Part 20 (2/2)

Well, I trudged on--and the shadows lengthened, and I grew footsore and tired; but every step was new, and won me forward with fresh excitement for my curiosity.

At one village I met a crowd of little, noisy, happy boys and girls pouring out of a smart new Gothic school-house. I could not resist the temptation of s.n.a.t.c.hing a glance through the open door. I saw on the walls maps, music, charts, and pictures. How I envied those little urchins! A solemn, st.u.r.dy elder, in a white cravat, evidently the parson of the parish, was patting children's heads, taking down names, and laying down the law to a shrewd, prim young schoolmaster.

Presently, as I went up the village, the clergyman strode past me, brandis.h.i.+ng a thick stick and humming a chant, and joined a motherly-looking wife, who, basket on arm, was popping in and out of the cottages, looking alternately serious and funny, cross and kindly--I suppose, according to the sayings and doings of the folks within.

”Come,” I thought, ”this looks like work at least.” And as I went out of the village, I accosted a labourer, who was trudging my way, fork on shoulder, and asked him if that was the parson and his wife?

I was surprised at the difficulty with which I got into conversation with the man; at his stupidity, feigned or real, I could not tell which; at the dogged, suspicious reserve with which he eyed me, and asked me whether I was ”one of they parts”? and whether I was a Londoner, and what I wanted on the tramp, and so on, before he seemed to think it safe to answer a single question. He seemed, like almost every labourer I ever met, to have something on his mind; to live in a state of perpetual fear and concealment. When, however, he found I was both a c.o.c.kney and a pa.s.ser-by, he began to grow more communicative, and told me, ”Ees--that were the parson, sure enough.”

”And what sort of a man was he?”

”Oh! he was a main kind man to the poor; leastwise, in the matter of visiting 'em, and praying with 'em, and getting 'em to put into clubs, and such like; and his lady too. Not that there was any fault to find with the man about money--but 'twasn't to be expected of him.”

”Why, was he not rich?”

”Oh, rich enough to the likes of us. But his own t.i.thes here arn't more than a thirty pounds we hears tell; and if he hadn't summat of his own, he couldn't do not nothing by the poor; as it be, he pays for that ere school all to his own pocket, next part. All the rest o' the t.i.thes goes to some great lord or other--they say he draws a matter of a thousand a year out of the parish, and not a foot ever he sot into it; and that's the way with a main lot o' parishes, up and down.”

This was quite a new fact to me. ”And what sort of folks were the parsons all round.”

”Oh, some of all sorts, good and bad. About six and half a dozen. There's two or three nice young gentlemen come'd round here now, but they're all what's-'em-a-call it?--some sort o' papishes;--leastwise, they has prayers in the church every day, and doesn't preach the Gospel, no how, I hears by my wife, and she knows all about it, along of going to meeting. Then there's one over thereaway, as had to leave his living--he knows why. He got safe over seas. If he had been a poor man, he'd been in * * * * *

gaol, safe enough, and soon enough. Then there's two or three as goes a-hunting--not as I sees no harm in that; if a man's got plenty of money, he ought to enjoy himself, in course: but still he can't be here and there too, to once. Then there's two or three as is bad in their healths, or thinks themselves so--or else has livings summer' else; and they lives summer' or others, and has curates. Main busy chaps is they curates, always, and wonderful hands to preach; but then, just as they gets a little knowing like at it, and folks gets to like 'em, and run to hear 'em, off they pops to summat better; and in course they're right to do so; and so we country-folks get nought but the young colts, afore they're broke, you see.”

”And what sort of a preacher was his parson?”

”Oh, he preached very good Gospel, not that he went very often himself, acause he couldn't make out the meaning of it; he preached too high, like.

But his wife said it was uncommon good Gospel; and surely when he come to visit a body, and talked plain English, like, not sermon-ways, he was a very pleasant man to heer, and his lady uncommon kind to nurse folk. They sot up with me and my wife, they two did, two whole nights, when we was in the fever, afore the officer could get us a nurse.”

”Well,” said I, ”there are some good parsons left.”

”Oh, yes; there's some very good ones--each one after his own way; and there'd be more on 'em, if they did but know how bad we labourers was off.

Why bless ye, I mind when they was very different. A new parson is a mighty change for the better, mostwise, we finds. Why, when I was a boy, we never had no schooling. And now mine goes and learns singing and jobrafy, and ciphering, and sich like. Not that I sees no good in it. We was a sight better off in the old times, when there weren't no schooling. Schooling harn't made wages rise, nor preaching neither.”

”But surely,” I said, ”all this religious knowledge ought to give you comfort, even if you are badly off.”

”Oh! religion's all very well for them as has time for it; and a very good thing--we ought all to mind our latter end. But I don't see how a man can hear sermons with an empty belly; and there's so much to fret a man, now, and he's so cruel tired coming home o' nights, he can't nowise go to pray a lot, as gentlefolks does.”

”But are you so ill off?”

”Oh! he'd had a good harvesting enough; but then he owed all that for he's rent; and he's club money wasn't paid up, nor he's shop. And then, with he's wages”--(I forget the sum--under ten s.h.i.+llings)--”how could a man keep his mouth full, when he had five children! And then, folks is so unmarciful--I'll just tell you what they says to me, now, last time I was over at the board--”

And thereon he rambled off into a long jumble of medical-officers, and relieving-officers, and Farmer This, and Squire That, which indicated a mind as ill-educated as discontented. He cursed or rather grumbled at--for he had not spirit, it seemed, to curse anything--the New Poor Law; because it ”ate up the poor, flesh and bone”;--bemoaned the ”Old Law,” when ”the Vestry was forced to give a man whatsomdever he axed for, and if they didn't, he'd go to the magistrates and make 'em, and so sure as a man got a fresh child, he went and got another loaf allowed him next vestry, like a Christian;”--and so turned through a gate, and set to work forking up some weeds on a fallow, leaving me many new thoughts to digest.

That night, I got to some town or other, and there found a night's lodging, good enough for a walking traveller.

CHAPTER XII.

CAMBRIDGE.

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