Volume I Part 7 (1/2)

'Oh no,' I replied; 'that is the offertory, and the parson gives the money to the poor.'

'Does he?' said Hodge. 'I've never heard of his giving any money away, and he has never been near me, though I've lived five years in his parish.'

I explained that the late parson was old and infirm, but that the new parson would do better; and then Hodge admitted that he had heard as how he had called on a neighbour who was ill, and had left two half-crowns.

Hodge is not a teetotaler, but drinks a table-beer which his wife brews.

As to public-house beer, he declares it is poison, and never touches a drop. He pays to the Foresters five-and-sixpence a quarter, and s.h.i.+lling for his wife, and that secures him in case of sickness ten s.h.i.+llings a week and medical attendance for his wife and family. He goes to bed at nine o'clock, and that means a good deal of saving in the matter of coals and candles. He frankly admitted that he had made, and could make, no provision for old age. He had one grievance. His master was a Liberal, but he had told him now that schooling was free he must pay two s.h.i.+llings more for his rent; 'and that ain't very liberal,' he said.

Then we talked about the farmers. They were very hard on the men. When harvest time came, that was the miserablest time of the year, for the big farmer goes round to the small farmers and tells them what he is going to pay, and then the men stand out, and are idle and walking about, while a lot of foreigners-that is, people from parts adjacent-come, who are bad workers and get drunk, and are very disagreeable to have anything to do with. There ought to be no large farmers who cannot properly attend to the farms, and who keep hunters and go out hunting. He would have no hunting at all, as it destroyed the crops to have a lot of men galloping over them. Farmers could not make their farms pay, as they did not keep enough men to pull up the weeds, and he had seen fields where the thistles were as high again as the barley, and instead of carting barley the farmer had to cart weeds, and that could not pay. Again, he thought it was madness to send the manure of towns into the sea when it was wanted on the land. Farmers were very unreasonable, and that was a pity.

How could a farmer expect his men to work well if they were paid starvation wages? They even starved the horses. Many a farmer on a Sunday, or when the horses were idle, took off a feed of corn from the horses. Why, did not a farmer want his dinner on a Sunday when he was not working, and was it not the same with the horses? He had seen some farmers hunting, and their horses were nothing but bags of bone.

'Well, what do you think of allotments of two or three acres?' said I.

Hodge evidently had a poor opinion of them. If he had one, he would not have the time nor the strength to work on it, though his wife might help him, as she was used to outdoor work; and then there was the ploughing, how could that be done? Could not, I asked, a farm be cut up into allotments, and one person make a living by ploughing for the others?

No, he did not think that could be done, as you could never get a lot of people to be all of one mind in that respect. It was not much use giving an agricultural labourer more than forty rods to attend to. He did not keep bees, as his master did not like them, but his father-in-law did, and he made a good deal of money by them. One thing he did by which he made a little money, and that was to breed canaries. Once upon a time he caught a blackbird and took it home. Then he sold it for five s.h.i.+llings, and when his wife missed the bird he put a s.h.i.+lling to it and bought a canary. His master's brother gave him another; and as they laid eggs and hatched them he sold canaries, and thus made a little.

Hodge is an active politician, and attends all the Liberal gatherings of the district; but his politics are of the dimmest kind. He is attracted by the word Liberal-that is all. What he desires is to see a better understanding between the masters and men. He has got beyond the Church parson, evidently, but the farmer may yet win him back. I question whether the farmer will have sense enough to take the trouble to do that, easy though the task may be. In the majority of cases it is only a question of a s.h.i.+lling a week and a few kind words. Hodge has no wish to be driven off the land. He would rather remain where he is. He knows very little of the town, and is rather afraid of its wickedness and its filthy slums. All he requires is a little more consideration, a little more kindly treatment on the part of his employer. He is a good fellow, and he deserves it. But one sighs as one thinks

'Of the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun.'

But this is a digression. I now return to the Hodge of half a century ago.

It was late that night before the villagers went to bed, everyone had so much to say. There had not been such an excitement there since old Campbell, missionary to Africa, had told the people all about the poor Hottentots.

Half-way down the High Street stood the Spread Eagle-as times went, a respectable public-house, licensed to let post-horses, and warranted to provide suitable accommodation for man or beast. It is true, on the outside was painted a fierce creature, intended for a bird, with an eye and a beak enough to frighten anyone, but all was peace and harmony within. The landlady had a way of serving up mulled porter at all hours which seemed particularly attractive to her customers, especially in winter, and as the coach to London changed horses there, a good many people were in the habit of dropping in 'quite promiscuous,' as some of us say. On the evening of the sermon, the bar-parlour was unusually full. The landlady's niece had been to hear the young divine, and her verdict was favourable.

'Here's a pretty go,' said the Rector, who had dropped in quite accidentally, as he joined the group: 'that young Wentworth is going to drive the people crazy. As I came past I saw all the parish there. I am sure Sir Thomas' (the owner of the next village) 'will be very angry when he hears of it.'

'Right you are!' cried the surgeon; 'but the young fellow won't stop here long, you may depend upon it. He is far too good for the meetingers.'

'I wish the whole pack of them would clear off,' continued the Rector; 'they give me no end of trouble. If I go into a cottage, I find they have been there before me. It is just the same with the schools; they get all the children. My predecessor did not mind it, but I do.'

'Ah,' said the landlady, 'I've heard my mother speak of him. He and the clerk had always a hot supper here on a Sunday night. Ah, he was a gentleman, and behaved as such.'

'Rare times, them was,' said an old farmer, joining in the conversation.

'I remember how we used to pelt them meetinger parsons with rotten eggs.

It was rare fun to break their windows while they were preaching, and to frighten the women as they came out. One day we were going to burn the parson's house down.'

'And why did you not?' asked the surgeon.

'Because the Rector's wife was ill,' was the reply, 'and the Rector asked us not to make a noise near the house. But I was sorry we did not then finish the job outright. They'd all have gone. Says I, if you want to get rid of the wasps, burn their nests. I've no patience with a lot of hypocrites, professing to be better than other people.'

'Well, gentlemen,' said the landlady's niece, a privileged person, as she was both young and good-looking, 'all I can say is, young Mr. Wentworth preached a capital sermon to-night. A better sermon I never heard.

There was no reading out of a book. It was all life-like. There was no drawling or hesitation. He spoke out like a man.'

The aunt looked solemn. This would never do. The Spread Eagle had always supported Church and State, and she was not going to change at her time of life. It was too bad to find heresy in her own flesh and blood.

'Well,' said she, 'of course I don't go to meetin', and I'm very sorry to hear what I've heard to-night.'

'Well, we will forgive the young lady,' said the Rector condescendingly, with a familiar nod, 'on condition that she does not do it again.'

'Agreed,' said the surgeon. 'I go to church,' he continued, 'because it's respectable; because my father went there before me; because, if I did not, I should never be asked to dine at the Hall; because, as it is, I find it hard to make both ends meet, and should lose all my practice if I went to meeting.'