an older man +could be paid a small sum to walk down every +evening, or at the stated hours for bathing, and see +that no irregularity occurred. A loose pole or two +always kept near the stream or pond, and ready to +hand, would amply provide against any little danger +there might be. Bathing is most important to health, +and if a really good swim is possible there is nothing +so conducive to an elasticity of frame. Our labourers +are notoriously strong and muscular, and possess +considerable power of endurance (though they destroy +their 'wind,' in running phraseology, by too much +beer), but their strength is clumsy, their gait ungainly, +their run heavy and slow. The freedom of motion +in the water, the simultaneous use of arms and limbs, +the peculiar character of the exercise, renders it one, +above all others, calculated to give an ease and grace +to the body. In a good physical education, swimming +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +must form an important part; and the labourer +requires a physical education quite as much as a +mental. The bathing-place, as a means of inducing +personal cleanliness, would have its uses. The +cottages of the labouring poor are often models +of cleanliness, but the persons of the inhabitants +precisely the reverse. The expense of such a bathing-place +need be but very small. If it was situated in a +cow-leaze, the bathing could begin the moment the +spring became warm enough; if in a meadow usually +mown, as soon as the grass has been cut, which +would be early in June. It would perhaps be necessary +to have stated hours of bathing; but no other +regulation—the less restriction the better the privilege +would be appreciated. Exercises of this character +could not be too much encouraged. Every accomplishment +of the kind adds a new power to the man, +and gives him a sense of superiority.</p> + +<p>There should be a rough kind of gymnasium for +the villagers. Almost always a piece of waste ground +could be found, and the requisite materials are very +simple and inexpensive. A few upright poles for +climbing; horizontal bars; a few ropes, and a ladder +would be sufficient. In wet weather some large +open cow-house could be utilized for such purposes. +In summer such outbuildings are empty, the cattle +being in the fields. A few pairs of quoits also could +be added at a small cost. Wrestling, perhaps, had +better be avoided, as liable to lead to quarrels; but +jumping and running should be fostered, and prizes +presented for excellence. It is not the value of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +prize, it is the fact that it is a prize. A good strong +pocket-knife with four or five blades would be valued +by a ploughboy, and a labourer would be pleased +with an ornamental pipe costing five shillings, or +a hoe or spade could be substituted as more useful.</p> + +<p>The institution of such annual village games, the +bathing-place, the gymnasium in the open air, the +running match, the quoits, would have a tendency to +awaken the emulation of the labouring class; and +once awaken the emulation, an increase of intelligence +follows. A man would feel that he was not altogether +a mere machine, to do so much work and then trudge +home and sleep. Lads would have something better +to do than play pitch-and-toss, and slouch about the +place, learning nothing but bad language. A life +would be imparted to the village, there would be a +centre of union, a gathering-place, and a certain +amount of proper pride in the village, and an <i>esprit +de corps</i> would spring up. In all these things the +labourer should be encouraged to carry them out as +much as possible in his own way, and without interference +or supervision. Make the bathing-place, +erect the poles and horizontal bars, establish the +pocket-knife and hoe prizes, present the quoits, but +let him use them in his own way. There must be +freedom, liberty, or the attempt would certainly fail.</p> + +<p>How many villages have so much as a reading-room? +Such a local council as has been indicated +would soon come to discuss the propriety of establishing +such an institution. If managed strictly with a +view to the real wants and ideas of the people, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +not in accordance with any preconceived principles of +so-called instruction, it would be certain to succeed. +The labouring poor dislike instruction being forced +down their throats quite as much, or more, than the +upper classes. The very worst way to induce a man +to learn is to begin by telling him he is ignorant, and +thereby insulting his self-esteem. A village reading-room +should be open to all, and not to subscribers +only. From six till nine in the evening would +be long enough for it to be open, and the key could +be kept by some adjacent cottager. With every +respect for the schoolmaster, let the schoolmaster be +kept away from it. If there is a night-school, keep +it distinct from the reading-room; let the reading-room +be a voluntary affair, without the slightest +suspicion of <i>drill</i> attaching to it. It should be a +place where a working man could come in, and sit +down and <i>spell</i> over a book, without the consciousness +that someone was watching him, ready to snap +him up at a mistake. Exclude all 'goody' books; +there are sects in villages as well as towns, and the +presence of an obnoxious work may do much harm. +To the Bible itself, in clear print, no sect will object; +but let it be the Bible only. A collection of amusing +literature can easily be made. For £5 enough +books could be bought on an old bookstall in London +to stock a village library; such as travels, tales—not +despising Robinson Crusoe—and a few popular +expositions of science. There should be one daily +paper. It could be brought by one of the milk-carts +from the nearest railway-station. This daily paper +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +would form a very strong counteraction to the ale-house. +Of course, the ale-house would start a daily +in opposition; but at the reading-room the labourer +would soon learn that he need not purchase a glass of +beer in order to pay for his news. The daily paper +would be a most important feature, for such papers +are rare in villages. Very few farmers even take +them. The rent of a room for this purpose in a village +would be almost nominal. A small room would be +sufficient, for only a few would be present at a time. +Cricket clubs may be left to establish themselves.</p> + +<p>The next suggestion the writer is about to make +will be thought a very bold one; but is it not rational +enough when the first novelty of the idea has subsided? +It is, that an annual excursion should be +arranged for the villagers. It is common to see in +the papers appeals made on behalf of the poor +children of crowded districts in London, for funds to +give them a day in the country. It is stated that +they never see anything but stone pavements; never +breathe anything but smoky air. The appeal is a +proper and good one, and should be generously +responded to. Now, the position of the villager is +the exact antithesis. He, or she, sees nothing but +green fields or bare fields all the year round. They +hear nothing but a constant iteration of talk about +cattle, crops, and weather—important matters, but +apt to grow monotonous. It may be, that for thirty +years they never for one day lose sight of the hills +overhanging the village. Their subjects of conversation +are consequently extremely narrow. They want +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +a change quite as much as the dwellers in cities; but +it is a change of another character—a change to +bustle and excitement. Factories and large tradesmen +arrange trips for their work-people once or +twice a year. Why should not the agricultural +labourers have a trip? A trip of the simplest kind +would satisfy them, and afford matter of conversation +for months. All railway lines now issue tickets at +reduced rates for parties above a certain number. +For instance, to the population of an inland village, +what would be more delightful than a few hours on +the sea-beach? Where the sea is not within easy +reach, take them to a great town—if possible, +London—but if not London, any large town will be +a change. There is no great difficulty in the plan. +Perhaps twenty or thirty would be the largest +number who would wish to go. Let these assemble +at a stated hour and place, and take them down to the +railway-station with two or three waggons and teams, +which should also meet them on their return. The +expense would not be great, and might be partly borne +by the excursionists themselves. All that is wanted +is some amount of leadership, a little organization. +Such enterprises as these would go far to create a +genuine mutual understanding and pleasant feeling +between employer and employed. There may be +outlying places where such an excursion would be +very difficult. Then harness the horses to the +waggons, and take them to a picnic ten miles off on +a noted hill or heath, or by the side of a river—somewhere +for a change. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>To return to more serious matters. Perhaps it +would be as well if the first endeavour of such a local +authority were addressed to the smaller matters that +have been just alluded to, so that the public mind +might become gradually accustomed to change, and +prepared for greater innovations. Village drainage +is notoriously defective. Anyone who has walked +through a village or hamlet must be perfectly well +aware that there is no drainage, from the unpleasant +odours that constantly assail the nostrils. It seems +absurd, that with such an expanse of open country +around, and with such an exposure to the fresh air, +such foul substances should be permitted to contaminate +the atmosphere. Each cottager either +throws the sewage right into the road, and allows it +to find its way as it can by the same channel as the +rain-water; or, at best, flings it into the ditch at the +back, which parts the garden from the agricultural +land. Here it accumulates and soaks into the soil +till the first storm of rain, which sweeps it away, but +at the same time causes an abominable smell. It is +positively unbearable to pass some cottages after a +fresh shower.</p> + +<p>Not unfrequently this ditch at the back of the +garden runs down to the stream from which the +cottagers draw their water, and the dipping-place +may be close to the junction of the two. In places +where there is a fall—when the cottages are built +upon a slope—there can be little difficulty about +drainage; but here steps in the question of water-supply, +for drains of this character require flushing. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +The supply of water must, therefore, in such places, +precede the attempt at drainage. The disposal of +the sewage, when collected, offers no difficulty. Its +value is well understood, and it would be welcomed +upon agricultural land. In the case of villages where +there is no natural fall, and small hamlets and outlying +cottages, the Moule system should be encouraged, +especially as it affords a valuable product +that can be transported to the allotment garden. A +certain amount of most unreasonable prejudice exists +against the introduction of this useful contrivance, +which every means should be used to overcome. +Now, most farm-houses stand apart, and in their own +grounds, where any system of sewer is almost impossible. +These are the very places where the Moule +plan is available; and if agriculturists were to employ +it, the poor would quickly learn its advantages. It +would, perhaps, be even better than a public sewer in +large villages, for a sewer entails an amount of supervision, +repairs, and must have an outfall, and other +difficulties, such as flushing with water, and, if +neglected, it engenders sewer-gas, which is more +dangerous than the sewage itself. The plan to be +pursued depends entirely upon the circumstances of +the place and the configuration of the ground. The +subject of drainage connects itself with that of +nuisances. This is, perhaps, the most difficult +matter with which a local authority would have to +deal. Nuisances are comparative. One man may +not consider that to be a nuisance which may be an +intolerable annoyance to his neighbour. The keeping +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +of pigs, for instance, is a troublesome affair. +The cottager cannot be requested to give up so +reasonable a habit; but there can be no doubt that +the presence of a number of pigs in a village, in +their dirty sties, and with their accompanying heaps +of decaying garbage, is very offensive, and perhaps +unhealthy. The pig itself, though commonly called +a dirty animal, is not anything near so bad as has +been represented. To convince oneself of that it is +only necessary to visit farm-buildings which are well +looked after. The pigsties have no more smell than +the stables, because the manure is removed, and no +garbage is allowed to accumulate. It is the man +who keeps the pig that makes it filthy and repulsive, +and not the animal itself. Regular and <i>clean</i> food +has also much to do with it, such as barley-meal. +Cottagers cannot afford barley-meal, but they certainly +could keep their sties much cleaner. It does +not seem possible to attack the nuisance with any +other means than that of persuasion, unless some +plan could be devised of keeping pigs in a common +building outside the village; or at any rate, of having +the manure taken outside at short intervals. Such +nuisances as stagnant ponds and mud-filled ditches +are more easily dealt with, because they are public, +and interference with them would not touch upon +any man's liberty of action. Stagnant ponds are of +no use to anyone—even horses will not drink at +them. The simple plan is to remove the mud, and +then fill them up level with the ground, laying in +drain-pipes to carry off the water which accumulated +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +there. But some of these ponds could be utilized +for the benefit of passing horses and cattle. They +are fed with a running stream, but, being no man's +property, the pond becomes choked with mud and +manure, and the small inflow of pure water is not +enough to overcome the noisome exhalations. These +should be cleaned out now and then, and, if possible, +the bottom laid down with gravel or small stones, +making the pond shallow at the edges, and for some +distance in. Nothing is more valuable upon a +country road than ponds of this character, into +which a jaded horse can walk over his fetlock, and +cool his feet at the same time that he refreshes his +thirst. They are most welcome to cattle driven +along the road.</p> + +<p>The moral nuisances of drunkenness, gambling, +and bad language at the corners of the streets and +cross-roads had best be left to the law to deal with, +though the influence of a local council in reproof and +caution would undoubtedly be considerable. But if +a bathing-place, an out-of-doors gymnasium, and +such things, were established, these evils would +almost disappear, because the younger inhabitants +would have something to amuse themselves with; at +present they have nothing whatever.</p> + +<p>A local authority of this kind would confer a great +boon upon the agricultural poor if they could renovate +the old idea of a common. Allotment grounds +are most useful, but they do not meet every want. +The better class of cottagers, who have contrived to +save a little money, often try to keep a cow, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +before the road surveyors grew so strict, they had +little difficulty in doing so. But now the roads are +so jealously and properly preserved purely for traffic, +the cottager has no opportunity of grazing a cow or +a donkey. It would not be possible in places where +land is chiefly arable, nor in others where the +meadow-land is let at a high rent, but still there +are places where a common could be provided. It +need not be the best land. The poorest would do. +Those who graze should pay a small fee—so much +per head per week. Such a field would be a great +benefit, and an encouragement to those who were +inclined to save.</p> + +<p>In almost every parish there are a number of +public charities. Many of these are unfortunately +expressly devised for certain purposes, from which +they cannot be diverted without much trouble and +resorting to high authorities. But there are others +left in a loose manner for the good of the poor, and +the very origin of which is doubtful. Such are +many of the pieces of land scattered about the +country, the rent of which is paid to the churchwardens +for the time being, in trust for the poor. At +present these charities are dissipated in petty almsgiving, +such as so much bread and a fourpenny-piece +on a certain day of the year, a blanket or cloak at +Christmas, and so on, the utility of which is more +than doubtful. Stories are currently believed of +such four penny-pieces purchasing quarts of ale, and +of such blankets being immediately sold to raise +money for the same end. A village council would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +be able to suggest many ways in which the income +of these charities could be far better employed. The +giving of coal has already been substituted in some +places for the fourpenny-piece and blanket, which is +certainly a sensible change; but if possible it would +be better to avoid so-called charity altogether. Why +should not the income of half a dozen villages lying +adjacent to each other be concentrated upon a cottage +hospital, or upon a hospital for lying-in women, +which is one of the great desiderata in country places. +Such institutions afford charity of the highest and +best character, without any degradation to the recipient. +At the present moment the woman who +has lost her reputation, and is confined with an +illegitimate child, simply proceeds to the workhouse, +where she meets with every attention skilled nurses +and science can afford. The labourer's wife is left +to languish in a close overcrowded room, and permitted +to resume her household labours before she +has properly recovered. There is nothing more +wretched than the confinement of an agricultural +labourer's wife.</p> + +<p>The health of villagers, notwithstanding the pure +air, is often prejudiced by the overcrowding of +cottages. This overcrowding may not be sufficiently +great to render an appeal to the legal +authorities desirable, and yet may be productive of +very bad effects, both moral and physical. It is particularly +the case where the cottages are the property +of the labourer himself, and are held at a low quit-rent. +The labourer cannot afford to rebuild the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +cottage, which has descended to him from his father, +or possibly grandfather, and which was originally +designed for one small family, but, in the course of +years, three or four members of that family have +acquired a right of residence in it. Of this right they +are extremely tenacious, though it may be positively +injurious to them. As many as two married men, +with wives and children, may crowd themselves into +this dirty hovel, with a result of quarrelling and +immorality that cannot be surpassed; in fact, some +things that have happened in such places are not to +be mentioned. Under the best circumstances it often +happens that there are not sufficient cottages in a +parish for the accommodation of the necessary workmen. +Complaints are continually arising, from no +one so much as from the agriculturists, who can +never depend upon their men remaining because of +the deficiency of lodging. It is not often that the +entire parish belongs to one landlord; frequently, +there are four or five landlords, and a large number +of freehold properties let to tenants. Nor even +where parishes are more or less the property of one +person, is it always practicable for the estate to bear +the burden of additional cottage building. The cost +of a cottage varies more, perhaps, than any other +estimate, according to the size, the materials to be +employed, and their abundance in the neighbourhood. +But it may be safely believed that the estimates given +to landowners and others desirous of erecting cottages, +very much exceed the sum at which they can be +built. Deduct the hauling of materials—a considerable +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +item—which could be done by the farmers themselves +at odd times.</p> + +<p>In some places the materials may be found upon +an adjacent farm, and for such purposes might be +had for a nominal sum. Altogether, a very fair +cottage might be built for £100 to £150, according +to the circumstances. These, of course, would not +be ornamental houses with Gothic porches and +elaborate gables; but plain cottages, and quite as +comfortable. In round figures, four such places +might be erected for £500.<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> For a large parish +will contain as many as twenty farmers, and some +more than that: £500 distributed between twenty +is but £25 apiece, and this sum could be still further +reduced if the landlords, the clergy, and the principal +inhabitants are calculated to take an interest in the +matter. Let it be taken at £20 each, and the +product four cottages. As there are supposed to +be twenty farms, it may be reckoned that eight or +ten new cottages would be welcome. This would +vary with circumstances. In some places five would +be sufficient. Ten would be the very highest +number; and may be considered quite exceptional. +Now for the repayment of the investment of £20. +Four cottages at 2s. per week equals £20 per annum. +At this rate in five-and-twenty years, each subscriber +would be paid back his principal; say, after the +manner of bonds, one redeemable every year, and +drawn for by lot. An agriculturist who invests +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +£100 or £150 in a cottage expects some interest +upon his money; but he can afford to sink £20 for +a few years in view of future benefit. But there +are means by which the repayment could be much +accelerated; <i>i.e.</i>, by inducing the tenant of a cottage +to pay a higher rent, and so become, after a time, +the possessor of the tenement, in the same way as +with building societies.</p> + +<p>It may, however, be considered preferable that the +cottages should remain the property of the village +council—each member receiving back his original +payment. This is thrown out merely as a suggestion; +but this much is clear, that were there an +organization of this kind there would be no material +difficulty in the way of increasing the cottage accommodation. +A number of gentlemen working together +would overcome the want with ease. At all events, +if they did not go so far as to erect new cottages, +they might effect a great deal of improvement in +repairing dilapidated places, and enlarging existing +premises.</p> + +<p>In thus rapidly sketching out the various ways +in which a local village authority might encourage +the growth and improvement of the place, it has +been endeavoured to indicate, in a suggestive +manner, the way in which such an authority might +be established. It is not for one moment proposed +that an application should be made to the Legislature +for a special enactment enabling such councils +to act with legal force. To such a course there +would certainly arise the most vigorous opposition +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +on the part of all classes of the agricultural community, +from landlord, tenant, and labourer alike. +There exists an irresistible dislike to any form of +'imperial' interference, as is amply proved by the +resistance offered to the School Board system, and by +the comparative impotence of the rural sanitary +authorities. People would rather suffer annoyance +than call in an outside power. The species of local +authority here indicated must be founded entirely +upon the will of the inhabitants themselves; and its +power be derived rather from acquiescence than +from inherent force. In fact, the major part of its +duties would not require any legal power. The +allotment-garden, the cottage repair, the common, +the bathing-place, reading-room, etc., would require +no legal authority to render them useful and attractive. +Neither is it probable that any serious opposition +would be made to a system of drainage, and +certainly none whatever to an improved water +supply. No force would be necessary, and the +whole moral influence of landlord, and tenant, and +clergy, would sway in the proposed direction. It +has often been remarked that the agricultural class—the +tenant farmer—is the one least capable of combination, +and there is a great deal of truth in the +assertion of the lack of all cohesion, and united +action. It must, however, be remembered that +until very lately no kind of combination has been +proposed, no attempt made to organize action. +That, at least in local matters, agriculturists are +capable of combination and united action has been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +proved by the strenuous exertions made to retain +the voluntary school system, and also by the endeavours +made for the restoration of village churches. +If the total of the sums obtained for schools and for +village church restoration could be ascertained, it +would be found to amount to something very great; +and in the case of the schools, at any rate, and to +some degree in the case of restorations, the administration +of the funds has rested upon the leading +farmers assembled in committees. When once a +number of agriculturists have formed a combination +with an understood object, they are less liable to be +thrown into disorder by factious differences amongst +themselves than any other class of men. They are +willing to agree to anything reasonable, and do not +persist in amendments just in order that a favourite +crotchet may be gratified. In other words, they +are amenable to common sense and practical arguments.</p> + +<p>There would be very little doubt of harmonious +action if once such a combination was formed. It +could be started in many ways—by the clergyman +asking the tenants of the parish to meet him in the +village school-room, and there giving a rapid sketch +of the proposed organization; and if any landlord, +or magistrate, or leading gentleman was present, the +thing would be set on its legs on the spot. In most +parishes there are one or more large tenant farmers +who naturally take the lead in their own class, and +they would speedily obtain adherents to the movement. +It would be as well, perhaps, if the attempt +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +were made, for the promoters to draw up a species of +circular for distribution in every house and cottage +in the parish, explaining the objects of the association, +and inviting co-operation on the part of rich and +poor alike. Once a meeting was called together, +and a committee appointed, the principal difficulty +would be got over.</p> + +<p>The next matter—in fact, the first matter for the +consideration of such a committee—would be the +method of raising funds. All legally-established +bodies have powers of obtaining money, as by rates; +but the example of the independent schools and +church restorations has amply proved that money +will be forthcoming for proper purposes without +resort to compulsion. The abolition of Church-rates +has not in any way tended to the degradation of the +Church; perhaps, on the contrary, more has been +done towards Church extension since that date than +before. A voluntary rate is still collected in many +places, and produces a considerable sum, the calculation +being made upon the basis of the poor-rate +assessment. The objects of such a village association +being eminently practical, devoid of any sectarian +bearing and thoroughly local in application, +there would probably be little difficulty in collecting +a small voluntary rate for its support, even amongst +the poorest of the population. The cottager would +not grudge a few pence for objects in which he has +an obvious interest, and which are close at home; +but in the formation of the association it would, +perhaps, be practicable to begin with a subscription of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +one guinea each from every member, the subscription +of one guinea per annum endowing the giver with +voting power at the meetings. If there were five-and-twenty +farmers in a parish, there would be five-and-twenty +guineas (it is not probable that any +farmer would stand out from such a society), and +five-and-twenty guineas would be quite sufficient to +start the thing. Suppose the society commence with +supplying additional allotment-grounds. They rent, +say, eight acres at £2 10s. per acre, equalling +£20 per annum; but they only expend £10 on rent +for one half-year, because the other half will be paid +by incoming tenants. The labour to be expended +on the plot in making it tenable can hardly be +reckoned, because, in all probability, it would be +done by their own men at odd times. Many places +would not require draining at all, and it need not be +done at starting, and the generality of fields are +already drained. So that about £15 would suffice to +start the allotment-grounds, leaving £10 in hand to +make a bathing-place with, or to erect a pump, or +purchase hose or tank for water-supply. Here we +have a considerable progress arrived at with one +year's subscription only, not counting on any subscription +from the landlord, or clergy, or resident +gentlemen. The funds required are, in fact, not +nearly so large as might be imagined. Most of these +improvements, when once started, would last for +some years without further outlay; the allotments +would probably return a small income. It is not so +necessary to do everything in one year. Add the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +sums collected on the low rate to the yearly subscription +of the members, and there would probably be +sufficient for every purpose, except that of cottage +repairs or the erection of new cottages. Such more +expensive matters would require shareholders investing +larger sums; but the income already mentioned +would probably enable all ordinary improvements to +be carried out, even draining; and, after a year or +two, a small reserve fund would even accumulate. +It would, however, be important to bring the poorer +class to feel that these matters, in a manner, depended +upon their own exertions. There might be a subscription +of twopence a month for certain given +objects, as the bathing-place, the water-tank, or +other things in hand at the time; and it would probably +be well responded to. They should also be +invited to give their labour free of charge after farm +work. In the case of important alterations affecting +the whole village, such as drainage, they might be +asked to meet the society in the school-room, and +then let the matter be put to the vote. After a few +months, there can be no doubt the labouring population +would come to take a very animated interest in +such proceedings. There is a great deal of common +sense in the labourer, and once let him see the practical +as opposed to the theoretical benefit, and his +co-operation is certain.</p> + +<p>The members of the society would have no +trouble in electing a committee. There might be +more than one committee to attend to different +matters, as the allotment and the water-supply, because +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +it would happen that one gentleman would +have more practical knowledge of gardening, and +another would have more acquaintance with the +means of dealing with water, from the experience +gained in his own water meadows. There should be +a president of the society, a treasurer, and secretary; +and a general meeting might take place once every +two months, the committee meeting as circumstances +dictated. Any member having a scheme to propose +could draw up a short outline of his plan in writing, +and submit it to the general meeting, when, if it met +with favour, it could be handed over to a committee +for execution.</p> + +<p>Such an association might call itself the village +Local Society. It would be distinct from all party +politics; it would have nothing to do with individual +disputes or grievances between landlord and +tenant; it would most carefully disclaim all sectarian +objects. It would meet in a friendly genial +manner, and if a few bottles of sherry could be +placed on the table the better. A formal, hard, +entirely business-like meeting is undesirable and to +be avoided. The affairs in progress should be discussed +in a free, open manner, and without any +attempt at set speeches, though to prevent mistakes +propositions would have to be moved and seconded, +and entered in a minute-book. Such a society would +be the means of bringing gentlemen together from +distant parts of the parish, and would lead to a more +intimate social connection. It would have other +uses than those for which it was formally instituted. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +In the event of a serious outbreak of fever in the +village, or any infectious disease, it might be of +the very greatest utility in affording assistance to +the poor, and in making arrangements for preventing +the spread of infection by the plan of isolation. +It might set apart a cottage for the reception of +patients, and engage additional medical assistance. +The influence it would exercise in the village and +parish would be very great, and might produce a +decided improvement in the moral tone of the place. +In the event of disaffection and agitation arising +among the labouring classes, it might be enabled to +establish a reasonable compromise, and, in time, a +good many little petty disputes among the poor +would be referred to the society for arbitration.</p> + +<p>In large villages it might be found advantageous +to establish a ladies' committee in connection with +such a society. There are many matters in which +the ladies are better agents, and possess a special +knowledge. It may, perhaps, be thought rather an +advanced idea; but would not some instruction in +cookery be extremely useful to the agricultural girl +just growing up into womanhood? The cooking +she learns at home is simply no cooking at all. It +is hardly possible to induce the elder women to +change the habits of a lifetime, but the girls, fast +growing up, would be eager to learn. With the +increase of wages, the labourer has obtained a certain +addition to his fare, and can occasionally afford some +of the cheaper pieces of butcher's meat. But the +women have no idea of utilizing these pieces in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +most economical and savoury ways. Plentiful as +vegetables are at times, they are only used in the +coarsest manner. The ladies' committee would also +have important work before them in boarding out +the orphan children from the Union, and also in +endeavouring to find employment for the great girls +who play about the village, getting them into service, +and so on. In the distribution of charities (if charities +there must be), ladies are far more efficient than +men, and they may exercise an influence in moral +matters where no one else could interfere. If there +is any charity which deserves to be assisted by this +local society, it is the cheapening of coals in the +winter. Already in some villages the principal +farmers combine to purchase a good stock of coal at +the beginning of winter, and as they buy it in large +quantities they get it somewhat cheaper. Their +teams and waggons haul it to the village, and in the +dead of winter it is retailed to the cottagers at less +than cost price. This is a most useful institution, +and can hardly be called a charity. The fact that +this has been done is a proof that organization for +objects of local benefit is quite possible in rural +parishes. Landowners and resident gentlemen would +naturally take an interest in such proceedings, and +may very properly be asked to subscribe; but the +actual execution of the plans decided on should be +left in the hands of tenant-farmers, who have a +direct interest, and who come into daily contact with +the lower class. As a means of adding to their +funds, the society could give popular entertainments +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +of reading and singing, which have often been found +effective in raising money for the purchase of a new +harmonium, and which, at the same time, afford a +harmless gratification. It would, perhaps, be better +if such a society were to keep itself distinct from +any project of church restoration, or even from the +school question, because it is most essential that they +should be free from the slightest suspicion of leaning +towards any party. Their authority must be based +upon universal consent. They might perform a +useful task if they could induce the cottagers to +insure their goods and chattels, or in any way assist +them to do so. Cottages are exceptionably liable to +conflagration, and after the place is burnt, there is +piteous weeping and wailing, and general begging to +replace the lost furniture and bedding. There is +much to be done also in the matter of savings. It +seems to be pretty well demonstrated by the history +of benefit clubs and the calculations of actuaries, that +the agricultural labourer, out of his amount of wages, +cannot put by a sufficient monthly contribution to +enable him to receive a pension when he becomes +old and infirm. But that is not the slightest reason +why he should not save small sums year by year, +which, in course of time, would amount to a nice +little thing to fall back upon in case of sickness or +accident. There are many aged and deserving men +who have worked all their lives in one place and +almost upon one farm, and, at last, are reduced to the +pitiful allowance of the parish, occasionally supplemented +by a friendly gift. These cases are very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +painful to witness, and are felt to be wrong by the +tenant-farmers. But one person cannot entirely support +them; and often it happens that the man who +would have done his best is dead—the old employer +for whom they worked so many years is gone before +them to his rest. If there were but a little organization +such cases would not pass unnoticed.</p> + +<p>Certain it is that the tendency of the age, and the +progress of recent events, indicates the coming of a +time when organization of some kind in rural districts +will be necessary. The labour-agitation was +a lesson of this kind. There are upheaving forces +at work among the agricultural lower class as well as +in the lower class of towns; a flow of fresh knowledge, +and larger aspirations, which require guidance +and supervision, lest they run to riot and excess. +An organization of the character here indicated +would meet the difficulties of the future, and meet +them in the best of ways; for while possessing power +to improve and to reform, it would have no hated +odour of compulsion. The suggestions here put +forth are, of course, all more or less tentative. +They sketch an outline, the filling up of which must +fall upon practical men, and which must depend +greatly upon the circumstances of the locality.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="THE_IDLE_EARTH" id="THE_IDLE_EARTH"></a>THE IDLE EARTH</h2> + + +<p>The bare fallows of a factory are of short duration, +and occur at lengthened intervals. There are the +Saturday afternoons—four or five hours' shorter time; +there are the Sundays—fifty-two in number; a day +or two at Christmas, at Midsummer, at Easter. Fifty-two +Sundays, plus fifty-two half-days on Saturdays; +eight days more for <i>bonâ-fide</i> holidays—in all, eighty-six +days on which no labour is done. This is as near +as may be just one quarter of the year spent in idleness. +But how fallacious is such a calculation! for +overtime and night-work make up far more than this +deficient quarter; and therefore it may safely be said +that man works the whole year through, and has no +bare fallow. But earth—idle earth—on which man +dwells, has a much easier time of it. It takes nearly +a third of the year out in downright leisure, doing +nothing but inchoating; a slow process indeed, and +one which all the agricultural army have of late tried +to hasten, with very indifferent success. Winter seed +sown in the fall of the year does not come to anything +till the spring; spring seed is not reaped till +the autumn is at hand. But it will be argued that +this land is not idle, for during those months the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +seed is slowly growing—absorbing its constituent +parts from the atmosphere, the earth, the water; +going through astonishing metamorphoses; outdoing +the most wonderful laboratory experiments with its +untaught, instinctive chemistry. All true enough; +and hitherto it has been assumed that the ultimate +product of these idle months is sufficient to repay +the idleness; that in the <i>coup</i> of the week of reaping +there is a dividend recompensing the long, long days +of development. Is it really so? This is not altogether +a question which a practical man used to City +formulas of profit and loss might ask. It is a question +to which, even at this hour, farmers themselves—most +unpractical of men—are requiring an answer. +There is a cry arising throughout the country that +farms do not pay; that a man with a moderate +400 acres and a moderate £1,000 of his own, with +borrowed money added, cannot get a reasonable +remuneration from those acres. These say they +would sooner be hotel-keepers, tailors, grocers—anything +but farmers. These are men who have +tried the task of subduing the stubborn earth, which +is no longer bountiful to her children. Much reason +exists in this cry, which is heard at the market ordinary, +in the lobby, at the club meetings—wherever agriculturists +congregate, and which will soon force itself out +upon the public. It is like this. Rents have risen. +Five shillings per acre makes an enormous difference, +though nominally only an additional £100 on 400 acres. +But as in agricultural profits one must not reckon more +than 8 per cent., this 5s. per acre represents nearly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +another £1,000 which must be invested in the business, +and which must be made to return interest to +pay the additional rent. If that cannot be done, +then it represents a dead £100 per annum taken out +of the agriculturist's pocket.</p> + +<p>Then—labour, the great agricultural <i>crux</i>. If the +occupier pays 3s. per week more to seven men, that +adds more than another £50 per annum to his outgoings, +to meet which you must somehow make your +acres represent another £500. Turnpikes fall in, and +the roads are repaired at the ratepayers' cost. Compulsory +education—for it is compulsory in reality, +since it compels voluntary schools to be built—comes +next, and as generally the village committee mull +matters, and have to add a wing, and rebuild, and +so forth, till they get in debt, there grows up a rate +which is a serious matter, not by itself, but added to +other things. Just as in great factories they keep +accounts in decimals because of the vast multitude +of little expenses which are in the aggregate serious—each +decimal is equivalent to a rusty nail or so—here +on our farm threepence or fourpence in the +pound added to threepence or sixpence ditto for +voluntary Church-rate, puts an appreciable burden +on the man's back. The tightness, however, does +not end here; the belt is squeezed closer than this. +No man had such long credit as the yeoman of +yore (thirty years ago is 'of yore' in our century). +Butcher and baker, grocer, tailor, draper, all gave +him unlimited credit as to <i>time</i>. As a rule, they got +paid in the end; for a farmer is a fixture, and does +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +not have an address for his letters at one place and +live in another. But modern trade manners are +different. The trader is himself pressed. Competition +galls his heel. He has to press upon his +customers, and in place of bills sent in for payment +once a year, and actual cash transfer in three, we +have bills punctually every quarter, and due notice +of county court if cheques are not sent at the half-year. +So that the agriculturist wants more ready +cash; and as his returns come but once a year, he +does not quite see the fairness of having to swell +other men's returns four times in the same period. +Still a step further, and a few words will suffice to +describe the increased cost of all the materials supplied +by these tradesmen. Take coals, for instance. This +is a fact so patent that it stares the world in the face. +A farmer, too, nowadays has a natural desire to live +as other people in his station of life do. He cannot +reconcile himself to rafty bacon, cheese, radishes, +turnip-tops, homespun cloth, smock frocks. He +cannot see why his girls should milk the cows or +wheel out manure from the yards any more than the +daughters of tradesmen; neither that his sons should +say 'Ay' and 'Noa,' and exhibit a total disregard of +grammar and ignorance of all social customs. The +piano, he thinks, is quite as much in its place in his +cool parlour as in the stuffy so-called drawing-room +at his grocer's in the petty town hard by, where they +are so particular to distinguish the social ranks of +'professional tradesmen' from common tradesmen. +Here in all this, even supposing it kept down to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +economical limits, there exists a considerable margin +of expenditure greater than in our forefathers' time. +True, wool is dearer, meat dearer; but to balance +that put the increased cost of artificial manure and +artificial food—two things no farmer formerly bought—and +do not forget that the seasons rule all things, +and are quite as capricious as ever, and when there is +a bad season the loss is much greater than it used to +be, just as the foundering of an ironclad costs the +nation more than the loss of a frigate.</p> + +<p>Experience every day brings home more and more +the fatal truth that moderate farms do not pay, and +there are even ominous whispers about the 2,000 +acres system. The agriculturist says that, work how +he may, he only gets 8 per cent. per annum; the +tradesman, still more the manufacturer, gets only +2 per cent. each time, but he turns his money over +twenty times a year, and so gets 40 per cent. per +annum. Eight per cent. is a large dividend on one +transaction, but it is very small for a whole year—a +year, the one-thirtieth of a man's whole earning +period, if we take him to be in a business at twenty-five, +and to be in full work till fifty-five, a fair +allowance. Now, why is it that this cry arises that +agriculture will not pay? and why is it that the +farmer only picks up 8 per cent.? The answer is +simple enough. It is because the earth is idle a third +of the year. So far as actual cash return is concerned, +one might say it was idle eleven out of the twelve +months. But that is hardly fair. Say a third of the +year. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>The earth does not continue yielding a crop day +by day as the machines do in the manufactory. The +nearest approach to the manufactory is the dairy, +whose cows send out so much milk per diem; but +the cows go dry for their calves. Out of the tall +chimney shaft there floats a taller column of dark +smoke hour after hour; the vast engines puff and +snort and labour perhaps the whole twenty-four hours +through; the drums hum round, the shafts revolve +perpetually, and each revolution is a penny gained. +It may be only steel-pen making—pens, common +pens, which one treats as of no value and wastes by +dozens; but the iron-man thumps them out hour +after hour, and the thin stream of daily profit swells +into a noble river of gold at the end of the year. +Even the pill people are fortunate in this: it is said +that every second a person dies in this huge world +of ours. Certain it is that every second somebody +takes a pill; and so the millions of globules disappear, +and so the profit is nearer 8 per cent. per hour than +8 per cent. per annum. But this idle earth takes a +third of the year to mature its one single crop of +pills; and so the agriculturist with his slow returns +cannot compete with the quick returns of the tradesman +and manufacturer. If he cannot compete, he +cannot long exist; such is the modern law of business. +As an illustration, take one large meadow on a dairy +farm; trace its history for one year, and see what an +idle workshop this meadow is. Call it twenty acres +of first-class land at £2 15s. per acre, or £55 per +annum. Remember that twenty acres is a large +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +piece on which some millions multiplied by millions +of cubic feet of air play on a month, and on which an +incalculable amount of force in the shape of sunlight +is poured down in the summer. January sees this +plot of a dull, dirty green, unless hidden by snow; +the dirty green is a short, juiceless herbage. The +ground is as hard as a brick with the frost. We +will not stay now to criticize the plan of carting out +manure at this period, or dwell on the great useless +furrows. Look carefully round the horizon of the +twenty acres, and there is not an animal in sight, not +a single machine for making money, not a penny +being turned. The cows are all in the stalls. +February comes, March passes; the herbage grows +slowly; but still no machines are introduced, no +pennies roll out at the gateways. The farmer may +lean on the gate and gaze over an empty workshop, +twenty acres big, with his hands in his pockets, +except when he pulls out his purse to pay the hedge-cutters +who are clearing out the ditches, the women +who have been stone-picking, and the carters who +took out the manure, half of which stains the drains, +while the volatile part mixes with the atmosphere. +This is highly profitable and gratifying. The man +walks home, hears his daughter playing the piano, +picks up the paper, sees himself described as a brutal +tyrant to the labourer, and ten minutes afterwards +in walks the collector of the voluntary rate for the +village school, which educates the labourers' children. +April arrives; grass grows rapidly. May comes; +grass is now long. But still not one farthing has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +been made out of that twenty acres. Five months +have passed, and all this time the shafts in the +manufactories have been turning, and the quick +coppers accumulating. Now it is June, and the +mower goes to work; then the haymakers, and in a +fortnight if the weather be good, a month if it be +bad, the hay is ricked. Say it cost £1 per acre to +make the hay and rick it—<i>i.e.</i>, £20—and by this +time half the rent is due, or £27 10s. = total +expenditure (without any profit as yet), £47 10s., +exclusive of stone-picking, ditch-cleaning, value of +manure, etc. This by the way. The five months' +idleness is the point at present. June is now gone. +If the weather be showery the sharp-edged grass may +spring up in a fortnight to a respectable height; but +if it be a dry summer—and if it is not a dry summer +the increased cost of haymaking runs away with +profit—then it may be fully a month before there is +anything worth biting. Say at the end of July (one +more idle month) twenty cows are turned in, and +three horses. One cannot estimate how long they +may take to eat up the short grass, but certain it is +that the beginning of November will see that field +empty of cattle again; and fortunate indeed the +agriculturist who long before that has not had to +'fodder' (feed with hay) at least once a day. Here, +then, are five idle months in spring, one in summer, +two in winter; total, eight idle months. But, not +to stretch the case, let us allow that during a part +of that time, though the meadow is idle, its produce—the +hay—is being eaten and converted into milk, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +cheese and butter, or meat, which is quite correct; +but, even making this allowance, it may safely be +said that the meadow is absolutely idle for one-third +of the year, or four months. That is looking at the +matter in a mere pounds, shillings, and pence light. +Now look at it in a broader, more national view. +Does it not seem a very serious matter that so large +a piece of land should remain idle for that length of +time? It is a reproach to science that no method of +utilizing the meadow during that eight months has +been discovered. To go further, it is very hard to +require of the agriculturist that he should keep pace +with a world whose maxims day by day tend to +centralize and concentrate themselves into the one +canon, Time is Money, when he cannot by any +ingenuity get his machinery to revolve more than once +a year. In the old days the farmer belonged to a +distinct class, a very isolated and independent class, +little affected by the progress or retrogression of any +other class, and not at all by those waves of social +change which sweep over Europe. Now the farmer +is in the same position as other producers: the fall +or rise of prices, the competition of foreign lands, +the waves of panic or monetary tightness, all tell +upon him quite as much as on the tradesman. So +that the cry is gradually rising that the idle earth +will not pay.</p> + +<p>On arable land it is perhaps even more striking. +Take a wheat crop, for instance. Without going +into the cost and delay of the three years of preparation +under various courses for the crop, take the field +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +just before the wheat year begins. There it lies in +November, a vast brown patch, with a few rooks here +and there hopping from one great lump to another; +but there is nothing on it—no machine turning out +materials to be again turned into money. On the +contrary, it is very probable that the agriculturist +may be sowing money on it, scarifying it with steam +ploughing-engines, tearing up the earth to a great +depth in order that the air may penetrate and the +frost disintegrate the strong, hard lumps. He may +have commenced this expensive process as far back as +the end of August, for it is becoming more and more +the custom to plough up directly after the crop is +removed. All November, December, January, and +not a penny from this broad patch, which may be of +any size from fifteen to ninety acres, lying perfectly +idle. Sometimes, indeed, persons who wish to save +manure will grow mustard on it and plough it in, +the profit of which process is extremely dubious. At +the latter end of February or beginning of March, +just as the season is early or late, dry or wet, in goes +the seed—another considerable expense. Then April, +May, June, July are all absorbed in the slow process +of growth—a necessary process, of course, but still +terribly slow, and not a penny of ready-money +coming in. If the seed was sown in October, as is +usual on some soils, the effect is the same—the crop +does not arrive till next year's summer sun shines. +In August the reaper goes to work, but even then +the corn has to be threshed and sent to market before +there is any return. Here is a whole year spent in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +elaborating one single crop, which may, after all, be +very unprofitable if it is a good wheat year, and the +very wheat over which such time and trouble have +been expended may be used to fat beasts, or even to +feed pigs. All this, however, and the great expense +of preparation, though serious matters enough in +themselves, are beside our immediate object. The +length of time the land is useless is the point. +Making every possible allowance, it is not less than +one-third of the year—four months out of the twelve. +For all practical—<i>i.e.</i>, monetary—purposes it is +longer than that. No wonder that agriculturists +aware of this fact are so anxious to get as much as +possible out of their one crop—to make the one +revolution of their machinery turn them out as much +money as possible. If their workshop must be +enforcedly idle for so long, they desire that when in +work there shall be full blast and double tides. Let +the one crop be as heavy as it can. Hence the +agitation for compensatory clauses, enabling the +tenant to safely invest all the capital he can procure +in the soil. How else is he to meet the increased +cost of labour, of rent, of education, of domestic +materials; how else maintain his fair position in +society? The demand is reasonable enough; the +one serious drawback is the possibility that, even +with this assistance, the idle earth will refuse to +move any faster.</p> + +<p>We have had now the experience of many sewage-farms +where the culture is extremely 'high.' It has +been found that these farms answer admirably where +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +the land is poor—say, sandy and porous—but on +fairly good soil the advantage is dubious, and almost +limited to growing a succession of rye-grass crops. +After a season or two of sewage soaking the soil +becomes so soft that in the winter months it is +unapproachable. Neither carts nor any implements +can be drawn over it; and then in the spring the +utmost care has to be exercised to keep the liquid +from touching the young plants, or they wither up +and die. Sewage on grass lands produces the most +wonderful results for two or three years, but after +that the herbage comes so thick and rank and 'strong' +that cattle will not touch it; the landlord begins to +grumble, and complains that the land, which was to +have been improved, has been spoilt for a long time +to come. Neither is it certain that the employment +of capital in other ways will lead to a continuous +increase of profit. There are examples before our +eyes where capital has been unsparingly employed, +and upon very large areas of land, with most disappointing +results. In one such instance five or six +farms were thrown into one; straw, and manure, and +every aid lavishly used, till a fabulous number of +sheep and other stock was kept; but the experiment +failed. Many of the farms were again made separate +holdings, and grass laid down in the place of glowing +cornfields. Then there is another instance, where a +gentleman of large means and a cultivated and business +mind, called in the assistance of the deep plough, +and by dint of sheer subsoil ploughing grew corn +profitably several years in succession. But after a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +while he began to pause, and to turn his attention to +stock and other aids. It is not for one moment contended +that the use of artificial manure, of the deep +plough, of artificial food, and other improvements +will not increase the yield, and so the profit of the +agriculturist. It is obvious that they do so. The +question is, Will they do so to an extent sufficient to +repay the outlay? And, further, will they do so +sufficiently to enable the agriculturist to meet the +ever-increasing weight which presses on him? It +would seem open to doubt. One thing appears to +have been left quite out of sight by those gentlemen +who are so enthusiastic about compensation for unexhausted +improvements, and that is, if the landlord +is to be bound down so rigidly, and if the tenant +really is going to make so large a profit, most +assuredly the rents will rise very considerably. How +then? Neither the sewage system, nor the deep +plough, nor the artificial manure has, as yet, succeeded +in overcoming the <i>vis inertiæ</i> of the idle earth. +They cause an increase in the yield of the one revolution +of the agriculturist machine per annum; but +they do not cause the machine to revolve twice or +three times. Without a decrease in the length of +this enforced idleness any very great increase of +profit does not seem possible. What would any +manufacturer think of a business in which he was +compelled to let his engines rest for a third of the +year? Would he be eager to sink his capital in such +an enterprise?</p> + +<p>The practical man will, of course, exclaim that all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +this is very true, but Nature is Nature, and must have +its way, and it is useless to expect more than one crop +per annum, and any talk of three or four crops is +perfectly visionary. 'Visionary,' by the way, is a very +favourite word with so-called practical men. But the +stern logic of figures, of pounds, shillings, and pence, +proves that the present condition of affairs cannot +last much longer, and they are the true 'visionaries' +who imagine that it can. This enormous loss of time, +this idleness, must be obviated somehow. It is a +question whether the millions of money at present +sunk in agriculture are not a dead loss to the country; +whether they could not be far more profitably +employed in developing manufacturing industries, or +in utilizing for home consumption the enormous +resources of Southern America and Australasia; +whether we should not get more to eat, and cheaper, +if such was the case. Such a low rate of interest as +is now obtained in agriculture—and an interest by no +means secure either, for a bad season may at any +time reduce it, and even a too good season—such a +state of things is a loss, if not a curse. It is questionable +whether the million or so of labourers +representing a potential amount of force almost +incalculable, and the thousands of young farmers +throbbing with health and vigour, eager <i>to do</i>, would +not return a far larger amount of good to the world +and to themselves if, instead of waiting for the idle +earth at home to bring forth, they were transported +bodily to the broad savannahs and prairies, and were +sending to the mother-country innumerable shiploads +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +of meat and corn—unless, indeed, we can discover +some method by which our idle earth shall be made +to labour more frequently. This million or so of +labourers and these thousands of young, powerfully +made farmers literally do nothing at all for a third +the year but wait, wait for the idle earth. The of +strength, the will, the vigour latent in them is wasted. +They do not enjoy this waiting by any means. The +young agriculturist chafes under the delay, and is +eager <i>to do</i>. They can hunt and course hares, 'tis +true, but that is feeble excitement indeed, and +feminine in comparison with the serious work which +brings in money.</p> + +<p>The idleness of arable and pasture land is as +nothing compared to the idleness of the wide, rolling +downs. These downs are of immense extent, and +stretch through the very heart of the country. They +maintain sheep, but in how small a proportion to the +acreage! In the spring and summer the short +herbage is cropped by the sheep; but it is short, and +it requires a large tract to keep a moderate flock. +In the winter the down is left to the hares and fieldfares. +It has just as long a period of absolute idleness +as the arable and pasture land, and when in work +the yield is so very, very small.</p> + +<p>After all, the very deepest ploughing is but scratching +the surface. The earth at five feet beneath the +level has not been disturbed for countless centuries. +Nor would it pay to turn up this subsoil over large +areas, for it is nothing but clay, as many a man has +found to his cost who, in the hope of a heavier crop, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +has dug up his garden half a spade deeper than +usual. But when the soil really is good at that +depth, we cannot get at it so as to turn it to practical +account. The thin stratum of artificial manure which +is sown is no more in comparison than a single +shower after a drought of months; yet to sow too +much would destroy the effect. No blame, then, +falls upon the agriculturist, who is only too anxious +to get a larger produce. It is useless charging him +with incompetency. What countless experiments +have been tried to increase the crop: to see if some +new system cannot be introduced! With all its +progress, how little real advance has agriculture +made! All because of the stubborn, idle earth. +Will not science some day come to our aid, and show +how two crops or three may be grown in our short +summers; or how we may even overcome the chill +hand of winter? Science has got as far as this: it +recognizes the enormous latent forces surrounding +us—electricity, magnetism; some day, perhaps, it +may be able to utilize them. It recognizes the truly +overwhelming amount of force which the sun of +summer pours down upon our fields, and of which +we really make no use. To recognize the existence +of a power is the first step towards employing it. +Till it was granted that there was a power in steam +the locomotive was impossible.</p> + +<p>It would be easy to swell this notice of idle earth +by bringing in all the waste lands, now doing +nothing—the parks, deer forests, and so on. But +that is not to the purpose. If the wastes were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +reclaimed and the parks ploughed up, that would in +nowise solve the problem how to make the cultivated +earth more busy. It is no use for a man who has a +garden to lean on his spade, look over his boundary +wall, and say, 'Ah, if neighbour Brown would but +dig up his broad green paths how many more potatoes +he would grow!' That would not increase the +produce of the critic's garden by one single cabbage. +Certainly it is most desirable that all lands capable of +yielding crops should be reclaimed, but one great +subject for the agriculturist to study is, how to +shorten the period of idleness in his already cultivated +plots. At present the earth is so very idle.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="AFTER_THE_COUNTY_FRANCHISE" id="AFTER_THE_COUNTY_FRANCHISE"></a>AFTER THE COUNTY FRANCHISE</h2> + + +<p>The money-lender is the man I most fear to see +in the villages after the extension of the county +franchise—the money-lender both in his private and +public capacity, the man who has already taken a +grasp of most little towns that have obtained incorporation +in some form. Like Shylock he demands +what is in his bond: he demands his interest, and that +means a pull at every man's purse—every man, rich +or poor—who lives within the boundary. Borrowing +is almost the ruin of many such little towns; rates +rise nearly as high as in cities, and people strive all +they can to live anywhere outside the limit. Borrowing +is becoming one of the curses of modern life, and a +sorrowful day it will be when the first village takes to +it. The name changes—now it is a local board, now +it is commissioners, sometimes a town council: the +practice remains the same. These authorities exist +but for one purpose—to borrow money, and as any +stick will do to beat a dog with, so any pretence will +do to exact the uttermost farthing from the inhabitants. +Borrowing boards they are, one and all, and +nothing else, from whom no one obtains benefit +except the solicitor, the surveyor, the lucky architect, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +and those who secure a despicable living in the rear +of the county court. Nothing could better illustrate +the strange supineness of the majority of people than +the way in which they pay, pay, pay, and submit to +every species of extortion at the hands of these incapable +blunderers, without so much as a protest. +The system has already penetrated into the smallest +of the county towns which groan under the incubus; +let us hope, let us labour, that it may not continue its +course and enter the villages.</p> + +<p>It may reasonably be supposed that when once the +extension of the franchise becomes an established +fact, some kind of local government will soon follow. +At present country districts are either without any +local government at all—I mean practically, not +theoretically—or else they are ruled without the +least shadow of real representation. When men are +admitted to vote and come to be enlightened as +to the full meaning and force of such rights, +it is probable that they will shortly demand the +power to arrange their own affairs. They will have +something to say as to the administration of the +poor-law, over which at present they do not possess +the slightest control, and they are not at all unlikely +to set up a species of self-government in every +separate village. I think, in short, that the parish +may become the unit in the future to the disintegration +of the artificial divisions drawn to facilitate the +poor-law. Such divisions, wherein many parishes +of the most diverse description and far apart are +thrown together anyhow as the gardener pitches +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +weeds into his basket, have done serious harm in +the past. They have injured the sense of personal +responsibility, they have created a bureaucracy absolutely +without feeling, and they have tended to shift +great questions out of sight. The shifting of things +out of sight—round the corner—is a vile method of +dealing with them. Send your wretched poor miles +away into a sort of alien workhouse, and then congratulate +yourself that you have tided over the difficulty! +But the difficulty has not been got over.</p> + +<p>A man who can vote, and who is told—as he +certainly will be told—that he bears a part in directing +the great affairs of his nation, will ask himself +why he should not be capable of managing the little +affairs of his own neighbourhood. When he has +asked himself this question, it will be the first step +towards the downfall of the inhuman poor-law. +He will go further and say, 'Why should I not +settle these things at home? Why should I not +walk up to the village from my house in the country +lane, and there and then arrange the business which +concerns me? Why should I any longer permit +it to be done over my head and without my consent +by a body of persons in whom I have no confidence, +for they do not represent me—they represent +property?'</p> + +<p>In his own village the voter will observe the +school—his own village then is worthy to possess +its own school; possibly he may even remotely +have some trifling share in the control of the school +if there is a board. If that great interest, the children +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +of the parish, can be administered at home, why +not the other and much less important interests? +Here may be traced a series of reflections, and a +succession of steps by which ultimately the whole +system of boards of guardians with their attendant +powers, as the rural sanitary authority and so forth, +may ultimately be swept away. Government will +come again to the village.</p> + +<p>Then arises the money-lender, and no time should +be lost by those who have the good and the genuine +liberty of the countryside at heart in labouring to +prevent his entry into the village. Whatsoever +constitution the village obtains in future, let us +strive to strictly limit the borrowing powers of its +council. No borrowing powers at all would be best—government +without loans would be almost ideal—if +that cannot be accomplished, then at least lay +down a stringent regulation putting a firm and +impassable limit. Were every one of my way of +thinking, government without loans would be imperative. +It would be done if it had to be done. +Rugged discomfort is preferable to borrowing.</p> + +<p>I dread, in a word, lest the follies perpetrated in +towns should get into the villages and hamlets, and +want to say a word betimes of warning. Imagine +a new piece of roadway required, then to get the +money let a penny be added to the rates, and the +amount produced laid by at interest year after year, +till the sum be made up. Better wait a few years +and walk half a mile round than borrow the five +or six hundred pounds, and have to pay that back +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +and all the interest on it. Shift somehow, do not +borrow.</p> + +<p>In the discussions upon the agricultural franchise +it has been generally assumed that the changes it +portends will be shown in momentous State affairs +and questions of principle. But perhaps it will be +rather in local and home concerns that the alterations +will be most apparent. The agricultural labourer +voters—and the numerous semi-agricultural voters, +not labourers—are more than likely to look at their +own parish as well as at the policy of the Foreign +Office. Gradually the parish—that is, the village—must +become the centre to men who feel at last that +they are their own masters. Under some form or +other they will take the parish into their own hands, +and insist upon their business being managed at +home. Some shape of village council must come +presently into existence.</p> + +<p>Shrewd people are certain to appear upon the scene, +pointing out to the cottager that if he desires to rule +himself in his own village, he must insist upon one +most important point. This is the exclusion of +property representation. Instead of property having +an overwhelming share, as now, in the direction of +affairs, the owner of the largest property must not +weigh any heavier in the village council than the +wayside cottager. If farmer or landowner sit there +he must have one vote only, the same as any other +member. The council, if it is to be independent, +must represent men and not land in the shape of +landowners, or money in the shape of tenant-farmers. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +Shrewd people will have no difficulty in explaining +the meaning of this to the village voters, because +they can quote so many familiar instances. There is +the Education Act in part defeated by the combination +of property, landowners and farmers paying to +escape a school-board—a plan temporarily advantageous +to them, but of doubtful benefit, possibly +injurious, to the parish at large. Leaving that +question alone, the fact is patent that the cottager +has no share in the government of his school, because +land and money have combined. It may be governed +very well; still it is not <i>his</i> government, and will +serve to illustrate the meaning. There is the board +of guardians, nominally elected, really selected, and +almost self-appointed. The board of guardians is +land and money simply, and in no way whatever +represents the people. A favourite principle continually +enunciated at the present day is that the +persons chiefly concerned should have the management. +But the lower classes who are chiefly concerned +with poor relief, as a matter of fact, have not +the slightest control over that management. Besides +the guardians, there is still an upper row, and here +the rulers are not even invested with the semblance +of representation, for magistrates are not elected, and +they are guardians by virtue of their being magistrates. +The machinery is thus complete for the defeat of representation +and for the despotic control of those who, +being principally concerned, ought by all rule and +analogy to have the main share of the management. +We have seen working men's representatives sit in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +the House of Commons; did anyone ever see a +cottage labourer sit as administrator at the board +before which the wretched poor of his own neighbourhood +appear for relief?</p> + +<p>But it may be asked, Is the village council, then, +composed of small proprietors, to sit down and vote +away the farmer's or landowner's money without +farmer or landowner having so much as a voice in +the matter? Certainly not. The idea of village +self-government supposes a distinct and separate +existence, as it were; the village apart from the +farmer or landowner, and the latter apart from the +village. At present the money drawn in rates from +farmer or landowner is chiefly expended on poor-law +purposes. But, as will presently appear, village self-government +proposes the entire abolition of the poor-law +system, and with it the rates which support it, or +at least the heaviest part of them. Therefore, as this +money would not be concerned, they could receive no +injury, even if they did not sit at the village council +at all.</p> + +<p>Imagine the village, figuratively speaking, surrounded +by a high wall like a girdle, as towns +were in ancient times, and so cut off altogether +from the large properties surrounding it—on the +one hand the village supporting and governing +itself, and on the other the large properties equally +independent.</p> + +<p>The probable result would be a considerable reduction +in local burdens on land. A self-supporting +and self-governing moral population is the first step +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +towards this relief to land so very desirable in the +interest of agriculture.</p> + +<p>In practice there must remain certain more or less +imperial questions, as lines of through road, police, +etc., some of which are already managed by the +county authority. As these matters affect the farmer +and landowner even more than the cottager, clearly they +must expect to contribute to the cost, and can rightly +claim a share in the management.</p> + +<p>Having advanced so far as a village council, and +arrived at the stage of managing their own affairs, +having, in fact, emerged from pupilage, next comes +a question for the council. We now govern our +village ourselves; why should we not possess our +village? Why should we not live in our own houses? +Why should we not have a little share in the land, as +much, at least, as we can pay for? At this moment +the village, let us say, consists of a hundred cottages, +and perhaps there are another hundred scattered +about the parish. Of these three-fourths belong to +two or three large landowners, and those who reside +in them, however protected by enactment, can never +have a sense of complete independence. We should +own these cottages, so that the inhabitants might +practically pay rent to themselves. We must purchase +them, a few at a time; the residents can +repurchase from us and so become freeholders. For +a purchaser there must be a seller, and here one +of the questions of the future appears: Can an owner +of this kind of property be permitted to refuse to sell? +Must he be compelled to sell? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is clear that if the village voter thoroughly +addresses himself to his home affairs there is room +for some remarkable incidents. There is reason now, +is there not, to dread the appearance of the money-lender?</p> + +<p>About this illustrative parish there lie many +hundred acres of good land all belonging to one +man, while we, the said village council, do not possess +a rood apiece, and our constituents not a square +yard. Rightfully we ought to have a share, yet we +do not agitate for confiscation. Shall we then say +that every owner of land should be obliged to sell +a certain fixed percentage—a very small percentage +would suffice—upon proffer of a reasonable amount, +the proffer being made by those who propose to +personally settle on it? Of one thousand acres +suppose ten or twenty liable to forcible purchase at a +given and moderate price. After all it is not a much +more overbearing thing than the taking by railways +of land in almost any direction they please, and not +nearly so tyrannous, so stupidly tyrannous, as some +of the acts of folly committed by local boards in +towns. Not long since the newspapers reported a +case where a local authority actually ran a main +sewer across a gentleman's park, and ventilated it at +regular intervals, completely destroying the value of +an historic mansion, and utterly ruining a beautiful +domain. This was fouling their own nest with a +vengeance. They should have cherished that park +as one of their chiefest glories, their proudest +possession. Parks and woods are daily becoming of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +almost priceless value to the nation; nothing could +be so mad as to destroy these last homes of nature. +Just conceive the inordinate folly of marking such a +property with sewer ventilators. This is a hundred +times more despotic than a proposal that say two per +cent. of land should be forcibly purchasable for +actual settlement. Even five per cent. would not +make an appreciable difference to an estate, though +every fraction of the five per cent. were taken up.</p> + +<p>For such proposals to have any effect, the transfer +of real property must be greatly simplified and +cheapened. From time to time, whenever a discussion +occurs upon this subject, and there are signs +that the glacier-like movements of government will +be hastened by public stir, up rises some great lawyer +and explains to the world that really nothing could +be simpler or cheaper than such transfer. All that +can be wished in that direction has been accomplished +already; there is not the slightest ground for +agitation; every obstruction has been removed, and +the machinery is now perfect. He quotes a long +list of Acts to demonstrate the progress that has been +made, and so winds up a very effective speech. +Facts, however, are not in accordance with these +gracious words. Here is an instance. A cottage in +a village was recently sold for seventy pounds; the +costs, legal expenses, parchments, all the antiquated +formalities absorbed <i>thirty-two pounds</i>, only three +pounds less than half the value of the little property. +Could anything be more obviously wrong than such +a system. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>The difficulties in the way of simplification are +created difficulties, entirely artificial, owing their +existence to legal ingenuity. How often has the +question been asked and never answered: Why +should there be any more expense in transferring +the ownership of an acre of land than of £100 +stock?</p> + +<p>The village council coming into contact with this +matter is likely to agitate continuously for its rectification, +since otherwise its movements will be seriously +hampered. If they succeed in obtaining the abolition +of these semi-feudal survivals, they will have conferred +a substantial benefit upon the community. +County franchise would be worth the granting +merely to secure this.</p> + +<p>Let us take the case for a moment of a labourer +at this day and consider his position. What has he +before him? He has a hand-to-mouth, nomad existence, +ending in the inevitable frozen misery of the +workhouse. Men with votes and political power +are hardly likely to endure this for many more years, +and it is much to be hoped that they will not endure +it. A labourer may be never so hard-working, so +careful, so sober, and yet let his efforts be what they +may, his old age finds him helpless. I am sure there +is no class of men among whom may be found so +many industrious, plodding, sober folk, economical +to the verge of starvation. Their straightforward +lives are thrown away. Their sons and daughters, +warned by example, go to the cities, and there lose +the virtues that rendered their forefathers so admirable +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +even in their wretchedness. It will indeed +be a blessing if, as I hope, the outcome of the +franchise is the foundation of solid inducements to +the countryman to stay in the country. I use the +phrase countryman purposely, intending it to include +small farmers and small farmers' sons; the latter are +likewise driven away from the land year by year as +much as the young labourers, and are as serious a +loss to it. Did the possibility exist of purchasing a +cottage and a plot of ground of moderate size, it is +more than probable that the labourer's son would +remain in the village, or return to it, and his +daughter would come back to the village to be +married. We hear how the poor Italian or the poor +Swiss leaves his native country for our harder climate, +how he works and saves, and by-and-by returns to +his village and purchases some corner of earth. This +seems a legitimate and worthy object. We do not +hear of our own sturdy labourers returning to their +village with a pocketful of money and purchasing a +plot of ground or a cottage. They do not attempt +it, because they know that under present conditions +it is nearly impossible. There is no land for them +to buy. Why not, when the country is nothing but +land? Because the owner of ten thousand acres is +by no means obliged to part with the minutest fragment +of it. If by chance a stray portion be somewhere +for sale, the expenses, the costs, the parchments, +the antiquated formalities, the semi-feudal routine +delay and possibly prevent transfer altogether. If +land were accessible, and the cost of transferring +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +cottage property reduced to reasonable proportions, +the labourer would have the soundest of all inducements +to practise self-denial in his youth. Cities +might attract him temporarily for the advantage of +higher wages, but he would put the excess by and +ultimately bring it home. Even the married cottager +with a family would try his hardest to save a little +with such a hope before him.</p> + +<p>The existing circumstances deny hope altogether. +Neither land nor cottages are to be had, there are +no sellers, and the cost of transfer is prohibitive; +men are shifted on, they have no security of tenure, +they are passed on from farm to farm and can settle +nowhere. The competition for a house in some +districts is keen to the last degree; it seems as if +there were eager crowds waiting for homes. Recently +while roaming on the Sussex hills I met an ancient +shepherd whose hair was white as snow, though he +stood upright enough. I inquired the names of the +hills there, and he replied that he did not know; he +was a stranger, he had only been moved there lately. +How strangely changed are things when a grey-headed +shepherd does not know the names of his +hills! At a time of life when he ought to have been +comfortably settled he had had to shift.</p> + +<p>Sentiment is more stubborn than fact. People +will face the sternest facts, dire facts, stubborn facts, +and stay on in spite of all; but once let sentiment +alter and away they troop. So I think that some +part of the distaste for farming visible about us is +due to change of sentiment—to feeling repelled—as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +well as to unfruitful years. Men have stood out +against weary weather in all ages of agriculture, but +lately they have felt hurt and repelled, the sentiment +of attachment to home has been rudely torn up, and +so now the current sets against farming, though +farms are often offered on advantageous terms. In +the same way, besides the stubborn facts that drive +the labourer from the village and prevent his return +to settle, there is a yet more stubborn sentiment +repelling him. Made a man of by education—not +only of books, but the unconscious education of progressive +times—the labourer and his son and daughter +have thoughts of independence. To be humbly +subservient to the will of those above them, to be +docilely obedient, not only to the employer, but to +all in some sort of authority, is not attractive to +them. Plainly put, the rule of parson and squire, +tenant and guardian, is repellent to them in these +days. They would rather go away. If they do save +money in cities, they do not care to return and settle +under the thumb of these their old masters. Besides +more attractive facts, the sentiment of independence +must be called into existence before the labourer, or, +for the matter of that, the small farmer's son, will +willingly settle in the village. That sense of independence +can only arise when the village governs +itself by its own council, irrespective of parson, squire, +tenant, or guardian. Towards that end the power +to vote is almost certain to drift slowly.</p> + +<p>Nothing can be conceived more harshly antagonistic +to the feelings of a naturally industrious race +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +of men than the knowledge that as a mass they are +looked upon as prospective 'paupers.' I detest this +word so much that it is painful to me to write it; I +put it between inverted commas as a sort of protest, +so that it may appear a hated intruder, and not native +to the text. The local government existing at this +day in country districts is practically based upon the +assumption that every labouring man will one day +be a 'pauper,' will one day come to the workhouse. +By the workhouse and its board the cottage is +governed; the workhouse is the centre, the bureau, +the <i>hôtel de ville</i>. The venue of local government +must be changed before the labourer can feel independent, +and it will be changed doubtless as he +becomes conscious of the new power he has acquired. +Shall the bitterness of the workhouse at last pass +away? Let us hope so let us be thankful indeed +if the franchise leads to the downfall of those cruel +walls. Yet what is the cruelty of cold walls to the +cruelty of 'system'? A workhouse in the country +is usually situated as nearly as possible in the centre +of the Union, it may be miles from the outlying +parishes. Thither the worn-out cottager is borne away +from the fields, his cronies, his little helps to old age +such as the corner where the sun shines, the friend +who allows little amenities, to dwindle and die. The +workhouse bureau extends its unfeeling hands into +every detail of cottage life. No wonder the labourer +does not deny himself to save money in order to +settle where these things are done. A happy day it +will be when the workhouse door is shut and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +building sold for materials. A gentleman not long +since wrote to me a vindication of his workhouse—I +cannot at the moment place my hand on the figures +he sent me, but I grant that they were conclusive +from his point of view; they were not extravagant, +the administration appeared correct. But this is not +my point of view at all. Figures are not humanity. +The workhouse and the poor-law system are inhuman, +debasing, and injurious to the whole country, +and the better they are administered, the worse it +really is, since it affords a specious pretext for their +continuance. What would be the use of a captain +assuring his passengers that the ship was well found, +plenty of coal in the bunkers, the engines oiled and +working smoothly, when they did not want to go to +the port for which he was steering? An exact dose +of poison may be administered, but what comfort is +it to the victim to assure him that it was accurately +measured to a minim? What is the value of informing +me that the 'paupers' are properly looked after +when I do not want any 'paupers'?</p> + +<p>But how manage without the poor-law system? +There are several ways. There is the insurance +method: space will not permit of discussion in this +paper, but one fact which speaks volumes may be +alluded to. Two large societies exist in this country +called the 'Oddfellows' and the 'Foresters'; they +number their members by the million; they assist +their members not only at home, but all over the +world (which is what no poor-law has ever done); +they govern themselves by their own laws, and they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +prosper exceedingly—an honour to the nation. They +have solved the difficulty for themselves.</p> + +<p>When the village governs itself and takes all +matters into its own hands, in time the sentiment of +independence may grow up and men begin to work +and strive and save, that they may settle at home. +It would be a very noble thing indeed if the true +English feeling for home life should become the +dominant passion of the country once again. By +home life I mean that which gathers about a house, +however small, standing in its own grounds. Something +comes into existence about such a house, an +influence, a pervading feeling, like some warm colour +softening the whole, tinting the lichen on the wall, +even the very smoke-marks on the chimney. It is +home, and the men and women born there will never +lose the tone it has given them. Such homes are <a class="corr" name="TC_7" id="TC_7" title="the the">the</a> +strength of a land. The emigrant who leaves us +for the backwoods hopes to carve out a home for +himself there, and we consider that an ambition to +be admired. I hope the day will come when some +at least of our people may be able to set up homes +for themselves in their own country. To-day, if +they would live, they must crowd into the city, +often to dwell in the midst of hideous squalor, or +they must cross the ocean. They would rather +endure the squalor, rather say farewell for ever and +sail for America, than stay in the village where +everyone is master, and none of their class can be +independent. The village must be its own master +before it becomes popular. County government may +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +be reformed with advantage, but that is not enough, +because it must necessarily be too far off. People in +the country are scattered, and each little centre is +naturally only concerned with itself. A government +having its centre at the county town is too far away, +and is likely to bear too much resemblance to the +boards of guardians and present authorities, to be +representative of land and money rather than of men. +Progress can only be made in each little centre +separately by means of village councils, genuinely +representative of the village folk, unswayed by +mansion, vicarage, or farm. Then by degrees we +may hope to see the re-awakening of English home-life +in contradistinction to that unhappy restlessness +which drives so many to the cities.</p> + +<p>Men will then wake up and work with energy +because they will have hope. The slow, plodding +manner of the labourer—the dull ways even of the +many industrious cottagers—these will disappear, +giving place to push and enterprise. Why does a +lawyer work as no navvy works? Why does a +cabinet minister labour the year through as hard as +a miner? Because they have a mental object. So +will the labourer work when he has a mental object—to +possess a home for himself.</p> + +<p>Whenever such homes become numerous and the +new life of the country begins to flow, pressure will +soon be brought to bear for the removal of the +mediæval law which prevents the use of steam on +common roads. Modern as the law is, it is mediæval +in its tendency as much as a law would be for the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +restriction of steam on the ocean. Suppose a statute +compelling all ships to sail, or, if they steamed, not +to exceed four miles an hour! One of the greatest +drawbacks to agriculture is the cost and difficulty of +transit; wheat, flour, and other foods come from +America at far less expense in proportion than it +takes to send a waggon-load to London. This cost +of transit in the United Kingdom will ultimately, +one would think, become the question of the day, +concerning as it does every individual. Agriculture +on a large scale finds it a heavy drawback; to agriculture +on a small scale it is often prohibitory. A +man may cultivate his two-acre plot and produce +vegetables and fruit, but if he cannot get his produce +to London (or some great city), the demand for it +is small, and the value low in proportion. As +settlers increase, as the village becomes its own +master, and men pass part at least of their time +labouring on their own land, the difficulty will be +felt to be a very serious one. Transit they must +have, and steam alone can supply it. Engines and +cars can be built to run on common roads almost as +easily as on rails, and as for danger it is merely the +interested outcry of those who deal in horses. There +is no danger. Fine smooth roads exist all over the +country; they have been kept up from coaching +days as if in a prophetic spirit for their future use +by steam. Upon these roads engines and cars can +travel at a good fair pace, collecting produce, and either +delivering it to the through lines of rail, or passing +it on from road-train to road-train till it reaches the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +city. This is a very important matter indeed, for in +the future easier and quicker transit will become +imperative for agriculture. The impost of extraordinary +tithe—the whole system of tithe—again, is +doomed when once the country begins to live its +new life. Freedom of cultivation is ten times more +needful to the small than to the large proprietor.</p> + +<p>These changes closely examined lose their threatening +aspect, so much so that the marvel is they did +not commence fifty years ago instead of waiting till +now, and even now to be only potential. What is +there in the present condition of agriculture to make +farmer or landowner anxious that the existing system +of things should continue? Surely nothing; surely +every consideration points in favour of moderate +change. Those who quote the example of France, +and would argue that dissatisfaction must, as there, +increase with efforts to allay it, must know full well +in their hearts that there is no comparison whatever +with France. The two peoples are so entirely +different. So little contents our race that the danger +is rather the other way, that they will be too easily +satisfied. Such changes as I have indicated, when +examined closely, are really so mild that in full +operation they would scarcely make any difference +in the relation of the classes. Such village councils +would be very anxious for the existence of the +farmer, and for his interests to be respected, for the +sufficient reason that they know the value of wages. +Perhaps they might even, under certain conditions, +become almost too willing partisans of the farmer +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +for their best interests to be served. I can imagine +such conditions easily enough, and the possibility of +the three sections, labourer, farmer, and owner, +becoming more closely welded together than ever. +There is far more stolidity to be regretted than +revolution to be feared. The danger is lest the +new voters should stolidify—crystallize—in tacit +league with existing conditions; not lest we should +go hop, skip, and jump over Niagara.</p> + +<p>A probable result of these changes is an increase +in the value of land: if thousands of people should +ever really begin to desire it, and to work and save +for the object of buying it, analogy would suppose +a rise in value. Instead of a loss there would be a +gain to the landowner, and I think to the farmer, +who would have a larger supply of labour, and +possibly a strong posse of supporters at the poll in +their men. Instead of division coalescence is more +probable. The greater his freedom, the greater his +attachment to home, the more settled the labourer, +the firmer will become the position of all three +classes. The landowner has nothing whatever to fear +for his park, his mansion, his privacy, his shooting, +or anything else. What is taken will be paid for, +and no more will be taken than needful. Parks and +woods are becoming of priceless value; we should +have to preserve a few landlords if only to have +parks and woods. Perfect rights of possession +are not at all incompatible with enjoyment by the +people. There are domains to be found where +people wander at their will, and enjoy themselves as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +much as they please, and yet the owner retains +every right. It is true that there are also numerous +parks rigidly closed to the public, demonstrating the +folly of the proprietors—square miles of folly. The +use of a little compulsion to open them would not +be at all deplorable. But it must stop there and +not encroach farther. Having obtained the use, be +careful not to destroy.</p> + +<p>The one great aim I have in all my thoughts is +the acquisition of public and the preservation of +private liberty. Freedom is the most valuable of +all things, and is to be sought with all our powers +of mind and hand. Freedom does not mean injustice, +but neither will it put up with injustice. A +singular misapprehension seems to be widely spread +in our time; it is that there are two great criminals, +the poor man or 'pauper' and the landlord. At +opposite extremes of the scale they are regarded as +equally guilty. Every right—the right to vote, the +right to live in his native village, the right to be +buried decently—is taken from the unhappy poor +man or 'pauper.' He is a criminal. To own land +is to be guilty of unpardonable sin, nothing is so +bad; as criminals are ordered to be searched and +everything taken from them, so everything is to be +taken from the landowner. The injustice to both +is equally evident. Anyone by chance of circumstances, +uncontrollable, may be reduced to extreme +poverty; how cruel to punish the unfortunate +with the loss of civil rights! Anyone by good +fortune and labour may acquire wealth, and would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +naturally wish to purchase land: is he then guilty? +In equity both the poor and the rich should enjoy +the same civil rights.</p> + +<p>Let the new voter then bear in mind above all +things the value of individual liberty, and not be +too anxious to destroy the liberty of others, an action +that invariably recoils. Let him, having obtained +his freedom, beware how he surrenders it again +either to local influence in the shape of land or +money, or to the outside orator who may urge him +on for his own ends. Efforts will be made no doubt +to use the new voter for the purposes of cliques and +fanatics. He can always test the value of their +object by the question of wages and food—'How +will it affect my wages and food?'—and probably +that is the test he will apply. A little knot of +resolute and straightforward men should be formed +in every village to see that the natural outcome of +the franchise is obtained. They can begin as +vigilance committees, and will ultimately reach to +legal status as councils.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="THE_WILTSHIRE_LABOURER" id="THE_WILTSHIRE_LABOURER"></a>THE WILTSHIRE LABOURER</h2> + + +<p>Ten years have passed away,<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> and the Wiltshire +labourers have only moved in two things—education +and discontent. I had the pleasure then of pointing +out in 'Fraser' that there were causes at work +promising a considerable advance in the labourers' +condition. I regret to say now that the advance, +which in a measure did take place, has been checkmated +by other circumstances, and there they remain +much as I left them, except in book-learning and +mental restlessness. They possess certain permanent +improvements—unexhausted improvements in agricultural +language—but these, in some way or other, +do not seem now so valuable as they looked. Ten +years since important steps were being taken for the +material benefit of the labouring class. Landowners +had awakened to the advantage of attaching the +peasantry to the soil, and were spending large sums +of money building cottages. Everywhere cottages +were put up on sanitary principles, so that to-day +few farms on great estates are without homes for the +men. This substantial improvement remains, and +cannot fade away. Much building, too, was progressing +about the farmsteads; the cattle-sheds were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +undergoing renovation, and this to some degree +concerned the labourer, who now began to do more +of his work under cover. The efforts of every writer +and speaker in the country had not been without +effect, and allotments, or large gardens, were added +to most cottage homes. The movement, however, +was slow, and promised more than it performed, so +that there are still cottages which have not shared in +it. But, on the whole, an advance in this respect did +occur, and the aggregate acreage of gardens and +allotments must be very considerably larger now than +formerly. These are solid considerations to quote on +the favourable side. I have been thinking to see if I +could find anything else. I cannot call to mind anything +tangible, but there is certainly more liberty, an +air of freedom and independence—something more +of the 'do as I please' feeling exhibited. Then the +sum ends. At that time experiments were being +tried on an extended scale in the field: such as +draining, the enlargement of fields by removing +hedges, the formation of private roads, the buildings +already mentioned, and new systems of agriculture, +so that there was a general stir and bustle which +meant not only better wages but wages for more +persons. The latter is of the utmost importance to +the tenant-labourer, by which I mean a man who is +settled, because it keeps his sons at home. Common +experience all over the world has always shown that +three or four or more people can mess together, as in +camps, at a cheaper rate than they can live separately. +If the father of the family can find work for his boys +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +within a reasonable distance of home, with their +united contributions they can furnish a very comfortable +table, one to which no one could object to +sit down, and then still have a sum over and above +with which to purchase clothes, and even to indulge +personal fancies. Such a pleasant state of things +requires that work should be plentiful in the neighbourhood. +Work at that time was plentiful, and +contented and even prosperous homes of this kind +could be found. Here is just where the difficulty +arises. From a variety of causes the work has +subsided. The father of the family—the settled +man, the tenant-labourer—keeps on as of yore, but +the boys cannot get employment near home. They +have to seek it afar, one here, one yonder—all apart, +and the wages each separately receives do but just +keep them in food among strangers. It is this scarcity +of work which in part seems to have counterbalanced +the improvements which promised so well. Instead +of the progress naturally to be expected you find the +same insolvency, the same wearisome monotony of +existence in debt, the same hopeless countenances and +conversation.</p> + +<p>There has been a contraction of enterprise everywhere, +and a consequent diminution of employment. +When a factory shuts its doors, the fact is patent to +all who pass. The hum of machinery is stopped, +and smoke no longer floats from the chimney; the +building itself, large and regular—a sort of emphasized +plainness of architecture—cannot be overlooked. It +is evident to everyone that work has ceased, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +least reflection shows that hundreds of men, perhaps +hundreds of families, are reduced from former comparative +prosperity. But when ten thousand acres of +land fall out of cultivation, the fact is scarcely noticed. +There the land is just the same, and perhaps some +effort is still made to keep it from becoming altogether +foul, so that a glance detects no difference. +The village feels it, but the world does not see it. +The farmer has left, and the money he paid over as +wages once a week is no longer forthcoming. Each +man's separate portion of that sum was not much in +comparison with the earnings of fortunate artisans, +but it was money. Ten, twelve, or as much as fifteen +shillings a week made a home; but just sufficient to +purchase food and meet other requirements, such as +clothes; yet still a home. On the cessation of the +twelve shillings where is the labourer to find a +substitute for it? Our country is limited in extent, +and it has long been settled to its utmost capacity. +Under present circumstances there is no room anywhere +for more than the existing labouring population. +It is questionable if a district could be found where, +under these present circumstances, room could be +found for ten more farmers' men. Only so many +men can live as can be employed; in each district +there are only so many farmers; they cannot enlarge +their territories; and thus it is that every agricultural +parish is full to its utmost. Some places among +meadows appear almost empty. No one is at work +in the fields as you pass; there are cattle swishing +their tails in the shadow of the elms, but not a single +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +visible person; acres upon acres of grass, and no +human being. Towards the latter part of the afternoon, +if the visitor has patience to wait, there will be +a sound of shouting, which the cattle understand, and +begin in their slow way to obey by moving in its +direction. Milking time has come, and one or two +men come out to fetch in the cows. That over, for +the rest of the evening and till milking time in the +morning the meadows will be vacant. Naturally it +would be supposed that there is room here for a great +number of people. Whole crowds might migrate +into these grassy fields, put up shanties, and set to +work. But set to work at what? That is just the +difficulty. Whole crowds could come here and find +plenty of room to walk about—and starve! Cattle +require but few to look after them. Milch cattle +need most, but grazing beasts practically no one, for +one can look after so many. Upon inquiry it would +be found that this empty parish is really quite full. +Very likely there are empty cottages, and yet it is +quite full. A cottage is of no use unless the occupier +can obtain regular weekly wages. The farmers are +already paying as many as they can find work for, +and not one extra hand is wanted; except, of course, +in the press of hay-harvest, but no one can settle on +one month's work out of twelve. When ten or +fifteen thousand acres of land fall out of cultivation, +and farmers leave, what is to become of the labouring +families they kept? What has become of them?</p> + +<p>It is useless blinking the fact that what a man +wants in our time is good wages, constant wages, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +and a chance of increasing wages. Labouring men +more and more think simply of work and wages. +They do not want kindness—they want coin. In +this they are not altogether influenced by self-interest; +they are driven rather than go of their +own movement. The world pushes hard on their +heels, and they must go on like the rest. A man +cannot drift up into a corner of some green lane, +and stay in his cottage out of the tide of life, as was +once the case. The tide comes to him. He must +find money somehow; the parish will not keep him +on out-relief if he has no work; the rate-collector +calls at his door; his children must go to school +decently clad with pennies in each little hand. He +must have wages. You may give him a better +cottage, you may give him a large allotment, you +may treat him as an equal, and all is of no avail. +Circumstance—the push of the world—forces him to +ask you for wages. The farmer replies that he has +only work for just so many and no more. The +land is full of people. Men reply in effect, 'We +cannot stay if a chance offers us to receive wages +from any railway, factory, or enterprise; if wages +are offered to us in the United States, there we must +go.' If they heard that in a town fifty miles distant +twenty shillings could be had for labour, how many +of the hale men do you suppose would stay in the +village? Off they would rush to receive the twenty +shillings per week, and the farmers might have the +land to themselves if they liked. Eighteen shillings +to a pound a week would draw off every man from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +agriculture, and leave every village empty. If a vast +industrial combination announced regular wages of +that amount for all who came, there would not be a +man left in the fields out of the two millions or more +who now till them.</p> + +<p>A plan to get more wages out of the land would +indeed be a wonderful success. As previously explained, +it is not so much the amount paid to one +individual as the paying of many individuals that +is so much to be desired. Depression in agriculture +has not materially diminished the sum given to a +particular labourer, but it has most materially +diminished the sum distributed among the numbers. +One of the remarkable features of agricultural difficulties +is, indeed, that the quotation of wages is +nominally the same as in the past years of plenty. +But then not nearly so many receive them. The +father of the family gets his weekly money the same +now as ten years since. At that date his sons found +work at home. At the present date they have to +move on. Some farmer is likely to exclaim, 'How +can this be, when I cannot get enough men when +I want them?' Exactly so, but the question is not +when you want <i>them</i>, but when they want you. You +cannot employ them, as of old, all the year round, +therefore they migrate, or move to and fro, and at +harvest time may be the other side of the county.</p> + +<p>The general aspect of country life was changing +fast enough before the depression came. Since then +it has continued to alter at an increasing rate—a rate +accelerated by education; for I think education increases +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +the struggle for more wages. As a man +grows in social stature so he feels the want of little +things which it is impossible to enumerate, but which +in the aggregate represent a considerable sum. +Knowledge adds to a man's social stature, and he +immediately becomes desirous of innumerable trifles +which, in ancient days, would have been deemed +luxuries, but which now seem very commonplace. +He wants somewhat more fashionable clothes, and I +use the word fashion in association with the ploughman +purposely, for he and his children do follow the +fashion now in as far as they can, once a week at +least. He wants a newspaper—only a penny a week, +but a penny is a penny. He thinks of an excursion +like the artisan in towns. He wants his boots to +shine as workmen's boots shine in towns, and must +buy blacking. Very likely you laugh at the fancy of +shoe-blacking having anything to do with the farm +labourer and agriculture. But I can assure you it +means a good deal. He is no longer satisfied with +the grease his forefathers applied to their boots; he +wants them to shine and reflect. For that he must, +too, have lighter boots, not the heavy, old, clod-hopping +watertights made in the village. If he +retains these for week-days, he likes a shiny pair +for Sundays. Here is the cost, then, of an additional +pair of shoes; this is one of the many trifles +the want of which accompanies civilization. Once +now and then he writes a letter, and must have pen, +ink, and paper; only a pennyworth, but then a +penny is a coin when the income is twelve or fourteen +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +shillings a week. He likes a change of hats—a +felt at least for Sunday. He is not happy till he has +a watch. Many more such little wants will occur to +anyone who will think about them, and they are the +necessary attendants upon an increase of social stature. +To obtain them the young man must have money—coins, +shillings, and pence. His thoughts, therefore, +are bent on wages; he must get wages somewhere, +not merely to live, for bread, but for these social +necessaries. That he can live at home with his +family, that in time he may get a cottage of his +own, that cottages are better now, large gardens +given, that the labourer is more independent—all +these and twenty other considerations—all these are +nothing to him, because they are not to be depended +on. Wages paid weekly are his aim, and thus it is +that education increases the value of a weekly stipend, +and increases the struggle for it by sending so many +more into the ranks of competitors. I cannot see +myself why, in the course of a little time, we may +not see the sons of ploughmen competing for clerkships, +situations in offices of various kinds, the +numerous employments not of a manual character. +So good is the education they receive, that, if only +their personal manners happen to be pleasant, they +have as fair a chance of getting such work as others.</p> + +<p>Ceaseless effort to obtain wages causes a drifting +about of the agricultural population. The hamlets +and villages, though they seem so thinly inhabited, +are really full, and every extra man and youth, finding +himself unable to get the weekly stipend at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +home, travels away. Some go but a little distance, +some across the width of the country, a few emigrate, +though not so many as would be expected. Some +float up and down continually, coming home to their +native parish for a few weeks, and then leaving it +again. A restlessness permeates the ranks; few but +those with families will hire for the year. They +would rather do anything than that. Family men +must do so because they require cottages, and four +out of six cottages belong to the landowners and are +part and parcel of the farms. The activity in cottage +building, to which reference has been made, as prevailing +ten or twelve years since, was solely on the +part of the landowners. There were no independent +builders; I mean the cottages were not built by the +labouring class. They are let by farmers to those +labourers who engage for the year, and if they quit +this employment they quit their houses. Hence it +is that even the labourers who have families are not +settled men in the full sense, but are liable to be +ordered on if they do not give satisfaction, or if +cause of quarrel arises. The only settled men—the +only fixed population in villages and hamlets at the +present day—are that small proportion who possess +cottages of their own. This proportion varies, of +course, but it is always small. Of old times, when +it was the custom for men to stay all their lives in +one district, and to work for one farmer quite as +much for payment in kind as for the actual wages, +this made little difference. Very few men once +settled in regular employment moved again; they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +and their families remained for many years as +stationary as if the cottage was their property, and +frequently their sons succeeded to the place and +work. Now in these days the custom of long +service has rapidly disappeared. There are many +reasons, the most potent, perhaps, the altered tone of +the entire country. It boots little to inquire into +the causes. The fact is, then, that no men, not even +with families, will endure what once they did. If +the conditions are arbitrary, or they consider they +are not well used, or they hear of better terms elsewhere, +they will risk it and go. So, too, farmers are +more given to changing their men than was once the +case, and no longer retain the hereditary faces about +them. The result is that the fixed population may +be said to decline every year. The total population +is probably the same, but half of it is nomad. It is +nomad for two reasons—because it has no home, and +because it must find wages.</p> + +<p>Farmers can only pay so much in wages and no +more; they are at the present moment really giving +higher wages than previously, though nominally the +same in amount. The wages are higher judged in +relation to the price of wheat; that is, to their +profits. If coal falls in price, the wages of coal-miners +are reduced. Now, wheat has fallen heavily +in price, but the wages of the labourer remain +the same, so that he is, individually, when he has +employment, receiving a larger sum. Probably, if +farming accounts were strictly balanced, and farming +like any other business, that sum would be found to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +be more than the business would bear. No trace of +oppression in wages can be found. The farmer gets +allowances from his landlord, and he allows something +to his labourers, and so the whole system is +kept up by mutual understanding. Except under a +very important rise in wheat, or a favourable change +in the condition of agriculture altogether, it is not +possible for the farmers to add another sixpence +either to the sum paid to the individual or to the +sum paid in the aggregate to the village.</p> + +<p>Therefore, as education increases—and it increases +rapidly—as the push of the world reaches the +hamlet; as the labouring class increase in social +stature, and twenty new wants are found; as they +come to look forth upon matters in a very different +manner to their stolid forefathers; it is evident that +some important problems will arise in the country. +The question will have to be asked: Is it better for +this population to be practically nomad or settled? +How is livelihood—<i>i.e.</i>, wages—to be found for it? +Can anything be substituted for wages? Or must +we devise a gigantic system of emigration, and in +a twelvemonth (if the people took it up) have every +farmer crying out that he was ruined, he could never +get his harvest in. I do not think myself that the +people could be induced to go under any temptation. +They like England in despite of their troubles. If +the farmer could by any happy means find out some +new plant to cultivate, and so obtain a better profit +and be able to give wages to more hands, the nomad +population would settle itself somehow, if in mud +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +huts. No chance of that is in sight at present, so +we are forced round to the consideration of a substitute +for wages.</p> + +<p>Now, ten or twelve years since, when much +activity prevailed in all things agricultural, it was +proposed to fix the labouring population to the soil +by building better cottages, giving them large gardens +and allotments, and various other privileges. This +was done; and in 'Fraser' I did not forget to credit +the good intent of those who did it. Yet now we +see, ten years afterwards, that instead of fixing the +population, the population becomes more wandering. +Why is this? Why have not these cottages and +allotments produced their expected effect? There +seems but one answer—that it is the lack of fixity +of tenure. All these cottages and allotments have +only been held on sufferance, on good behaviour, +and hence they have failed. For even for material +profit in the independent nineteenth century men do +not care to be held on their good behaviour. A +contract must be free and equal on both sides to be +respected. To illustrate the case, suppose that some +large banking institution in London gave out as a +law that all the employés must live in villas belonging +to the bank, say at Norwood. There they could +have very good villas, and gardens attached, and on +payment even paddocks, and there they could dwell +so long as they remained in the office. But the +instant any cause of disagreement arose they must +quit not only the office but their homes. What an +outcry would be raised against bank managers' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +tyranny were such a custom to be introduced! The +extreme hardship of having to leave the house on +which so much trouble had been expended, the +garden carefully kept up and planted, the paddock; +to leave the neighbourhood where friends had been +found, and which suited the constitution, and where +the family were healthy. Fancy the stir there would +be, and the public meetings to denounce the harsh +interference with liberty! Yet, with the exception +that the clerk might have £300 a year, and the +labourer 12s. or 14s. a week, the cases would be +exactly parallel. The labourer has no fixity of +tenure. He does not particularly care to lay himself +out to do his best in the field or for his master, +because he is aware that service is no inheritance, +and at any moment circumstances may arise which +may lead to his eviction. For it is really eviction, +though unaccompanied by the suffering associated +with the word—I was going to write 'abroad' for in +Ireland. So that all the sanitary cottages erected at +such expense, and all the large gardens and the +allotments offered, have failed to produce a contented +and settled working population. Most people are +familiar by this time with the demand of the tenant +farmers for some exalted kind of compensation, +which in effect is equivalent to tenant-right, <i>i.e.</i>, to +fixity of tenure. Without this, we have all been +pretty well informed by now, it is impossible for +farmers to flourish, since they cannot expend capital +unless they feel certain of getting it back again. +This is precisely the case with the labourer. His +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +labour is his capital, and he cannot expend it in one +district unless he is assured of his cottage and garden—that +is, of his homestead and farm. You cannot +have a fixed population unless it has a home, and the +labouring population is practically homeless. There +appears no possibility of any real amelioration of +their condition until they possess settled places of +abode. Till then they must move to and fro, and +increase in restlessness and discontent. Till then +they must live in debt, from hand to mouth, and +without hope of growth in material comfort. A +race for ever trembling on the verge of the workhouse +cannot progress and lay up for itself any +saving against old age. Such a race is feeble and +lacks cohesion, and does not afford that backbone an +agricultural population should afford to the country +at large. At the last, it is to the countryman, to +the ploughman, and 'the farmer's boy,' that a land +in difficulty looks for help. They are the last line +of defence—the reserve, the rampart of the nation. +Our last line at present is all unsettled and broken +up, and has lost its firm and solid front. Without +homes, how can its ranks ever become firm and solid +again?</p> + +<p>An agricultural labourer entering on a cottage and +garden with his family, we will suppose, is informed +that so long as he pays his rent he will not be +disturbed. He then sets to work in his off hours to +cultivate his garden and his allotment; he plants +fruit-trees; he trains a creeper over his porch. His +boys and girls have a home whenever out of service, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +and when they are at home they can assist in cultivating +their father's little property. The family has +a home and a centre, and there it will remain for +generations. Such is certainly the case wherever a +labourer has a cottage of his own. The family +inherit it for generations; it would not be difficult +to find cases in which occupation has endured for a +hundred years. There is no danger now of the +younger members of the family staying too much at +home. The pressure of circumstances is too strong, +as already explained; all the tendencies of the time +are such as would force them from home in search +of wages. There is no going back, they must push +forwards.</p> + +<p>The cottage-tenure, like the farm-tenure, must +come from the landlord, of course. All movements +must fall on the landlord unless they are made +imperial questions. It is always the landowner who +has to bear the burden in the end. As the cottages +belong to the landowners, fixity or certainty of tenure +is like taking their rights from them. But not more +so than in the case of the exalted compensation +called tenant-right. Indeed, I think I shall show +that the change would be quite trifling beside +measures which deal with whole properties at once, +of five, ten, or twenty thousand acres, as the case +may be. For, in the first place, let note be taken of +a most important circumstance, which is that at the +present time these cottages let on sufferance do not +bring in one shilling to the landlord. They are not +the least profit to him. He does not receive the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +nominal rent, and if he did, of what value would be +so insignificant a sum, the whole of which for a year +would not pay a tenth part of the losses sustained by +the failure of one tenant farmer. As a fact, then, +the cottages are of no money value to the landowner. +A change, therefore, in the mode of tenure could not +affect the owner like a change in the tenure of a great +farm, say at a rental of £1,500. Not having received +any profit from the previous tenure of cottages, he +suffers no loss if the tenure be varied. The advantage +the landowner is supposed to enjoy from the +possession of cottages scattered about his farms is +that the tenants thereby secure men to do their +work. This advantage would be much better secured +by a resident and settled population. Take away the +conventional veil with which the truth is usually +flimsily hidden, and the fact is that the only objection +to a certain degree of fixity in cottage tenure is that +it would remove from the farmer the arbitrary power +he now possesses of eviction. What loss there would +be in this way it is not easy to see, since, as explained, +the men must have wages, and can only get them +from farmers, to whom therefore they must resort. +But then the man knows the power to give such +notice is there, and it does not agree with the feelings +of the nineteenth century. No loss whatever would +accrue either to landowner or tenant from a fixed +population. A farmer may say, 'But suppose the +man who has my cottage will not work for me?' +To this I reply, that if the district is so short of +cottages that it is possible for a farmer to be short of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +hands, the sooner pressure is applied in some way, +and others built, the better for landowner, tenant, +and labourer. If there is sufficient habitation for +the number of men necessary for cultivating the +land, there will be no difficulty, because one particular +labourer will not work for one particular farmer. +That labourer must then do one of two things, he +must starve or work for some other farmer, where +his services would dispossess another labourer, who +would immediately take the vacant place. The +system of employing men on sufferance, and keeping +them, however mildly, under the thumb, is a system +totally at variance with the tenets of our time. It is +a most expensive system, and ruinous to true self-respect, +insomuch as it tends to teach the labourer's +children that the only way they can show the independence +of their thought is by impertinent language. +How much better for a labourer to be perfectly free—how +much better for an employer to have a man +to work for him quite outside any suspicion of +sufferance, or of being under his thumb! I should +not like men under my thumb; I should like to +pay them for their work, and there let the contract +end, as it ends in all other businesses. As +more wages cannot be paid, the next best thing, +perhaps the absolutely necessary thing, is a fixed +home.</p> + +<p>I think it would pay any landowner to let all the +cottages upon his property to the labourers themselves +direct, exactly as farms are let, giving them +security of tenure, so long as rent was forthcoming, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +with each cottage to add a large garden, or allotment, +up to, say, two acres, at an agricultural, and not an +accommodation, rent. Most gardens and allotments +are let as a favour at a rent about three times, and +in some cases even six times, the agricultural rent of +the same soil in the adjoining fields. Cottagers do +not look upon such tenancies—held, too, on sufferance—as +a favour or kindness, and feel no gratitude +nor any attachment to those who permit them to dig +and delve at thrice the charge the farmer pays. Add +to these cottages gardens, not necessarily adjoining +them, but as near as circumstances allow, up to two +acres at a purely agricultural rental. If, in addition, +facilities were to be given for the gradual purchase of +the freehold by the labourer on the same terms as +are now frequently held out by building societies, +it would be still better. I think it would turn +out for the advantage of landowner, tenant, and +the country at large to have a settled agricultural +population.</p> + +<p>The limit of two acres I mention, not that there is +any especial virtue in that extent of land, but because +I do not think the labourer would profit by having +more, since he must then spend his whole time cultivating +his plot. Experience has proved over and +over again that for a man in England to live by +spade-husbandry on four or five acres of land is the +most miserable existence possible. He can but just +scrape a living, he is always failing, his children are +in rags, and debt ultimately consumes him. He is +of no good either to himself or to others or to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +country. For in our country agriculture, whether +by plough or spade, is confined to three things, to +grass, corn, or cattle, and there is no plant like the +vine by which a small proprietor may prosper. Wet +seasons come, and see—even the broad acres cultivated +at such an expense of money produce nothing, and the +farmer comes to the verge of ruin. But this verge +of ruin to the small proprietor who sees his four +acres of crops destroyed means simple extinction. +So that the amount of land to be of advantage is +that amount which the cottager can cultivate without +giving his entire time to it; so that, in fact, he +may also earn wages.</p> + +<p>To landowner and farmer the value of a fixed +population like this, fixed and independent, and +looking only for payment for what was actually +done, and not for eleemosynary earnings, would +be, I think, very great. There would be a constant +supply of first-class labour available all the year round. +A supply of labour on an estate is like water-power +in America—indispensable. But if you have no +resident supply you face two evils—you must pay +extra to keep men there when you have no real +work for them to do, or you must offer fancy wages +in harvest. Now, I think a resident population +would do the same work if not at less wages at the +time of the work, yet for less money, taking the +year through.</p> + +<p>I should be in hopes that such a plan would soon +breed a race of men of the sturdiest order, the true +and natural countrymen; men standing upright in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +the face of all, without one particle of servility; +paying their rates, and paying their rents; absolutely +civil and pleasant-mannered, because, being really +independent, they would need no impudence of +tongue to assert what they did not feel; men giving +a full day's work for a full day's wages (which is +now seldom seen); men demanding to be paid in +full for full work, but refusing favours and petty +assistance to be recouped hereafter; able to give +their children a fixed home to come back to; able +even to push them in life if they wish to leave +employment on the land; men with the franchise, +voting under the protection of the ballot, and voting +first and foremost for the demolition of the infernal +poor-law and workhouse system.</p> + +<p>The men are there. This is no imaginary class +to be created, they are there, and they only require +homes to become the finest body in the world, a +rampart to the nation, a support not only to agriculture +but to every industry that needs the help of labour. +For physique they have ever been noted, and if it is +not valued at home it is estimated at its true value +in the colonies. From Australia, America, all countries +desiring sinews and strength, come earnest persuasions +to these men to emigrate. They are desired above +all others as the very foundation of stability. It is +only at home that the agricultural labourer is despised. +If ever there were grounds for that contempt in his +illiterate condition they have disappeared. I have +always maintained that intelligence exists outside +education, that men who can neither read nor write +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +often possess good natural parts. The labourer at +large possesses such parts, but until quite lately he +has had no opportunity of displaying them. Of +recent years he or his children have had an opportunity +of displaying their natural ability, since education +was brought within reach of them all. Their +natural power has at once shown itself, and all the +young men and young women are now solidly educated. +The reproach of being illiterate can no longer be hurled +at them. They never were illiterate mentally; they +are now no more illiterate in the partial sense of book-knowledge. +A young agricultural labourer to-day +can speak almost as well as the son of a gentleman. +There is, of course, a little of the country accent +remaining, and some few technical words are in use. +Why should they not be? Do not gentlemen on +the Exchange use technical terms? I cannot see +myself that 'contango' is any better English, or +'backwardation' more indicative of intelligence, than +the terms used in the field. The labourer of to-day +reads, and thinks about what he reads. The young, +being educated, have brought education to their +parents, the old have caught the new tone from the +young. It is acknowledged that the farm labourer +is the most peaceful of all men, the least given to +agitation for agitation's sake. Permit him to live +and he is satisfied. He has no class ill-feeling, +either against farmer or landowner, and he resists +all attempts to introduce ill-feeling. He maintains +a steady and manly attitude, calm, and considering, +without a trace of hasty revolutionary sentiments. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +I say that such a race of men are not to be despised; +I say that they are the very foundation of +a nation's stability. I say that in common justice +they deserve settled homes; and further, that as a +matter of sound policy they should be provided with +them.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="ON_THE_DOWNS" id="ON_THE_DOWNS"></a>ON THE DOWNS</h2> + + +<p>A trailing beam of light sweeps through the +combe, broadening out where it touches the ground, +and narrowing up to the cloud with which it travels. +The hollow groove between the hills is lit up where +it falls as with a ray cast from a mirror. It is an +acre wide on the sward, and tapers up to the invisible +slit in the cloud; a mere speck of light from the sky +enlightens the earth, and one thought opens the +hearts of all men. On the slope here the furze +is flecked with golden spots, and black-headed +stonechats perch on ant-hills or stray flints, taking +no heed of a quiet wanderer. Afar, blue line upon +blue line of down is drawn along in slow curves, and +beneath, the distant sea appears a dim plain with five +bright streaks, where the sunshine pours through as +many openings in the clouds. The wind smells like +an apple fresh plucked; suddenly the great beam of +light vanishes as the sun comes out, and at once the +single beam is merged in the many.</p> + +<p>Light and colour, freedom and delicious air, give +exquisite pleasure to the senses; but the heart +searches deeper, and draws forth food for itself from +sunshine, hills and sea. Desiring their beauty so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +deeply, the desire in a measure satisfies itself. It is +a thirst which slakes itself to grow the stronger. It +springs afresh from the light, from the blue hill-line +yonder, from the gorse-flower at hand; to seize upon +something that seems in them, which they symbolize +and speak of; to take it away within oneself; to +absorb it and feel conscious of it—a something that +cannot be defined, but which corresponds with all +that is highest, truest, and most ideal within the mind. +It says, Hope and aspire, strive for largeness of +thought. The wind blows, and declares that the +mind has capacity for more than has ever yet been +brought to it. The wind is wide, and blows not +only here, but along the whole range of hills—the +hills are not broad enough for it; nor is the sea—it +crosses the ocean and spreads itself whither it will. +Though invisible, it is material, and yet it knows no +limit. As the wind to the fixed boulder lying deep +in the sward, so is the immaterial mind to the wind. +There is capacity in it for more than has ever yet +been placed before it. No system, no philosophy +yet organized in logical sequence satisfies the inmost +depth—fills and fully occupies the well of thought. +Read the system, and with the last word it is over—the +mind passes on and requires more. It is but +a crumb tasted and gone: who should remember a +crumb? But the wind blows, not one puff and then +stillness: it continues; if it does cease there remains +the same air to be breathed. So that the physical +part of man thus always provided with air for breathing +is infinitely better cared for than his mind, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +gets but little crumbs, as it were, coming from old +times. These are soon gone, and there remains +nothing. Somewhere surely there must be more. +An ancient thinker considered that the atmosphere +was full of faint images—spectra, reflections, or +emanations retaining shape, though without substance—that +they crowded past in myriads by day +and night. Perhaps there may be thoughts invisible, +but floating round us, if we could only render +ourselves sensitive to their impact. Such a remark +must not be taken literally—it is only an effort to +convey a meaning, just as shadow throws up light. +The light is that there are further thoughts yet to be +found.</p> + +<p>The fulness of Nature and the vacancy of mental +existence are strangely contrasted. Nature is full +everywhere; there is no chink, no unfurnished +space. The mind has only a few thoughts to recall, +and those old, and that have been repeated these +centuries past. Unless the inner mind (not that +which deals with little matters of daily labour) lets +itself rest on every blade of grass and leaf, and listens +to the soothing wind, it must be vacant—vacant +for lack of something to do, not from limit of +capacity. For it is too strong and powerful for the +things it has to grasp; they are crushed like wheat in +a mill. It has capacity for so much, and it is supplied +with so little. All the centuries that have gone have +gathered hardly a bushel, as it were, and these dry +grains are quickly rolled under strong thought and +reduced to dust. The mill must then cease, not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +that it has no further power, but because the supply +stops. Bring it another bushel, and it will grind as +long as the grain is poured in. Let fresh images +come in a stream like the apple-scented wind; there +is room for them, the storehouse of the inner mind +expands to receive them, wide as the sea which +receives the breeze. The Downs are now lit with +sunlight—the night will cover them presently—but +the mind will sigh as eagerly for these things as in +the glory of day. Sooner or later there will surely +come an opening in the clouds, and a broad beam of +light will descend. A new thought scarcely arrives +in a thousand years, but the sweet wind is always +here, providing breath for the physical man. Let +hope and faith remain, like the air, always, so that +the soul may live. That such a higher thought may +come is the desire—the prayer—which springs on +viewing the blue hill line, the sea, the flower.</p> + +<p>Stoop and touch the earth, and receive its influence; +touch the flower, and feel its life; face the wind, and +have its meaning; let the sunlight fall on the open +hand as if you could hold it. Something may be +grasped from them all, invisible yet strong. It is the +sense of a wider existence—wider and higher. Illustrations +drawn from material things (as they needs must +be) are weak to convey such an idea. But much +may be gathered indirectly by examining the powers +of the mind—by the light thrown on it from physical +things. Now, at this moment, the blue dome of the +sky, immense as it is, is but a span to the soul. +The eye-glance travels to the horizon in an instant—the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +soul-glance travels over all matter also in a +moment. By no possibility could a world, or a series +of worlds, be conceived which the mind could not +traverse instantaneously. Outer space itself, therefore, +seems limited and with bounds, because the +mind is so penetrating it can imagine nothing to the +end of which it cannot get. Space—ethereal space, +as far beyond the stars as it is to them—think of it +how you will, ends each side in dimness. The +dimness is its boundary. The mind so instantly +occupies all space that space becomes finite, and with +limits. It is the things that are brought before it +that are limited, not the power of the mind.</p> + +<p>The sweet wind says, again, that the inner mind +has never yet been fully employed; that more than +half its power still lies dormant. Ideas are the tools +of the mind. Without tools you cannot build a ship. +The minds of savages lie almost wholly dormant, +not because naturally deficient, but because they lack +the ideas—the tools—to work with. So we have +had our ideas so long that we have built all we can +with them. Nothing further can be constructed +with these materials. But whenever new and larger +materials are discovered we shall find the mind able +to build much more magnificent structures. Let us, +then, if we cannot yet discover them, at least wait +and watch as ceaselessly as the hills, listening as the +wind blows over. Three-fourths of the mind still +sleeps. That little atom of it needed to conduct the +daily routine of the world is, indeed, often strained +to the utmost. That small part of it, again, occasionally +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +exercised in re-learning ancient thoughts, is +scarcely half employed—small as it is. There is so +much more capacity in the inner mind—a capacity of +which but few even dream. Until favourable times +and chances bring fresh materials for it, it is not +conscious of itself. Light and freedom, colour, and +delicious air—sunshine, blue hill lines, and flowers—give +the heart to feel that there is so much more to +be enjoyed of which we walk in ignorance.</p> + +<p>Touching a flower, it seems as if some of this were +absorbed from it; it flows from the flower like its +perfume. The delicate odour of the violet cannot +be written; it is material yet it cannot be expressed. +So there is an immaterial influence flowing from it +which escapes language. Touching the greensward, +there is a feeling as if the great earth sent a mystic +influence through the frame. From the sweet wind, +too, it comes. The sunlight falls on the hand; the +light remains without on the surface, but its influence +enters the very being. This sense of absorbing +something from earth, and flower, and sunlight is like +hovering on the verge of a great truth. It is the +consciousness that a great truth is there. Not that +the flower and the wind know it, but that they stir +unexplored depths in the mind. They are only +material—the sun sinks, darkness covers the hills, +and where is their beauty then? The feeling or +thought which is excited by them resides in the mind, +and the purport and drift of it is a wider existence—yet +to be enjoyed on earth. Only to think of and +imagine it is in itself a pleasure. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + +<p>The red-tipped hawthorn buds are full of such a +thought; the tender green of the leaf just born +speaks it. The leaf does not come forth shapeless. +Already, at its emergence, there are fine divisions at +the edge, markings, and veins. It is wonderful from +the commencement. A thought may be put in a +line, yet require a life-time to understand in its completeness. +The leaf was folded in the tiny red-tipped +bud—now it has come forth how long must +one ponder to fully appreciate it?</p> + +<p>Those things which are symbolized by the leaf, the +flower, the very touch of earth, have not yet been +put before the mind in a definite form, and shaped +so that they can be weighed. The mind is like a +lens. A lens can examine nothing of itself, but no +matter what is put before it, it will magnify it so +that it can be searched into. So whatever is put +before the mind in such form that it may be perceived, +the mind will search into and examine. It is +not that the mind is limited, and unable to understand; +it is that the facts have not yet been placed +in front of it. But because as yet these things are +like the leaf folded in the bud, that is no reason why +we should say they are beyond hope of comprehension.</p> + +<p>Such a course inflicts the greatest moral injury on +the world. Remaining content upon a mental level +is fatal, saying to ourselves, 'There is nothing more, +this is our limit; we can go no farther,' is the ruin +of the mind, as much sleep is the ruin of the body. +Looking back through history, it is evident that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +thought has forced itself out on the world by its own +power and against an immense inertia. Thought +has worked its way by dint of its own energy, and +not because it was welcomed. So few care or hope +for a higher mental level; the old terrace of mind +will do; let us rest; be assured no higher terrace +exists. Experience, however, from time to time has +proved that higher terraces did exist. Without +doubt there are others now. Somewhere behind the +broad beam of life sweeping so beautifully through +the combe, somewhere behind the flower, and in +the wind. Yet to come up over the blue hill line, +there are deeper, wider thoughts still. Always let +us look higher, in spite of the narrowness of daily +life. The little is so heavy that it needs a strong +effort to escape it. The littleness of daily routine; the +care felt and despised, the minutiæ which grow against +our will, come in time to be heavier than lead. +There should be some comfort in the thought that, +however these may strain the mind, it is certain that +hardly a fiftieth part of its real capacity is occupied +with them. There is an immense power in it unused. +By stretching one muscle too much it becomes +overworked; still, there are a hundred other +muscles in the body. In truth, we do not fully +understand our own earth, our own life, yet. Never, +never let us permit the weight of little things to +bear us wholly down. If any object that these are +vague aspirations, so is the wind vague, yet it is +real. They may direct us as strongly as the wind +presses on the sails of a ship. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>The blue hill line arouses a perception of a current +of thought which lies for the most part unrecognized +within—an unconscious thought. By looking at this +blue hill line this dormant power within the mind +becomes partly visible; the heart wakes up to it.</p> + +<p>The intense feeling caused by the sunshine, by +the sky, by the flowers and distant sea is an increased +consciousness of our own life. The stream +of light—the rush of sweet wind—excites a deeper +knowledge of the soul. An unutterable desire at +once arises for more of this; let us receive more of +the inner soul life which seeks and sighs for purest +beauty. But the word beauty is poor to convey the +feelings intended. Give us the thoughts which +correspond with the feeling called up by the sky, the +sea afar, and the flower at hand. Let us really be in +ourselves the sunbeam which we use as an illustration. +The recognition of its loveliness, and of the +delicious air, is really a refined form of prayer—the +purer because it is not associated with any object, +because of its width and openness. It is not prayer +in the sense of a benefit desired, it is a feeling of +rising to a nobler existence.</p> + +<p>It does not include wishes connected with routine +and labour. Nor does it depend on the brilliant sun—this +mere clod of earth will cause it, even a little +crumble of mould. The commonest form of matter +thus regarded excites the highest form of spirit. The +feelings may be received from the least morsel of +brown earth adhering to the surface of the skin on +the hand that has touched the ground. Inhaling +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +this deep feeling, the soul, perforce, must pray—a +rude imperfect word to express the aspiration—with +every glimpse of sunlight, whether it come in a room +amid routine, or in the solitude of the hills; with +every flower, and grass-blade, and the vast earth +underfoot; with the gleam on the distant sea, with +the song of the lark on high, and the thrush lowly +in the hawthorn.</p> + +<p>From the blue hill lines, from the dark copses on +the ridges, the shadows in the combes, from the +apple-sweet wind and rising grasses, from the leaf +issuing out of the bud to question the sun—there +comes from all of these an influence which forces the +heart to lift itself in earnest and purest desire.</p> + +<p>The soul knows itself, and would live its own life.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="THE_SUN_AND_THE_BROOK" id="THE_SUN_AND_THE_BROOK"></a>THE SUN AND THE BROOK</h2> + + +<p>The sun first sees the brook in the meadow where +some roach swim under a bulging root of ash. +Leaning against the tree, and looking down into the +water, there is a picture of the sky. Its brightness +hides the sandy floor of the stream as a picture conceals +the wall where it hangs, but, as if the water +cooled the rays, the eye can bear to gaze on the +image of the sun. Over its circle thin threads of +summer cloud are drawn; it is only the reflection, +yet the sun seems closer seen in the brook, more to +do with us, like the grass, and the tree, and the +flowing stream. In the sky it is so far, it cannot be +approached, nor even gazed at, so that by the very +virtue and power of its own brilliance it forces us to +ignore, and almost forget it. The summer days go +on, and no one notices the sun. The sweet water +slipping past the green flags, with every now and +then a rushing sound of eager haste, receives the +sky, and it becomes a part of the earth and of life. +No one can see his own face without a glass; no +one can sit down and deliberately think of the soul +till it appears a visible thing. It eludes—the mind +cannot grasp it. But hold a flower in the hand—a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +rose, this later honeysuckle, or this the first harebell—and +in its beauty you can recognize your own +soul reflected as the sun in the brook. For the soul +finds itself in beautiful things.</p> + +<p>Between the bulging root and the bank there is a +tiny oval pool, on the surface of which the light does +not fall. There the eye can see deep down into the +stream, which scarcely moves in the hollow it has +worn for itself as its weight swings into the concave +of the bend. The hollow is illumined by the light +which sinks through the stream outside the root; +and beneath, in the green depth, five or six roach +face the current. Every now and then a tiny curl +appears on the surface inside the root, and must rise +up to come there. Unwinding as it goes, its raised +edge lowers and becomes lost in the level. Dark +moss on the base of the ash darkens the water under. +The light green leaves overhead yield gently to the +passing air; there are but few leaves on the tree, and +these scarcely make a shadow on the grass beyond +that of the trunk. As the branch swings, the gnats +are driven farther away to avoid it. Over the +verge of the bank, bending down almost to the root +in the water, droop the heavily seeded heads of tall +grasses which, growing there, have escaped the +scythe.</p> + +<p>These are the days of the convolvulus, of ripening +berry, and dropping nut. In the gateways, ears of +wheat hang from the hawthorn boughs, which seized +them from the passing load. The broad aftermath +is without flowers; the flowers are gone to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +uplands and the untilled wastes. Curving opposite +the south, the hollow side of the brook has received +the sunlight like a silvered speculum every day that +the sun has shone. Since the first violet of the +meadow, till now that the berries are ripening, +through all the long drama of the summer, the rays +have visited the stream. The long, loving touch of +the sun has left some of its own mystic attraction in +the brook. Resting here, and gazing down into it, +thoughts and dreams come flowing as the water +flows. Thoughts without words, mobile like the +stream, nothing compact that can be grasped and +stayed: dreams that slip silently as water slips +through the fingers. The grass is not grass alone; +the leaves of the ash above are not leaves only. +From tree, and earth, and soft air moving, there +comes an invisible touch which arranges the senses +to its waves as the ripples of the lake set the sand in +parallel lines. The grass sways and fans the reposing +mind; the leaves sway and stroke it, till it +can feel beyond itself and with them, using each +grass blade, each leaf, to abstract life from earth and +ether. These then become new organs, fresh nerves +and veins running afar out into the field, along the +winding brook, up through the leaves, bringing a +larger existence. The arms of the mind open wide +to the broad sky.</p> + +<p>Some sense of the meaning of the grass, and +leaves of the tree, and sweet waters hovers on the +confines of thought, and seems ready to be resolved +into definite form. There is a meaning in these +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +things, a meaning in all that exists, and it comes +near to declare itself. Not yet, not fully, nor in +such shape that it may be formulated—if ever it will +be—but sufficiently so to leave, as it were, an unwritten +impression that will remain when the glamour +is gone, and grass is but grass, and a tree a tree.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="NATURE_AND_ETERNITY" id="NATURE_AND_ETERNITY"></a>NATURE AND ETERNITY</h2> + + +<p>The goldfinches sing so sweetly hidden in the topmost +boughs of the apple-trees that heart of man +cannot withstand them. These four walls, though +never so well decorated with pictures, this flat white +ceiling, feels all too small, and dull and tame. Down +with books and pen, and let us away with the goldfinches, +the princes of the birds. For thirty of their +generations they have sung and courted and built +their nests in those apple-trees, almost under the +very windows—a time in their chronology equal to +a thousand years. For they are so very busy, from +earliest morn till night—a long summer's day is like +a year. Now flirting with a gaily-decked and coy +lady-love, chasing her from tree to tree; now splashing +at the edge of a shallow stream till the golden +feathers glisten and the red topknot shines. Then +searching in and out the hedgerow for favourite +seeds, and singing, singing all the while, verily a +'song without an end.' The wings never still, the +bill never idle, the throat never silent, and the tiny +heart within the proud breast beating so rapidly that, +reckoning time by change and variety, an hour must +be a day. A life all joy and freedom, without thought, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +and full of love. What a great god the sun must be +to the finches from whose wings his beams are reflected +in glittering gold! The abstract idea of a deity apart, +as they feel their life-blood stirring, their eyelids +opening, with the rising sun; as they fly to satisfy +their hunger with those little fruits they use; as they +revel in the warm sunshine, and utter soft notes of +love to their beautiful mates, they cannot but feel +a sense, unnamed, indefinite, of joyous gratitude +towards that great orb which is very nearly akin to +the sensual worship of ancient days. Darkness and +cold are Typhon and Ahriman, light and warmth, +Osiris and Ormuzd, indeed to them; with song they +welcome the spring and celebrate the awakening of +Adonis. Lovely little idolaters, my heart goes with +them. Deep down in the mysteries of organic life +there are causes for the marvellously extended grasp +which the worship of light once held upon the world, +hardly yet guessed at, and which even now play a +part unsuspected in the motives of men. Even yet, +despite our artificial life, despite railroads, telegraphs, +printing-press, in the face of firm monotheistic convictions, +once a year the old, old influence breaks +forth, driving thousands and thousands from cities +and houses out into field and forest, to the seashore +and mountain-top, to gather fresh health and strength +from the Sun, from the Air—Jove—and old Ocean. +So the goldfinches rejoice in the sunshine, and who +can sit within doors when they sing?</p> + +<p>Foolish fashion has banished the orchard from the +mansion—the orchard which Homer tells us kings +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +once valued as part of their demesne—and has substituted +curious evergreens to which the birds do not +take readily. But this orchard is almost under the +windows, and in summer the finches wake the sleeper +with their song, and in autumn the eye looks down +upon the yellow and rosy fruit. Up the scaling bark +of the trunks the brown tree-climbers run, peering +into every cranny, and few are the insects which +escape those keen eyes. Sitting on a bench under +a pear-tree, I saw a spider drop from a leaf fully +nine feet above the ground, and disappear in the +grass, leaving a slender rope of web, attached at the +upper end to a leaf, and at the lower to a fallen pear. +In a few minutes a small white caterpillar, barely an +inch long, began to climb this rope. It grasped the +thread in the mouth and drew up its body about +a sixteenth of an inch at a time, then held tight with +the two fore-feet, and, lifting its head, seized the +rope a sixteenth higher; repeating this operation +incessantly, the rest of the body swinging in the air. +Never pausing, without haste and without rest, this +creature patiently worked its way upwards, as a man +might up a rope. Let anyone seize a beam overhead +and attempt to lift the chest up to a level with it, the +expenditure of strength is very great; even with long +practice, to 'swarm' up a pole or rope to any distance +is the hardest labour the human muscles are capable +of. This despised 'creeping thing,' without the +slightest apparent effort, without once pausing to +take breath, reached the leaf overhead in rather under +half an hour, having climbed a rope fully 108 times +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +its own length. To equal this a man must climb +648 feet, or more than half as high again as St. Paul's. +The insect on reaching the top at once commenced +feeding, and easily bit through the hard pear-leaf: +how delicately then it must have grasped the slender +spider's web, which a touch would destroy! The +thoughts which this feat call forth do not end here, +for there was no necessity to go up the thread; the +insect could to all appearance have travelled up the +trunk of the tree with ease, and it is not to be supposed +that its mouth and feet were specially adapted +to climb a web, a thing which I have never seen done +since, and which was to all appearance merely the +result of the <i>accident</i> of the insect coming along just +after the spider had left the thread. Another few +minutes, and the first puff of wind would have carried +the thread away—as a puff actually did soon afterwards. +I claim a wonderful amount of <i>original</i> intelligence—as +opposed to the ill-used term instinct—of +patience and perseverance for this creature. It is so +easy to imagine that because man is big, brain power +cannot exist in tiny organizations; but even in man +the seat of thought is so minute that it escapes discovery, +and his very life may be said to lie in the +point of contact of two bones of the neck. Put the +mind of man within the body of the caterpillar—what +more could it have done? Accustomed to bite +and eat its way through hard leaves, why did not +the insect snip off and destroy its rope? These are +matters to think over dreamily while the finches sing +overhead in the apple-tree. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>They are not the only regular inhabitants, still less +the only visitors. As there are wide plains even in +thickly populated England where man has built no +populous city, so in bird-life there are fields and +woods almost deserted by the songsters, who at the +same time congregate thickly in a few favourite +resorts, where experience gathered in slow time has +shown them they need fear nothing from human +beings. Such a place, such a city of the birds and +beasts, is this old orchard. The bold and handsome +bullfinch builds in the low hawthorn hedge which +bounds it upon one side. In the walls of the arbour +formed of thick ivy and flowering creepers, the robin +and thrush hide their nests. On the topmost branches +of the tall pear-trees the swallows rest and twitter. +The noble blackbird, with full black eye, pecks at +the decaying apples upon the sward, and takes no +heed of a footstep. Sometimes the loving pair of +squirrels who dwell in the fir-copse at the end of the +meadow find their way down the hedges—staying at +each tree as an inn by the road—into the orchard, +and play their fantastic tricks upon the apple-boughs. +The flycatchers perch on a branch clear from the +tree, and dart at the passing flies. Merriest of all, +the tomtits chatter and scold, hanging under the +twigs, head downwards, and then away to their nest +in the crumbling stone wall which encloses one side +of the orchard. They have worked their way by +a cranny deep into the thick wall. On the other side +runs the king's highway, and ever and anon the teams +go by, making music with their bells. One day a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +whole nation of martins savagely attacked this wall. +Pressure of population probably had compelled them +to emigrate from the sand quarry, and the chinks in +the wall pleased their eyes. Five-and-thirty brown +little birds went to work like miners at twelve or +fourteen holes, tapping at the mortar with their bills, +scratching out small fragments of stone, twittering +and talking all the time, and there undoubtedly they +would have founded a colony had not the jingling +teams and now and then a barking dog disturbed +them. Resting on the bench and leaning back against +an apple-tree, it is easy to watch the eager starlings +on the chimney-top, and see them tear out the straw +of the thatch to form their holes. They are all +orators born. They live in a democracy, and fluency +of speech leads the populace. Perched on the edge +of the chimney, his bronze-tinted wings flapping +against his side to give greater emphasis—as a +preacher moves his hands—the starling pours forth +a flood of eloquence, now rising to screaming-pitch, +now modulating his tones to soft persuasion, now +descending to deep, low, complaining, regretful sounds—a +speech without words—addressed to a dozen +birds gravely listening on the ash-tree yonder. He +is begging them to come with him to a meadow +where food is abundant. In the ivy close under the +window there, within reach of the hand, a water-wagtail +built its nest. To this nest one lovely afternoon +came a great bird like a hawk, to the fearful +alarm and intense excitement of all the bird population. +It was a cuckoo, and after three or four visits, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +despite a curious eye at the window, there was a +strange egg in that nest. Inside that window, huddled +fearfully in the darkest corner of the room, there was +once a tiny heap of blue and yellow feathers. A +tomtit straying through the casement had been chased +by the cat till it dropped exhausted, and the cat was +fortunately frightened by a footstep. The bird was +all but dead—the feathers awry and ruffled, the eyelids +closed, the body limp and helpless—only a faint +fluttering of the tiny heart. When placed tenderly +on the ledge of the casement, where the warm +sunshine fell and the breeze came softly, it dropped +listlessly on one side. But in a little while the life-giving +rays quickened the blood, the eyelids opened, +and presently it could stand perched upon the finger. +Then, lest with returning consciousness fear should +again arise, the clinging claws were transferred from +the finger to a twig of wall-pear. A few minutes +more, and with a chirp the bird was gone into the +flood of sunlight. What intense joy there must have +been in that little creature's heart as it drank the +sweet air and felt the loving warmth of its great god +Ra, the Sun!</p> + +<p>Throwing open the little wicket-gate, by a step +the greensward of the meadow is reached. Though +the grass has been mown and the ground is dry, it is +better to carry a thick rug, and cast it down in the +shadow under the tall horse-chestnut-tree. It is only +while in a dreamy, slumbrous, half-mesmerized state +that nature's ancient papyrus roll can be read—only +when the mind is at rest, separated from care and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +labour; when the body is at ease, luxuriating in +warmth and delicious languor; when the soul is +in accord and sympathy with the sunlight, with the +leaf, with the slender blades of grass, and can feel +with the tiniest insect which climbs up them as up a +mighty tree. As the genius of the great musicians, +without an articulated word or printed letter, can +carry with it all the emotions, so now, lying prone +upon the earth in the shadow, with quiescent will, +listening, thoughts and feelings rise respondent to +the sunbeams, to the leaf, the very blade of grass. +Resting the head upon the hand, gazing down upon +the ground, the strange and marvellous inner sight +of the mind penetrates the solid earth, grasps in part +the mystery of its vast extension upon either side, +bearing its majestic mountains, its deep forests, its +grand oceans, and almost feels the life which in ten +thousand thousand forms revels upon its surface. +Returning upon itself, the mind joys in the knowledge +that it too is a part of this wonder—akin to +the ten thousand thousand creatures, akin to the +very earth itself. How grand and holy is this life! +how sacred the temple which contains it!</p> + +<p>Out from the hedge, not five yards distant, pours a +rush of deep luscious notes, succeeded by the sweetest +trills heard by man. It is the nightingale, which +tradition assigns to the night only, but which in fact +sings as loudly, and to my ear more joyously, in the +full sunlight, especially in the morning, and always +close to the nest. The sun has moved onward upon +his journey, and this spot is no longer completely +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +shaded, but the foliage of a great oak breaks the force +of his rays, and the eye can even bear to gaze at his +disc for a few moments. Living for this brief hour +at least in unalloyed sympathy with nature, apart from +all disturbing influences, the sight of that splendid +disc carries the soul with it till it feels as eternal as +the sun. Let the memory call up a picture of the +desert sands of Egypt—upon the kings with the +double crown, upon Rameses, upon Sesostris, upon +Assurbanipal the burning beams of this very sun +descended, filling their veins with tumultuous life, +three thousand years ago. Lifted up in absorbing +thought, the mind feels that these three thousand +years are in truth no longer past than the last beat +of the pulse. It throbbed—the throb is gone; their +pulse throbbed, and it seems but a moment since, for +to thought, as to the sun, there is no time. This +little petty life of seventy years, with its little petty +aims and hopes, its despicable fears and contemptible +sorrows, is no more the life with which the mind is +occupied. This golden disc has risen and set, as the +graven marks of man alone record, full eight thousand +years. The hieroglyphs of the rocks speak of a fiery +sun shining inconceivable ages before that. Yet even +this almost immortal sun had a beginning—perhaps +emerging as a ball of incandescent gas from chaos: +how long ago was that? And onwards, still onwards +goes the disc, doubtless for ages and ages to come. +It is time that our measures should be extended; +these paltry divisions of hours and days and years—aye, +of centuries—should be superseded by terms +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +conveying some faint idea at least of the vastness +of space. For in truth, when thinking thus, there is +no <i>time</i> at all. The mind loses the sense of time and +reposes in eternity. This hour, this instant is eternity; +it extends backwards, it extends forwards, and we are +in it. It is a grand and an ennobling feeling to know +that at this moment illimitable time extends on either +hand. No conception of a supernatural character +formed in the brain has ever or will ever surpass the +mystery of this endless existence as exemplified—as +made manifest by the physical sun—a visible sign +of immortality. This—this hour is part of the +immortal life. Reclining upon this rug under the +chestnut-tree, while the graceful shadows dance, a +passing bee hums and the nightingale sings, while +the oak foliage sprinkles the sunshine over us, we are +really and in truth in the midst of eternity. Only by +walking hand in hand with nature, only by a reverent +and loving study of the mysteries for ever around us, +is it possible to disabuse the mind of the narrow view, +the contracted belief that time is now and eternity to-morrow. +Eternity is to-day. The goldfinches and +the tiny caterpillars, the brilliant sun, if looked at +lovingly and thoughtfully, will lift the soul out of the +smaller life of human care that is of selfish aims, +bounded by seventy years, into the greater, the +limitless life which has been going on over universal +space from endless ages past, which is going on now, +and which will for ever and for ever, in one form or +another, continue to proceed.</p> + +<p>Dreamily listening to the nightingale's song, let +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +us look down upon the earth as the sun looks down +upon it. In this meadow how many millions of +blades of grass are there, each performing wonderful +operations which the cleverest chemist can but poorly +indicate, taking up from the earth its sap, from the +air its gases, in a word living, living as much as ourselves, +though in a lower form? On the oak-tree +yonder, how many leaves are doing the same? Just +now we felt the vastness of the earth—its extended +majesty, bearing mountain, forest, and sea. Not a +blade of grass but has its insect, not a leaf; the very +air as it softly woos the cheek bears with it living +germs, and upon all those mountains, within those +forests, and in every drop of those oceans, life in +some shape moves and stirs. Nay, the very solid +earth itself, the very chalk and clay and stone and +rock has been built up by once living organisms. +But at this instant, looking down upon the earth +as the sun does, how can words depict the glowing +wonder, the marvellous beauty of all the plant, the +insect, the animal life, which presses upon the +mental eye? It is impossible. But with these that +are more immediately around us—with the goldfinch, +the caterpillar, the nightingale, the blades of +grass, the leaves—with these we may feel, into their +life we may in part enter, and find our own existence +thereby enlarged. Would that it were possible for +the heart and mind to enter into <i>all</i> the life that +glows and teems upon the earth—to feel with it, +hope with it, sorrow with it—and thereby to become +a grander, nobler being. Such a being, with such a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +sympathy and larger existence, must hold in scorn +the feeble, cowardly, selfish desire for an immortality +of pleasure only, whose one great hope is to +escape pain! No. Let me joy with all living +creatures; let me suffer with them all—the reward +of feeling a deeper, grander life would be amply +sufficient.</p> + +<p>What wonderful patience the creatures called +'lower' exhibit! Watch this small red ant travelling +among the grass-blades. To it they are as high as +the oak-trees to us, and they are entangled and +matted together as a forest overthrown by a tornado. +The insect slowly overcomes all the difficulties of its +route—now climbing over the creeping roots of the +buttercups, now struggling under a fallen leaf, now +getting up a bennet, up and down, making one inch +forward for three vertically, but never pausing, +always onwards at racing speed. A shadow sweeps +rapidly over the grass—it is that of a rook which +has flown between us and the sun. Looking upwards +into the deep azure of the sky, intently +gazing into space and forgetting for a while the +life around and beneath, there comes into the mind +an intense desire to rise, to penetrate the height, to +become part and parcel of that wondrous infinity +which extends overhead as it extends along the +surface. The soul full of thought grows concentrated +in itself, marvels only at its own destiny, +labours to behold the secret of its own existence, +and, above all, utters without articulate words a +prayer forced from it by the bright sun, by the blue +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +sky, by bird and plant:—Let me have wider feelings, +more extended sympathies, let me feel with all living +things, rejoice and praise with them. Let me have +deeper knowledge, a nearer insight, a more reverent +conception. Let me see the mystery of life—the +secret of the sap as it rises in the tree—the secret of +the blood as it courses through the vein. Reveal +the broad earth and the ends of it—make the +majestic ocean open to the eye down to its inmost +recesses. Expand the mind till it grasps the idea of +the unseen forces which hold the globe suspended and +draw the vast suns and stars through space. Let it +see the life, the organisms which dwell in those great +worlds, and feel with them their hopes and joys and +sorrows. Ever upwards, onwards, wider, deeper, +broader, till capable of all—all. Never did vivid +imagination stretch out the powers of deity with +such a fulness, with such intellectual grasp, vigour, +omniscience as the human mind could reach to, if +only its organs, its means, were equal to its thought. +Give us, then, greater strength of body, greater +length of days; give us more vital energy, let our +limbs be mighty as those of the giants of old. +Supplement such organs with nobler mechanical +engines—with extended means of locomotion; add +novel and more minute methods of analysis and +discovery. Let us become as demi-gods. And why +not? Whoso gave the gift of the mind gave also +an infinite space, an infinite matter for it to work +upon, an infinite time in which to work. Let no +one presume to define the boundaries of that divine +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +gift—that mind—for all the experience of eight +thousand years proves beyond a question that the +limits of its powers will never be reached, though +the human race dwell upon the globe for eternity. +Up, then, and labour: and let that labour be sound +and holy. Not for immediate and petty reward, +not that the appetite or the vanity may be gratified, +but that the sum of human perfection may be advanced; +labouring as consecrated priests, for true +science is religion. All is possible. A grand future +awaits the world. When man has only partially +worked out his own conceptions—when only a +portion of what the mind foresees and plans is +realized—then already earth will be as a paradise.</p> + +<p>Full of love and sympathy for this feeble ant +climbing over grass and leaf, for yonder nightingale +pouring forth its song, feeling a community with +the finches, with bird, with plant, with animal, and +reverently studying all these and more—how is it +possible for the heart while thus wrapped up to +conceive the desire of crime? For ever anxious +and labouring for perfection, shall the soul, convinced +of the divinity of its work, halt and turn +aside to fall into imperfection? Lying thus upon +the rug under the shadow of the oak and horse-chestnut-tree, +full of the joy of life—full of the joy +which all organisms feel in living alone—lifting the +eye far, far above the sphere even of the sun, shall +we ever conceive the idea of murder, of violence, +of aught that degrades ourselves? It is impossible +while in this frame. So thus reclining, and thus +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +occupied, we require no judge, no prison, no law, +no punishment—and, further, no army, no monarch. +At this moment, did neither of these institutions +exist our conduct would be the same. Our whole +existence at this moment is permeated with a reverent +love, an aspiration—a desire of a more perfect life; if +the very name of religion was extinct, our hopes, our +wish would be the same. It is but a simple transition +to conclude that with more extended knowledge, +with wider sympathies, with greater powers—powers +more equal to the vague longings of their minds, the +human race would be as we are at this moment in +the shadow of the chestnut-tree. No need of priest +and lawyer; no need of armies or kings. It is probable +that with the progress of knowledge it will be +possible to satisfy the necessary wants of existence +much more easily than now, and thus to remove one +great cause of discord. And all these thoughts +because the passing shadow of a rook caused the +eye to gaze upwards into the deep azure of the sky. +There is no limit, no number to the thoughts which +the study of nature may call forth, any more than +there is a limit to the number of the rays of the sun.</p> + +<p>This blade of grass grows as high as it can, the +nightingale there sings as sweetly as it can, the goldfinches +feed to their full desire and lay down no +arbitrary rules of life; the great sun above pours out +its heat and light in a flood unrestrained. What is +the meaning of this hieroglyph, which is repeated in +a thousand thousand other ways and shapes, which +meets us at every turn? It is evident that all living +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +creatures, from the zoophyte upwards, plant, reptile, +bird, animal, and in his natural state—in his physical +frame—man also, strive with all their powers to +obtain as perfect an existence as possible. It is the +one great law of their being, followed from birth to +death. All the efforts of the plant are put forth to +obtain more light, more air, more moisture—in a +word, more food—upon which to grow, expand, and +become more beautiful and perfect. The aim may +be unconscious, but the result is evident. It is +equally so with the animal; its lowest appetites +subserve the one grand object of its advance. +Whether it be eating, drinking, sleeping, procreating, +all tends to one end, a fuller development of the +individual, a higher condition of the species; still +further, to the production of new races capable of +additional progress. Part and parcel as we are of +the great community of living beings, indissolubly +connected with them from the lowest to the highest +by a thousand ties, it is impossible for us to escape +from the operation of this law; or if, by the exertion +of the will, and the resources of the intellect, it is +partially suspended, then the individual may perhaps +pass away unharmed, but the race must suffer. It is, +rather, the province of that inestimable gift, the mind, +to aid nature, to smooth away the difficulties, to +assist both the physical and mental man to increase +his powers and widen his influence. Such efforts +have been made from time to time, but unfortunately +upon purely empirical principles, by arbitrary interference, +without a long previous study of the delicate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +organization it was proposed to amend. If there is +one thing our latter-day students have demonstrated +beyond all reach of cavil, it is that both the physical +and the mental man are, as it were, a mass of inherited +structures—are built up of partially absorbed rudimentary +organs and primitive conceptions, much as +the trunks of certain trees are formed by the absorption +of the leaves. He is made up of the Past. +This is a happy and an inspiriting discovery, insomuch +as it holds out a resplendent promise that +there may yet come a man of the future made out of +our present which will then be the past. It is a +discovery which calls upon us for new and larger +moral and physical exertion, which throws upon us +wider and nobler duties, for upon us depends the +future. At one blow this new light casts aside those +melancholy convictions which, judging from the evil +blood which seemed to stain each new generation +alike, had elevated into a faith the depressing idea +that man could not advance. It explains the causes +of that stain, the reason of those imperfections, not +necessary parts of the ideal man, but inherited from +a lower order of life, and to be gradually expunged.</p> + +<p>But this marvellous mystery of inheritance has +brought with it a series of mental instincts, so to say; +a whole circle of ideas of moral conceptions, in a sense +belonging to the Past—ideas which were high and +noble in the rudimentary being, which were beyond +the capacity of the pure animal, but which are now +in great part merely obstructions to advancement. +Let these perish. We must seek for enlightenment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +and for progress, not in the dim failing traditions of +a period but just removed from the time of the +rudimentary or primeval man—we must no longer +allow the hoary age of such traditions to blind the +eye and cause the knee to bend—we must no longer +stultify the mind by compelling it to receive as +infallible what in the very nature of things must +have been fallible to the highest degree. The very +plants are wiser far. They seek the light of to-day, +the heat of the sun which shines at this hour; they +make no attempt to guide their life by the feeble +reflection of rays which were extinguished ages ago. +This slender blade of grass, beside the edge of our +rug under the chestnut-tree, shoots upwards in the +fresh air of to-day; its roots draw nourishment from +the moisture of the dew which heaven deposited this +morning. If it does make use of the past—of the +soil, the earth that has accumulated in centuries—it +is to advance its present growth. Root out at once +and for ever these primeval, narrow, and contracted +ideas; fix the mind upon the sun of the present, and +prepare for the sun that must rise to-morrow. It is +our duty to develop both mind and body and soul +to the utmost: as it is the duty of this blade of grass +and this oak-tree to grow and expand as far as their +powers will admit. But the blade of grass and the +oak have this great disadvantage to work against—they +can only labour in the lines laid down for them, +and unconsciously; while man can think, foresee, +and plan. The greatest obstacle to progress is the +lack now beginning to be felt all over the world, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +more especially in the countries most highly civilized, +of a true ideal to work up to. It is necessary that +some far-seeing master-mind, some giant intellect, +should arise, and sketch out in bold, unmistakable +outlines the grand and noble future which the human +race should labour for. There have been weak +attempts—there are contemptible makeshifts now on +their trial, especially in the new world—but the whole +of these, without exception, are simply diluted reproductions +of systems long since worn out. These +can only last a little while; if anything, they are +worse than the prejudices and traditions which form +the body of wider-spread creeds. The world cries +out for an intellect which shall draw its inspiration +from the unvarying and infallible laws regulating the +universe; which shall found its faith upon the +teaching of grass, of leaf, of bird, of beast, of hoary +rock, great ocean, star and sun; which shall afford +full room for the development of muscle, sense, and +above all of the wondrous brain; and which without +fettering the individual shall secure the ultimate +apotheosis of the race. No such system can spring +at once, complete, perfect in detail, from any one +mind. But assuredly when once a firm basis has +been laid down, when an outline has been drawn, +the converging efforts of a thousand thousand +thinkers will be brought to bear upon it, and it will +be elaborated into something approaching a reliable +guide. The faiths of the past, of the ancient world, +now extinct or feebly lingering on, were each inspired +by one mind only. The faith of the future, in strong +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +contrast, will spring from the researches of a thousand +thousand thinkers, whose minds, once brought into +a focus, will speedily burn up all that is useless and +worn out with a fierce heat, and evoke a new and +brilliant light. This converging thought is one of +the greatest blessings of our day, made possible by +the vastly extended means of communication, and +almost seems specially destined for this very purpose. +Thought increases with the ages. At this moment +there are probably as many busy brains studying, +reflecting, collecting scattered truths, as there were +thinkers—effectual thinkers—in all the recorded +eighty centuries gone by. Daily and hourly the +noble army swells its numbers, and the sound of +its mighty march grows louder; the inscribed roll +of its victories fills the heart with exultation.</p> + +<p>There is a slight rustle among the bushes and the +fern upon the mound. It is a rabbit who has peeped +forth into the sunshine. His eye opens wide with +wonder at the sight of us; his nostrils work nervously +as he watches us narrowly. But in a little while the +silence and stillness reassure him; he nibbles in a +desultory way at the stray grasses on the mound, and +finally ventures out into the meadow almost within +reach of the hand. It is so easy to make the +acquaintance—to make friends with the children of +Nature. From the tiniest insect upwards they are +so ready to dwell in sympathy with us—only be +tender, quiet, considerate, in a word, <i>gentlemanly</i>, +towards them and they will freely wander around. +And they have all such marvellous tales to tell—intricate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +problems to solve for us. This common +wild rabbit has an ancestry of almost unsearchable +antiquity. Within that little body there are organs +and structures which, rightly studied, will throw a +light upon the mysteries hidden in our own frames. +It is a peculiarity of this search that nothing is +despicable; nothing can be passed over—not so much +as a fallen leaf, or a grain of sand. Literally everything +bears stamped upon it characters in the hieratic, +the sacred handwriting, not one word of which shall +fall to the ground.</p> + +<p>Sitting indoors, with every modern luxury around, +rich carpets, artistic furniture, pictures, statuary, +food and drink brought from the uttermost ends of +the earth, with the telegraph, the printing-press, the +railway at immediate command, it is easy to say, +'What have <i>I</i> to do with all this? I am neither an +animal nor a plant, and the sun is nothing to me. +This is <i>my</i> life which I have created; I am apart +from the other inhabitants of the earth.' But go to +the window. See—there is but a thin, transparent +sheet of brittle glass between the artificial man and +the air, the light, the trees, and grass. So between +him and the other innumerable organisms which live +and breathe there is but a thin feeble crust of prejudice +and social custom. Between him and those +irresistible laws which keep the sun upon its course +there is absolutely no bar whatever. Without air he +cannot live. Nature cannot be escaped. Then face +the facts, and having done so, there will speedily +arise a calm pleasure beckoning onwards. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> + +<p>The shadows of the oak and chestnut-tree no +longer shelter our rug; the beams of the noonday +sun fall vertically on us; we will leave the spot for +a while. The nightingale and the goldfinches, the +thrushes and blackbirds, are silent for a time in the +sultry heat. But they only wait for the evening to +burst forth in one exquisite chorus, praising this +wondrous life and the beauties of the earth.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></div> +<h2><a name="THE_DAWN" id="THE_DAWN"></a>THE DAWN</h2> + + +<p>There came to my bedside this morning a visitant +that has been present at the bedside of everyone who +has lived for ten thousand years. In the darkness I +was conscious of a faint light not visible if I looked +deliberately to find it, but seen sideways, and where +I was not gazing. It slipped from direct glance as a +shadow may slip from a hand-grasp, but it was there +floating in the atmosphere of the room. I could not +say that it shone on the wall or lit the distant corner. +Light is seen by reflection, but this light was visible +of itself like a living thing, a visitant from the +unknown. The dawn was in the chamber, and by +degrees this intangible and slender existence would +enlarge and deepen into day. Ever since I used to +rise early to bathe, or shoot, or see the sunrise, the +habit has remained of waking at the same hour, so +that I see the dawn morning after morning, though I +may sleep again immediately. Sometimes the change +of the seasons makes it broad sunlight, sometimes it +is still dark; then again the faint grey light is there, +and I know that the distant hills are becoming defined +along the sky. But though so familiar, that spectral +light in the silence has never lost its meaning, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +violets are sweet year by year though never so many +summers pass away; indeed, its meaning grows wider +and more difficult as the time goes on. For think, +this spectre of the light—light's double-ganger—has +stood by the couch of every human being for +thousands and thousands of years. Sleeping or +waking, happily dreaming, or wrenched with pain, +whether they have noticed it or not, the finger of this +light has pointed towards them. When they were +building the pyramids, five thousand years ago, +straight the arrow of light shot from the sun, lit +their dusky forms, and glowed on the endless sand. +Endless as that desert sand may be, innumerable in +multitude its grains, there was and is a ray of light +for each. A ray for every invisible atom that dances +in the air—for the million million changing facets of +the million ocean waves. Immense as these numbers +may be, they are not incomprehensible. The priestess +at Delphi in her moment of inspiration declared +that she knew the number of the sands. Such +number falls into insignificance before the mere +thought of light, its speed, its quantity, its existence +over space, and yet the idea of light is easy to the +mind. The mind is the priestess of the Delphic +temple of our bodies, and sees and understands +things for which language is imperfect, and notation +deficient. There is a secret alphabet in it to every +letter of which we unconsciously assign a value, just +as the mathematician may represent a thousand by +the letter A. In my own mind the idea of light is +associated with the colour yellow, not the yellow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +of the painters, or of flowers, but a quick flash. +This quick bright flash of palest yellow in the +thousandth of an instant reminds me, or rather conveys +in itself, the whole idea of light—the accumulated +idea of study and thought. I suppose it to be +a memory of looking at the sun—a quick glance at +the sun leaves something such an impression on the +retina. With that physical impression all the calculations +that I have read, and all the ideas that have +occurred to me, are bound up. It is the sign—the +letter—the expression of light. To the builders of +the pyramids came the arrow from the sun, tinting +their dusky forms, and glowing in the sand. To me +it comes white and spectral in the silence, a finger +pointed, a voice saying, 'Even now you know +nothing.' Five thousand years since they were fully +persuaded that they understood the universe, the +course of the stars, and the secrets of life and death. +What did they know of the beam of light that shone +on the sonorous lap of their statue Memnon? The +telescope, the microscope, and the prism have parted +light and divided it, till it seems as if further discovery +were impossible. This beam of light brings +an account of the sun, clear as if written in actual +letters, for example stating that certain minerals are +as certainly there as they are here. But when in the +silence I see the pale visitant at my bedside, and the +mind rushes in one spring back to the builders of the +pyramids who were equally sure with us, the thought +will come to me that even now there may be messages +in that beam undeciphered. With a turn of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +heliograph, a mere turn of the wrist, a message is +easily flashed twenty miles to the observer. You +cannot tell what knowledge may not be pouring +down in every ray; messages that are constant and +perpetual, the same from age to age. These are +physical messages. There is beyond this just a +possibility that beings in distant earths possessed of +greater knowledge than ourselves may be able to +transmit their thoughts along, or by the ray, as we +do along wires. In the days to come, when a +deeper insight shall have been gained into the +motions and properties of those unseen agents we +call forces, such as magnetism, electricity, gravitation, +perhaps a method will be devised to use them +for communication. If so, communication with +distant earths is quite within reasonable hypothesis. +At this hour it is not more impossible than the +transmission of a message to the antipodes in a few +minutes would have been to those who lived a +century since. The inhabitants of distant earths +may have endeavoured to communicate with us in +this way for ought we know time after time. Such +a message is possibly contained sometimes in the +pale beam which comes to my bedside. That beam +always impresses me with a profound, an intense +and distressful sense of ignorance, of being outside +the intelligence of the universe, as if there were +a vast civilization in view and yet not entered. +Mere villagers and rustics creeping about a sullen +earth, we know nothing of the grandeur and intellectual +brilliance of that civilization. This beam +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +fills me with unutterable dissatisfaction. Discontent, +restless longing, anger at the denseness of the perception, +the stupidity with which we go round and +round in the old groove till accident shows us a fresh +field. Consider, all that has been wrested from +light has been gained by mere bits of glass. Mere +bits of glass in curious shapes—poor feeble glass, +quickly broken, made of flint, of the flint that mends +the road. To this almost our highest conceptions +are due. Could we employ the ocean as a lens we +might tear truth from the sky. Could the greater +intelligences that dwell on the planets and stars communicate +with us, they might enable us to conquer +the disease and misery which bear down the masses +of the world. Perhaps they do not die. The pale +visitor hints that the stars are not the outside and +rim of the universe, any more than the edge of +horizon is the circumference of our globe. Beyond +the star-stratum, what? Mere boundless space. +Mind says certainly not. What then? At present +we cannot conceive a universe without a central +solar orb for it to gather about and swing around. +But that is only because hitherto our positive, +physical knowledge has gone no farther. It can as +yet only travel as far as this, as analogous beams of +light. Light comes from the uttermost bounds of +our star system—to that rim we can extend a positive +thought. Beyond, and around it, whether it is +solid, or fluid, or ether, or whether, as is most +probable, there exist things absolutely different to +any that have come under eyesight yet is not known. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +May there not be light we cannot see? Gravitation +is an unseen light; so too magnetism; electricity +or its effect is sometimes visible, sometimes not. +Besides these there may be more delicate forces not +instrumentally demonstrable. A force, or a wave, +or a motion—an unseen light—may at this moment +be flowing in upon us from that unknown space +without and beyond the stellar system. It may +contain messages from thence as this pale visitant +does from the sun. It may outstrip light in speed +as light outstrips an arrow. The more delicate, the +more ethereal, then the fuller and more varied the +knowledge it holds. There may be other things +beside matter and motion, or force. All natural +things known to us as yet may be referred to those +two conditions: One, Force; Two, Matter. A third, +a fourth, a fifth—no one can say how many conditions—may +exist in the ultra-stellar space, beyond +the most distant stars. Such a condition may even +be about us now unsuspected. Something which is +neither force nor matter is difficult to conceive; +the mind cannot give it tangible shape even as a +thought. Yet I think it more than doubtful if the +entire universe, visible and invisible, is composed of +these two. To me it seems almost demonstrable +by rational induction that the entire universe must +consist of more than two conditions. The grey +dawn every morning warns me not to be certain +that all is known. Analysis by the prism alone has +quite doubled the knowledge that was previously +available. In the light itself there may still exist as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +much more to be learnt, and then there may be +other forces and other conditions to be first found out +and next to tell their story. As at present known +the whole system is so easy and simple, one body +revolving round another, and so on; it is as easy to +understand as the motion of a stone that has been +thrown. This simplicity makes me misdoubt. Is it +all? Space—immeasurable space—offers such possibilities +that the mind is forced to the conclusion that +it is not, that there must be more. I cannot think +that the universe can be so very very easy as this.</p> + + +<p class="theend"><span>BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD</span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A Wiltshire name for hawthorn-berries.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See 'Toilers of the Field,' by Richard Jefferies.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This, of course, is upon the supposition that the materials +are obtained at a nominal cost, and the hauling not charged for.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Written in 1887.</p></div> +</div> + + +<div class="trnote"> +<h2><a name="trcorrections" id="trcorrections"></a>Transcriber's corrections</h2> +<ul> +<li><a href="#TC_1">p. 13</a>: seventeenth[seventeeth] centuries are really beautiful specimens of</li> +<li><a href="#TC_2">p. 23</a>: the place for figure-skating[figure-shating]; the ice is perfect, and</li> +<li><a href="#TC_3">p. 38</a>: it is a flock of sheep[sleep]. The white wall is cold and</li> +<li><a href="#TC_4">p. 123</a>: heat, toying with danger, handling, as[at] it seems, red-hot</li> +<li><a href="#TC_5">p. 145</a>: is the fullest tale the land will bear, and he does not[no]</li> +<li><a href="#TC_6">p. 151</a>: designers did not contemplate the conditions of rural[rurul]</li> +<li><a href="#TC_7">p. 240</a>: lose the tone it has given them. Such homes are the[the the]</li> +</ul> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Hills and the Vale, by Richard Jefferies + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HILLS AND THE VALE *** + +***** This file should be named 31710-h.htm or 31710-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/7/1/31710/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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