NEWS FROM NOWHEREORAN EPOCH OF RESTBEING SOME CHAPTERS FROMA UTOPIAN ROMANCE

BYWILLIAM MORRIS, AUTHOR OF 'THE EARTHLY PARADISE. '

_TENTH IMPRESSION_

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDONNEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA1908

_All rights reserved_

_First printed serially in the_ Commonweal, 1890. 

_Thence reprinted at Boston_, _Mass. _, 1890. 

_First English Edition_, _revised_, _Reeves & Turner_, 1891. 

_Reprinted April_, _June_ 1891; _March_ 1892. 

_Kelmscott Press Edition_, 1892. 

_Since reprinted March_ 1895; _January_ 1897; _November_ 1899; _August_1902; _July_ 1905; _January_ 1907; _and January_ 1908. 

CHAPTER I: DISCUSSION AND BED

Up at the League, says a friend, there had been one night a briskconversational discussion, as to what would happen on the Morrow of theRevolution, finally shading off into a vigorous statement by variousfriends of their views on the future of the fully-developed new society. 

Says our friend: Considering the subject, the discussion wasgood-tempered; for those present being used to public meetings and after-lecture debates, if they did not listen to each others' opinions (whichcould scarcely be expected of them), at all events did not always attemptto speak all together, as is the custom of people in ordinary politesociety when conversing on a subject which interests them. For the rest, there were six persons present, and consequently six sections of theparty were represented, four of which had strong but divergent Anarchistopinions. One of the sections, says our friend, a man whom he knows verywell indeed, sat almost silent at the beginning of the discussion, but atlast got drawn into it, and finished by roaring out very loud, anddamning all the rest for fools; after which befel a period of noise, andthen a lull, during which the aforesaid section, having said good-nightvery amicably, took his way home by himself to a western suburb, usingthe means of travelling which civilisation has forced upon us like ahabit. As he sat in that vapour-bath of hurried and discontentedhumanity, a carriage of the underground railway, he, like others, steweddiscontentedly, while in self-reproachful mood he turned over the manyexcellent and conclusive arguments which, though they lay at his fingers'ends, he had forgotten in the just past discussion. But this frame ofmind he was so used to, that it didn't last him long, and after a briefdiscomfort, caused by disgust with himself for having lost his temper(which he was also well used to), he found himself musing on the subject-matter of discussion, but still discontentedly and unhappily. "If Icould but see a day of it, " he said to himself; "if I could but see it!"

As he formed the words, the train stopped at his station, five minutes'walk from his own house, which stood on the banks of the Thames, a littleway above an ugly suspension bridge. He went out of the station, stilldiscontented and unhappy, muttering "If I could but see it! if I couldbut see it!" but had not gone many steps towards the river before (saysour friend who tells the story) all that discontent and trouble seemed toslip off him. 

It was a beautiful night of early winter, the air just sharp enough to berefreshing after the hot room and the stinking railway carriage. Thewind, which had lately turned a point or two north of west, had blown thesky clear of all cloud save a light fleck or two which went swiftly downthe heavens. There was a young moon halfway up the sky, and as the home-farer caught sight of it, tangled in the branches of a tall old elm, hecould scarce bring to his mind the shabby London suburb where he was, andhe felt as if he were in a pleasant country place--pleasanter, indeed, than the deep country was as he had known it. 

He came right down to the river-side, and lingered a little, looking overthe low wall to note the moonlit river, near upon high water, go swirlingand glittering up to Chiswick Eyot: as for the ugly bridge below, he didnot notice it or think of it, except when for a moment (says our friend)it struck him that he missed the row of lights down stream. Then heturned to his house door and let himself in; and even as he shut the doorto, disappeared all remembrance of that brilliant logic and foresightwhich had so illuminated the recent discussion; and of the discussionitself there remained no trace, save a vague hope, that was now become apleasure, for days of peace and rest, and cleanness and smiling goodwill. 

In this mood he tumbled into bed, and fell asleep after his wont, in twominutes' time; but (contrary to his wont) woke up again not long after inthat curiously wide-awake condition which sometimes surprises even goodsleepers; a condition under which we feel all our wits preternaturallysharpened, while all the miserable muddles we have ever got into, all thedisgraces and losses of our lives, will insist on thrusting themselvesforward for the consideration of those sharpened wits. 

In this state he lay (says our friend) till he had almost begun to enjoyit: till the tale of his stupidities amused him, and the entanglementsbefore him, which he saw so clearly, began to shape themselves into anamusing story for him. 

He heard one o'clock strike, then two and then three; after which he fellasleep again. Our friend says that from that sleep he awoke once more, and afterwards went through such surprising adventures that he thinksthat they should be told to our comrades, and indeed the public ingeneral, and therefore proposes to tell them now. But, says he, I thinkit would be better if I told them in the first person, as if it weremyself who had gone through them; which, indeed, will be the easier andmore natural to me, since I understand the feelings and desires of thecomrade of whom I am telling better than any one else in the world does. 

CHAPTER II: A MORNING BATH

Well, I awoke, and found that I had kicked my bedclothes off; and nowonder, for it was hot and the sun shining brightly. I jumped up andwashed and hurried on my clothes, but in a hazy and half-awake condition, as if I had slept for a long, long while, and could not shake off theweight of slumber. In fact, I rather took it for granted that I was athome in my own room than saw that it was so. 

When I was dressed, I felt the place so hot that I made haste to get outof the room and out of the house; and my first feeling was a deliciousrelief caused by the fresh air and pleasant breeze; my second, as I beganto gather my wits together, mere measureless wonder: for it was winterwhen I went to bed the last night, and now, by witness of the river-sidetrees, it was summer, a beautiful bright morning seemingly of early June. However, there was still the Thames sparkling under the sun, and nearhigh water, as last night I had seen it gleaming under the moon. 

I had by no means shaken off the feeling of oppression, and wherever Imight have been should scarce have been quite conscious of the place; soit was no wonder that I felt rather puzzled in despite of the familiarface of the Thames. Withal I felt dizzy and queer; and remembering thatpeople often got a boat and had a swim in mid-stream, I thought I woulddo no less. It seems very early, quoth I to myself, but I daresay Ishall find someone at Biffin's to take me. However, I didn't get as faras Biffin's, or even turn to my left thitherward, because just then Ibegan to see that there was a landing-stage right before me in front ofmy house: in fact, on the place where my next-door neighbour had riggedone up, though somehow it didn't look like that either. Down I went onto it, and sure enough among the empty boats moored to it lay a man onhis sculls in a solid-looking tub of a boat clearly meant for bathers. Henodded to me, and bade me good-morning as if he expected me, so I jumpedin without any words, and he paddled away quietly as I peeled for myswim. As we went, I looked down on the water, and couldn't help saying--

"How clear the water is this morning!"

"Is it?" said he; "I didn't notice it. You know the flood-tide alwaysthickens it a bit. "

"H'm, " said I, "I have seen it pretty muddy even at half-ebb. "

He said nothing in answer, but seemed rather astonished; and as he nowlay just stemming the tide, and I had my clothes off, I jumped in withoutmore ado. Of course when I had my head above water again I turnedtowards the tide, and my eyes naturally sought for the bridge, and soutterly astonished was I by what I saw, that I forgot to strike out, andwent spluttering under water again, and when I came up made straight forthe boat; for I felt that I must ask some questions of my waterman, sobewildering had been the half-sight I had seen from the face of the riverwith the water hardly out of my eyes; though by this time I was quit ofthe slumbrous and dizzy feeling, and was wide-awake and clear-headed. 

As I got in up the steps which he had lowered, and he held out his handto help me, we went drifting speedily up towards Chiswick; but now hecaught up the sculls and brought her head round again, and said--"A shortswim, neighbour; but perhaps you find the water cold this morning, afteryour journey. Shall I put you ashore at once, or would you like to godown to Putney before breakfast?"

He spoke in a way so unlike what I should have expected from aHammersmith waterman, that I stared at him, as I answered, "Please tohold her a little; I want to look about me a bit. "

"All right, " he said; "it's no less pretty in its way here than it is offBarn Elms; it's jolly everywhere this time in the morning. I'm glad yougot up early; it's barely five o'clock yet. "

If I was astonished with my sight of the river banks, I was no lessastonished at my waterman, now that I had time to look at him and see himwith my head and eyes clear. 

He was a handsome young fellow, with a peculiarly pleasant and friendlylook about his eyes, --an expression which was quite new to me then, though I soon became familiar with it. For the rest, he was dark-hairedand berry-brown of skin, well-knit and strong, and obviously used toexercising his muscles, but with nothing rough or coarse about him, andclean as might be. His dress was not like any modern work-a-day clothesI had seen, but would have served very well as a costume for a picture offourteenth century life: it was of dark blue cloth, simple enough, but offine web, and without a stain on it. He had a brown leather belt roundhis waist, and I noticed that its clasp was of damascened steelbeautifully wrought. In short, he seemed to be like some specially manlyand refined young gentleman, playing waterman for a spree, and Iconcluded that this was the case. 

I felt that I must make some conversation; so I pointed to the Surreybank, where I noticed some light plank stages running down the foreshore, with windlasses at the landward end of them, and said, "What are theydoing with those things here? If we were on the Tay, I should have saidthat they were for drawing the salmon nets; but here--"

"Well, " said he, smiling, "of course that is what they _are_ for. Wherethere are salmon, there are likely to be salmon-nets, Tay or Thames; butof course they are not always in use; we don't want salmon _every_ day ofthe season. "

I was going to say, "But is this the Thames?" but held my peace in mywonder, and turned my bewildered eyes eastward to look at the bridgeagain, and thence to the shores of the London river; and surely there wasenough to astonish me. For though there was a bridge across the streamand houses on its banks, how all was changed from last night! The soap-works with their smoke-vomiting chimneys were gone; the engineer's worksgone; the lead-works gone; and no sound of rivetting and hammering camedown the west wind from Thorneycroft's. Then the bridge! I had perhapsdreamed of such a bridge, but never seen such an one out of anilluminated manuscript; for not even the Ponte Vecchio at Florence cameanywhere near it. It was of stone arches, splendidly solid, and asgraceful as they were strong; high enough also to let ordinary rivertraffic through easily. Over the parapet showed quaint and fancifullittle buildings, which I supposed to be booths or shops, beset withpainted and gilded vanes and spirelets. The stone was a littleweathered, but showed no marks of the grimy sootiness which I was used toon every London building more than a year old. In short, to me a wonderof a bridge. 

The sculler noted my eager astonished look, and said, as if in answer tomy thoughts--

"Yes, it _is_ a pretty bridge, isn't it? Even the up-stream bridges, which are so much smaller, are scarcely daintier, and the down-streamones are scarcely more dignified and stately. "

I found myself saying, almost against my will, "How old is it?"

"Oh, not very old, " he said; "it was built or at least opened, in 2003. There used to be a rather plain timber bridge before then. "

The date shut my mouth as if a key had been turned in a padlock fixed tomy lips; for I saw that something inexplicable had happened, and that ifI said much, I should be mixed up in a game of cross questions andcrooked answers. So I tried to look unconcerned, and to glance in amatter-of-course way at the banks of the river, though this is what I sawup to the bridge and a little beyond; say as far as the site of the soap-works. Both shores had a line of very pretty houses, low and not large, standing back a little way from the river; they were mostly built of redbrick and roofed with tiles, and looked, above all, comfortable, and asif they were, so to say, alive, and sympathetic with the life of thedwellers in them. There was a continuous garden in front of them, goingdown to the water's edge, in which the flowers were now bloomingluxuriantly, and sending delicious waves of summer scent over the eddyingstream. Behind the houses, I could see great trees rising, mostlyplanes, and looking down the water there were the reaches towards Putneyalmost as if they were a lake with a forest shore, so thick were the bigtrees; and I said aloud, but as if to myself--

"Well, I'm glad that they have not built over Barn Elms. "

I blushed for my fatuity as the words slipped out of my mouth, and mycompanion looked at me with a half smile which I thought I understood; soto hide my confusion I said, "Please take me ashore now: I want to get mybreakfast. "

He nodded, and brought her head round with a sharp stroke, and in a tricewe were at the landing-stage again. He jumped out and I followed him;and of course I was not surprised to see him wait, as if for theinevitable after-piece that follows the doing of a service to a fellow-citizen. So I put my hand into my waistcoat-pocket, and said, "Howmuch?" though still with the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps I wasoffering money to a gentleman. 

He looked puzzled, and said, "How much? I don't quite understand whatyou are asking about. Do you mean the tide? If so, it is close on theturn now. "

I blushed, and said, stammering, "Please don't take it amiss if I askyou; I mean no offence: but what ought I to pay you? You see I am astranger, and don't know your customs--or your coins. "

And therewith I took a handful of money out of my pocket, as one does ina foreign country. And by the way, I saw that the silver had oxydised, and was like a blackleaded stove in colour. 

He still seemed puzzled, but not at all offended; and he looked at thecoins with some curiosity. I thought, Well after all, he _is_ awaterman, and is considering what he may venture to take. He seems sucha nice fellow that I'm sure I don't grudge him a little over-payment. Iwonder, by the way, whether I couldn't hire him as a guide for a day ortwo, since he is so intelligent. 

Therewith my new friend said thoughtfully:

"I think I know what you mean. You think that I have done you a service;so you feel yourself bound to give me something which I am not to give toa neighbour, unless he has done something special for me. I have heardof this kind of thing; but pardon me for saying, that it seems to us atroublesome and roundabout custom; and we don't know how to manage it. And you see this ferrying and giving people casts about the water is my_business_, which I would do for anybody; so to take gifts in connectionwith it would look very queer. Besides, if one person gave me something, then another might, and another, and so on; and I hope you won't think merude if I say that I shouldn't know where to stow away so many mementosof friendship. "

And he laughed loud and merrily, as if the idea of being paid for hiswork was a very funny joke. I confess I began to be afraid that the manwas mad, though he looked sane enough; and I was rather glad to thinkthat I was a good swimmer, since we were so close to a deep swift stream. However, he went on by no means like a madman:

"As to your coins, they are curious, but not very old; they seem to beall of the reign of Victoria; you might give them to somescantily-furnished museum. Ours has enough of such coins, besides a fairnumber of earlier ones, many of which are beautiful, whereas thesenineteenth century ones are so beastly ugly, ain't they? We have a pieceof Edward III. , with the king in a ship, and little leopards and fleurs-de-lys all along the gunwale, so delicately worked. You see, " he said, with something of a smirk, "I am fond of working in gold and fine metals;this buckle here is an early piece of mine. "

No doubt I looked a little shy of him under the influence of that doubtas to his sanity. So he broke off short, and said in a kind voice:

"But I see that I am boring you, and I ask your pardon. For, not tomince matters, I can tell that you _are_ a stranger, and must come from aplace very unlike England. But also it is clear that it won't do tooverdose you with information about this place, and that you had bestsuck it in little by little. Further, I should take it as very kind inyou if you would allow me to be the showman of our new world to you, since you have stumbled on me first. Though indeed it will be a merekindness on your part, for almost anybody would make as good a guide, andmany much better. "

There certainly seemed no flavour in him of Colney Hatch; and besides Ithought I could easily shake him off if it turned out that he really wasmad; so I said:

"It is a very kind offer, but it is difficult for me to accept it, unless--" I was going to say, Unless you will let me pay you properly;but fearing to stir up Colney Hatch again, I changed the sentence into, "I fear I shall be taking you away from your work--or your amusement. "

"O, " he said, "don't trouble about that, because it will give me anopportunity of doing a good turn to a friend of mine, who wants to takemy work here. He is a weaver from Yorkshire, who has rather overdonehimself between his weaving and his mathematics, both indoor work, yousee; and being a great friend of mine, he naturally came to me to get himsome outdoor work. If you think you can put up with me, pray take me asyour guide. "

He added presently: "It is true that I have promised to go up-stream tosome special friends of mine, for the hay-harvest; but they won't beready for us for more than a week: and besides, you might go with me, youknow, and see some very nice people, besides making notes of our ways inOxfordshire. You could hardly do better if you want to see the country. "

I felt myself obliged to thank him, whatever might come of it; and headded eagerly:

"Well, then, that's settled. I will give my friend call; he is living inthe Guest House like you, and if he isn't up yet, he ought to be thisfine summer morning. "

Therewith he took a little silver bugle-horn from his girdle and blew twoor three sharp but agreeable notes on it; and presently from the housewhich stood on the site of my old dwelling (of which more hereafter)another young man came sauntering towards us. He was not so well-lookingor so strongly made as my sculler friend, being sandy-haired, ratherpale, and not stout-built; but his face was not wanting in that happy andfriendly expression which I had noticed in his friend. As he came upsmiling towards us, I saw with pleasure that I must give up the ColneyHatch theory as to the waterman, for no two madmen ever behaved as theydid before a sane man. His dress also was of the same cut as the firstman's, though somewhat gayer, the surcoat being light green with a goldenspray embroidered on the breast, and his belt being of filagree silver-work. 

He gave me good-day very civilly, and greeting his friend joyously, said:

"Well, Dick, what is it this morning? Am I to have my work, or ratheryour work? I dreamed last night that we were off up the river fishing. "

"All right, Bob, " said my sculler; "you will drop into my place, and ifyou find it too much, there is George Brightling on the look out for astroke of work, and he lives close handy to you. But see, here is astranger who is willing to amuse me to-day by taking me as his guideabout our country-side, and you may imagine I don't want to lose theopportunity; so you had better take to the boat at once. But in any caseI shouldn't have kept you out of it for long, since I am due in the hay-fields in a few days. "

The newcomer rubbed his hands with glee, but turning to me, said in afriendly voice:

"Neighbour, both you and friend Dick are lucky, and will have a good timeto-day, as indeed I shall too. But you had better both come in with meat once and get something to eat, lest you should forget your dinner inyour amusement. I suppose you came into the Guest House after I had goneto bed last night?"

I nodded, not caring to enter into a long explanation which would haveled to nothing, and which in truth by this time I should have begun todoubt myself. And we all three turned toward the door of the GuestHouse. 

CHAPTER III: THE GUEST HOUSE AND BREAKFAST THEREIN

I lingered a little behind the others to have a stare at this house, which, as I have told you, stood on the site of my old dwelling. 

It was a longish building with its gable ends turned away from the road, and long traceried windows coming rather low down set in the wall thatfaced us. It was very handsomely built of red brick with a lead roof;and high up above the windows there ran a frieze of figure subjects inbaked clay, very well executed, and designed with a force and directnesswhich I had never noticed in modern work before. The subjects Irecognised at once, and indeed was very particularly familiar with them. 

However, all this I took in in a minute; for we were presently withindoors, and standing in a hall with a floor of marble mosaic and an opentimber roof. There were no windows on the side opposite to the river, but arches below leading into chambers, one of which showed a glimpse ofa garden beyond, and above them a long space of wall gaily painted (infresco, I thought) with similar subjects to those of the frieze outside;everything about the place was handsome and generously solid as tomaterial; and though it was not very large (somewhat smaller than CrosbyHall perhaps), one felt in it that exhilarating sense of space andfreedom which satisfactory architecture always gives to an unanxious manwho is in the habit of using his eyes. 

In this pleasant place, which of course I knew to be the hall of theGuest House, three young women were flitting to and fro. As they werethe first of the sex I had seen on this eventful morning, I naturallylooked at them very attentively, and found them at least as good as thegardens, the architecture, and the male men. As to their dress, which ofcourse I took note of, I should say that they were decently veiled withdrapery, and not bundled up with millinery; that they were clothed likewomen, not upholstered like armchairs, as most women of our time are. Inshort, their dress was somewhat between that of the ancient classicalcostume and the simpler forms of the fourteenth century garments, thoughit was clearly not an imitation of either: the materials were light andgay to suit the season. As to the women themselves, it was pleasantindeed to see them, they were so kind and happy-looking in expression offace, so shapely and well-knit of body, and thoroughly healthy-lookingand strong. All were at least comely, and one of them very handsome andregular of feature. They came up to us at once merrily and without theleast affectation of shyness, and all three shook hands with me as if Iwere a friend newly come back from a long journey: though I could nothelp noticing that they looked askance at my garments; for I had on myclothes of last night, and at the best was never a dressy person. 

A word or two from Robert the weaver, and they bustled about on ourbehoof, and presently came and took us by the hands and led us to a tablein the pleasantest corner of the hall, where our breakfast was spread forus; and, as we sat down, one of them hurried out by the chambersaforesaid, and came back again in a little while with a great bunch ofroses, very different in size and quality to what Hammersmith had beenwont to grow, but very like the produce of an old country garden. Shehurried back thence into the buttery, and came back once more with adelicately made glass, into which she put the flowers and set them downin the midst of our table. One of the others, who had run off also, thencame back with a big cabbage-leaf filled with strawberries, some of thembarely ripe, and said as she set them on the table, "There, now; Ithought of that before I got up this morning; but looking at the strangerhere getting into your boat, Dick, put it out of my head; so that I wasnot before _all_ the blackbirds: however, there are a few about as goodas you will get them anywhere in Hammersmith this morning. "

Robert patted her on the head in a friendly manner; and we fell to on ourbreakfast, which was simple enough, but most delicately cooked, and seton the table with much daintiness. The bread was particularly good, andwas of several different kinds, from the big, rather close, dark-coloured, sweet-tasting farmhouse loaf, which was most to my liking, to the thin pipe-stems of wheaten crust, such as I have eaten in Turin. 

As I was putting the first mouthfuls into my mouth my eye caught a carvedand gilded inscription on the panelling, behind what we should havecalled the High Table in an Oxford college hall, and a familiar name init forced me to read it through. Thus it ran:

 "_Guests and neighbours_, _on the site of this Guest-hall once stood the lecture-room of the Hammersmith Socialists_. _Drink a glass to the memory_! _May 1962_. "

It is difficult to tell you how I felt as I read these words, and Isuppose my face showed how much I was moved, for both my friends lookedcuriously at me, and there was silence between us for a little while. 

Presently the weaver, who was scarcely so well mannered a man as theferryman, said to me rather awkwardly:

"Guest, we don't know what to call you: is there any indiscretion inasking you your name?"

"Well, " said I, "I have some doubts about it myself; so suppose you callme Guest, which is a family name, you know, and add William to it if youplease. "

Dick nodded kindly to me; but a shade of anxiousness passed over theweaver's face, and he said--"I hope you don't mind my asking, but wouldyou tell me where you come from? I am curious about such things for goodreasons, literary reasons. "

Dick was clearly kicking him underneath the table; but he was not muchabashed, and awaited my answer somewhat eagerly. As for me, I was justgoing to blurt out "Hammersmith, " when I bethought me what anentanglement of cross purposes that would lead us into; so I took time toinvent a lie with circumstance, guarded by a little truth, and said:

"You see, I have been such a long time away from Europe that things seemstrange to me now; but I was born and bred on the edge of Epping Forest;Walthamstow and Woodford, to wit. "

"A pretty place, too, " broke in Dick; "a very jolly place, now that thetrees have had time to grow again since the great clearing of houses in1955. "

Quoth the irrepressible weaver: "Dear neighbour, since you knew theForest some time ago, could you tell me what truth there is in the rumourthat in the nineteenth century the trees were all pollards?"

This was catching me on my archaeological natural-history side, and Ifell into the trap without any thought of where and when I was; so Ibegan on it, while one of the girls, the handsome one, who had beenscattering little twigs of lavender and other sweet-smelling herbs aboutthe floor, came near to listen, and stood behind me with her hand on myshoulder, in which she held some of the plant that I used to call balm:its strong sweet smell brought back to my mind my very early days in thekitchen-garden at Woodford, and the large blue plums which grew on thewall beyond the sweet-herb patch, --a connection of memories which allboys will see at once. 

I started off: "When I was a boy, and for long after, except for a pieceabout Queen Elizabeth's Lodge, and for the part about High Beech, theForest was almost wholly made up of pollard hornbeams mixed with hollythickets. But when the Corporation of London took it over about twenty-five years ago, the topping and lopping, which was a part of the oldcommoners' rights, came to an end, and the trees were let to grow. But Ihave not seen the place now for many years, except once, when we Leaguerswent a pleasuring to High Beech. I was very much shocked then to see howit was built-over and altered; and the other day we heard that thephilistines were going to landscape-garden it. But what you were sayingabout the building being stopped and the trees growing is only too goodnews;--only you know--"

At that point I suddenly remembered Dick's date, and stopped short ratherconfused. The eager weaver didn't notice my confusion, but said hastily, as if he were almost aware of his breach of good manners, "But, I say, how old are you?"

Dick and the pretty girl both burst out laughing, as if Robert's conductwere excusable on the grounds of eccentricity; and Dick said amidst hislaughter:

"Hold hard, Bob; this questioning of guests won't do. Why, much learningis spoiling you. You remind me of the radical cobblers in the silly oldnovels, who, according to the authors, were prepared to trample down allgood manners in the pursuit of utilitarian knowledge. The fact is, Ibegin to think that you have so muddled your head with mathematics, andwith grubbing into those idiotic old books about political economy (hehe!), that you scarcely know how to behave. Really, it is about time foryou to take to some open-air work, so that you may clear away the cobwebsfrom your brain. "

The weaver only laughed good-humouredly; and the girl went up to him andpatted his cheek and said laughingly, "Poor fellow! he was born so. "

As for me, I was a little puzzled, but I laughed also, partly forcompany's sake, and partly with pleasure at their unanxious happiness andgood temper; and before Robert could make the excuse to me which he wasgetting ready, I said:

"But neighbours" (I had caught up that word), "I don't in the least mindanswering questions, when I can do so: ask me as many as you please; it'sfun for me. I will tell you all about Epping Forest when I was a boy, ifyou please; and as to my age, I'm not a fine lady, you know, so whyshouldn't I tell you? I'm hard on fifty-six. "

In spite of the recent lecture on good manners, the weaver could not helpgiving a long "whew" of astonishment, and the others were so amused byhis _naivete_ that the merriment flitted all over their faces, though forcourtesy's sake they forbore actual laughter; while I looked from one tothe other in a puzzled manner, and at last said:

"Tell me, please, what is amiss: you know I want to learn from you. Andplease laugh; only tell me. "

Well, they _did_ laugh, and I joined them again, for the above-statedreasons. But at last the pretty woman said coaxingly--

"Well, well, he _is_ rude, poor fellow! but you see I may as well tellyou what he is thinking about: he means that you look rather old for yourage. But surely there need be no wonder in that, since you have beentravelling; and clearly from all you have been saying, in unsocialcountries. It has often been said, and no doubt truly, that one agesvery quickly if one lives amongst unhappy people. Also they say thatsouthern England is a good place for keeping good looks. " She blushedand said: "How old am I, do you think?"

"Well, " quoth I, "I have always been told that a woman is as old as shelooks, so without offence or flattery, I should say that you weretwenty. "

She laughed merrily, and said, "I am well served out for fishing forcompliments, since I have to tell you the truth, to wit, that I am forty-two. "

I stared at her, and drew musical laughter from her again; but I mightwell stare, for there was not a careful line on her face; her skin was assmooth as ivory, her cheeks full and round, her lips as red as the rosesshe had brought in; her beautiful arms, which she had bared for her work, firm and well-knit from shoulder to wrist. She blushed a little under mygaze, though it was clear that she had taken me for a man of eighty; soto pass it off I said--

"Well, you see, the old saw is proved right again, and I ought not tohave let you tempt me into asking you a rude question. "

She laughed again, and said: "Well, lads, old and young, I must get to mywork now. We shall be rather busy here presently; and I want to clear itoff soon, for I began to read a pretty old book yesterday, and I want toget on with it this morning: so good-bye for the present. "

She waved a hand to us, and stepped lightly down the hall, taking (asScott says) at least part of the sun from our table as she went. 

When she was gone, Dick said "Now guest, won't you ask a question or twoof our friend here? It is only fair that you should have your turn. "

"I shall be very glad to answer them, " said the weaver. 

"If I ask you any questions, sir, " said I, "they will not be very severe;but since I hear that you are a weaver, I should like to ask yousomething about that craft, as I am--or was--interested in it. "

"Oh, " said he, "I shall not be of much use to you there, I'm afraid. Ionly do the most mechanical kind of weaving, and am in fact but a poorcraftsman, unlike Dick here. Then besides the weaving, I do a littlewith machine printing and composing, though I am little use at the finerkinds of printing; and moreover machine printing is beginning to die out, along with the waning of the plague of book-making, so I have had to turnto other things that I have a taste for, and have taken to mathematics;and also I am writing a sort of antiquarian book about the peaceable andprivate history, so to say, of the end of the nineteenth century, --morefor the sake of giving a picture of the country before the fighting beganthan for anything else. That was why I asked you those questions aboutEpping Forest. You have rather puzzled me, I confess, though yourinformation was so interesting. But later on, I hope, we may have somemore talk together, when our friend Dick isn't here. I know he thinks merather a grinder, and despises me for not being very deft with my hands:that's the way nowadays. From what I have read of the nineteenth centuryliterature (and I have read a good deal), it is clear to me that this isa kind of revenge for the stupidity of that day, which despised everybodywho _could_ use his hands. But Dick, old fellow, _Ne quid nimis_! Don'toverdo it!"

"Come now, " said Dick, "am I likely to? Am I not the most tolerant manin the world? Am I not quite contented so long as you don't make melearn mathematics, or go into your new science of aesthetics, and let medo a little practical aesthetics with my gold and steel, and the blowpipeand the nice little hammer? But, hillo! here comes another questionerfor you, my poor guest. I say, Bob, you must help me to defend him now. "

"Here, Boffin, " he cried out, after a pause; "here we are, if you musthave it!"

I looked over my shoulder, and saw something flash and gleam in thesunlight that lay across the hall; so I turned round, and at my ease sawa splendid figure slowly sauntering over the pavement; a man whosesurcoat was embroidered most copiously as well as elegantly, so that thesun flashed back from him as if he had been clad in golden armour. Theman himself was tall, dark-haired, and exceedingly handsome, and thoughhis face was no less kindly in expression than that of the others, hemoved with that somewhat haughty mien which great beauty is apt to giveto both men and women. He came and sat down at our table with a smilingface, stretching out his long legs and hanging his arm over the chair inthe slowly graceful way which tall and well-built people may use withoutaffectation. He was a man in the prime of life, but looked as happy as achild who has just got a new toy. He bowed gracefully to me and said--

"I see clearly that you are the guest, of whom Annie has just told me, who have come from some distant country that does not know of us, or ourways of life. So I daresay you would not mind answering me a fewquestions; for you see--"

Here Dick broke in: "No, please, Boffin! let it alone for the present. Ofcourse you want the guest to be happy and comfortable; and how can thatbe if he has to trouble himself with answering all sorts of questionswhile he is still confused with the new customs and people about him? No, no: I am going to take him where he can ask questions himself, and havethem answered; that is, to my great-grandfather in Bloomsbury: and I amsure you can't have anything to say against that. So instead ofbothering, you had much better go out to James Allen's and get a carriagefor me, as I shall drive him up myself; and please tell Jim to let mehave the old grey, for I can drive a wherry much better than a carriage. Jump up, old fellow, and don't be disappointed; our guest will keephimself for you and your stories. "

I stared at Dick; for I wondered at his speaking to such adignified-looking personage so familiarly, not to say curtly; for Ithought that this Mr. Boffin, in spite of his well-known name out ofDickens, must be at the least a senator of these strange people. However, he got up and said, "All right, old oar-wearer, whatever you like; thisis not one of my busy days; and though" (with a condescending bow to me)"my pleasure of a talk with this learned guest is put off, I admit thathe ought to see your worthy kinsman as soon as possible. Besides, perhaps he will be the better able to answer _my_ questions after his ownhave been answered. "

And therewith he turned and swung himself out of the hall. 

When he was well gone, I said: "Is it wrong to ask what Mr. Boffin is?whose name, by the way, reminds me of many pleasant hours passed inreading Dickens. "

Dick laughed. "Yes, yes, " said he, "as it does us. I see you take theallusion. Of course his real name is not Boffin, but Henry Johnson; weonly call him Boffin as a joke, partly because he is a dustman, andpartly because he will dress so showily, and get as much gold on him as abaron of the Middle Ages. As why should he not if he likes? only we arehis special friends, you know, so of course we jest with him. "

I held my tongue for some time after that; but Dick went on:

"He is a capital fellow, and you can't help liking him; but he has aweakness: he will spend his time in writing reactionary novels, and isvery proud of getting the local colour right, as he calls it; and as hethinks you come from some forgotten corner of the earth, where people areunhappy, and consequently interesting to a story-teller, he thinks hemight get some information out of you. O, he will be quitestraightforward with you, for that matter. Only for your own comfortbeware of him!"

"Well, Dick, " said the weaver, doggedly, "I think his novels are verygood. "

"Of course you do, " said Dick; "birds of a feather flock together;mathematics and antiquarian novels stand on much the same footing. Buthere he comes again. "

And in effect the Golden Dustman hailed us from the hall-door; so we allgot up and went into the porch, before which, with a strong grey horse inthe shafts, stood a carriage ready for us which I could not helpnoticing. It was light and handy, but had none of that sickeningvulgarity which I had known as inseparable from the carriages of ourtime, especially the "elegant" ones, but was as graceful and pleasant inline as a Wessex waggon. We got in, Dick and I. The girls, who had comeinto the porch to see us off, waved their hands to us; the weaver noddedkindly; the dustman bowed as gracefully as a troubadour; Dick shook thereins, and we were off. 

CHAPTER IV: A MARKET BY THE WAY

We turned away from the river at once, and were soon in the main roadthat runs through Hammersmith. But I should have had no guess as towhere I was, if I had not started from the waterside; for King Street wasgone, and the highway ran through wide sunny meadows and garden-liketillage. The Creek, which we crossed at once, had been rescued from itsculvert, and as we went over its pretty bridge we saw its waters, yetswollen by the tide, covered with gay boats of different sizes. Therewere houses about, some on the road, some amongst the fields withpleasant lanes leading down to them, and each surrounded by a teeminggarden. They were all pretty in design, and as solid as might be, butcountryfied in appearance, like yeomen's dwellings; some of them of redbrick like those by the river, but more of timber and plaster, which wereby the necessity of their construction so like mediaeval houses of thesame materials that I fairly felt as if I were alive in the fourteenthcentury; a sensation helped out by the costume of the people that we metor passed, in whose dress there was nothing "modern. " Almost everybodywas gaily dressed, but especially the women, who were so well-looking, oreven so handsome, that I could scarcely refrain my tongue from calling mycompanion's attention to the fact. Some faces I saw that werethoughtful, and in these I noticed great nobility of expression, but nonethat had a glimmer of unhappiness, and the greater part (we came upon agood many people) were frankly and openly joyous. 

I thought I knew the Broadway by the lie of the roads that still metthere. On the north side of the road was a range of buildings andcourts, low, but very handsomely built and ornamented, and in that wayforming a great contrast to the unpretentiousness of the houses roundabout; while above this lower building rose the steep lead-covered roofand the buttresses and higher part of the wall of a great hall, of asplendid and exuberant style of architecture, of which one can say littlemore than that it seemed to me to embrace the best qualities of theGothic of northern Europe with those of the Saracenic and Byzantine, though there was no copying of any one of these styles. On the other, the south side, of the road was an octagonal building with a high roof, not unlike the Baptistry at Florence in outline, except that it wassurrounded by a lean-to that clearly made an arcade or cloisters to it:it also was most delicately ornamented. 

This whole mass of architecture which we had come upon so suddenly fromamidst the pleasant fields was not only exquisitely beautiful in itself, but it bore upon it the expression of such generosity and abundance oflife that I was exhilarated to a pitch that I had never yet reached. Ifairly chuckled for pleasure. My friend seemed to understand it, and satlooking on me with a pleased and affectionate interest. We had pulled upamongst a crowd of carts, wherein sat handsome healthy-looking people, men, women, and children very gaily dressed, and which were clearlymarket carts, as they were full of very tempting-looking country produce. 

I said, "I need not ask if this is a market, for I see clearly that itis; but what market is it that it is so splendid? And what is theglorious hall there, and what is the building on the south side?"

"O, " said he, "it is just our Hammersmith market; and I am glad you likeit so much, for we are really proud of it. Of course the hall inside isour winter Mote-House; for in summer we mostly meet in the fields down bythe river opposite Barn Elms. The building on our right hand is ourtheatre: I hope you like it. "

"I should be a fool if I didn't, " said I. 

He blushed a little as he said: "I am glad of that, too, because I had ahand in it; I made the great doors, which are of damascened bronze. Wewill look at them later in the day, perhaps: but we ought to be gettingon now. As to the market, this is not one of our busy days; so we shalldo better with it another time, because you will see more people. "

I thanked him, and said: "Are these the regular country people? Whatvery pretty girls there are amongst them. "

As I spoke, my eye caught the face of a beautiful woman, tall, dark-haired, and white-skinned, dressed in a pretty light-green dress inhonour of the season and the hot day, who smiled kindly on me, and morekindly still, I thought on Dick; so I stopped a minute, but presentlywent on:

"I ask because I do not see any of the country-looking people I shouldhave expected to see at a market--I mean selling things there. "

"I don't understand, " said he, "what kind of people you would expect tosee; nor quite what you mean by 'country' people. These are theneighbours, and that like they run in the Thames valley. There are partsof these islands which are rougher and rainier than we are here, andthere people are rougher in their dress; and they themselves are tougherand more hard-bitten than we are to look at. But some people like theirlooks better than ours; they say they have more character in them--that'sthe word. Well, it's a matter of taste. --Anyhow, the cross between usand them generally turns out well, " added he, thoughtfully. 

I heard him, though my eyes were turned away from him, for that prettygirl was just disappearing through the gate with her big basket of earlypeas, and I felt that disappointed kind of feeling which overtakes onewhen one has seen an interesting or lovely face in the streets which oneis never likely to see again; and I was silent a little. At last I said:"What I mean is, that I haven't seen any poor people about--not one. "

He knit his brows, looked puzzled, and said: "No, naturally; if anybodyis poorly, he is likely to be within doors, or at best crawling about thegarden: but I don't know of any one sick at present. Why should youexpect to see poorly people on the road?"

"No, no, " I said; "I don't mean sick people. I mean poor people, youknow; rough people. "

"No, " said he, smiling merrily, "I really do not know. The fact is, youmust come along quick to my great-grandfather, who will understand youbetter than I do. Come on, Greylocks!" Therewith he shook the reins, and we jogged along merrily eastward. 

CHAPTER V: CHILDREN ON THE ROAD

Past the Broadway there were fewer houses on either side. We presentlycrossed a pretty little brook that ran across a piece of land dotted overwith trees, and awhile after came to another market and town-hall, as weshould call it. Although there was nothing familiar to me in itssurroundings, I knew pretty well where we were, and was not surprisedwhen my guide said briefly, "Kensington Market. "

Just after this we came into a short street of houses: or rather, onelong house on either side of the way, built of timber and plaster, andwith a pretty arcade over the footway before it. 

Quoth Dick: "This is Kensington proper. People are apt to gather hererather thick, for they like the romance of the wood; and naturalistshaunt it, too; for it is a wild spot even here, what there is of it; forit does not go far to the south: it goes from here northward and westright over Paddington and a little way down Notting Hill: thence it runsnorth-east to Primrose Hill, and so on; rather a narrow strip of it getsthrough Kingsland to Stoke-Newington and Clapton, where it spreads outalong the heights above the Lea marshes; on the other side of which, asyou know, is Epping Forest holding out a hand to it. This part we arejust coming to is called Kensington Gardens; though why 'gardens' I don'tknow. "

I rather longed to say, "Well, _I_ know"; but there were so many thingsabout me which I did _not_ know, in spite of his assumptions, that Ithought it better to hold my tongue. 

The road plunged at once into a beautiful wood spreading out on eitherside, but obviously much further on the north side, where even the oaksand sweet chestnuts were of a good growth; while the quicker-growingtrees (amongst which I thought the planes and sycamores too numerous)were very big and fine-grown. 

It was exceedingly pleasant in the dappled shadow, for the day wasgrowing as hot as need be, and the coolness and shade soothed my excitedmind into a condition of dreamy pleasure, so that I felt as if I shouldlike to go on for ever through that balmy freshness. My companion seemedto share in my feelings, and let the horse go slower and slower as he satinhaling the green forest scents, chief amongst which was the smell ofthe trodden bracken near the wayside. 

Romantic as this Kensington wood was, however, it was not lonely. Wecame on many groups both coming and going, or wandering in the edges ofthe wood. Amongst these were many children from six or eight years oldup to sixteen or seventeen. They seemed to me to be especially finespecimens of their race, and enjoying themselves to the utmost; some ofthem were hanging about little tents pitched on the greensward, and bysome of these fires were burning, with pots hanging over them gipsyfashion. Dick explained to me that there were scattered houses in theforest, and indeed we caught a glimpse of one or two. He said they weremostly quite small, such as used to be called cottages when there wereslaves in the land, but they were pleasant enough and fitting for thewood. 

"They must be pretty well stocked with children, " said I, pointing to themany youngsters about the way. 

"O, " said he, "these children do not all come from the near houses, thewoodland houses, but from the country-side generally. They often make upparties, and come to play in the woods for weeks together in summer-time, living in tents, as you see. We rather encourage them to it; they learnto do things for themselves, and get to notice the wild creatures; and, you see, the less they stew inside houses the better for them. Indeed, Imust tell you that many grown people will go to live in the foreststhrough the summer; though they for the most part go to the bigger ones, like Windsor, or the Forest of Dean, or the northern wastes. Apart fromthe other pleasures of it, it gives them a little rough work, which I amsorry to say is getting somewhat scarce for these last fifty years. "

He broke off, and then said, "I tell you all this, because I see that ifI talk I must be answering questions, which you are thinking, even if youare not speaking them out; but my kinsman will tell you more about it. "

I saw that I was likely to get out of my depth again, and so merely forthe sake of tiding over an awkwardness and to say something, I said--

"Well, the youngsters here will be all the fresher for school when thesummer gets over and they have to go back again. "

"School?" he said; "yes, what do you mean by that word? I don't see howit can have anything to do with children. We talk, indeed, of a schoolof herring, and a school of painting, and in the former sense we mighttalk of a school of children--but otherwise, " said he, laughing, "I mustown myself beaten. "

Hang it! thought I, I can't open my mouth without digging up some newcomplexity. I wouldn't try to set my friend right in his etymology; andI thought I had best say nothing about the boy-farms which I had beenused to call schools, as I saw pretty clearly that they had disappeared;so I said after a little fumbling, "I was using the word in the sense ofa system of education. "

"Education?" said he, meditatively, "I know enough Latin to know that theword must come from _educere_, to lead out; and I have heard it used; butI have never met anybody who could give me a clear explanation of what itmeans. "

You may imagine how my new friends fell in my esteem when I heard thisfrank avowal; and I said, rather contemptuously, "Well, education means asystem of teaching young people. "

"Why not old people also?" said he with a twinkle in his eye. "But, " hewent on, "I can assure you our children learn, whether they go through a'system of teaching' or not. Why, you will not find one of thesechildren about here, boy or girl, who cannot swim; and every one of themhas been used to tumbling about the little forest ponies--there's one ofthem now! They all of them know how to cook; the bigger lads can mow;many can thatch and do odd jobs at carpentering; or they know how to keepshop. I can tell you they know plenty of things. "

"Yes, but their mental education, the teaching of their minds, " said I, kindly translating my phrase. 

"Guest, " said he, "perhaps you have not learned to do these things I havebeen speaking about; and if that's the case, don't you run away with theidea that it doesn't take some skill to do them, and doesn't give plentyof work for one's mind: you would change your opinion if you saw aDorsetshire lad thatching, for instance. But, however, I understand youto be speaking of book-learning; and as to that, it is a simple affair. Most children, seeing books lying about, manage to read by the time theyare four years old; though I am told it has not always been so. As towriting, we do not encourage them to scrawl too early (though scrawl alittle they will), because it gets them into a habit of ugly writing; andwhat's the use of a lot of ugly writing being done, when rough printingcan be done so easily. You understand that handsome writing we like, andmany people will write their books out when they make them, or get themwritten; I mean books of which only a few copies are needed--poems, andsuch like, you know. However, I am wandering from my lambs; but you mustexcuse me, for I am interested in this matter of writing, being myself afair-writer. "

"Well, " said I, "about the children; when they know how to read andwrite, don't they learn something else--languages, for instance?"

"Of course, " he said; "sometimes even before they can read, they can talkFrench, which is the nearest language talked on the other side of thewater; and they soon get to know German also, which is talked by a hugenumber of communes and colleges on the mainland. These are the principallanguages we speak in these islands, along with English or Welsh, orIrish, which is another form of Welsh; and children pick them up veryquickly, because their elders all know them; and besides our guests fromover sea often bring their children with them, and the little ones gettogether, and rub their speech into one another. "

"And the older languages?" said I. 

"O, yes, " said he, "they mostly learn Latin and Greek along with themodern ones, when they do anything more than merely pick up the latter. "

"And history?" said I; "how do you teach history?"

"Well, " said he, "when a person can read, of course he reads what helikes to; and he can easily get someone to tell him what are the bestbooks to read on such or such a subject, or to explain what he doesn'tunderstand in the books when he is reading them. "

"Well, " said I, "what else do they learn? I suppose they don't all learnhistory?"

"No, no, " said he; "some don't care about it; in fact, I don't think manydo. I have heard my great-grandfather say that it is mostly in periodsof turmoil and strife and confusion that people care much about history;and you know, " said my friend, with an amiable smile, "we are not likethat now. No; many people study facts about the make of things and thematters of cause and effect, so that knowledge increases on us, if thatbe good; and some, as you heard about friend Bob yonder, will spend timeover mathematics. 'Tis no use forcing people's tastes. "

Said I: "But you don't mean that children learn all these things?"

Said he: "That depends on what you mean by children; and also you mustremember how much they differ. As a rule, they don't do much reading, except for a few story-books, till they are about fifteen years old; wedon't encourage early bookishness: though you will find some children who_will_ take to books very early; which perhaps is not good for them; butit's no use thwarting them; and very often it doesn't last long withthem, and they find their level before they are twenty years old. Yousee, children are mostly given to imitating their elders, and when theysee most people about them engaged in genuinely amusing work, like house-building and street-paving, and gardening, and the like, that is whatthey want to be doing; so I don't think we need fear having too many book-learned men. "

What could I say? I sat and held my peace, for fear of freshentanglements. Besides, I was using my eyes with all my might, wonderingas the old horse jogged on, when I should come into London proper, andwhat it would be like now. 

But my companion couldn't let his subject quite drop, and went onmeditatively:

"After all, I don't know that it does them much harm, even if they dogrow up book-students. Such people as that, 'tis a great pleasure seeingthem so happy over work which is not much sought for. And besides, thesestudents are generally such pleasant people; so kind and sweet tempered;so humble, and at the same time so anxious to teach everybody all thatthey know. Really, I like those that I have met prodigiously. "

This seemed to me such very queer talk that I was on the point of askinghim another question; when just as we came to the top of a rising ground, down a long glade of the wood on my right I caught sight of a statelybuilding whose outline was familiar to me, and I cried out, "WestminsterAbbey!"

"Yes, " said Dick, "Westminster Abbey--what there is left of it. "

"Why, what have you done with it?" quoth I in terror. 

"What have _we_ done with it?" said he; "nothing much, save clean it. Butyou know the whole outside was spoiled centuries ago: as to the inside, that remains in its beauty after the great clearance, which took placeover a hundred years ago, of the beastly monuments to fools and knaves, which once blocked it up, as great-grandfather says. "

We went on a little further, and I looked to the right again, and said, in rather a doubtful tone of voice, "Why, there are the Houses ofParliament! Do you still use them?"

He burst out laughing, and was some time before he could control himself;then he clapped me on the back and said:

"I take you, neighbour; you may well wonder at our keeping them standing, and I know something about that, and my old kinsman has given me books toread about the strange game that they played there. Use them! Well, yes, they are used for a sort of subsidiary market, and a storage placefor manure, and they are handy for that, being on the waterside. Ibelieve it was intended to pull them down quite at the beginning of ourdays; but there was, I am told, a queer antiquarian society, which haddone some service in past times, and which straightway set up its pipeagainst their destruction, as it has done with many other buildings, which most people looked upon as worthless, and public nuisances; and itwas so energetic, and had such good reasons to give, that it generallygained its point; and I must say that when all is said I am glad of it:because you know at the worst these silly old buildings serve as a kindof foil to the beautiful ones which we build now. You will see severalothers in these parts; the place my great-grandfather lives in, forinstance, and a big building called St. Paul's. And you see, in thismatter we need not grudge a few poorish buildings standing, because wecan always build elsewhere; nor need we be anxious as to the breeding ofpleasant work in such matters, for there is always room for more and morework in a new building, even without making it pretentious. Forinstance, elbow-room _within_ doors is to me so delightful that if I weredriven to it I would most sacrifice outdoor space to it. Then, ofcourse, there is the ornament, which, as we must all allow, may easily beoverdone in mere living houses, but can hardly be in mote-halls andmarkets, and so forth. I must tell you, though, that mygreat-grandfather sometimes tells me I am a little cracked on thissubject of fine building; and indeed I _do_ think that the energies ofmankind are chiefly of use to them for such work; for in that direction Ican see no end to the work, while in many others a limit does seempossible. "

CHAPTER VI: A LITTLE SHOPPING

As he spoke, we came suddenly out of the woodland into a short street ofhandsomely built houses, which my companion named to me at once asPiccadilly: the lower part of these I should have called shops, if it hadnot been that, as far as I could see, the people were ignorant of thearts of buying and selling. Wares were displayed in their finelydesigned fronts, as if to tempt people in, and people stood and looked atthem, or went in and came out with parcels under their arms, just likethe real thing. On each side of the street ran an elegant arcade toprotect foot-passengers, as in some of the old Italian cities. Abouthalfway down, a huge building of the kind I was now prepared to expecttold me that this also was a centre of some kind, and had its specialpublic buildings. 

Said Dick: "Here, you see, is another market on a different plan frommost others: the upper stories of these houses are used for guest-houses;for people from all about the country are apt to drift up hither fromtime to time, as folk are very thick upon the ground, which you will seeevidence of presently, and there are people who are fond of crowds, though I can't say that I am. "

I couldn't help smiling to see how long a tradition would last. Here wasthe ghost of London still asserting itself as a centre, --an intellectualcentre, for aught I knew. However, I said nothing, except that I askedhim to drive very slowly, as the things in the booths looked exceedinglypretty. 

"Yes, " said he, "this is a very good market for pretty things, and ismostly kept for the handsomer goods, as the Houses-of-Parliament market, where they set out cabbages and turnips and such like things, along withbeer and the rougher kind of wine, is so near. "

Then he looked at me curiously, and said, "Perhaps you would like to do alittle shopping, as 'tis called. "

I looked at what I could see of my rough blue duds, which I had plenty ofopportunity of contrasting with the gay attire of the citizens we hadcome across; and I thought that if, as seemed likely, I should presentlybe shown about as a curiosity for the amusement of this mostunbusinesslike people, I should like to look a little less like adischarged ship's purser. But in spite of all that had happened, my handwent down into my pocket again, where to my dismay it met nothingmetallic except two rusty old keys, and I remembered that amidst our talkin the guest-hall at Hammersmith I had taken the cash out of my pocket toshow to the pretty Annie, and had left it lying there. My face fellfifty per cent. , and Dick, beholding me, said rather sharply--

"Hilloa, Guest! what's the matter now? Is it a wasp?"

"No, " said I, "but I've left it behind. "

"Well, " said he, "whatever you have left behind, you can get in thismarket again, so don't trouble yourself about it. "

I had come to my senses by this time, and remembering the astoundingcustoms of this country, had no mind for another lecture on socialeconomy and the Edwardian coinage; so I said only--

"My clothes--Couldn't I? You see--What do think could be done aboutthem?"

He didn't seem in the least inclined to laugh, but said quite gravely:

"O don't get new clothes yet. You see, my great-grandfather is anantiquarian, and he will want to see you just as you are. And, you know, I mustn't preach to you, but surely it wouldn't be right for you to takeaway people's pleasure of studying your attire, by just going and makingyourself like everybody else. You feel that, don't you?" said he, earnestly. 

I did _not_ feel it my duty to set myself up for a scarecrow amidst thisbeauty-loving people, but I saw I had got across some ineradicableprejudice, and that it wouldn't do to quarrel with my new friend. So Imerely said, "O certainly, certainly. "

"Well, " said he, pleasantly, "you may as well see what the inside ofthese booths is like: think of something you want. "

Said I: "Could I get some tobacco and a pipe?"

"Of course, " said he; "what was I thinking of, not asking you before?Well, Bob is always telling me that we non-smokers are a selfish lot, andI'm afraid he is right. But come along; here is a place just handy. "

Therewith he drew rein and jumped down, and I followed. A very handsomewoman, splendidly clad in figured silk, was slowly passing by, lookinginto the windows as she went. To her quoth Dick: "Maiden, would youkindly hold our horse while we go in for a little?" She nodded to uswith a kind smile, and fell to patting the horse with her pretty hand. 

"What a beautiful creature!" said I to Dick as we entered. 

"What, old Greylocks?" said he, with a sly grin. 

"No, no, " said I; "Goldylocks, --the lady. "

"Well, so she is, " said he. "'Tis a good job there are so many of themthat every Jack may have his Jill: else I fear that we should getfighting for them. Indeed, " said he, becoming very grave, "I don't saythat it does not happen even now, sometimes. For you know love is not avery reasonable thing, and perversity and self-will are commoner thansome of our moralist's think. " He added, in a still more sombre tone:"Yes, only a month ago there was a mishap down by us, that in the endcost the lives of two men and a woman, and, as it were, put out thesunlight for us for a while. Don't ask me about it just now; I may tellyou about it later on. "

By this time we were within the shop or booth, which had a counter, andshelves on the walls, all very neat, though without any pretence ofshowiness, but otherwise not very different to what I had been used to. Within were a couple of children--a brown-skinned boy of about twelve, who sat reading a book, and a pretty little girl of about a year older, who was sitting also reading behind the counter; they were obviouslybrother and sister. 

"Good morning, little neighbours, " said Dick. "My friend here wantstobacco and a pipe; can you help him?"

"O yes, certainly, " said the girl with a sort of demure alertness whichwas somewhat amusing. The boy looked up, and fell to staring at myoutlandish attire, but presently reddened and turned his head, as if heknew that he was not behaving prettily. 

"Dear neighbour, " said the girl, with the most solemn countenance of achild playing at keeping shop, "what tobacco is it you would like?"

"Latakia, " quoth I, feeling as if I were assisting at a child's game, andwondering whether I should get anything but make-believe. 

But the girl took a dainty little basket from a shelf beside her, went toa jar, and took out a lot of tobacco and put the filled basket down onthe counter before me, where I could both smell and see that it wasexcellent Latakia. 

"But you haven't weighed it, " said I, "and--and how much am I to take?"

"Why, " she said, "I advise you to cram your bag, because you may be goingwhere you can't get Latakia. Where is your bag?"

I fumbled about, and at last pulled out my piece of cotton print whichdoes duty with me for a tobacco pouch. But the girl looked at it withsome disdain, and said--

"Dear neighbour, I can give you something much better than that cottonrag. " And she tripped up the shop and came back presently, and as shepassed the boy whispered something in his ear, and he nodded and got upand went out. The girl held up in her finger and thumb a red moroccobag, gaily embroidered, and said, "There, I have chosen one for you, andyou are to have it: it is pretty, and will hold a lot. "

Therewith she fell to cramming it with the tobacco, and laid it down byme and said, "Now for the pipe: that also you must let me choose for you;there are three pretty ones just come in. "

She disappeared again, and came back with a big-bowled pipe in her hand, carved out of some hard wood very elaborately, and mounted in goldsprinkled with little gems. It was, in short, as pretty and gay a toy asI had ever seen; something like the best kind of Japanese work, butbetter. 

"Dear me!" said I, when I set eyes on it, "this is altogether too grandfor me, or for anybody but the Emperor of the World. Besides, I shalllose it: I always lose my pipes. "

The child seemed rather dashed, and said, "Don't you like it, neighbour?"

"O yes, " I said, "of course I like it. "

"Well, then, take it, " said she, "and don't trouble about losing it. Whatwill it matter if you do? Somebody is sure to find it, and he will useit, and you can get another. "

I took it out of her hand to look at it, and while I did so, forgot mycaution, and said, "But however am I to pay for such a thing as this?"

Dick laid his hand on my shoulder as I spoke, and turning I met his eyeswith a comical expression in them, which warned me against anotherexhibition of extinct commercial morality; so I reddened and held mytongue, while the girl simply looked at me with the deepest gravity, asif I were a foreigner blundering in my speech, for she clearly didn'tunderstand me a bit. 

"Thank you so very much, " I said at last, effusively, as I put the pipein my pocket, not without a qualm of doubt as to whether I shouldn't findmyself before a magistrate presently. 

"O, you are so very welcome, " said the little lass, with an affectationof grown-up manners at their best which was very quaint. "It is such apleasure to serve dear old gentlemen like you; especially when one cansee at once that you have come from far over sea. "

"Yes, my dear, " quoth I, "I have been a great traveller. "

As I told this lie from pure politeness, in came the lad again, with atray in his hands, on which I saw a long flask and two beautiful glasses. "Neighbours, " said the girl (who did all the talking, her brother beingvery shy, clearly) "please to drink a glass to us before you go, since wedo not have guests like this every day. "

Therewith the boy put the tray on the counter and solemnly poured out astraw-coloured wine into the long bowls. Nothing loth, I drank, for Iwas thirsty with the hot day; and thinks I, I am yet in the world, andthe grapes of the Rhine have not yet lost their flavour; for if ever Idrank good Steinberg, I drank it that morning; and I made a mental noteto ask Dick how they managed to make fine wine when there were no longerlabourers compelled to drink rot-gut instead of the fine wine which theythemselves made. 

"Don't you drink a glass to us, dear little neighbours?" said I. 

"I don't drink wine, " said the lass; "I like lemonade better: but I wishyour health!"

"And I like ginger-beer better, " said the little lad. 

Well, well, thought I, neither have children's tastes changed much. Andtherewith we gave them good day and went out of the booth. 

To my disappointment, like a change in a dream, a tall old man washolding our horse instead of the beautiful woman. He explained to usthat the maiden could not wait, and that he had taken her place; and hewinked at us and laughed when he saw how our faces fell, so that we hadnothing for it but to laugh also--

"Where are you going?" said he to Dick. 

"To Bloomsbury, " said Dick. 

"If you two don't want to be alone, I'll come with you, " said the oldman. 

"All right, " said Dick, "tell me when you want to get down and I'll stopfor you. Let's get on. "

So we got under way again; and I asked if children generally waited onpeople in the markets. "Often enough, " said he, "when it isn't a matterof dealing with heavy weights, but by no means always. The children liketo amuse themselves with it, and it is good for them, because they handlea lot of diverse wares and get to learn about them, how they are made, and where they come from, and so on. Besides, it is such very easy workthat anybody can do it. It is said that in the early days of our epochthere were a good many people who were hereditarily afflicted with adisease called Idleness, because they were the direct descendants ofthose who in the bad times used to force other people to work forthem--the people, you know, who are called slave-holders or employers oflabour in the history books. Well, these Idleness-stricken people usedto serve booths _all_ their time, because they were fit for so little. Indeed, I believe that at one time they were actually _compelled_ to dosome such work, because they, especially the women, got so ugly andproduced such ugly children if their disease was not treated sharply, that the neighbours couldn't stand it. However, I'm happy to say thatall that is gone by now; the disease is either extinct, or exists in sucha mild form that a short course of aperient medicine carries it off. Itis sometimes called the Blue-devils now, or the Mulleygrubs. Queernames, ain't they?"

"Yes, " said I, pondering much. But the old man broke in:

"Yes, all that is true, neighbour; and I have seen some of those poorwomen grown old. But my father used to know some of them when they wereyoung; and he said that they were as little like young women as might be:they had hands like bunches of skewers, and wretched little arms likesticks; and waists like hour-glasses, and thin lips and peaked noses andpale cheeks; and they were always pretending to be offended at anythingyou said or did to them. No wonder they bore ugly children, for no oneexcept men like them could be in love with them--poor things!"

He stopped, and seemed to be musing on his past life, and then said:

"And do you know, neighbours, that once on a time people were stillanxious about that disease of Idleness: at one time we gave ourselves agreat deal of trouble in trying to cure people of it. Have you not readany of the medical books on the subject?"

"No, " said I; for the old man was speaking to me. 

"Well, " said he, "it was thought at the time that it was the survival ofthe old mediaeval disease of leprosy: it seems it was very catching, formany of the people afflicted by it were much secluded, and were waitedupon by a special class of diseased persons queerly dressed up, so thatthey might be known. They wore amongst other garments, breeches made ofworsted velvet, that stuff which used to be called plush some years ago. "

All this seemed very interesting to me, and I should like to have madethe old man talk more. But Dick got rather restive under so much ancienthistory: besides, I suspect he wanted to keep me as fresh as he could forhis great-grandfather. So he burst out laughing at last, and said:"Excuse me, neighbours, but I can't help it. Fancy people not liking towork!--it's too ridiculous. Why, even you like to work, oldfellow--sometimes, " said he, affectionately patting the old horse withthe whip. "What a queer disease! it may well be called Mulleygrubs!"

And he laughed out again most boisterously; rather too much so, Ithought, for his usual good manners; and I laughed with him for company'ssake, but from the teeth outward only; for _I_ saw nothing funny inpeople not liking to work, as you may well imagine. 

CHAPTER VII: TRAFALGAR SQUARE

And now again I was busy looking about me, for we were quite clear ofPiccadilly Market, and were in a region of elegantly-built muchornamented houses, which I should have called villas if they had beenugly and pretentious, which was very far from being the case. Each housestood in a garden carefully cultivated, and running over with flowers. The blackbirds were singing their best amidst the garden-trees, which, except for a bay here and there, and occasional groups of limes, seemedto be all fruit-trees: there were a great many cherry-trees, now allladen with fruit; and several times as we passed by a garden we wereoffered baskets of fine fruit by children and young girls. Amidst allthese gardens and houses it was of course impossible to trace the sitesof the old streets: but it seemed to me that the main roadways were thesame as of old. 

We came presently into a large open space, sloping somewhat toward thesouth, the sunny site of which had been taken advantage of for plantingan orchard, mainly, as I could see, of apricot-trees, in the midst ofwhich was a pretty gay little structure of wood, painted and gilded, thatlooked like a refreshment-stall. From the southern side of the saidorchard ran a long road, chequered over with the shadow of tall old peartrees, at the end of which showed the high tower of the Parliament House, or Dung Market. 

A strange sensation came over me; I shut my eyes to keep out the sight ofthe sun glittering on this fair abode of gardens, and for a moment therepassed before them a phantasmagoria of another day. A great spacesurrounded by tall ugly houses, with an ugly church at the corner and anondescript ugly cupolaed building at my back; the roadway thronged witha sweltering and excited crowd, dominated by omnibuses crowded withspectators. In the midst a paved be-fountained square, populated only bya few men dressed in blue, and a good many singularly ugly bronze images(one on the top of a tall column). The said square guarded up to theedge of the roadway by a four-fold line of big men clad in blue, andacross the southern roadway the helmets of a band of horse-soldiers, deadwhite in the greyness of the chilly November afternoon--I opened my eyesto the sunlight again and looked round me, and cried out among thewhispering trees and odorous blossoms, "Trafalgar Square!"

"Yes, " said Dick, who had drawn rein again, "so it is. I don't wonder atyour finding the name ridiculous: but after all, it was nobody's businessto alter it, since the name of a dead folly doesn't bite. Yet sometimesI think we might have given it a name which would have commemorated thegreat battle which was fought on the spot itself in 1952, --that wasimportant enough, if the historians don't lie. "

"Which they generally do, or at least did, " said the old man. "Forinstance, what can you make of this, neighbours? I have read a muddledaccount in a book--O a stupid book--called James' Social DemocraticHistory, of a fight which took place here in or about the year 1887 (I ambad at dates). Some people, says this story, were going to hold a ward-mote here, or some such thing, and the Government of London, or theCouncil, or the Commission, or what not other barbarous half-hatched bodyof fools, fell upon these citizens (as they were then called) with thearmed hand. That seems too ridiculous to be true; but according to thisversion of the story, nothing much came of it, which certainly _is_ tooridiculous to be true. "

"Well, " quoth I, "but after all your Mr. James is right so far, and it_is_ true; except that there was no fighting, merely unarmed andpeaceable people attacked by ruffians armed with bludgeons. "

"And they put up with that?" said Dick, with the first unpleasantexpression I had seen on his good-tempered face. 

Said I, reddening: "We _had_ to put up with it; we couldn't help it. "

The old man looked at me keenly, and said: "You seem to know a great dealabout it, neighbour! And is it really true that nothing came of it?"

"This came of it, " said I, "that a good many people were sent to prisonbecause of it. "

"What, of the bludgeoners?" said the old man. "Poor devils!"

"No, no, " said I, "of the bludgeoned. "

Said the old man rather severely: "Friend, I expect that you have beenreading some rotten collection of lies, and have been taken in by it tooeasily. "

"I assure you, " said I, "what I have been saying is true. "

"Well, well, I am sure you think so, neighbour, " said the old man, "but Idon't see why you should be so cocksure. "

As I couldn't explain why, I held my tongue. Meanwhile Dick, who hadbeen sitting with knit brows, cogitating, spoke at last, and said gentlyand rather sadly:

"How strange to think that there have been men like ourselves, and livingin this beautiful and happy country, who I suppose had feelings andaffections like ourselves, who could yet do such dreadful things. "

"Yes, " said I, in a didactic tone; "yet after all, even those days were agreat improvement on the days that had gone before them. Have you notread of the Mediaeval period, and the ferocity of its criminal laws; andhow in those days men fairly seemed to have enjoyed tormenting theirfellow men?--nay, for the matter of that, they made their God a tormentorand a jailer rather than anything else. "

"Yes, " said Dick, "there are good books on that period also, some ofwhich I have read. But as to the great improvement of the nineteenthcentury, I don't see it. After all, the Mediaeval folk acted after theirconscience, as your remark about their God (which is true) shows, andthey were ready to bear what they inflicted on others; whereas thenineteenth century ones were hypocrites, and pretended to be humane, andyet went on tormenting those whom they dared to treat so by shutting themup in prison, for no reason at all, except that they were what theythemselves, the prison-masters, had forced them to be. O, it's horribleto think of!"

"But perhaps, " said I, "they did not know what the prisons were like. "

Dick seemed roused, and even angry. "More shame for them, " said he, "when you and I know it all these years afterwards. Look you, neighbour, they couldn't fail to know what a disgrace a prison is to theCommonwealth at the best, and that their prisons were a good step ontowards being at the worst. "

Quoth I: "But have you no prisons at all now?"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt that I had made amistake, for Dick flushed red and frowned, and the old man lookedsurprised and pained; and presently Dick said angrily, yet as ifrestraining himself somewhat--

"Man alive! how can you ask such a question? Have I not told you that weknow what a prison means by the undoubted evidence of really trustworthybooks, helped out by our own imaginations? And haven't you speciallycalled me to notice that the people about the roads and streets lookhappy? and how could they look happy if they knew that their neighbourswere shut up in prison, while they bore such things quietly? And ifthere were people in prison, you couldn't hide it from folk, like you mayan occasional man-slaying; because that isn't done of set purpose, with alot of people backing up the slayer in cold blood, as this prisonbusiness is. Prisons, indeed! O no, no, no!"

He stopped, and began to cool down, and said in a kind voice: "Butforgive me! I needn't be so hot about it, since there are _not_ anyprisons: I'm afraid you will think the worse of me for losing my temper. Of course, you, coming from the outlands, cannot be expected to knowabout these things. And now I'm afraid I have made you feeluncomfortable. "

In a way he had; but he was so generous in his heat, that I liked him thebetter for it, and I said:

"No, really 'tis all my fault for being so stupid. Let me change thesubject, and ask you what the stately building is on our left justshowing at the end of that grove of plane-trees?"

"Ah, " he said, "that is an old building built before the middle of thetwentieth century, and as you see, in a queer fantastic style not overbeautiful; but there are some fine things inside it, too, mostlypictures, some very old. It is called the National Gallery; I havesometimes puzzled as to what the name means: anyhow, nowadays whereverthere is a place where pictures are kept as curiosities permanently it iscalled a National Gallery, perhaps after this one. Of course there are agood many of them up and down the country. "

I didn't try to enlighten him, feeling the task too heavy; but I pulledout my magnificent pipe and fell a-smoking, and the old horse jogged onagain. As we went, I said:

"This pipe is a very elaborate toy, and you seem so reasonable in thiscountry, and your architecture is so good, that I rather wonder at yourturning out such trivialities. "

It struck me as I spoke that this was rather ungrateful of me, afterhaving received such a fine present; but Dick didn't seem to notice mybad manners, but said:

"Well, I don't know; it is a pretty thing, and since nobody need makesuch things unless they like, I don't see why they shouldn't make them, if they like. Of course, if carvers were scarce they would all be busyon the architecture, as you call it, and then these 'toys' (a good word)would not be made; but since there are plenty of people who can carve--infact, almost everybody, and as work is somewhat scarce, or we are afraidit may be, folk do not discourage this kind of petty work. "

He mused a little, and seemed somewhat perturbed; but presently his facecleared, and he said: "After all, you must admit that the pipe is a verypretty thing, with the little people under the trees all cut so clean andsweet;--too elaborate for a pipe, perhaps, but--well, it is very pretty. "

"Too valuable for its use, perhaps, " said I. 

"What's that?" said he; "I don't understand. "

I was just going in a helpless way to try to make him understand, when wecame by the gates of a big rambling building, in which work of some sortseemed going on. "What building is that?" said I, eagerly; for it was apleasure amidst all these strange things to see something a little likewhat I was used to: "it seems to be a factory. "

"Yes, " he said, "I think I know what you mean, and that's what it is; butwe don't call them factories now, but Banded-workshops: that is, placeswhere people collect who want to work together. "

"I suppose, " said I, "power of some sort is used there?"

"No, no, " said he. "Why should people collect together to use power, when they can have it at the places where they live, or hard by, any twoor three of them; or any one, for the matter of that? No; folk collectin these Banded-workshops to do hand-work in which working together isnecessary or convenient; such work is often very pleasant. In there, forinstance, they make pottery and glass, --there, you can see the tops ofthe furnaces. Well, of course it's handy to have fair-sized ovens andkilns and glass-pots, and a good lot of things to use them for: though ofcourse there are a good many such places, as it would be ridiculous if aman had a liking for pot-making or glass-blowing that he should have tolive in one place or be obliged to forego the work he liked. "

"I see no smoke coming from the furnaces, " said I. 

"Smoke?" said Dick; "why should you see smoke?"

I held my tongue, and he went on: "It's a nice place inside, though asplain as you see outside. As to the crafts, throwing the clay must bejolly work: the glass-blowing is rather a sweltering job; but some folklike it very much indeed; and I don't much wonder: there is such a senseof power, when you have got deft in it, in dealing with the hot metal. Itmakes a lot of pleasant work, " said he, smiling, "for however much careyou take of such goods, break they will, one day or another, so there isalways plenty to do. "

I held my tongue and pondered. 

We came just here on a gang of men road-mending which delayed us alittle; but I was not sorry for it; for all I had seen hitherto seemed amere part of a summer holiday; and I wanted to see how this folk wouldset to on a piece of real necessary work. They had been resting, and hadonly just begun work again as we came up; so that the rattle of the pickswas what woke me from my musing. There were about a dozen of them, strong young men, looking much like a boating party at Oxford would havelooked in the days I remembered, and not more troubled with their work:their outer raiment lay on the road-side in an orderly pile under theguardianship of a six-year-old boy, who had his arm thrown over the neckof a big mastiff, who was as happily lazy as if the summer-day had beenmade for him alone. As I eyed the pile of clothes, I could see the gleamof gold and silk embroidery on it, and judged that some of these workmenhad tastes akin to those of the Golden Dustman of Hammersmith. Besidethem lay a good big basket that had hints about it of cold pie and wine:a half dozen of young women stood by watching the work or the workers, both of which were worth watching, for the latter smote great strokes andwere very deft in their labour, and as handsome clean-built fellows asyou might find a dozen of in a summer day. They were laughing andtalking merrily with each other and the women, but presently theirforeman looked up and saw our way stopped. So he stayed his pick andsang out, "Spell ho, mates! here are neighbours want to get past. "Whereon the others stopped also, and, drawing around us, helped the oldhorse by easing our wheels over the half undone road, and then, like menwith a pleasant task on hand, hurried back to their work, only stoppingto give us a smiling good-day; so that the sound of the picks broke outagain before Greylocks had taken to his jog-trot. Dick looked back overhis shoulder at them and said:

"They are in luck to-day: it's right down good sport trying how much pick-work one can get into an hour; and I can see those neighbours know theirbusiness well. It is not a mere matter of strength getting on quicklywith such work; is it, guest?"

"I should think not, " said I, "but to tell you the truth, I have nevertried my hand at it. "

"Really?" said he gravely, "that seems a pity; it is good work forhardening the muscles, and I like it; though I admit it is pleasanter thesecond week than the first. Not that I am a good hand at it: the fellowsused to chaff me at one job where I was working, I remember, and sing outto me, 'Well rowed, stroke!' 'Put your back into it, bow!'"

"Not much of a joke, " quoth I. 

"Well, " said Dick, "everything seems like a joke when we have a pleasantspell of work on, and good fellows merry about us; we feels so happy, youknow. " Again I pondered silently. 

CHAPTER VIII: AN OLD FRIEND

We now turned into a pleasant lane where the branches of greatplane-trees nearly met overhead, but behind them lay low houses standingrather close together. 

"This is Long Acre, " quoth Dick; "so there must once have been acornfield here. How curious it is that places change so, and yet keeptheir old names! Just look how thick the houses stand! and they arestill going on building, look you!"

"Yes, " said the old man, "but I think the cornfields must have been builtover before the middle of the nineteenth century. I have heard thatabout here was one of the thickest parts of the town. But I must getdown here, neighbours; I have got to call on a friend who lives in thegardens behind this Long Acre. Good-bye and good luck, Guest!"

And he jumped down and strode away vigorously, like a young man. 

"How old should you say that neighbour will be?" said I to Dick as welost sight of him; for I saw that he was old, and yet he looked dry andsturdy like a piece of old oak; a type of old man I was not used toseeing. 

"O, about ninety, I should say, " said Dick. 

"How long-lived your people must be!" said I. 

"Yes, " said Dick, "certainly we have beaten the threescore-and-ten of theold Jewish proverb-book. But then you see that was written of Syria, ahot dry country, where people live faster than in our temperate climate. However, I don't think it matters much, so long as a man is healthy andhappy while he _is_ alive. But now, Guest, we are so near to my oldkinsman's dwelling-place that I think you had better keep all futurequestions for him. "

I nodded a yes; and therewith we turned to the left, and went down agentle slope through some beautiful rose-gardens, laid out on what I tookto be the site of Endell Street. We passed on, and Dick drew rein aninstant as we came across a long straightish road with houses scantilyscattered up and down it. He waved his hand right and left, and said, "Holborn that side, Oxford Road that. This was once a very importantpart of the crowded city outside the ancient walls of the Roman andMediaeval burg: many of the feudal nobles of the Middle Ages, we aretold, had big houses on either side of Holborn. I daresay you rememberthat the Bishop of Ely's house is mentioned in Shakespeare's play of KingRichard III. ; and there are some remains of that still left. However, this road is not of the same importance, now that the ancient city isgone, walls and all. "

He drove on again, while I smiled faintly to think how the nineteenthcentury, of which such big words have been said, counted for nothing inthe memory of this man, who read Shakespeare and had not forgotten theMiddle Ages. 

We crossed the road into a short narrow lane between the gardens, andcame out again into a wide road, on one side of which was a great andlong building, turning its gables away from the highway, which I saw atonce was another public group. Opposite to it was a wide space ofgreenery, without any wall or fence of any kind. I looked through thetrees and saw beyond them a pillared portico quite familiar to me--noless old a friend, in fact, than the British Museum. It rather took mybreath away, amidst all the strange things I had seen; but I held mytongue and let Dick speak. Said he:

"Yonder is the British Museum, where my great-grandfather mostly lives;so I won't say much about it. The building on the left is the MuseumMarket, and I think we had better turn in there for a minute or two; forGreylocks will be wanting his rest and his oats; and I suppose you willstay with my kinsman the greater part of the day; and to say the truth, there may be some one there whom I particularly want to see, and perhapshave a long talk with. "

He blushed and sighed, not altogether with pleasure, I thought; so ofcourse I said nothing, and he turned the horse under an archway whichbrought us into a very large paved quadrangle, with a big sycamore treein each corner and a plashing fountain in the midst. Near the fountainwere a few market stalls, with awnings over them of gay striped linencloth, about which some people, mostly women and children, were movingquietly, looking at the goods exposed there. The ground floor of thebuilding round the quadrangle was occupied by a wide arcade or cloister, whose fanciful but strong architecture I could not enough admire. Herealso a few people were sauntering or sitting reading on the benches. 

Dick said to me apologetically: "Here as elsewhere there is little doingto-day; on a Friday you would see it thronged, and gay with people, andin the afternoon there is generally music about the fountain. However, Idaresay we shall have a pretty good gathering at our mid-day meal. "

We drove through the quadrangle and by an archway, into a large handsomestable on the other side, where we speedily stalled the old nag and madehim happy with horse-meat, and then turned and walked back again throughthe market, Dick looking rather thoughtful, as it seemed to me. 

I noticed that people couldn't help looking at me rather hard, andconsidering my clothes and theirs, I didn't wonder; but whenever theycaught my eye they made me a very friendly sign of greeting. 

We walked straight into the forecourt of the Museum, where, except thatthe railings were gone, and the whispering boughs of the trees were allabout, nothing seemed changed; the very pigeons were wheeling about thebuilding and clinging to the ornaments of the pediment as I had seen themof old. 

Dick seemed grown a little absent, but he could not forbear giving me anarchitectural note, and said:

"It is rather an ugly old building, isn't it? Many people have wanted topull it down and rebuild it: and perhaps if work does really get scarcewe may yet do so. But, as my great grandfather will tell you, it wouldnot be quite a straightforward job; for there are wonderful collectionsin there of all kinds of antiquities, besides an enormous library withmany exceedingly beautiful books in it, and many most useful ones asgenuine records, texts of ancient works and the like; and the worry andanxiety, and even risk, there would be in moving all this has saved thebuildings themselves. Besides, as we said before, it is not a bad thingto have some record of what our forefathers thought a handsome building. For there is plenty of labour and material in it. "

"I see there is, " said I, "and I quite agree with you. But now hadn't webetter make haste to see your great-grandfather?"

In fact, I could not help seeing that he was rather dallying with thetime. He said, "Yes, we will go into the house in a minute. My kinsmanis too old to do much work in the Museum, where he was a custodian of thebooks for many years; but he still lives here a good deal; indeed Ithink, " said he, smiling, "that he looks upon himself as a part of thebooks, or the books a part of him, I don't know which. "

He hesitated a little longer, then flushing up, took my hand, and saying, "Come along, then!" led me toward the door of one of the old officialdwellings. 

CHAPTER IX: CONCERNING LOVE

"Your kinsman doesn't much care for beautiful building, then, " said I, aswe entered the rather dreary classical house; which indeed was as bare asneed be, except for some big pots of the June flowers which stood abouthere and there; though it was very clean and nicely whitewashed. 

"O I don't know, " said Dick, rather absently. "He is getting old, certainly, for he is over a hundred and five, and no doubt he doesn'tcare about moving. But of course he could live in a prettier house if heliked: he is not obliged to live in one place any more than any one else. This way, Guest. "

And he led the way upstairs, and opening a door we went into a fair-sizedroom of the old type, as plain as the rest of the house, with a fewnecessary pieces of furniture, and those very simple and even rude, butsolid and with a good deal of carving about them, well designed butrather crudely executed. At the furthest corner of the room, at a desknear the window, sat a little old man in a roomy oak chair, wellbecushioned. He was dressed in a sort of Norfolk jacket of blue sergeworn threadbare, with breeches of the same, and grey worsted stockings. He jumped up from his chair, and cried out in a voice of considerablevolume for such an old man, "Welcome, Dick, my lad; Clara is here, andwill be more than glad to see you; so keep your heart up. "

"Clara here?" quoth Dick; "if I had known, I would not have brought--Atleast, I mean I would--"

He was stuttering and confused, clearly because he was anxious to saynothing to make me feel one too many. But the old man, who had not seenme at first, helped him out by coming forward and saying to me in a kindtone:

"Pray pardon me, for I did not notice that Dick, who is big enough tohide anybody, you know, had brought a friend with him. A most heartywelcome to you! All the more, as I almost hope that you are going toamuse an old man by giving him news from over sea, for I can see that youare come from over the water and far off countries. "

He looked at me thoughtfully, almost anxiously, as he said in a changedvoice, "Might I ask you where you come from, as you are so clearly astranger?"

I said in an absent way: "I used to live in England, and now I am comeback again; and I slept last night at the Hammersmith Guest House. "

He bowed gravely, but seemed, I thought, a little disappointed with myanswer. As for me, I was now looking at him harder than good mannersallowed of; perhaps; for in truth his face, dried-apple-like as it was, seemed strangely familiar to me; as if I had seen it before--in a looking-glass it might be, said I to myself. 

"Well, " said the old man, "wherever you come from, you are come amongfriends. And I see my kinsman Richard Hammond has an air about him as ifhe had brought you here for me to do something for you. Is that so, Dick?"

Dick, who was getting still more absent-minded and kept looking uneasilyat the door, managed to say, "Well, yes, kinsman: our guest finds thingsmuch altered, and cannot understand it; nor can I; so I thought I wouldbring him to you, since you know more of all that has happened within thelast two hundred years than any body else does. --What's that?"

And he turned toward the door again. We heard footsteps outside; thedoor opened, and in came a very beautiful young woman, who stopped shorton seeing Dick, and flushed as red as a rose, but faced him nevertheless. Dick looked at her hard, and half reached out his hand toward her, andhis whole face quivered with emotion. 

The old man did not leave them long in this shy discomfort, but said, smiling with an old man's mirth:

"Dick, my lad, and you, my dear Clara, I rather think that we twooldsters are in your way; for I think you will have plenty to say to eachother. You had better go into Nelson's room up above; I know he has goneout; and he has just been covering the walls all over with mediaevalbooks, so it will be pretty enough even for you two and your renewedpleasure. "

The girl reached out her hand to Dick, and taking his led him out of theroom, looking straight before her; but it was easy to see that herblushes came from happiness, not anger; as, indeed, love is far more self-conscious than wrath. 

When the door had shut on them the old man turned to me, still smiling, and said:

"Frankly, my dear guest, you will do me a great service if you are cometo set my old tongue wagging. My love of talk still abides with me, orrather grows on me; and though it is pleasant enough to see theseyoungsters moving about and playing together so seriously, as if thewhole world depended on their kisses (as indeed it does somewhat), yet Idon't think my tales of the past interest them much. The last harvest, the last baby, the last knot of carving in the market-place, is historyenough for them. It was different, I think, when I was a lad, when wewere not so assured of peace and continuous plenty as we are now--Well, well! Without putting you to the question, let me ask you this: Am I toconsider you as an enquirer who knows a little of our modern ways oflife, or as one who comes from some place where the very foundations oflife are different from ours, --do you know anything or nothing about us?"

He looked at me keenly and with growing wonder in his eyes as he spoke;and I answered in a low voice:

"I know only so much of your modern life as I could gather from using myeyes on the way here from Hammersmith, and from asking some questions ofRichard Hammond, most of which he could hardly understand. "

The old man smiled at this. "Then, " said he, "I am to speak to you as--"

"As if I were a being from another planet, " said I. 

The old man, whose name, by the bye, like his kinsman's, was Hammond, smiled and nodded, and wheeling his seat round to me, bade me sit in aheavy oak chair, and said, as he saw my eyes fix on its curious carving:

"Yes, I am much tied to the past, my past, you understand. These verypieces of furniture belong to a time before my early days; it was myfather who got them made; if they had been done within the last fiftyyears they would have been much cleverer in execution; but I don't thinkI should have liked them the better. We were almost beginning again inthose days: and they were brisk, hot-headed times. But you hear howgarrulous I am: ask me questions, ask me questions about anything, dearguest; since I must talk, make my talk profitable to you. "

I was silent for a minute, and then I said, somewhat nervously: "Excuseme if I am rude; but I am so much interested in Richard, since he hasbeen so kind to me, a perfect stranger, that I should like to ask aquestion about him. "

"Well, " said old Hammond, "if he were not 'kind', as you call it, to aperfect stranger he would be thought a strange person, and people wouldbe apt to shun him. But ask on, ask on! don't be shy of asking. "

Said I: "That beautiful girl, is he going to be married to her?"

"Well, " said he, "yes, he is. He has been married to her once already, and now I should say it is pretty clear that he will be married to heragain. "

"Indeed, " quoth I, wondering what that meant. 

"Here is the whole tale, " said old Hammond; "a short one enough; and nowI hope a happy one: they lived together two years the first time; wereboth very young; and then she got it into her head that she was in lovewith somebody else. So she left poor Dick; I say _poor_ Dick, because hehad not found any one else. But it did not last long, only about a year. Then she came to me, as she was in the habit of bringing her troubles tothe old carle, and asked me how Dick was, and whether he was happy, andall the rest of it. So I saw how the land lay, and said that he was veryunhappy, and not at all well; which last at any rate was a lie. There, you can guess the rest. Clara came to have a long talk with me to-day, but Dick will serve her turn much better. Indeed, if he hadn't chancedin upon me to-day I should have had to have sent for him to-morrow. "

"Dear me, " said I. "Have they any children?"

"Yes, " said he, "two; they are staying with one of my daughters atpresent, where, indeed, Clara has mostly been. I wouldn't lose sight ofher, as I felt sure they would come together again: and Dick, who is thebest of good fellows, really took the matter to heart. You see, he hadno other love to run to, as she had. So I managed it all; as I have donewith such-like matters before. "

"Ah, " said I, "no doubt you wanted to keep them out of the Divorce Court:but I suppose it often has to settle such matters. "

"Then you suppose nonsense, " said he. "I know that there used to be suchlunatic affairs as divorce-courts: but just consider; all the cases thatcame into them were matters of property quarrels: and I think, dearguest, " said he, smiling, "that though you do come from another planet, you can see from the mere outside look of our world that quarrels aboutprivate property could not go on amongst us in our days. "

Indeed, my drive from Hammersmith to Bloomsbury, and all the quiet happylife I had seen so many hints of; even apart from my shopping, would havebeen enough to tell me that "the sacred rights of property, " as we usedto think of them, were now no more. So I sat silent while the old mantook up the thread of the discourse again, and said:

"Well, then, property quarrels being no longer possible, what remains inthese matters that a court of law could deal with? Fancy a court forenforcing a contract of passion or sentiment! If such a thing wereneeded as a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the enforcement of contract, such afolly would do that for us. "

He was silent again a little, and then said: "You must understand oncefor all that we have changed these matters; or rather, that our way oflooking at them has changed, as we have changed within the last twohundred years. We do not deceive ourselves, indeed, or believe that wecan get rid of all the trouble that besets the dealings between thesexes. We know that we must face the unhappiness that comes of man andwoman confusing the relations between natural passion, and sentiment, andthe friendship which, when things go well, softens the awakening frompassing illusions: but we are not so mad as to pile up degradation onthat unhappiness by engaging in sordid squabbles about livelihood andposition, and the power of tyrannising over the children who have beenthe results of love or lust. "

Again he paused awhile, and again went on: "Calf love, mistaken for aheroism that shall be lifelong, yet early waning into disappointment; theinexplicable desire that comes on a man of riper years to be the all-in-all to some one woman, whose ordinary human kindness and human beauty hehas idealised into superhuman perfection, and made the one object of hisdesire; or lastly the reasonable longing of a strong and thoughtful manto become the most intimate friend of some beautiful and wise woman, thevery type of the beauty and glory of the world which we love so well, --aswe exult in all the pleasure and exaltation of spirit which goes withthese things, so we set ourselves to bear the sorrow which not unseldomgoes with them also; remembering those lines of the ancient poet (I quoteroughly from memory one of the many translations of the nineteenthcentury):

 'For this the Gods have fashioned man's grief and evil day That still for man hereafter might be the tale and the lay. '

Well, well, 'tis little likely anyhow that all tales shall be lacking, orall sorrow cured. "

He was silent for some time, and I would not interrupt him. At last hebegan again: "But you must know that we of these generations are strongand healthy of body, and live easily; we pass our lives in reasonablestrife with nature, exercising not one side of ourselves only, but allsides, taking the keenest pleasure in all the life of the world. So itis a point of honour with us not to be self-centred; not to suppose thatthe world must cease because one man is sorry; therefore we should thinkit foolish, or if you will, criminal, to exaggerate these matters ofsentiment and sensibility: we are no more inclined to eke out oursentimental sorrows than to cherish our bodily pains; and we recognisethat there are other pleasures besides love-making. You must remember, also, that we are long-lived, and that therefore beauty both in man andwoman is not so fleeting as it was in the days when we were burdened soheavily by self-inflicted diseases. So we shake off these griefs in away which perhaps the sentimentalists of other times would thinkcontemptible and unheroic, but which we think necessary and manlike. Ason the other hand, therefore, we have ceased to be commercial in our love-matters, so also we have ceased to be _artificially_ foolish. The follywhich comes by nature, the unwisdom of the immature man, or the older mancaught in a trap, we must put up with that, nor are we much ashamed ofit; but to be conventionally sensitive or sentimental--my friend, I amold and perhaps disappointed, but at least I think we have cast off_some_ of the follies of the older world. "

He paused, as if for some words of mine; but I held my peace: then hewent on: "At least, if we suffer from the tyranny and fickleness ofnature or our own want of experience, we neither grimace about it, norlie. If there must be sundering betwixt those who meant never to sunder, so it must be: but there need be no pretext of unity when the reality ofit is gone: nor do we drive those who well know that they are incapableof it to profess an undying sentiment which they cannot really feel: thusit is that as that monstrosity of venal lust is no longer possible, soalso it is no longer needed. Don't misunderstand me. You did not seemedshocked when I told you that there were no law-courts to enforcecontracts of sentiment or passion; but so curiously are men made, thatperhaps you will be shocked when I tell you that there is no code ofpublic opinion which takes the place of such courts, and which might beas tyrannical and unreasonable as they were. I do not say that peopledon't judge their neighbours' conduct, sometimes, doubtless, unfairly. But I do say that there is no unvarying conventional set of rules bywhich people are judged; no bed of Procrustes to stretch or cramp theirminds and lives; no hypocritical excommunication which people are_forced_ to pronounce, either by unconsidered habit, or by theunexpressed threat of the lesser interdict if they are lax in theirhypocrisy. Are you shocked now?"

"N-o--no, " said I, with some hesitation. "It is all so different. "

"At any rate, " said he, "one thing I think I can answer for: whateversentiment there is, it is real--and general; it is not confined to peoplevery specially refined. I am also pretty sure, as I hinted to you justnow, that there is not by a great way as much suffering involved in thesematters either to men or to women as there used to be. But excuse me forbeing so prolix on this question! You know you asked to be treated likea being from another planet. "

"Indeed I thank you very much, " said I. "Now may I ask you about theposition of women in your society?"

He laughed very heartily for a man of his years, and said: "It is notwithout reason that I have got a reputation as a careful student ofhistory. I believe I really do understand 'the Emancipation of Womenmovement' of the nineteenth century. I doubt if any other man now alivedoes. "

"Well?" said I, a little bit nettled by his merriment. 

"Well, " said he, "of course you will see that all that is a deadcontroversy now. The men have no longer any opportunity of tyrannisingover the women, or the women over the men; both of which things tookplace in those old times. The women do what they can do best, and whatthey like best, and the men are neither jealous of it or injured by it. This is such a commonplace that I am almost ashamed to state it. "

I said, "O; and legislation? do they take any part in that?"

Hammond smiled and said: "I think you may wait for an answer to thatquestion till we get on to the subject of legislation. There may benovelties to you in that subject also. "

"Very well, " I said; "but about this woman question? I saw at the GuestHouse that the women were waiting on the men: that seems a little likereaction doesn't it?"

"Does it?" said the old man; "perhaps you think housekeeping anunimportant occupation, not deserving of respect. I believe that was theopinion of the 'advanced' women of the nineteenth century, and their malebackers. If it is yours, I recommend to your notice an old Norwegianfolk-lore tale called How the Man minded the House, or some such title;the result of which minding was that, after various tribulations, the manand the family cow balanced each other at the end of a rope, the manhanging halfway up the chimney, the cow dangling from the roof, which, after the fashion of the country, was of turf and sloping down low to theground. Hard on the cow, _I_ think. Of course no such mishap couldhappen to such a superior person as yourself, " he added, chuckling. 

I sat somewhat uneasy under this dry gibe. Indeed, his manner oftreating this latter part of the question seemed to me a littledisrespectful. 

"Come, now, my friend, " quoth he, "don't you know that it is a greatpleasure to a clever woman to manage a house skilfully, and to do it sothat all the house-mates about her look pleased, and are grateful to her?And then, you know, everybody likes to be ordered about by a prettywoman: why, it is one of the pleasantest forms of flirtation. You arenot so old that you cannot remember that. Why, I remember it well. "

And the old fellow chuckled again, and at last fairly burst out laughing. 

"Excuse me, " said he, after a while; "I am not laughing at anything youcould be thinking of; but at that silly nineteenth-century fashion, current amongst rich so-called cultivated people, of ignoring all thesteps by which their daily dinner was reached, as matters too low fortheir lofty intelligence. Useless idiots! Come, now, I am a 'literaryman, ' as we queer animals used to be called, yet I am a pretty good cookmyself. "

"So am I, " said I. 

"Well, then, " said he, "I really think you can understand me better thanyou would seem to do, judging by your words and your silence. "

Said I: "Perhaps that is so; but people putting in practice commonly thissense of interest in the ordinary occupations of life rather startles me. I will ask you a question or two presently about that. But I want toreturn to the position of women amongst you. You have studied the'emancipation of women' business of the nineteenth century: don't youremember that some of the 'superior' women wanted to emancipate the moreintelligent part of their sex from the bearing of children?"

The old man grew quite serious again. Said he: "I _do_ remember aboutthat strange piece of baseless folly, the result, like all other folliesof the period, of the hideous class tyranny which then obtained. What dowe think of it now? you would say. My friend, that is a question easy toanswer. How could it possibly be but that maternity should be highlyhonoured amongst us? Surely it is a matter of course that the naturaland necessary pains which the mother must go through form a bond of unionbetween man and woman, an extra stimulus to love and affection betweenthem, and that this is universally recognised. For the rest, rememberthat all the _artificial_ burdens of motherhood are now done away with. Amother has no longer any mere sordid anxieties for the future of herchildren. They may indeed turn out better or worse; they may disappointher highest hopes; such anxieties as these are a part of the mingledpleasure and pain which goes to make up the life of mankind. But atleast she is spared the fear (it was most commonly the certainty) thatartificial disabilities would make her children something less than menand women: she knows that they will live and act according to the measureof their own faculties. In times past, it is clear that the 'Society' ofthe day helped its Judaic god, and the 'Man of Science' of the time, invisiting the sins of the fathers upon the children. How to reverse thisprocess, how to take the sting out of heredity, has for long been one ofthe most constant cares of the thoughtful men amongst us. So that, yousee, the ordinarily healthy woman (and almost all our women are bothhealthy and at least comely), respected as a child-bearer and rearer ofchildren, desired as a woman, loved as a companion, unanxious for thefuture of her children, has far more instinct for maternity than the poordrudge and mother of drudges of past days could ever have had; or thanher sister of the upper classes, brought up in affected ignorance ofnatural facts, reared in an atmosphere of mingled prudery and prurience. "

"You speak warmly, " I said, "but I can see that you are right. "

"Yes, " he said, "and I will point out to you a token of all the benefitswhich we have gained by our freedom. What did you think of the looks ofthe people whom you have come across to-day?"

Said I: "I could hardly have believed that there could be so many good-looking people in any civilised country. "

He crowed a little, like the old bird he was. "What! are we stillcivilised?" said he. "Well, as to our looks, the English and Jutishblood, which on the whole is predominant here, used not to produce muchbeauty. But I think we have improved it. I know a man who has a largecollection of portraits printed from photographs of the nineteenthcentury, and going over those and comparing them with the everyday facesin these times, puts the improvement in our good looks beyond a doubt. Now, there are some people who think it not too fantastic to connect thisincrease of beauty directly with our freedom and good sense in thematters we have been speaking of: they believe that a child born from thenatural and healthy love between a man and a woman, even if that betransient, is likely to turn out better in all ways, and especially inbodily beauty, than the birth of the respectable commercial marriage bed, or of the dull despair of the drudge of that system. They say, Pleasurebegets pleasure. What do you think?"

"I am much of that mind, " said I. 

CHAPTER X: QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

"Well, " said the old man, shifting in his chair, "you must get on withyour questions, Guest; I have been some time answering this first one. "

Said I: "I want an extra word or two about your ideas of education;although I gathered from Dick that you let your children run wild anddidn't teach them anything; and in short, that you have so refined youreducation, that now you have none. "

"Then you gathered left-handed, " quoth he. "But of course I understandyour point of view about education, which is that of times past, when'the struggle for life, ' as men used to phrase it (_i. E. _, the strugglefor a slave's rations on one side, and for a bouncing share of the slave-holders' privilege on the other), pinched 'education' for most peopleinto a niggardly dole of not very accurate information; something to beswallowed by the beginner in the art of living whether he liked it ornot, and was hungry for it or not: and which had been chewed and digestedover and over again by people who didn't care about it in order to serveit out to other people who didn't care about it. "

I stopped the old man's rising wrath by a laugh, and said: "Well, _you_were not taught that way, at any rate, so you may let your anger run offyou a little. "

"True, true, " said he, smiling. "I thank you for correcting myill-temper: I always fancy myself as living in any period of which we maybe speaking. But, however, to put it in a cooler way: you expected tosee children thrust into schools when they had reached an ageconventionally supposed to be the due age, whatever their varyingfaculties and dispositions might be, and when there, with like disregardto facts to be subjected to a certain conventional course of 'learning. 'My friend, can't you see that such a proceeding means ignoring the factof _growth_, bodily and mental? No one could come out of such a milluninjured; and those only would avoid being crushed by it who would havethe spirit of rebellion strong in them. Fortunately most children havehad that at all times, or I do not know that we should ever have reachedour present position. Now you see what it all comes to. In the oldtimes all this was the result of _poverty_. In the nineteenth century, society was so miserably poor, owing to the systematised robbery on whichit was founded, that real education was impossible for anybody. Thewhole theory of their so-called education was that it was necessary toshove a little information into a child, even if it were by means oftorture, and accompanied by twaddle which it was well known was of nouse, or else he would lack information lifelong: the hurry of povertyforbade anything else. All that is past; we are no longer hurried, andthe information lies ready to each one's hand when his own inclinationsimpel him to seek it. In this as in other matters we have becomewealthy: we can afford to give ourselves time to grow. "

"Yes, " said I, "but suppose the child, youth, man, never wants theinformation, never grows in the direction you might hope him to do:suppose, for instance, he objects to learning arithmetic or mathematics;you can't force him when he _is_ grown; can't you force him while he isgrowing, and oughtn't you to do so?"

"Well, " said he, "were you forced to learn arithmetic and mathematics?"

"A little, " said I. 

"And how old are you now?"

"Say fifty-six, " said I. 

"And how much arithmetic and mathematics do you know now?" quoth the oldman, smiling rather mockingly. 

Said I: "None whatever, I am sorry to say. "

Hammond laughed quietly, but made no other comment on my admission, and Idropped the subject of education, perceiving him to be hopeless on thatside. 

I thought a little, and said: "You were speaking just now of households:that sounded to me a little like the customs of past times; I should havethought you would have lived more in public. "

"Phalangsteries, eh?" said he. "Well, we live as we like, and we like tolive as a rule with certain house-mates that we have got used to. Remember, again, that poverty is extinct, and that the Fourieristphalangsteries and all their kind, as was but natural at the time, implied nothing but a refuge from mere destitution. Such a way of lifeas that, could only have been conceived of by people surrounded by theworst form of poverty. But you must understand therewith, that thoughseparate households are the rule amongst us, and though they differ intheir habits more or less, yet no door is shut to any good-temperedperson who is content to live as the other house-mates do: only of courseit would be unreasonable for one man to drop into a household and bid thefolk of it to alter their habits to please him, since he can go elsewhereand live as he pleases. However, I need not say much about all this, asyou are going up the river with Dick, and will find out for yourself byexperience how these matters are managed. "

After a pause, I said: "Your big towns, now; how about them? London, which--which I have read about as the modern Babylon of civilization, seems to have disappeared. "

"Well, well, " said old Hammond, "perhaps after all it is more likeancient Babylon now than the 'modern Babylon' of the nineteenth centurywas. But let that pass. After all, there is a good deal of populationin places between here and Hammersmith; nor have you seen the mostpopulous part of the town yet. "

"Tell me, then, " said I, "how is it towards the east?"

Said he: "Time was when if you mounted a good horse and rode straightaway from my door here at a round trot for an hour and a half; you wouldstill be in the thick of London, and the greater part of that would be'slums, ' as they were called; that is to say, places of torture forinnocent men and women; or worse, stews for rearing and breeding men andwomen in such degradation that that torture should seem to them mereordinary and natural life. "

"I know, I know, " I said, rather impatiently. "That was what was; tellme something of what is. Is any of that left?"

"Not an inch, " said he; "but some memory of it abides with us, and I amglad of it. Once a year, on May-day, we hold a solemn feast in thoseeasterly communes of London to commemorate The Clearing of Misery, as itis called. On that day we have music and dancing, and merry games andhappy feasting on the site of some of the worst of the old slums, thetraditional memory of which we have kept. On that occasion the custom isfor the prettiest girls to sing some of the old revolutionary songs, andthose which were the groans of the discontent, once so hopeless, on thevery spots where those terrible crimes of class-murder were committed dayby day for so many years. To a man like me, who have studied the past sodiligently, it is a curious and touching sight to see some beautifulgirl, daintily clad, and crowned with flowers from the neighbouringmeadows, standing amongst the happy people, on some mound where of oldtime stood the wretched apology for a house, a den in which men and womenlived packed amongst the filth like pilchards in a cask; lived in such away that they could only have endured it, as I said just now, by beingdegraded out of humanity--to hear the terrible words of threatening andlamentation coming from her sweet and beautiful lips, and she unconsciousof their real meaning: to hear her, for instance, singing Hood's Song ofthe Shirt, and to think that all the time she does not understand what itis all about--a tragedy grown inconceivable to her and her listeners. Think of that, if you can, and of how glorious life is grown!"

"Indeed, " said I, "it is difficult for me to think of it. "

And I sat watching how his eyes glittered, and how the fresh life seemedto glow in his face, and I wondered how at his age he should think of thehappiness of the world, or indeed anything but his coming dinner. 

"Tell me in detail, " said I, "what lies east of Bloomsbury now?"

Said he: "There are but few houses between this and the outer part of theold city; but in the city we have a thickly-dwelling population. Ourforefathers, in the first clearing of the slums, were not in a hurry topull down the houses in what was called at the end of the nineteenthcentury the business quarter of the town, and what later got to be knownas the Swindling Kens. You see, these houses, though they stoodhideously thick on the ground, were roomy and fairly solid in building, and clean, because they were not used for living in, but as mere gamblingbooths; so the poor people from the cleared slums took them for lodgingsand dwelt there, till the folk of those days had time to think ofsomething better for them; so the buildings were pulled down so graduallythat people got used to living thicker on the ground there than in mostplaces; therefore it remains the most populous part of London, or perhapsof all these islands. But it is very pleasant there, partly because ofthe splendour of the architecture, which goes further than what you willsee elsewhere. However, this crowding, if it may be called so, does notgo further than a street called Aldgate, a name which perhaps you mayhave heard of. Beyond that the houses are scattered wide about themeadows there, which are very beautiful, especially when you get on tothe lovely river Lea (where old Isaak Walton used to fish, you know)about the places called Stratford and Old Ford, names which of course youwill not have heard of, though the Romans were busy there once upon atime. "

Not heard of them! thought I to myself. How strange! that I who had seenthe very last remnant of the pleasantness of the meadows by the Leadestroyed, should have heard them spoken of with pleasantness come backto them in full measure. 

Hammond went on: "When you get down to the Thames side you come on theDocks, which are works of the nineteenth century, and are still in use, although not so thronged as they once were, since we discouragecentralisation all we can, and we have long ago dropped the pretension tobe the market of the world. About these Docks are a good few houses, which, however, are not inhabited by many people permanently; I mean, those who use them come and go a good deal, the place being too low andmarshy for pleasant dwelling. Past the Docks eastward and landward it isall flat pasture, once marsh, except for a few gardens, and there arevery few permanent dwellings there: scarcely anything but a few sheds, and cots for the men who come to look after the great herds of cattlepasturing there. But however, what with the beasts and the men, and thescattered red-tiled roofs and the big hayricks, it does not make a badholiday to get a quiet pony and ride about there on a sunny afternoon ofautumn, and look over the river and the craft passing up and down, and onto Shooters' Hill and the Kentish uplands, and then turn round to thewide green sea of the Essex marsh-land, with the great domed line of thesky, and the sun shining down in one flood of peaceful light over thelong distance. There is a place called Canning's Town, and further out, Silvertown, where the pleasant meadows are at their pleasantest:doubtless they were once slums, and wretched enough. "

The names grated on my ear, but I could not explain why to him. So Isaid: "And south of the river, what is it like?"

He said: "You would find it much the same as the land about Hammersmith. North, again, the land runs up high, and there is an agreeable and well-built town called Hampstead, which fitly ends London on that side. Itlooks down on the north-western end of the forest you passed through. "

I smiled. "So much for what was once London, " said I. "Now tell meabout the other towns of the country. "

He said: "As to the big murky places which were once, as we know, thecentres of manufacture, they have, like the brick and mortar desert ofLondon, disappeared; only, since they were centres of nothing but'manufacture, ' and served no purpose but that of the gambling market, they have left less signs of their existence than London. Of course, thegreat change in the use of mechanical force made this an easy matter, andsome approach to their break-up as centres would probably have takenplace, even if we had not changed our habits so much: but they being suchas they were, no sacrifice would have seemed too great a price to pay forgetting rid of the 'manufacturing districts, ' as they used to be called. For the rest, whatever coal or mineral we need is brought to grass andsent whither it is needed with as little as possible of dirt, confusion, and the distressing of quiet people's lives. One is tempted to believefrom what one has read of the condition of those districts in thenineteenth century, that those who had them under their power worried, befouled, and degraded men out of malice prepense: but it was not so;like the mis-education of which we were talking just now, it came oftheir dreadful poverty. They were obliged to put up with everything, andeven pretend that they liked it; whereas we can now deal with thingsreasonably, and refuse to be saddled with what we do not want. "

I confess I was not sorry to cut short with a question his glorificationsof the age he lived in. Said I: "How about the smaller towns? I supposeyou have swept those away entirely?"

"No, no, " said he, "it hasn't gone that way. On the contrary, there hasbeen but little clearance, though much rebuilding, in the smaller towns. Their suburbs, indeed, when they had any, have melted away into thegeneral country, and space and elbow-room has been got in their centres:but there are the towns still with their streets and squares and market-places; so that it is by means of these smaller towns that we of to-daycan get some kind of idea of what the towns of the older world werelike;--I mean to say at their best. "

"Take Oxford, for instance, " said I. 

"Yes, " said he, "I suppose Oxford was beautiful even in the nineteenthcentury. At present it has the great interest of still preserving agreat mass of pre-commercial building, and is a very beautiful place, yetthere are many towns which have become scarcely less beautiful. "

Said I: "In passing, may I ask if it is still a place of learning?"

"Still?" said he, smiling. "Well, it has reverted to some of its besttraditions; so you may imagine how far it is from its nineteenth-centuryposition. It is real learning, knowledge cultivated for its own sake--theArt of Knowledge, in short--which is followed there, not the Commerciallearning of the past. Though perhaps you do not know that in thenineteenth century Oxford and its less interesting sister Cambridgebecame definitely commercial. They (and especially Oxford) were thebreeding places of a peculiar class of parasites, who called themselvescultivated people; they were indeed cynical enough, as the so-callededucated classes of the day generally were; but they affected anexaggeration of cynicism in order that they might be thought knowing andworldly-wise. The rich middle classes (they had no relation with theworking classes) treated them with the kind of contemptuous tolerationwith which a mediaeval baron treated his jester; though it must be saidthat they were by no means so pleasant as the old jesters were, being, infact, _the_ bores of society. They were laughed at, despised--and paid. Which last was what they aimed at. "

Dear me! thought I, how apt history is to reverse contemporary judgments. Surely only the worst of them were as bad as that. But I must admit thatthey were mostly prigs, and that they _were_ commercial. I said aloud, though more to myself than to Hammond, "Well, how could they be betterthan the age that made them?"

"True, " he said, "but their pretensions were higher. "

"Were they?" said I, smiling. 

"You drive me from corner to corner, " said he, smiling in turn. "Let mesay at least that they were a poor sequence to the aspirations of Oxfordof 'the barbarous Middle Ages. '"

"Yes, that will do, " said I. 

"Also, " said Hammond, "what I have been saying of them is true in themain. But ask on!"

I said: "We have heard about London and the manufacturing districts andthe ordinary towns: how about the villages?"

Said Hammond: "You must know that toward the end of the nineteenthcentury the villages were almost destroyed, unless where they became mereadjuncts to the manufacturing districts, or formed a sort of minormanufacturing districts themselves. Houses were allowed to fall intodecay and actual ruin; trees were cut down for the sake of the fewshillings which the poor sticks would fetch; the building becameinexpressibly mean and hideous. Labour was scarce; but wages fellnevertheless. All the small country arts of life which once added to thelittle pleasures of country people were lost. The country produce whichpassed through the hands of the husbandmen never got so far as theirmouths. Incredible shabbiness and niggardly pinching reigned over thefields and acres which, in spite of the rude and careless husbandry ofthe times, were so kind and bountiful. Had you any inkling of all this?"

"I have heard that it was so, " said I "but what followed?"

"The change, " said Hammond, "which in these matters took place very earlyin our epoch, was most strangely rapid. People flocked into the countryvillages, and, so to say, flung themselves upon the freed land like awild beast upon his prey; and in a very little time the villages ofEngland were more populous than they had been since the fourteenthcentury, and were still growing fast. Of course, this invasion of thecountry was awkward to deal with, and would have created much misery, ifthe folk had still been under the bondage of class monopoly. But as itwas, things soon righted themselves. People found out what they were fitfor, and gave up attempting to push themselves into occupations in whichthey must needs fail. The town invaded the country; but the invaders, like the warlike invaders of early days, yielded to the influence oftheir surroundings, and became country people; and in their turn, as theybecame more numerous than the townsmen, influenced them also; so that thedifference between town and country grew less and less; and it was indeedthis world of the country vivified by the thought and briskness of town-bred folk which has produced that happy and leisurely but eager life ofwhich you have had a first taste. Again I say, many blunders were made, but we have had time to set them right. Much was left for the men of myearlier life to deal with. The crude ideas of the first half of thetwentieth century, when men were still oppressed by the fear of poverty, and did not look enough to the present pleasure of ordinary daily life, spoilt a great deal of what the commercial age had left us of externalbeauty: and I admit that it was but slowly that men recovered from theinjuries that they inflicted on themselves even after they became free. But slowly as the recovery came, it _did_ come; and the more you see ofus, the clearer it will be to you that we are happy. That we live amidstbeauty without any fear of becoming effeminate; that we have plenty todo, and on the whole enjoy doing it. What more can we ask of life?"

He paused, as if he were seeking for words with which to express histhought. Then he said:

"This is how we stand. England was once a country of clearings amongstthe woods and wastes, with a few towns interspersed, which werefortresses for the feudal army, markets for the folk, gathering placesfor the craftsmen. It then became a country of huge and foul workshopsand fouler gambling-dens, surrounded by an ill-kept, poverty-strickenfarm, pillaged by the masters of the workshops. It is now a garden, where nothing is wasted and nothing is spoilt, with the necessarydwellings, sheds, and workshops scattered up and down the country, alltrim and neat and pretty. For, indeed, we should be too much ashamed ofourselves if we allowed the making of goods, even on a large scale, tocarry with it the appearance, even, of desolation and misery. Why, myfriend, those housewives we were talking of just now would teach usbetter than that. "

Said I: "This side of your change is certainly for the better. Butthough I shall soon see some of these villages, tell me in a word or twowhat they are like, just to prepare me. "

"Perhaps, " said he, "you have seen a tolerable picture of these villagesas they were before the end of the nineteenth century. Such thingsexist. "

"I have seen several of such pictures, " said I. 

"Well, " said Hammond, "our villages are something like the best of suchplaces, with the church or mote-house of the neighbours for their chiefbuilding. Only note that there are no tokens of poverty about them: notumble-down picturesque; which, to tell you the truth, the artist usuallyavailed himself of to veil his incapacity for drawing architecture. Suchthings do not please us, even when they indicate no misery. Like themediaevals, we like everything trim and clean, and orderly and bright; aspeople always do when they have any sense of architectural power; becausethen they know that they can have what they want, and they won't standany nonsense from Nature in their dealings with her. "

"Besides the villages, are there any scattered country houses?" said I. 

"Yes, plenty, " said Hammond; "in fact, except in the wastes and forestsand amongst the sand-hills (like Hindhead in Surrey), it is not easy tobe out of sight of a house; and where the houses are thinly scatteredthey run large, and are more like the old colleges than ordinary housesas they used to be. That is done for the sake of society, for a goodmany people can dwell in such houses, as the country dwellers are notnecessarily husbandmen; though they almost all help in such work attimes. The life that goes on in these big dwellings in the country isvery pleasant, especially as some of the most studious men of our timelive in them, and altogether there is a great variety of mind and mood tobe found in them which brightens and quickens the society there. "

"I am rather surprised, " said I, "by all this, for it seems to me thatafter all the country must be tolerably populous. "

"Certainly, " said he; "the population is pretty much the same as it wasat the end of the nineteenth century; we have spread it, that is all. Ofcourse, also, we have helped to populate other countries--where we werewanted and were called for. "

Said I: "One thing, it seems to me, does not go with your word of'garden' for the country. You have spoken of wastes and forests, and Imyself have seen the beginning of your Middlesex and Essex forest. Whydo you keep such things in a garden? and isn't it very wasteful to doso?"

"My friend, " he said, "we like these pieces of wild nature, and canafford them, so we have them; let alone that as to the forests, we need agreat deal of timber, and suppose that our sons and sons' sons will dothe like. As to the land being a garden, I have heard that they used tohave shrubberies and rockeries in gardens once; and though I might notlike the artificial ones, I assure you that some of the natural rockeriesof our garden are worth seeing. Go north this summer and look at theCumberland and Westmoreland ones, --where, by the way, you will see somesheep-feeding, so that they are not so wasteful as you think; not sowasteful as forcing-grounds for fruit out of season, _I_ think. Go andhave a look at the sheep-walks high up the slopes between Ingleboroughand Pen-y-gwent, and tell me if you think we _waste_ the land there bynot covering it with factories for making things that nobody wants, whichwas the chief business of the nineteenth century. "

"I will try to go there, " said I. 

"It won't take much trying, " said he. 

CHAPTER XI: CONCERNING GOVERNMENT

"Now, " said I, "I have come to the point of asking questions which Isuppose will be dry for you to answer and difficult for you to explain;but I have foreseen for some time past that I must ask them, will I 'nillI. What kind of a government have you? Has republicanism finallytriumphed? or have you come to a mere dictatorship, which some persons inthe nineteenth century used to prophesy as the ultimate outcome ofdemocracy? Indeed, this last question does not seem so veryunreasonable, since you have turned your Parliament House into a dung-market. Or where do you house your present Parliament?"

The old man answered my smile with a hearty laugh, and said: "Well, well, dung is not the worst kind of corruption; fertility may come of that, whereas mere dearth came from the other kind, of which those walls onceheld the great supporters. Now, dear guest, let me tell you that ourpresent parliament would be hard to house in one place, because the wholepeople is our parliament. "

"I don't understand, " said I. 

"No, I suppose not, " said he. "I must now shock you by telling you thatwe have no longer anything which you, a native of another planet, wouldcall a government. "

"I am not so much shocked as you might think, " said I, "as I knowsomething about governments. But tell me, how do you manage, and howhave you come to this state of things?"

Said he: "It is true that we have to make some arrangements about ouraffairs, concerning which you can ask presently; and it is also true thateverybody does not always agree with the details of these arrangements;but, further, it is true that a man no more needs an elaborate system ofgovernment, with its army, navy, and police, to force him to give way tothe will of the majority of his _equals_, than he wants a similarmachinery to make him understand that his head and a stone wall cannotoccupy the same space at the same moment. Do you want furtherexplanation?"

"Well, yes, I do, " quoth I. 

Old Hammond settled himself in his chair with a look of enjoyment whichrather alarmed me, and made me dread a scientific disquisition: so Isighed and abided. He said:

"I suppose you know pretty well what the process of government was in thebad old times?"

"I am supposed to know, " said I. 

(Hammond) What was the government of those days? Was it really theParliament or any part of it?

(I) No. 

(H. ) Was not the Parliament on the one side a kind of watch-committeesitting to see that the interests of the Upper Classes took no hurt; andon the other side a sort of blind to delude the people into supposingthat they had some share in the management of their own affairs?

(I) History seems to show us this. 

(H. ) To what extent did the people manage their own affairs?

(I) I judge from what I have heard that sometimes they forced theParliament to make a law to legalise some alteration which had alreadytaken place. 

(H. ) Anything else?

(I) I think not. As I am informed, if the people made any attempt todeal with the _cause_ of their grievances, the law stepped in and said, this is sedition, revolt, or what not, and slew or tortured theringleaders of such attempts. 

(H. ) If Parliament was not the government then, nor the people either, what was the government?

(I) Can you tell me?

(H. ) I think we shall not be far wrong if we say that government was theLaw-Courts, backed up by the executive, which handled the brute forcethat the deluded people allowed them to use for their own purposes; Imean the army, navy, and police. 

(I) Reasonable men must needs think you are right. 

(H. ) Now as to those Law-Courts. Were they places of fair dealingaccording to the ideas of the day? Had a poor man a good chance ofdefending his property and person in them?

(I) It is a commonplace that even rich men looked upon a law-suit as adire misfortune, even if they gained the case; and as for a poor one--why, it was considered a miracle of justice and beneficence if a poor man whohad once got into the clutches of the law escaped prison or utter ruin. 

(H. ) It seems, then, my son, that the government by law-courts andpolice, which was the real government of the nineteenth century, was nota great success even to the people of that day, living under a classsystem which proclaimed inequality and poverty as the law of God and thebond which held the world together. 

(I) So it seems, indeed. 

(H. ) And now that all this is changed, and the "rights of property, "which mean the clenching the fist on a piece of goods and crying out tothe neighbours, You shan't have this!--now that all this has disappearedso utterly that it is no longer possible even to jest upon its absurdity, is such a Government possible?

(I) It is impossible. 

(H. ) Yes, happily. But for what other purpose than the protection ofthe rich from the poor, the strong from the weak, did this Governmentexist?

(I. ) I have heard that it was said that their office was to defend theirown citizens against attack from other countries. 

(H. ) It was said; but was anyone expected to believe this? Forinstance, did the English Government defend the English citizen againstthe French?

(I) So it was said. 

(H. ) Then if the French had invaded England and conquered it, they wouldnot have allowed the English workmen to live well?

(I, laughing) As far as I can make out, the English masters of theEnglish workmen saw to that: they took from their workmen as much oftheir livelihood as they dared, because they wanted it for themselves. 

(H. ) But if the French had conquered, would they not have taken morestill from the English workmen?

(I) I do not think so; for in that case the English workmen would havedied of starvation; and then the French conquest would have ruined theFrench, just as if the English horses and cattle had died ofunder-feeding. So that after all, the English _workmen_ would have beenno worse off for the conquest: their French Masters could have got nomore from them than their English masters did. 

(H. ) This is true; and we may admit that the pretensions of thegovernment to defend the poor (_i. E. _, the useful) people against othercountries come to nothing. But that is but natural; for we have seenalready that it was the function of government to protect the richagainst the poor. But did not the government defend its rich men againstother nations?

(I) I do not remember to have heard that the rich needed defence;because it is said that even when two nations were at war, the rich menof each nation gambled with each other pretty much as usual, and evensold each other weapons wherewith to kill their own countrymen. 

(H. ) In short, it comes to this, that whereas the so-called governmentof protection of property by means of the law-courts meant destruction ofwealth, this defence of the citizens of one country against those ofanother country by means of war or the threat of war meant pretty muchthe same thing. 

(I) I cannot deny it. 

(H. ) Therefore the government really existed for the destruction ofwealth?

(I) So it seems. And yet--

(H. ) Yet what?

(I) There were many rich people in those times. 

(H. ) You see the consequences of that fact?

(I) I think I do. But tell me out what they were. 

(H. ) If the government habitually destroyed wealth, the country musthave been poor?

(I) Yes, certainly. 

(H. ) Yet amidst this poverty the persons for the sake of whom thegovernment existed insisted on being rich whatever might happen?

(I) So it was. 

(H. ) What must happen if in a poor country some people insist on beingrich at the expense of the others?

(I) Unutterable poverty for the others. All this misery, then, wascaused by the destructive government of which we have been speaking?

(H. ) Nay, it would be incorrect to say so. The government itself wasbut the necessary result of the careless, aimless tyranny of the times;it was but the machinery of tyranny. Now tyranny has come to an end, andwe no longer need such machinery; we could not possibly use it since weare free. Therefore in your sense of the word we have no government. Doyou understand this now?

(I) Yes, I do. But I will ask you some more questions as to how you asfree men manage your affairs. 

(H. ) With all my heart. Ask away. 

CHAPTER XII: CONCERNING THE ARRANGEMENT OF LIFE

"Well, " I said, "about those 'arrangements' which you spoke of as takingthe place of government, could you give me any account of them?"

"Neighbour, " he said, "although we have simplified our lives a great dealfrom what they were, and have got rid of many conventionalities and manysham wants, which used to give our forefathers much trouble, yet our lifeis too complex for me to tell you in detail by means of words how it isarranged; you must find that out by living amongst us. It is true that Ican better tell you what we don't do, than what we do do. "

"Well?" said I. 

"This is the way to put it, " said he: "We have been living for a hundredand fifty years, at least, more or less in our present manner, and atradition or habit of life has been growing on us; and that habit hasbecome a habit of acting on the whole for the best. It is easy for us tolive without robbing each other. It would be possible for us to contendwith and rob each other, but it would be harder for us than refrainingfrom strife and robbery. That is in short the foundation of our life andour happiness. "

"Whereas in the old days, " said I, "it was very hard to live withoutstrife and robbery. That's what you mean, isn't it, by giving me thenegative side of your good conditions?"

"Yes, " he said, "it was so hard, that those who habitually acted fairlyto their neighbours were celebrated as saints and heroes, and were lookedup to with the greatest reverence. "

"While they were alive?" said I. 

"No, " said he, "after they were dead. "

"But as to these days, " I said; "you don't mean to tell me that no oneever transgresses this habit of good fellowship?"

"Certainly not, " said Hammond, "but when the transgressions occur, everybody, transgressors and all, know them for what they are; the errorsof friends, not the habitual actions of persons driven into enmityagainst society. "

"I see, " said I; "you mean that you have no 'criminal' classes. "

"How could we have them, " said he, "since there is no rich class to breedenemies against the state by means of the injustice of the state?"

Said I: "I thought that I understood from something that fell from you alittle while ago that you had abolished civil law. Is that so, literally?"

"It abolished itself, my friend, " said he. "As I said before, the civillaw-courts were upheld for the defence of private property; for nobodyever pretended that it was possible to make people act fairly to eachother by means of brute force. Well, private property being abolished, all the laws and all the legal 'crimes' which it had manufactured ofcourse came to an end. Thou shalt not steal, had to be translated into, Thou shalt work in order to live happily. Is there any need to enforcethat commandment by violence?"

"Well, " said I, "that is understood, and I agree with it; but how aboutcrimes of violence? would not their occurrence (and you admit that theyoccur) make criminal law necessary?"

Said he: "In your sense of the word, we have no criminal law either. Letus look at the matter closer, and see whence crimes of violence spring. By far the greater part of these in past days were the result of the lawsof private property, which forbade the satisfaction of their naturaldesires to all but a privileged few, and of the general visible coercionwhich came of those laws. All that cause of violent crime is gone. Again, many violent acts came from the artificial perversion of thesexual passions, which caused overweening jealousy and the like miseries. Now, when you look carefully into these, you will find that what lay atthe bottom of them was mostly the idea (a law-made idea) of the womanbeing the property of the man, whether he were husband, father, brother, or what not. That idea has of course vanished with private property, aswell as certain follies about the 'ruin' of women for following theirnatural desires in an illegal way, which of course was a conventioncaused by the laws of private property. 

"Another cognate cause of crimes of violence was the family tyranny, which was the subject of so many novels and stories of the past, andwhich once more was the result of private property. Of course that isall ended, since families are held together by no bond of coercion, legalor social, but by mutual liking and affection, and everybody is free tocome or go as he or she pleases. Furthermore, our standards of honourand public estimation are very different from the old ones; success inbesting our neighbours is a road to renown now closed, let us hope forever. Each man is free to exercise his special faculty to the utmost, and every one encourages him in so doing. So that we have got rid of thescowling envy, coupled by the poets with hatred, and surely with goodreason; heaps of unhappiness and ill-blood were caused by it, which withirritable and passionate men--_i. E. _, energetic and active men--often ledto violence. "

I laughed, and said: "So that you now withdraw your admission, and saythat there is no violence amongst you?"

"No, " said he, "I withdraw nothing; as I told you, such things willhappen. Hot blood will err sometimes. A man may strike another, and thestricken strike back again, and the result be a homicide, to put it atthe worst. But what then? Shall we the neighbours make it worse still?Shall we think so poorly of each other as to suppose that the slain mancalls on us to revenge him, when we know that if he had been maimed, hewould, when in cold blood and able to weigh all the circumstances, haveforgiven his manner? Or will the death of the slayer bring the slain manto life again and cure the unhappiness his loss has caused?"

"Yes, " I said, "but consider, must not the safety of society besafeguarded by some punishment?"

"There, neighbour!" said the old man, with some exultation "You have hitthe mark. That _punishment_ of which men used to talk so wisely and actso foolishly, what was it but the expression of their fear? And they hadneed to fear, since they--_i. E. _, the rulers of society--were dwellinglike an armed band in a hostile country. But we who live amongst ourfriends need neither fear nor punish. Surely if we, in dread of anoccasional rare homicide, an occasional rough blow, were solemnly andlegally to commit homicide and violence, we could only be a society offerocious cowards. Don't you think so, neighbour?"

"Yes, I do, when I come to think of it from that side, " said I. 

"Yet you must understand, " said the old man, "that when any violence iscommitted, we expect the transgressor to make any atonement possible tohim, and he himself expects it. But again, think if the destruction orserious injury of a man momentarily overcome by wrath or folly can be anyatonement to the commonwealth? Surely it can only be an additionalinjury to it. "

Said I: "But suppose the man has a habit of violence, --kills a man ayear, for instance?"

"Such a thing is unknown, " said he. "In a society where there is nopunishment to evade, no law to triumph over, remorse will certainlyfollow transgression. "

"And lesser outbreaks of violence, " said I, "how do you deal with them?for hitherto we have been talking of great tragedies, I suppose?"

Said Hammond: "If the ill-doer is not sick or mad (in which case he mustbe restrained till his sickness or madness is cured) it is clear thatgrief and humiliation must follow the ill-deed; and society in generalwill make that pretty clear to the ill-doer if he should chance to bedull to it; and again, some kind of atonement will follow, --at the least, an open acknowledgement of the grief and humiliation. Is it so hard tosay, I ask your pardon, neighbour?--Well, sometimes it is hard--and letit be. "

"You think that enough?" said I. 

"Yes, " said he, "and moreover it is all that we _can_ do. If in additionwe torture the man, we turn his grief into anger, and the humiliation hewould otherwise feel for _his_ wrong-doing is swallowed up by a hope ofrevenge for _our_ wrong-doing to him. He has paid the legal penalty, andcan 'go and sin again' with comfort. Shall we commit such a folly, then?Remember Jesus had got the legal penalty remitted before he said 'Go andsin no more. ' Let alone that in a society of equals you will not findany one to play the part of torturer or jailer, though many to act asnurse or doctor. "

"So, " said I, "you consider crime a mere spasmodic disease, whichrequires no body of criminal law to deal with it?"

"Pretty much so, " said he; "and since, as I have told you, we are ahealthy people generally, so we are not likely to be much troubled with_this_ disease. "

"Well, you have no civil law, and no criminal law. But have you no lawsof the market, so to say--no regulation for the exchange of wares? foryou must exchange, even if you have no property. "

Said he: "We have no obvious individual exchange, as you saw this morningwhen you went a-shopping; but of course there are regulations of themarkets, varying according to the circumstances and guided by generalcustom. But as these are matters of general assent, which nobody dreamsof objecting to, so also we have made no provision for enforcing them:therefore I don't call them laws. In law, whether it be criminal orcivil, execution always follows judgment, and someone must suffer. Whenyou see the judge on his bench, you see through him, as clearly as if hewere made of glass, the policeman to emprison, and the soldier to slaysome actual living person. Such follies would make an agreeable market, wouldn't they?"

"Certainly, " said I, "that means turning the market into a mere battle-field, in which many people must suffer as much as in the battle-field ofbullet and bayonet. And from what I have seen I should suppose that yourmarketing, great and little, is carried on in a way that makes it apleasant occupation. "

"You are right, neighbour, " said he. "Although there are so many, indeedby far the greater number amongst us, who would be unhappy if they werenot engaged in actually making things, and things which turn outbeautiful under their hands, --there are many, like the housekeepers I wasspeaking of, whose delight is in administration and organisation, to uselong-tailed words; I mean people who like keeping things together, avoiding waste, seeing that nothing sticks fast uselessly. Such peopleare thoroughly happy in their business, all the more as they are dealingwith actual facts, and not merely passing counters round to see whatshare they shall have in the privileged taxation of useful people, whichwas the business of the commercial folk in past days. Well, what are yougoing to ask me next?"

CHAPTER XIII: CONCERNING POLITICS

Said I: "How do you manage with politics?"

Said Hammond, smiling: "I am glad that it is of _me_ that you ask thatquestion; I do believe that anybody else would make you explain yourself, or try to do so, till you were sickened of asking questions. Indeed, Ibelieve I am the only man in England who would know what you mean; andsince I know, I will answer your question briefly by saying that we arevery well off as to politics, --because we have none. If ever you make abook out of this conversation, put this in a chapter by itself, after themodel of old Horrebow's Snakes in Iceland. "

"I will, " said I. 

CHAPTER XIV: HOW MATTERS ARE MANAGED

Said I: "How about your relations with foreign nations?"

"I will not affect not to know what you mean, " said he, "but I will tellyou at once that the whole system of rival and contending nations whichplayed so great a part in the 'government' of the world of civilisationhas disappeared along with the inequality betwixt man and man insociety. "

"Does not that make the world duller?" said I. 

"Why?" said the old man. 

"The obliteration of national variety, " said I. 

"Nonsense, " he said, somewhat snappishly. "Cross the water and see. Youwill find plenty of variety: the landscape, the building, the diet, theamusements, all various. The men and women varying in looks as well asin habits of thought; the costume far more various than in the commercialperiod. How should it add to the variety or dispel the dulness, tocoerce certain families or tribes, often heterogeneous and jarring withone another, into certain artificial and mechanical groups, and call themnations, and stimulate their patriotism--_i. E. _, their foolish andenvious prejudices?"

"Well--I don't know how, " said I. 

"That's right, " said Hammond cheerily; "you can easily understand thatnow we are freed from this folly it is obvious to us that by means ofthis very diversity the different strains of blood in the world can beserviceable and pleasant to each other, without in the least wanting torob each other: we are all bent on the same enterprise, making the mostof our lives. And I must tell you whatever quarrels or misunderstandingsarise, they very seldom take place between people of different race; andconsequently since there is less unreason in them, they are the morereadily appeased. "

"Good, " said I, "but as to those matters of politics; as to generaldifferences of opinion in one and the same community. Do you assert thatthere are none?"

"No, not at all, " said he, somewhat snappishly; "but I do say thatdifferences of opinion about real solid things need not, and with us donot, crystallise people into parties permanently hostile to one another, with different theories as to the build of the universe and the progressof time. Isn't that what politics used to mean?"

"H'm, well, " said I, "I am not so sure of that. "

Said he: "I take, you, neighbour; they only _pretended_ to this seriousdifference of opinion; for if it had existed they could not have dealttogether in the ordinary business of life; couldn't have eaten together, bought and sold together, gambled together, cheated other peopletogether, but must have fought whenever they met: which would not havesuited them at all. The game of the masters of politics was to cajole orforce the public to pay the expense of a luxurious life and excitingamusement for a few cliques of ambitious persons: and the _pretence_ ofserious difference of opinion, belied by every action of their lives, wasquite good enough for that. What has all that got to do with us?"

Said I: "Why, nothing, I should hope. But I fear--In short, I have beentold that political strife was a necessary result of human nature. "

"Human nature!" cried the old boy, impetuously; "what human nature? Thehuman nature of paupers, of slaves, of slave-holders, or the human natureof wealthy freemen? Which? Come, tell me that!"

"Well, " said I, "I suppose there would be a difference according tocircumstances in people's action about these matters. "

"I should think so, indeed, " said he. "At all events, experience showsthat it is so. Amongst us, our differences concern matters of business, and passing events as to them, and could not divide men permanently. Asa rule, the immediate outcome shows which opinion on a given subject isthe right one; it is a matter of fact, not of speculation. For instance, it is clearly not easy to knock up a political party on the question asto whether haymaking in such and such a country-side shall begin thisweek or next, when all men agree that it must at latest begin the weekafter next, and when any man can go down into the fields himself and seewhether the seeds are ripe enough for the cutting. "

Said I: "And you settle these differences, great and small, by the willof the majority, I suppose?"

"Certainly, " said he; "how else could we settle them? You see in matterswhich are merely personal which do not affect the welfare of thecommunity--how a man shall dress, what he shall eat and drink, what heshall write and read, and so forth--there can be no difference ofopinion, and everybody does as he pleases. But when the matter is ofcommon interest to the whole community, and the doing or not doingsomething affects everybody, the majority must have their way; unless theminority were to take up arms and show by force that they were theeffective or real majority; which, however, in a society of men who arefree and equal is little likely to happen; because in such a communitythe apparent majority _is_ the real majority, and the others, as I havehinted before, know that too well to obstruct from mere pigheadedness;especially as they have had plenty of opportunity of putting forwardtheir side of the question. "

"How is that managed?" said I. 

"Well, " said he, "let us take one of our units of management, a commune, or a ward, or a parish (for we have all three names, indicating littlereal distinction between them now, though time was there was a gooddeal). In such a district, as you would call it, some neighbours thinkthat something ought to be done or undone: a new town-hall built; aclearance of inconvenient houses; or say a stone bridge substituted forsome ugly old iron one, --there you have undoing and doing in one. Well, at the next ordinary meeting of the neighbours, or Mote, as we call it, according to the ancient tongue of the times before bureaucracy, aneighbour proposes the change, and of course, if everybody agrees, thereis an end of discussion, except about details. Equally, if no one backsthe proposer, --'seconds him, ' it used to be called--the matter drops forthe time being; a thing not likely to happen amongst reasonable men, however, as the proposer is sure to have talked it over with othersbefore the Mote. But supposing the affair proposed and seconded, if afew of the neighbours disagree to it, if they think that the beastly ironbridge will serve a little longer and they don't want to be bothered withbuilding a new one just then, they don't count heads that time, but putoff the formal discussion to the next Mote; and meantime arguments _pro_and _con_ are flying about, and some get printed, so that everybody knowswhat is going on; and when the Mote comes together again there is aregular discussion and at last a vote by show of hands. If the divisionis a close one, the question is again put off for further discussion; ifthe division is a wide one, the minority are asked if they will yield tothe more general opinion, which they often, nay, most commonly do. Ifthey refuse, the question is debated a third time, when, if the minorityhas not perceptibly grown, they always give way; though I believe thereis some half-forgotten rule by which they might still carry it onfurther; but I say, what always happens is that they are convinced, notperhaps that their view is the wrong one, but they cannot persuade orforce the community to adopt it. "

"Very good, " said I; "but what happens if the divisions are stillnarrow?"

Said he: "As a matter of principle and according to the rule of suchcases, the question must then lapse, and the majority, if so narrow, hasto submit to sitting down under the _status quo_. But I must tell youthat in point of fact the minority very seldom enforces this rule, butgenerally yields in a friendly manner. "

"But do you know, " said I, "that there is something in all this very likedemocracy; and I thought that democracy was considered to be in amoribund condition many, many years ago. "

The old boy's eyes twinkled. "I grant you that our methods have thatdrawback. But what is to be done? We can't get _anyone_ amongst us tocomplain of his not always having his own way in the teeth of thecommunity, when it is clear that _everybody_ cannot have that indulgence. What is to be done?"

"Well, " said I, "I don't know. "

Said he: "The only alternatives to our method that I can conceive of arethese. First, that we should choose out, or breed, a class of superiorpersons capable of judging on all matters without consulting theneighbours; that, in short, we should get for ourselves what used to becalled an aristocracy of intellect; or, secondly, that for the purpose ofsafe-guarding the freedom of the individual will, we should revert to asystem of private property again, and have slaves and slave-holders oncemore. What do you think of those two expedients?"

"Well, " said I, "there is a third possibility--to wit, that every manshould be quite independent of every other, and that thus the tyranny ofsociety should be abolished. "

He looked hard at me for a second or two, and then burst out laughingvery heartily; and I confess that I joined him. When he recoveredhimself he nodded at me, and said: "Yes, yes, I quite agree with you--andso we all do. "

"Yes, " I said, "and besides, it does not press hardly on the minority:for, take this matter of the bridge, no man is obliged to work on it ifhe doesn't agree to its building. At least, I suppose not. "

He smiled, and said: "Shrewdly put; and yet from the point of view of thenative of another planet. If the man of the minority does find hisfeelings hurt, doubtless he may relieve them by refusing to help inbuilding the bridge. But, dear neighbour, that is not a very effectivesalve for the wound caused by the 'tyranny of a majority' in our society;because all work that is done is either beneficial or hurtful to everymember of society. The man is benefited by the bridge-building if itturns out a good thing, and hurt by it if it turns out a bad one, whetherhe puts a hand to it or not; and meanwhile he is benefiting the bridge-builders by his work, whatever that may be. In fact, I see no help forhim except the pleasure of saying 'I told you so' if the bridge-buildingturns out to be a mistake and hurts him; if it benefits him he mustsuffer in silence. A terrible tyranny our Communism, is it not? Folkused often to be warned against this very unhappiness in times past, whenfor every well-fed, contented person you saw a thousand miserablestarvelings. Whereas for us, we grow fat and well-liking on the tyranny;a tyranny, to say the truth, not to be made visible by any microscope Iknow. Don't be afraid, my friend; we are not going to seek for troublesby calling our peace and plenty and happiness by ill names whose verymeaning we have forgotten!"

He sat musing for a little, and then started and said: "Are there anymore questions, dear guest? The morning is waning fast amidst mygarrulity?"

CHAPTER XV: ON THE LACK OF INCENTIVE TO LABOUR IN A COMMUNIST SOCIETY

"Yes, " said I. "I was expecting Dick and Clara to make their appearanceany moment: but is there time to ask just one or two questions beforethey come?"

"Try it, dear neighbour--try it, " said old Hammond. "For the more youask me the better I am pleased; and at any rate if they do come and findme in the middle of an answer, they must sit quiet and pretend to listentill I come to an end. It won't hurt them; they will find it quiteamusing enough to sit side by side, conscious of their proximity to eachother. "

I smiled, as I was bound to, and said: "Good; I will go on talkingwithout noticing them when they come in. Now, this is what I want to askyou about--to wit, how you get people to work when there is no reward oflabour, and especially how you get them to work strenuously?"

"No reward of labour?" said Hammond, gravely. "The reward of labour is_life_. Is that not enough?"

"But no reward for especially good work, " quoth I. 

"Plenty of reward, " said he--"the reward of creation. The wages whichGod gets, as people might have said time agone. If you are going to askto be paid for the pleasure of creation, which is what excellence in workmeans, the next thing we shall hear of will be a bill sent in for thebegetting of children. "

"Well, but, " said I, "the man of the nineteenth century would say thereis a natural desire towards the procreation of children, and a naturaldesire not to work. "

"Yes, yes, " said he, "I know the ancient platitude, --wholly untrue;indeed, to us quite meaningless. Fourier, whom all men laughed at, understood the matter better. "

"Why is it meaningless to you?" said I. 

He said: "Because it implies that all work is suffering, and we are sofar from thinking that, that, as you may have noticed, whereas we are notshort of wealth, there is a kind of fear growing up amongst us that weshall one day be short of work. It is a pleasure which we are afraid oflosing, not a pain. "

"Yes, " said I, "I have noticed that, and I was going to ask you aboutthat also. But in the meantime, what do you positively mean to assertabout the pleasurableness of work amongst you?"

"This, that _all_ work is now pleasurable; either because of the hope ofgain in honour and wealth with which the work is done, which causespleasurable excitement, even when the actual work is not pleasant; orelse because it has grown into a pleasurable _habit_, as in the case withwhat you may call mechanical work; and lastly (and most of our work is ofthis kind) because there is conscious sensuous pleasure in the workitself; it is done, that is, by artists. "

"I see, " said I. "Can you now tell me how you have come to this happycondition? For, to speak plainly, this change from the conditions of theolder world seems to me far greater and more important than all the otherchanges you have told me about as to crime, politics, property, marriage. "

"You are right there, " said he. "Indeed, you may say rather that it isthis change which makes all the others possible. What is the object ofRevolution? Surely to make people happy. Revolution having brought itsforedoomed change about, how can you prevent the counter-revolution fromsetting in except by making people happy? What! shall we expect peaceand stability from unhappiness? The gathering of grapes from thorns andfigs from thistles is a reasonable expectation compared with that! Andhappiness without happy daily work is impossible. "

"Most obviously true, " said I: for I thought the old boy was preaching alittle. "But answer my question, as to how you gained this happiness. "

"Briefly, " said he, "by the absence of artificial coercion, and thefreedom for every man to do what he can do best, joined to the knowledgeof what productions of labour we really wanted. I must admit that thisknowledge we reached slowly and painfully. "

"Go on, " said I, "give me more detail; explain more fully. For thissubject interests me intensely. "

"Yes, I will, " said he; "but in order to do so I must weary you bytalking a little about the past. Contrast is necessary for thisexplanation. Do you mind?"

"No, no, " said I. 

Said he, settling himself in his chair again for a long talk: "It isclear from all that we hear and read, that in the last age ofcivilisation men had got into a vicious circle in the matter ofproduction of wares. They had reached a wonderful facility ofproduction, and in order to make the most of that facility they hadgradually created (or allowed to grow, rather) a most elaborate system ofbuying and selling, which has been called the World-Market; and thatWorld-Market, once set a-going, forced them to go on making more and moreof these wares, whether they needed them or not. So that while (ofcourse) they could not free themselves from the toil of making realnecessaries, they created in a never-ending series sham or artificialnecessaries, which became, under the iron rule of the aforesaid World-Market, of equal importance to them with the real necessaries whichsupported life. By all this they burdened themselves with a prodigiousmass of work merely for the sake of keeping their wretched system going. "

"Yes--and then?" said I. 

"Why, then, since they had forced themselves to stagger along under thishorrible burden of unnecessary production, it became impossible for themto look upon labour and its results from any other point of view thanone--to wit, the ceaseless endeavour to expend the least possible amountof labour on any article made, and yet at the same time to make as manyarticles as possible. To this 'cheapening of production', as it wascalled, everything was sacrificed: the happiness of the workman at hiswork, nay, his most elementary comfort and bare health, his food, hisclothes, his dwelling, his leisure, his amusement, his education--hislife, in short--did not weigh a grain of sand in the balance against thisdire necessity of 'cheap production' of things, a great part of whichwere not worth producing at all. Nay, we are told, and we must believeit, so overwhelming is the evidence, though many of our people scarcely_can_ believe it, that even rich and powerful men, the masters of thepoor devils aforesaid, submitted to live amidst sights and sounds andsmells which it is in the very nature of man to abhor and flee from, inorder that their riches might bolster up this supreme folly. The wholecommunity, in fact, was cast into the jaws of this ravening monster, 'thecheap production' forced upon it by the World-Market. "

"Dear me!" said I. "But what happened? Did not their cleverness andfacility in production master this chaos of misery at last? Couldn'tthey catch up with the World-Market, and then set to work to devise meansfor relieving themselves from this fearful task of extra labour?"

He smiled bitterly. "Did they even try to?" said he. "I am not sure. You know that according to the old saw the beetle gets used to living indung; and these people, whether they found the dung sweet or not, certainly lived in it. "

His estimate of the life of the nineteenth century made me catch mybreath a little; and I said feebly, "But the labour-saving machines?"

"Heyday!" quoth he. "What's that you are saying? the labour-savingmachines? Yes, they were made to 'save labour' (or, to speak moreplainly, the lives of men) on one piece of work in order that it might beexpended--I will say wasted--on another, probably useless, piece of work. Friend, all their devices for cheapening labour simply resulted inincreasing the burden of labour. The appetite of the World-Market grewwith what it fed on: the countries within the ring of 'civilisation'(that is, organised misery) were glutted with the abortions of themarket, and force and fraud were used unsparingly to 'open up' countries_outside_ that pale. This process of 'opening up' is a strange one tothose who have read the professions of the men of that period and do notunderstand their practice; and perhaps shows us at its worst the greatvice of the nineteenth century, the use of hypocrisy and cant to evadethe responsibility of vicarious ferocity. When the civilisedWorld-Market coveted a country not yet in its clutches, some transparentpretext was found--the suppression of a slavery different from and not socruel as that of commerce; the pushing of a religion no longer believedin by its promoters; the 'rescue' of some desperado or homicidal madmanwhose misdeeds had got him into trouble amongst the natives of the'barbarous' country--any stick, in short, which would beat the dog atall. Then some bold, unprincipled, ignorant adventurer was found (nodifficult task in the days of competition), and he was bribed to 'createa market' by breaking up whatever traditional society there might be inthe doomed country, and by destroying whatever leisure or pleasure hefound there. He forced wares on the natives which they did not want, andtook their natural products in 'exchange, ' as this form of robbery wascalled, and thereby he 'created new wants, ' to supply which (that is, tobe allowed to live by their new masters) the hapless, helpless people hadto sell themselves into the slavery of hopeless toil so that they mighthave something wherewith to purchase the nullities of 'civilisation. 'Ah, " said the old man, pointing the dealings of to the Museum, "I haveread books and papers in there, telling strange stories indeed ofcivilisation (or organised misery) with 'non-civilisation'; from the timewhen the British Government deliberately sent blankets infected withsmall-pox as choice gifts to inconvenient tribes of Red-skins, to thetime when Africa was infested by a man named Stanley, who--"

"Excuse me, " said I, "but as you know, time presses; and I want to keepour question on the straightest line possible; and I want at once to askthis about these wares made for the World-Market--how about theirquality; these people who were so clever about making goods, I supposethey made them well?"

"Quality!" said the old man crustily, for he was rather peevish at beingcut short in his story; "how could they possibly attend to such triflesas the quality of the wares they sold? The best of them were of a lowishaverage, the worst were transparent make-shifts for the things asked for, which nobody would have put up with if they could have got anything else. It was a current jest of the time that the wares were made to sell andnot to use; a jest which you, as coming from another planet, mayunderstand, but which our folk could not. "

Said I: "What! did they make nothing well?"

"Why, yes, " said he, "there was one class of goods which they did makethoroughly well, and that was the class of machines which were used formaking things. These were usually quite perfect pieces of workmanship, admirably adapted to the end in view. So that it may be fairly said thatthe great achievement of the nineteenth century was the making ofmachines which were wonders of invention, skill, and patience, and whichwere used for the production of measureless quantities of worthless make-shifts. In truth, the owners of the machines did not consider anythingwhich they made as wares, but simply as means for the enrichment ofthemselves. Of course the only admitted test of utility in wares was thefinding of buyers for them--wise men or fools, as it might chance. "

"And people put up with this?" said I. 

"For a time, " said he. 

"And then?"

"And then the overturn, " said the old man, smiling, "and the nineteenthcentury saw itself as a man who has lost his clothes whilst bathing, andhas to walk naked through the town. "

"You are very bitter about that unlucky nineteenth century, " said I. 

"Naturally, " said he, "since I know so much about it. "

He was silent a little, and then said: "There are traditions--nay, realhistories--in our family about it: my grandfather was one of its victims. If you know something about it, you will understand what he suffered whenI tell you that he was in those days a genuine artist, a man of genius, and a revolutionist. "

"I think I do understand, " said I: "but now, as it seems, you havereversed all this?"

"Pretty much so, " said he. "The wares which we make are made becausethey are needed: men make for their neighbours' use as if they weremaking for themselves, not for a vague market of which they know nothing, and over which they have no control: as there is no buying and selling, it would be mere insanity to make goods on the chance of their beingwanted; for there is no longer anyone who can be compelled to buy them. So that whatever is made is good, and thoroughly fit for its purpose. Nothing can be made except for genuine use; therefore no inferior goodsare made. Moreover, as aforesaid, we have now found out what we want, sowe make no more than we want; and as we are not driven to make a vastquantity of useless things we have time and resources enough to considerour pleasure in making them. All work which would be irksome to do byhand is done by immensely improved machinery; and in all work which it isa pleasure to do by hand machinery is done without. There is nodifficulty in finding work which suits the special turn of mind ofeverybody; so that no man is sacrificed to the wants of another. Fromtime to time, when we have found out that some piece of work was toodisagreeable or troublesome, we have given it up and done altogetherwithout the thing produced by it. Now, surely you can see that underthese circumstances all the work that we do is an exercise of the mindand body more or less pleasant to be done: so that instead of avoidingwork everybody seeks it: and, since people have got defter in doing thework generation after generation, it has become so easy to do, that itseems as if there were less done, though probably more is produced. Isuppose this explains that fear, which I hinted at just now, of apossible scarcity in work, which perhaps you have already noticed, andwhich is a feeling on the increase, and has been for a score of years. "

"But do you think, " said I, "that there is any fear of a work-famineamongst you?"

"No, I do not, " said he, "and I will tell why; it is each man's businessto make his own work pleasanter and pleasanter, which of course tendstowards raising the standard of excellence, as no man enjoys turning outwork which is not a credit to him, and also to greater deliberation inturning it out; and there is such a vast number of things which can betreated as works of art, that this alone gives employment to a host ofdeft people. Again, if art be inexhaustible, so is science also; andthough it is no longer the only innocent occupation which is thoughtworth an intelligent man spending his time upon, as it once was, yetthere are, and I suppose will be, many people who are excited by itsconquest of difficulties, and care for it more than for anything else. Again, as more and more of pleasure is imported into work, I think weshall take up kinds of work which produce desirable wares, but which wegave up because we could not carry them on pleasantly. Moreover, I thinkthat it is only in parts of Europe which are more advanced than the restof the world that you will hear this talk of the fear of a work-famine. Those lands which were once the colonies of Great Britain, for instance, and especially America--that part of it, above all, which was once theUnited states--are now and will be for a long while a great resource tous. For these lands, and, I say, especially the northern parts ofAmerica, suffered so terribly from the full force of the last days ofcivilisation, and became such horrible places to live in, that they arenow very backward in all that makes life pleasant. Indeed, one may saythat for nearly a hundred years the people of the northern parts ofAmerica have been engaged in gradually making a dwelling-place out of astinking dust-heap; and there is still a great deal to do, especially asthe country is so big. "

"Well, " said I, "I am exceedingly glad to think that you have such aprospect of happiness before you. But I should like to ask a few morequestions, and then I have done for to-day. "

CHAPTER XVI: DINNER IN THE HALL OF THE BLOOMSBURY MARKET

As I spoke, I heard footsteps near the door; the latch yielded, and incame our two lovers, looking so handsome that one had no feeling of shamein looking on at their little-concealed love-making; for indeed it seemedas if all the world must be in love with them. As for old Hammond, helooked on them like an artist who has just painted a picture nearly aswell as he thought he could when he began it, and was perfectly happy. Hesaid:

"Sit down, sit down, young folk, and don't make a noise. Our guest herehas still some questions to ask me. "

"Well, I should suppose so, " said Dick; "you have only been three hoursand a half together; and it isn't to be hoped that the history of twocenturies could be told in three hours and a half: let alone that, forall I know, you may have been wandering into the realms of geography andcraftsmanship. "

"As to noise, my dear kinsman, " said Clara, "you will very soon bedisturbed by the noise of the dinner-bell, which I should think will bevery pleasant music to our guest, who breakfasted early, it seems, andprobably had a tiring day yesterday. "

I said: "Well, since you have spoken the word, I begin to feel that it isso; but I have been feeding myself with wonder this long time past:really, it's quite true, " quoth I, as I saw her smile, O so prettily! Butjust then from some tower high up in the air came the sound of silverychimes playing a sweet clear tune, that sounded to my unaccustomed earslike the song of the first blackbird in the spring, and called a rush ofmemories to my mind, some of bad times, some of good, but all sweetenednow into mere pleasure. 

"No more questions now before dinner, " said Clara; and she took my handas an affectionate child would, and led me out of the room and downstairs into the forecourt of the Museum, leaving the two Hammonds tofollow as they pleased. 

We went into the market-place which I had been in before, a thinnishstream of elegantly {1} dressed people going in along with us. We turnedinto the cloister and came to a richly moulded and carved doorway, wherea very pretty dark-haired young girl gave us each a beautiful bunch ofsummer flowers, and we entered a hall much bigger than that of theHammersmith Guest House, more elaborate in its architecture and perhapsmore beautiful. I found it difficult to keep my eyes off thewall-pictures (for I thought it bad manners to stare at Clara all thetime, though she was quite worth it). I saw at a glance that theirsubjects were taken from queer old-world myths and imaginations which inyesterday's world only about half a dozen people in the country knewanything about; and when the two Hammonds sat down opposite to us, I saidto the old man, pointing to the frieze:

"How strange to see such subjects here!"

"Why?" said he. "I don't see why you should be surprised; everybodyknows the tales; and they are graceful and pleasant subjects, not tootragic for a place where people mostly eat and drink and amusethemselves, and yet full of incident. "

I smiled, and said: "Well, I scarcely expected to find record of theSeven Swans and the King of the Golden Mountain and Faithful Henry, andsuch curious pleasant imaginations as Jacob Grimm got together from thechildhood of the world, barely lingering even in his time: I should havethought you would have forgotten such childishness by this time. "

The old man smiled, and said nothing; but Dick turned rather red, andbroke out:

"What _do_ you mean, guest? I think them very beautiful, I mean not onlythe pictures, but the stories; and when we were children we used toimagine them going on in every wood-end, by the bight of every stream:every house in the fields was the Fairyland King's House to us. Don'tyou remember, Clara?"

"Yes, " she said; and it seemed to me as if a slight cloud came over herfair face. I was going to speak to her on the subject, when the prettywaitresses came to us smiling, and chattering sweetly like reed warblersby the river side, and fell to giving us our dinner. As to this, as atour breakfast, everything was cooked and served with a daintiness whichshowed that those who had prepared it were interested in it; but therewas no excess either of quantity or of gourmandise; everything wassimple, though so excellent of its kind; and it was made clear to us thatthis was no feast, only an ordinary meal. The glass, crockery, and platewere very beautiful to my eyes, used to the study of mediaeval art; but anineteenth-century club-haunter would, I daresay, have found them roughand lacking in finish; the crockery being lead-glazed pot-ware, thoughbeautifully ornamented; the only porcelain being here and there a pieceof old oriental ware. The glass, again, though elegant and quaint, andvery varied in form, was somewhat bubbled and hornier in texture than thecommercial articles of the nineteenth century. The furniture and generalfittings of the ball were much of a piece with the table-gear, beautifulin form and highly ornamented, but without the commercial "finish" of thejoiners and cabinet-makers of our time. Withal, there was a totalabsence of what the nineteenth century calls "comfort"--that is, stuffyinconvenience; so that, even apart from the delightful excitement of theday, I had never eaten my dinner so pleasantly before. 

When we had done eating, and were sitting a little while, with a bottleof very good Bordeaux wine before us, Clara came back to the question ofthe subject-matter of the pictures, as though it had troubled her. 

She looked up at them, and said: "How is it that though we are sointerested with our life for the most part, yet when people take towriting poems or painting pictures they seldom deal with our modern life, or if they do, take good care to make their poems or pictures unlike thatlife? Are we not good enough to paint ourselves? How is it that we findthe dreadful times of the past so interesting to us--in pictures andpoetry?"

Old Hammond smiled. "It always was so, and I suppose always will be, "said he, "however it may be explained. It is true that in the nineteenthcentury, when there was so little art and so much talk about it, therewas a theory that art and imaginative literature ought to deal withcontemporary life; but they never did so; for, if there was any pretenceof it, the author always took care (as Clara hinted just now) todisguise, or exaggerate, or idealise, and in some way or another make itstrange; so that, for all the verisimilitude there was, he might just aswell have dealt with the times of the Pharaohs. "

"Well, " said Dick, "surely it is but natural to like these thingsstrange; just as when we were children, as I said just now, we used topretend to be so-and-so in such-and-such a place. That's what thesepictures and poems do; and why shouldn't they?"

"Thou hast hit it, Dick, " quoth old Hammond; "it is the child-like partof us that produces works of imagination. When we are children timepasses so slow with us that we seem to have time for everything. "

He sighed, and then smiled and said: "At least let us rejoice that wehave got back our childhood again. I drink to the days that are!"

"Second childhood, " said I in a low voice, and then blushed at my doublerudeness, and hoped that he hadn't heard. But he had, and turned to mesmiling, and said: "Yes, why not? And for my part, I hope it may lastlong; and that the world's next period of wise and unhappy manhood, ifthat should happen, will speedily lead us to a third childhood: if indeedthis age be not our third. Meantime, my friend, you must know that weare too happy, both individually and collectively, to trouble ourselvesabout what is to come hereafter. "

"Well, for my part, " said Clara, "I wish we were interesting enough to bewritten or painted about. "

Dick answered her with some lover's speech, impossible to be writtendown, and then we sat quiet a little. 

CHAPTER XVII: HOW THE CHANGE CAME

Dick broke the silence at last, saying: "Guest, forgive us for a littleafter-dinner dulness. What would you like to do? Shall we have outGreylocks and trot back to Hammersmith? or will you come with us and hearsome Welsh folk sing in a hall close by here? or would you like presentlyto come with me into the City and see some really fine building? or--whatshall it be?"

"Well, " said I, "as I am a stranger, I must let you choose for me. "

In point of fact, I did not by any means want to be 'amused' just then;and also I rather felt as if the old man, with his knowledge of pasttimes, and even a kind of inverted sympathy for them caused by his activehatred of them, was as it were a blanket for me against the cold of thisvery new world, where I was, so to say, stripped bare of every habitualthought and way of acting; and I did not want to leave him too soon. Hecame to my rescue at once, and said--

"Wait a bit, Dick; there is someone else to be consulted besides you andthe guest here, and that is I. I am not going to lose the pleasure ofhis company just now, especially as I know he has something else to askme. So go to your Welshmen, by all means; but first of all bring usanother bottle of wine to this nook, and then be off as soon as you like;and come again and fetch our friend to go westward, but not too soon. "

Dick nodded smilingly, and the old man and I were soon alone in the greathall, the afternoon sun gleaming on the red wine in our tallquaint-shaped glasses. Then said Hammond:

"Does anything especially puzzle you about our way of living, now youhave heard a good deal and seen a little of it?"

Said I: "I think what puzzles me most is how it all came about. "

"It well may, " said he, "so great as the change is. It would bedifficult indeed to tell you the whole story, perhaps impossible:knowledge, discontent, treachery, disappointment, ruin, misery, despair--those who worked for the change because they could see furtherthan other people went through all these phases of suffering; anddoubtless all the time the most of men looked on, not knowing what wasdoing, thinking it all a matter of course, like the rising and setting ofthe sun--and indeed it was so. "

"Tell me one thing, if you can, " said I. "Did the change, the'revolution' it used to be called, come peacefully?"

"Peacefully?" said he; "what peace was there amongst those poor confusedwretches of the nineteenth century? It was war from beginning to end:bitter war, till hope and pleasure put an end to it. "

"Do you mean actual fighting with weapons?" said I, "or the strikes andlock-outs and starvation of which we have heard?"

"Both, both, " he said. "As a matter of fact, the history of the terribleperiod of transition from commercial slavery to freedom may thus besummarised. When the hope of realising a communal condition of life forall men arose, quite late in the nineteenth century, the power of themiddle classes, the then tyrants of society, was so enormous andcrushing, that to almost all men, even those who had, you may say despitethemselves, despite their reason and judgment, conceived such hopes, itseemed a dream. So much was this the case that some of those moreenlightened men who were then called Socialists, although they well knew, and even stated in public, that the only reasonable condition of Societywas that of pure Communism (such as you now see around you), yet shrunkfrom what seemed to them the barren task of preaching the realisation ofa happy dream. Looking back now, we can see that the great motive-powerof the change was a longing for freedom and equality, akin if you pleaseto the unreasonable passion of the lover; a sickness of heart thatrejected with loathing the aimless solitary life of the well-to-doeducated man of that time: phrases, my dear friend, which have lost theirmeaning to us of the present day; so far removed we are from the dreadfulfacts which they represent. 

"Well, these men, though conscious of this feeling, had no faith in it, as a means of bringing about the change. Nor was that wonderful: forlooking around them they saw the huge mass of the oppressed classes toomuch burdened with the misery of their lives, and too much overwhelmed bythe selfishness of misery, to be able to form a conception of any escapefrom it except by the ordinary way prescribed by the system of slaveryunder which they lived; which was nothing more than a remote chance ofclimbing out of the oppressed into the oppressing class. 

"Therefore, though they knew that the only reasonable aim for those whowould better the world was a condition of equality; in their impatienceand despair they managed to convince themselves that if they could byhook or by crook get the machinery of production and the management ofproperty so altered that the 'lower classes' (so the horrible word ran)might have their slavery somewhat ameliorated, they would be ready to fitinto this machinery, and would use it for bettering their condition stillmore and still more, until at last the result would be a practicalequality (they were very fond of using the word 'practical'), because'the rich' would be forced to pay so much for keeping 'the poor' in atolerable condition that the condition of riches would become no longervaluable and would gradually die out. Do you follow me?"

"Partly, " said I. "Go on. "

Said old Hammond: "Well, since you follow me, you will see that as atheory this was not altogether unreasonable; but 'practically, ' it turnedout a failure. "

"How so?" said I. 

"Well, don't you see, " said he, "because it involved the making of amachinery by those who didn't know what they wanted the machines to do. So far as the masses of the oppressed class furthered this scheme ofimprovement, they did it to get themselves improved slave-rations--asmany of them as could. And if those classes had really been incapable ofbeing touched by that instinct which produced the passion for freedom andequality aforesaid, what would have happened, I think, would have beenthis: that a certain part of the working classes would have been so farimproved in condition that they would have approached the condition ofthe middling rich men; but below them would have been a great class ofmost miserable slaves, whose slavery would have been far more hopelessthan the older class-slavery had been. "

"What stood in the way of this?" said I. 

"Why, of course, " said he, "just that instinct for freedom aforesaid. Itis true that the slave-class could not conceive the happiness of a freelife. Yet they grew to understand (and very speedily too) that they wereoppressed by their masters, and they assumed, you see how justly, thatthey could do without them, though perhaps they scarce knew how; so thatit came to this, that though they could not look forward to the happinessor peace of the freeman, they did at least look forward to the war whicha vague hope told them would bring that peace about. "

"Could you tell me rather more closely what actually took place?" said I;for I thought _him_ rather vague here. 

"Yes, " he said, "I can. That machinery of life for the use of people whodidn't know what they wanted of it, and which was known at the time asState Socialism, was partly put in motion, though in a very piecemealway. But it did not work smoothly; it was, of course, resisted at everyturn by the capitalists; and no wonder, for it tended more and more toupset the commercial system I have told you of; without providinganything really effective in its place. The result was growingconfusion, great suffering amongst the working classes, and, as aconsequence, great discontent. For a long time matters went on likethis. The power of the upper classes had lessened, as their command overwealth lessened, and they could not carry things wholly by the high handas they had been used to in earlier days. So far the State Socialistswere justified by the result. On the other hand, the working classeswere ill-organised, and growing poorer in reality, in spite of the gains(also real in the long run) which they had forced from the masters. Thusmatters hung in the balance; the masters could not reduce their slaves tocomplete subjection, though they put down some feeble and partial riotseasily enough. The workers forced their masters to grant themameliorations, real or imaginary, of their condition, but could not forcefreedom from them. At last came a great crash. To explain this you mustunderstand that very great progress had been made amongst the workers, though as before said but little in the direction of improvedlivelihood. "

I played the innocent and said: "In what direction could they improve, ifnot in livelihood?"

Said he: "In the power to bring about a state of things in whichlivelihood would be full, and easy to gain. They had at last learned howto combine after a long period of mistakes and disasters. The workmenhad now a regular organization in the struggle against their masters, astruggle which for more than half a century had been accepted as aninevitable part of the conditions of the modern system of labour andproduction. This combination had now taken the form of a federation ofall or almost all the recognised wage-paid employments, and it was by itsmeans that those betterments of the conditions of the workmen had beenforced from the masters: and though they were not seldom mixed up withthe rioting that happened, especially in the earlier days of theirorganization, it by no means formed an essential part of their tactics;indeed at the time I am now speaking of they had got to be so strong thatmost commonly the mere threat of a 'strike' was enough to gain any minorpoint: because they had given up the foolish tactics of the ancienttrades unions of calling out of work a part only of the workers of suchand such an industry, and supporting them while out of work on the labourof those that remained in. By this time they had a biggish fund of moneyfor the support of strikes, and could stop a certain industry altogetherfor a time if they so determined. "

Said I: "Was there not a serious danger of such moneys being misused--ofjobbery, in fact?"

Old Hammond wriggled uneasily on his seat, and said:

"Though all this happened so long ago, I still feel the pain of mereshame when I have to tell you that it was more than a danger: that suchrascality often happened; indeed more than once the whole combinationseemed dropping to pieces because of it: but at the time of which I amtelling, things looked so threatening, and to the workmen at least thenecessity of their dealing with the fast-gathering trouble which thelabour-struggle had brought about, was so clear, that the conditions ofthe times had begot a deep seriousness amongst all reasonable people; adetermination which put aside all non-essentials, and which to thinkingmen was ominous of the swiftly-approaching change: such an element wastoo dangerous for mere traitors and self-seekers, and one by one theywere thrust out and mostly joined the declared reactionaries. "

"How about those ameliorations, " said I; "what were they? or rather ofwhat nature?"

Said he: "Some of them, and these of the most practical importance to themens' livelihood, were yielded by the masters by direct compulsion on thepart of the men; the new conditions of labour so gained were indeed onlycustomary, enforced by no law: but, once established, the masters durstnot attempt to withdraw them in face of the growing power of the combinedworkers. Some again were steps on the path of 'State Socialism'; themost important of which can be speedily summed up. At the end of thenineteenth century the cry arose for compelling the masters to employtheir men a less number of hours in the day: this cry gathered volumequickly, and the masters had to yield to it. But it was, of course, clear that unless this meant a higher price for work per hour, it wouldbe a mere nullity, and that the masters, unless forced, would reduce itto that. Therefore after a long struggle another law was passed fixing aminimum price for labour in the most important industries; which againhad to be supplemented by a law fixing the maximum price on the chiefwares then considered necessary for a workman's life. "

"You were getting perilously near to the late Roman poor-rates, " said I, smiling, "and the doling out of bread to the proletariat. "

"So many said at the time, " said the old man drily; "and it has long beena commonplace that that slough awaits State Socialism in the end, if itgets to the end, which as you know it did not with us. However it wentfurther than this minimum and maximum business, which by the by we cannow see was necessary. The government now found it imperative on them tomeet the outcry of the master class at the approaching destruction ofCommerce (as desirable, had they known it, as the extinction of thecholera, which has since happily taken place). And they were forced tomeet it by a measure hostile to the masters, the establishment ofgovernment factories for the production of necessary wares, and marketsfor their sale. These measures taken altogether did do something: theywere in fact of the nature of regulations made by the commander of abeleaguered city. But of course to the privileged classes it seemed asif the end of the world were come when such laws were enacted. 

"Nor was that altogether without a warrant: the spread of communistictheories, and the partial practice of State Socialism had at firstdisturbed, and at last almost paralysed the marvellous system of commerceunder which the old world had lived so feverishly, and had produced forsome few a life of gambler's pleasure, and for many, or most, a life ofmere misery: over and over again came 'bad times' as they were called, and indeed they were bad enough for the wage-slaves. The year 1952 wasone of the worst of these times; the workmen suffered dreadfully: thepartial, inefficient government factories, which were terribly jobbed, all but broke down, and a vast part of the population had for the timebeing to be fed on undisguised "charity" as it was called. 

"The Combined Workers watched the situation with mingled hope andanxiety. They had already formulated their general demands; but now by asolemn and universal vote of the whole of their federated societies, theyinsisted on the first step being taken toward carrying out their demands:this step would have led directly to handing over the management of thewhole natural resources of the country, together with the machinery forusing them into the power of the Combined Workers, and the reduction ofthe privileged classes into the position of pensioners obviouslydependent on the pleasure of the workers. The 'Resolution, ' as it wascalled, which was widely published in the newspapers of the day, was infact a declaration of war, and was so accepted by the master class. Theybegan henceforward to prepare for a firm stand against the 'brutal andferocious communism of the day, ' as they phrased it. And as they were inmany ways still very powerful, or seemed so to be; they still hoped bymeans of brute force to regain some of what they had lost, and perhaps inthe end the whole of it. It was said amongst them on all hands that ithad been a great mistake of the various governments not to have resistedsooner; and the liberals and radicals (the name as perhaps you may knowof the more democratically inclined part of the ruling classes) were muchblamed for having led the world to this pass by their mis-timed pedantryand foolish sentimentality: and one Gladstone, or Gledstein (probably, judging by this name, of Scandinavian descent), a notable politician ofthe nineteenth century, was especially singled out for reprobation inthis respect. I need scarcely point out to you the absurdity of allthis. But terrible tragedy lay hidden behind this grinning through ahorse-collar of the reactionary party. 'The insatiable greed of thelower classes must be repressed'--'The people must be taught alesson'--these were the sacramental phrases current amongst thereactionists, and ominous enough they were. "

The old man stopped to look keenly at my attentive and wondering face;and then said:

"I know, dear guest, that I have been using words and phrases which fewpeople amongst us could understand without long and laboriousexplanation; and not even then perhaps. But since you have not yet goneto sleep, and since I am speaking to you as to a being from anotherplanet, I may venture to ask you if you have followed me thus far?"

"O yes, " said I, "I quite understand: pray go on; a great deal of whatyou have been saying was common place with us--when--when--"

"Yes, " said he gravely, "when you were dwelling in the other planet. Well, now for the crash aforesaid. 

"On some comparatively trifling occasion a great meeting was summoned bythe workmen leaders to meet in Trafalgar Square (about the right to meetin which place there had for years and years been bickering). The civicbourgeois guard (called the police) attacked the said meeting withbludgeons, according to their custom; many people were hurt in the_melee_, of whom five in all died, either trampled to death on the spot, or from the effects of their cudgelling; the meeting was scattered, andsome hundred of prisoners cast into gaol. A similar meeting had beentreated in the same way a few days before at a place called Manchester, which has now disappeared. Thus the 'lesson' began. The whole countrywas thrown into a ferment by this; meetings were held which attemptedsome rough organisation for the holding of another meeting to retort onthe authorities. A huge crowd assembled in Trafalgar Square and theneighbourhood (then a place of crowded streets), and was too big for thebludgeon-armed police to cope with; there was a good deal of dry-blowfighting; three or four of the people were killed, and half a score ofpolicemen were crushed to death in the throng, and the rest got away asthey could. This was a victory for the people as far as it went. Thenext day all London (remember what it was in those days) was in a stateof turmoil. Many of the rich fled into the country; the executive gottogether soldiery, but did not dare to use them; and the police could notbe massed in any one place, because riots or threats of riots wereeverywhere. But in Manchester, where the people were not so courageousor not so desperate as in London, several of the popular leaders werearrested. In London a convention of leaders was got together from theFederation of Combined Workmen, and sat under the old revolutionary nameof the Committee of Public Safety; but as they had no drilled and armedbody of men to direct, they attempted no aggressive measures, but onlyplacarded the walls with somewhat vague appeals to the workmen not toallow themselves to be trampled upon. However, they called a meeting inTrafalgar Square for the day fortnight of the last-mentioned skirmish. 

"Meantime the town grew no quieter, and business came pretty much to anend. The newspapers--then, as always hitherto, almost entirely in thehands of the masters--clamoured to the Government for repressivemeasures; the rich citizens were enrolled as an extra body of police, andarmed with bludgeons like them; many of these were strong, well-fed, full-blooded young men, and had plenty of stomach for fighting; but theGovernment did not dare to use them, and contented itself with gettingfull powers voted to it by the Parliament for suppressing any revolt, andbringing up more and more soldiers to London. Thus passed the week afterthe great meeting; almost as large a one was held on the Sunday, whichwent off peaceably on the whole, as no opposition to it was offered, andagain the people cried 'victory. ' But on the Monday the people woke upto find that they were hungry. During the last few days there had beengroups of men parading the streets asking (or, if you please, demanding)money to buy food; and what for goodwill, what for fear, the richerpeople gave them a good deal. The authorities of the parishes also (Ihaven't time to explain that phrase at present) gave willy-nilly whatprovisions they could to wandering people; and the Government, by meansof its feeble national workshops, also fed a good number of half-starvedfolk. But in addition to this, several bakers' shops and other provisionstores had been emptied without a great deal of disturbance. So far, sogood. But on the Monday in question the Committee of Public Safety, onthe one hand afraid of general unorganised pillage, and on the otheremboldened by the wavering conduct of the authorities, sent a deputationprovided with carts and all necessary gear to clear out two or three bigprovision stores in the centre of the town, leaving papers with the shopmanagers promising to pay the price of them: and also in the part of thetown where they were strongest they took possession of several bakers'shops and set men at work in them for the benefit of the people;--all ofwhich was done with little or no disturbance, the police assisting inkeeping order at the sack of the stores, as they would have done at a bigfire. 

"But at this last stroke the reactionaries were so alarmed, that theywere, determined to force the executive into action. The newspapers nextday all blazed into the fury of frightened people, and threatened thepeople, the Government, and everybody they could think of, unless 'orderwere at once restored. ' A deputation of leading commercial people waitedon the Government and told them that if they did not at once arrest theCommittee of Public Safety, they themselves would gather a body of men, arm them, and fall on 'the incendiaries, ' as they called them. 

"They, together with a number of the newspaper editors, had a longinterview with the heads of the Government and two or three military men, the deftest in their art that the country could furnish. The deputationcame away from that interview, says a contemporary eye-witness, smilingand satisfied, and said no more about raising an anti-popular army, butthat afternoon left London with their families for their country seats orelsewhere. 

"The next morning the Government proclaimed a state of siege in London, --athing common enough amongst the absolutist governments on the Continent, but unheard-of in England in those days. They appointed the youngest andcleverest of their generals to command the proclaimed district; a man whohad won a certain sort of reputation in the disgraceful wars in which thecountry had been long engaged from time to time. The newspapers were inecstacies, and all the most fervent of the reactionaries now came to thefront; men who in ordinary times were forced to keep their opinions tothemselves or their immediate circle, but who began to look forward tocrushing once for all the Socialist, and even democratic tendencies, which, said they, had been treated with such foolish indulgence for thelast sixty years. 

"But the clever general took no visible action; and yet only a few of theminor newspapers abused him; thoughtful men gathered from this that aplot was hatching. As for the Committee of Public Safety, whatever theythought of their position, they had now gone too far to draw back; andmany of them, it seems, thought that the government would not act. Theywent on quietly organising their food supply, which was a miserabledriblet when all is said; and also as a retort to the state of siege, they armed as many men as they could in the quarter where they werestrongest, but did not attempt to drill or organise them, thinking, perhaps, that they could not at the best turn them into trained soldierstill they had some breathing space. The clever general, his soldiers, and the police did not meddle with all this in the least in the world;and things were quieter in London that week-end; though there were riotsin many places of the provinces, which were quelled by the authoritieswithout much trouble. The most serious of these were at Glasgow andBristol. 

"Well, the Sunday of the meeting came, and great crowds came to TrafalgarSquare in procession, the greater part of the Committee amongst them, surrounded by their band of men armed somehow or other. The streets werequite peaceful and quiet, though there were many spectators to see theprocession pass. Trafalgar Square had no body of police in it; thepeople took quiet possession of it, and the meeting began. The armed menstood round the principal platform, and there were a few others armedamidst the general crowd; but by far the greater part were unarmed. 

"Most people thought the meeting would go off peaceably; but the membersof the Committee had heard from various quarters that something would beattempted against them; but these rumours were vague, and they had noidea of what threatened. They soon found out. 

"For before the streets about the Square were filled, a body of soldierspoured into it from the north-west corner and took up their places by thehouses that stood on the west side. The people growled at the sight ofthe red-coats; the armed men of the Committee stood undecided, notknowing what to do; and indeed this new influx so jammed the crowdtogether that, unorganised as they were, they had little chance ofworking through it. They had scarcely grasped the fact of their enemiesbeing there, when another column of soldiers, pouring out of the streetswhich led into the great southern road going down to the Parliament House(still existing, and called the Dung Market), and also from theembankment by the side of the Thames, marched up, pushing the crowd intoa denser and denser mass, and formed along the south side of the Square. Then any of those who could see what was going on, knew at once that theywere in a trap, and could only wonder what would be done with them. 

"The closely-packed crowd would not or could not budge, except under theinfluence of the height of terror, which was soon to be supplied to them. A few of the armed men struggled to the front, or climbled up to the baseof the monument which then stood there, that they might face the wall ofhidden fire before them; and to most men (there were many women amongstthem) it seemed as if the end of the world had come, and to-day seemedstrangely different from yesterday. No sooner were the soldiers drawn upaforesaid than, says an eye-witness, 'a glittering officer on horsebackcame prancing out from the ranks on the south, and read something from apaper which he held in his hand; which something, very few heard; but Iwas told afterwards that it was an order for us to disperse, and awarning that he had legal right to fire on the crowd else, and that hewould do so. The crowd took it as a challenge of some sort, and a hoarsethreatening roar went up from them; and after that there was comparativesilence for a little, till the officer had got back into the ranks. Iwas near the edge of the crowd, towards the soldiers, ' says thiseye-witness, 'and I saw three little machines being wheeled out in frontof the ranks, which I knew for mechanical guns. I cried out, "Throwyourselves down! they are going to fire!" But no one scarcely couldthrow himself down, so tight as the crowd were packed. I heard a sharporder given, and wondered where I should be the next minute; and then--Itwas as if--the earth had opened, and hell had come up bodily amidst us. It is no use trying to describe the scene that followed. Deep lanes weremowed amidst the thick crowd; the dead and dying covered the ground, andthe shrieks and wails and cries of horror filled all the air, till itseemed as if there were nothing else in the world but murder and death. Those of our armed men who were still unhurt cheered wildly and opened ascattering fire on the soldiers. One or two soldiers fell; and I saw theofficers going up and down the ranks urging the men to fire again; butthey received the orders in sullen silence, and let the butts of theirguns fall. Only one sergeant ran to a machine-gun and began to set itgoing; but a tall young man, an officer too, ran out of the ranks anddragged him back by the collar; and the soldiers stood there motionlesswhile the horror-stricken crowd, nearly wholly unarmed (for most of thearmed men had fallen in that first discharge), drifted out of the Square. I was told afterwards that the soldiers on the west side had fired also, and done their part of the slaughter. How I got out of the Square Iscarcely know: I went, not feeling the ground under me, what with rageand terror and despair. '

"So says our eye-witness. The number of the slain on the side of thepeople in that shooting during a minute was prodigious; but it was noteasy to come at the truth about it; it was probably between one and twothousand. Of the soldiers, six were killed outright, and a dozenwounded. "

I listened, trembling with excitement. The old man's eyes glittered andhis face flushed as he spoke, and told the tale of what I had oftenthought might happen. Yet I wondered that he should have got so elatedabout a mere massacre, and I said:

"How fearful! And I suppose that this massacre put an end to the wholerevolution for that time?"

"No, no, " cried old Hammond; "it began it!"

He filled his glass and mine, and stood up and cried out, "Drink thisglass to the memory of those who died there, for indeed it would be along tale to tell how much we owe them. "

I drank, and he sat down again and went on. 

"That massacre of Trafalgar Square began the civil war, though, like allsuch events, it gathered head slowly, and people scarcely knew what acrisis they were acting in. 

"Terrible as the massacre was, and hideous and overpowering as the firstterror had been, when the people had time to think about it, theirfeeling was one of anger rather than fear; although the militaryorganisation of the state of siege was now carried out without shrinkingby the clever young general. For though the ruling-classes when the newsspread next morning felt one gasp of horror and even dread, yet theGovernment and their immediate backers felt that now the wine was drawnand must be drunk. However, even the most reactionary of the capitalistpapers, with two exceptions, stunned by the tremendous news, simply gavean account of what had taken place, without making any comment upon it. The exceptions were one, a so-called 'liberal' paper (the Government ofthe day was of that complexion), which, after a preamble in which itdeclared its undeviating sympathy with the cause of labour, proceeded topoint out that in times of revolutionary disturbance it behoved theGovernment to be just but firm, and that by far the most merciful way ofdealing with the poor madmen who were attacking the very foundations ofsociety (which had made them mad and poor) was to shoot them at once, soas to stop others from drifting into a position in which they would run achance of being shot. In short, it praised the determined action of theGovernment as the acme of human wisdom and mercy, and exulted in theinauguration of an epoch of reasonable democracy free from the tyrannicalfads of Socialism. 

"The other exception was a paper thought to be one of the most violentopponents of democracy, and so it was; but the editor of it found hismanhood, and spoke for himself and not for his paper. In a few simple, indignant words he asked people to consider what a society was worthwhich had to be defended by the massacre of unarmed citizens, and calledon the Government to withdraw their state of siege and put the generaland his officers who fired on the people on their trial for murder. Hewent further, and declared that whatever his opinion might be as to thedoctrines of the Socialists, he for one should throw in his lot with thepeople, until the Government atoned for their atrocity by showing thatthey were prepared to listen to the demands of men who knew what theywanted, and whom the decrepitude of society forced into pushing theirdemands in some way or other. 

"Of course, this editor was immediately arrested by the military power;but his bold words were already in the hands of the public, and produceda great effect: so great an effect that the Government, after somevacillation, withdrew the state of siege; though at the same time itstrengthened the military organisation and made it more stringent. Threeof the Committee of Public Safety had been slain in Trafalgar Square: ofthe rest the greater part went back to their old place of meeting, andthere awaited the event calmly. They were arrested there on the Mondaymorning, and would have been shot at once by the general, who was a meremilitary machine, if the Government had not shrunk before theresponsibility of killing men without any trial. There was at first atalk of trying them by a special commission of judges, as it wascalled--_i. E. _, before a set of men bound to find them guilty, and whosebusiness it was to do so. But with the Government the cold fit hadsucceeded to the hot one; and the prisoners were brought before a jury atthe assizes. There a fresh blow awaited the Government; for in spite ofthe judge's charge, which distinctly instructed the jury to find theprisoners guilty, they were acquitted, and the jury added to theirverdict a presentment, in which they condemned the action of thesoldiery, in the queer phraseology of the day, as 'rash, unfortunate, andunnecessary. ' The Committee of Public Safety renewed its sittings, andfrom thenceforth was a popular rallying-point in opposition to theParliament. The Government now gave way on all sides, and made a show ofyielding to the demands of the people, though there was a widespread plotfor effecting a coup d'etat set on foot between the leaders of the two so-called opposing parties in the parliamentary faction fight. The well-meaning part of the public was overjoyed, and thought that all danger ofa civil war was over. The victory of the people was celebrated by hugemeetings held in the parks and elsewhere, in memory of the victims of thegreat massacre. 

"But the measures passed for the relief of the workers, though to theupper classes they seemed ruinously revolutionary, were not thoroughenough to give the people food and a decent life, and they had to besupplemented by unwritten enactments without legality to back them. Although the Government and Parliament had the law-courts, the army, and'society' at their backs, the Committee of Public Safety began to be aforce in the country, and really represented the producing classes. Itbegan to improve immensely in the days which followed on the acquittal ofits members. Its old members had little administrative capacity, thoughwith the exception of a few self-seekers and traitors, they were honest, courageous men, and many of them were endowed with considerable talent ofother kinds. But now that the times called for immediate action, cameforward the men capable of setting it on foot; and a new network ofworkmen's associations grew up very speedily, whose avowed single objectwas the tiding over of the ship of the community into a simple conditionof Communism; and as they practically undertook also the management ofthe ordinary labour-war, they soon became the mouthpiece and intermediaryof the whole of the working classes; and the manufacturingprofit-grinders now found themselves powerless before this combination;unless _their_ committee, Parliament, plucked up courage to begin thecivil war again, and to shoot right and left, they were bound to yield tothe demands of the men whom they employed, and pay higher and higherwages for shorter and shorter day's work. Yet one ally they had, andthat was the rapidly approaching breakdown of the whole system founded onthe World-Market and its supply; which now became so clear to all people, that the middle classes, shocked for the moment into condemnation of theGovernment for the great massacre, turned round nearly in a mass, andcalled on the Government to look to matters, and put an end to thetyranny of the Socialist leaders. 

"Thus stimulated, the reactionist plot exploded probably before it wasripe; but this time the people and their leaders were forewarned, and, before the reactionaries could get under way, had taken the steps theythought necessary. 

"The Liberal Government (clearly by collusion) was beaten by theConservatives, though the latter were nominally much in the minority. Thepopular representatives in the House understood pretty well what thismeant, and after an attempt to fight the matter out by divisions in theHouse of Commons, they made a protest, left the House, and came in a bodyto the Committee of Public Safety: and the civil war began again in goodearnest. 

"Yet its first act was not one of mere fighting. The new Tory Governmentdetermined to act, yet durst not re-enact the state of siege, but it senta body of soldiers and police to arrest the Committee of Public Safety inthe lump. They made no resistance, though they might have done so, asthey had now a considerable body of men who were quite prepared forextremities. But they were determined to try first a weapon which theythought stronger than street fighting. 

"The members of the Committee went off quietly to prison; but they hadleft their soul and their organisation behind them. For they dependednot on a carefully arranged centre with all kinds of checks and counter-checks about it, but on a huge mass of people in thorough sympathy withthe movement, bound together by a great number of links of small centreswith very simple instructions. These instructions were now carried out. 

"The next morning, when the leaders of the reaction were chuckling at theeffect which the report in the newspapers of their stroke would have uponthe public--no newspapers appeared; and it was only towards noon that afew straggling sheets, about the size of the gazettes of the seventeenthcentury, worked by policemen, soldiers, managers, and press-writers, weredribbled through the streets. They were greedily seized on and read; butby this time the serious part of their news was stale, and people did notneed to be told that the GENERAL STRIKE had begun. The railways did notrun, the telegraph-wires were unserved; flesh, fish, and green stuffbrought to market was allowed to lie there still packed and perishing;the thousands of middle-class families, who were utterly dependant forthe next meal on the workers, made frantic efforts through their moreenergetic members to cater for the needs of the day, and amongst those ofthem who could throw off the fear of what was to follow, there was, I amtold, a certain enjoyment of this unexpected picnic--a forecast of thedays to come, in which all labour grew pleasant. 

"So passed the first day, and towards evening the Government grew quitedistracted. They had but one resource for putting down any popularmovement--to wit, mere brute-force; but there was nothing for themagainst which to use their army and police: no armed bodies appeared inthe streets; the offices of the Federated Workmen were now, inappearance, at least, turned into places for the relief of people thrownout of work, and under the circumstances, they durst not arrest the menengaged in such business, all the more, as even that night many quiterespectable people applied at these offices for relief, and swalloweddown the charity of the revolutionists along with their supper. So theGovernment massed soldiers and police here and there--and sat still forthat night, fully expecting on the morrow some manifesto from 'therebels, ' as they now began to be called, which would give them anopportunity of acting in some way or another. They were disappointed. The ordinary newspapers gave up the struggle that morning, and only onevery violent reactionary paper (called the _Daily Telegraph_) attemptedan appearance, and rated 'the rebels' in good set terms for their follyand ingratitude in tearing out the bowels of their 'common mother, ' theEnglish Nation, for the benefit of a few greedy paid agitators, and thefools whom they were deluding. On the other hand, the Socialist papers(of which three only, representing somewhat different schools, werepublished in London) came out full to the throat of well-printed matter. They were greedily bought by the whole public, who, of course, like theGovernment, expected a manifesto in them. But they found no word ofreference to the great subject. It seemed as if their editors hadransacked their drawers for articles which would have been in place fortyyears before, under the technical name of educational articles. Most ofthese were admirable and straightforward expositions of the doctrines andpractice of Socialism, free from haste and spite and hard words, and cameupon the public with a kind of May-day freshness, amidst the worry andterror of the moment; and though the knowing well understood that themeaning of this move in the game was mere defiance, and a token ofirreconcilable hostility to the then rulers of society, and though, also, they were meant for nothing else by 'the rebels, ' yet they really hadtheir effect as 'educational articles. ' However, 'education' of anotherkind was acting upon the public with irresistible power, and probablycleared their heads a little. 

"As to the Government, they were absolutely terrified by this act of'boycotting' (the slang word then current for such acts of abstention). Their counsels became wild and vacillating to the last degree: one hourthey were for giving way for the present till they could hatch anotherplot; the next they all but sent an order for the arrest in the lump ofall the workmen's committees; the next they were on the point of orderingtheir brisk young general to take any excuse that offered for anothermassacre. But when they called to mind that the soldiery in that'Battle' of Trafalgar Square were so daunted by the slaughter which theyhad made, that they could not be got to fire a second volley, they shrankback again from the dreadful courage necessary for carrying out anothermassacre. Meantime the prisoners, brought the second time before themagistrates under a strong escort of soldiers, were the second timeremanded. 

"The strike went on this day also. The workmen's committees wereextended, and gave relief to great numbers of people, for they hadorganised a considerable amount of production of food by men whom theycould depend upon. Quite a number of well-to-do people were nowcompelled to seek relief of them. But another curious thing happened: aband of young men of the upper classes armed themselves, and coolly wentmarauding in the streets, taking what suited them of such eatables andportables that they came across in the shops which had ventured to open. This operation they carried out in Oxford Street, then a great street ofshops of all kinds. The Government, being at that hour in one of theiryielding moods, thought this a fine opportunity for showing theirimpartiality in the maintenance of 'order, ' and sent to arrest thesehungry rich youths; who, however, surprised the police by a valiantresistance, so that all but three escaped. The Government did not gainthe reputation for impartiality which they expected from this move; forthey forgot that there were no evening papers; and the account of theskirmish spread wide indeed, but in a distorted form for it was mostlytold simply as an exploit of the starving people from the East-end; andeverybody thought it was but natural for the Government to put them downwhen and where they could. 

"That evening the rebel prisoners were visited in their cells by _very_polite and sympathetic persons, who pointed out to them what a suicidalcourse they were following, and how dangerous these extreme courses werefor the popular cause. Says one of the prisoners: 'It was great sportcomparing notes when we came out anent the attempt of the Government to"get at" us separately in prison, and how we answered the blandishmentsof the highly "intelligent and refined" persons set on to pump us. Onelaughed; another told extravagant long-bow stories to the envoy; a thirdheld a sulky silence; a fourth damned the polite spy and bade him holdhis jaw--and that was all they got out of us. '

"So passed the second day of the great strike. It was clear to allthinking people that the third day would bring on the crisis; for thepresent suspense and ill-concealed terror was unendurable. The rulingclasses, and the middle-class non-politicians who had been their realstrength and support, were as sheep lacking a shepherd; they literallydid not know what to do. 

"One thing they found they had to do: try to get the 'rebels' to dosomething. So the next morning, the morning of the third day of thestrike, when the members of the Committee of Public Safety appeared againbefore the magistrate, they found themselves treated with the greatestpossible courtesy--in fact, rather as envoys and ambassadors thanprisoners. In short, the magistrate had received his orders; and with nomore to do than might come of a long stupid speech, which might have beenwritten by Dickens in mockery, he discharged the prisoners, who went backto their meeting-place and at once began a due sitting. It was hightime. For this third day the mass was fermenting indeed. There was, ofcourse, a vast number of working people who were not organised in theleast in the world; men who had been used to act as their masters drovethem, or rather as the system drove, of which their masters were a part. That system was now falling to pieces, and the old pressure of the masterhaving been taken off these poor men, it seemed likely that nothing butthe mere animal necessities and passions of men would have any hold onthem, and that mere general overturn would be the result. Doubtless thiswould have happened if it had not been that the huge mass had beenleavened by Socialist opinion in the first place, and in the second byactual contact with declared Socialists, many or indeed most of whom weremembers of those bodies of workmen above said. 

If anything of this kind had happened some years before, when the mastersof labour were still looked upon as the natural rulers of the people, andeven the poorest and most ignorant man leaned upon them for support, while they submitted to their fleecing, the entire break-up of allsociety would have followed. But the long series of years during whichthe workmen had learned to despise their rulers, had done away with theirdependence upon them, and they were now beginning to trust (somewhatdangerously, as events proved) in the non-legal leaders whom events hadthrust forward; and though most of these were now become merefigure-heads, their names and reputations were useful in this crisis as astop-gap. 

"The effect of the news, therefore, of the release of the Committee gavethe Government some breathing time: for it was received with the greatestjoy by the workers, and even the well-to-do saw in it a respite from themere destruction which they had begun to dread, and the fear of whichmost of them attributed to the weakness of the Government. As far as thepassing hour went, perhaps they were right in this. "

"How do you mean?" said I. "What could the Government have done? Ioften used to think that they would be helpless in such a crisis. "

Said old Hammond: "Of course I don't doubt that in the long run matterswould have come about as they did. But if the Government could havetreated their army as a real army, and used them strategically as ageneral would have done, looking on the people as a mere open enemy to beshot at and dispersed wherever they turned up, they would probably havegained the victory at the time. "

"But would the soldiers have acted against the people in this way?" saidI. 

Said he: "I think from all I have heard that they would have done so ifthey had met bodies of men armed however badly, and however badly theyhad been organised. It seems also as if before the Trafalgar Squaremassacre they might as a whole have been depended upon to fire upon anunarmed crowd, though they were much honeycombed by Socialism. Thereason for this was that they dreaded the use by apparently unarmed menof an explosive called dynamite, of which many loud boasts were made bythe workers on the eve of these events; although it turned out to be oflittle use as a material for war in the way that was expected. Of coursethe officers of the soldiery fanned this fear to the utmost, so that therank and file probably thought on that occasion that they were being ledinto a desperate battle with men who were really armed, and whose weaponwas the more dreadful, because it was concealed. After that massacre, however, it was at all times doubtful if the regular soldiers would fireupon an unarmed or half-armed crowd. "

Said I: "The regular soldiers? Then there were other combatants againstthe people?"

"Yes, " said he, "we shall come to that presently. "

"Certainly, " I said, "you had better go on straight with your story. Isee that time is wearing. "

Said Hammond: "The Government lost no time in coming to terms with theCommittee of Public Safety; for indeed they could think of nothing elsethan the danger of the moment. They sent a duly accredited envoy totreat with these men, who somehow had obtained dominion over people'sminds, while the formal rulers had no hold except over their bodies. There is no need at present to go into the details of the truce (for suchit was) between these high contracting parties, the Government of theempire of Great Britain and a handful of working-men (as they were calledin scorn in those days), amongst whom, indeed, were some very capable and'square-headed' persons, though, as aforesaid, the abler men were notthen the recognised leaders. The upshot of it was that all the definiteclaims of the people had to be granted. We can now see that most ofthese claims were of themselves not worth either demanding or resisting;but they were looked on at that time as most important, and they were atleast tokens of revolt against the miserable system of life which wasthen beginning to tumble to pieces. One claim, however, was of theutmost immediate importance, and this the Government tried hard to evade;but as they were not dealing with fools, they had to yield at last. Thiswas the claim of recognition and formal status for the Committee ofPublic Safety, and all the associations which it fostered under its wing. This it is clear meant two things: first, amnesty for 'the rebels, ' greatand small, who, without a distinct act of civil war, could no longer beattacked; and next, a continuance of the organised revolution. Only onepoint the Government could gain, and that was a name. The dreadfulrevolutionary title was dropped, and the body, with its branches, actedunder the respectable name of the 'Board of Conciliation and its localoffices. ' Carrying this name, it became the leader of the people in thecivil war which soon followed. "

"O, " said I, somewhat startled, "so the civil war went on, in spite ofall that had happened?"

"So it was, " said he. "In fact, it was this very legal recognition whichmade the civil war possible in the ordinary sense of war; it took thestruggle out of the element of mere massacres on one side, and enduranceplus strikes on the other. "

"And can you tell me in what kind of way the war was carried on?" said I. 

"Yes" he said; "we have records and to spare of all that; and the essenceof them I can give you in a few words. As I told you, the rank and fileof the army was not to be trusted by the reactionists; but the officersgenerally were prepared for anything, for they were mostly the verystupidest men in the country. Whatever the Government might do, a greatpart of the upper and middle classes were determined to set on foot acounter revolution; for the Communism which now loomed ahead seemed quiteunendurable to them. Bands of young men, like the marauders in the greatstrike of whom I told you just now, armed themselves and drilled, andbegan on any opportunity or pretence to skirmish with the people in thestreets. The Government neither helped them nor put them down, but stoodby, hoping that something might come of it. These 'Friends of Order, ' asthey were called, had some successes at first, and grew bolder; they gotmany officers of the regular army to help them, and by their means laidhold of munitions of war of all kinds. One part of their tacticsconsisted in their guarding and even garrisoning the big factories of theperiod: they held at one time, for instance, the whole of that placecalled Manchester which I spoke of just now. A sort of irregular war wascarried on with varied success all over the country; and at last theGovernment, which at first pretended to ignore the struggle, or treat itas mere rioting, definitely declared for 'the Friends of Order, ' andjoined to their bands whatsoever of the regular army they could gettogether, and made a desperate effort to overwhelm 'the rebels, ' as theywere now once more called, and as indeed they called themselves. 

"It was too late. All ideas of peace on a basis of compromise haddisappeared on either side. The end, it was seen clearly, must be eitherabsolute slavery for all but the privileged, or a system of life foundedon equality and Communism. The sloth, the hopelessness, and if I may sayso, the cowardice of the last century, had given place to the eager, restless heroism of a declared revolutionary period. I will not say thatthe people of that time foresaw the life we are leading now, but therewas a general instinct amongst them towards the essential part of thatlife, and many men saw clearly beyond the desperate struggle of the dayinto the peace which it was to bring about. The men of that day who wereon the side of freedom were not unhappy, I think, though they wereharassed by hopes and fears, and sometimes torn by doubts, and theconflict of duties hard to reconcile. "

"But how did the people, the revolutionists, carry on the war? What werethe elements of success on their side?"

I put this question, because I wanted to bring the old man back to thedefinite history, and take him out of the musing mood so natural to anold man. 

He answered: "Well, they did not lack organisers; for the very conflictitself, in days when, as I told you, men of any strength of mind castaway all consideration for the ordinary business of life, developed thenecessary talent amongst them. Indeed, from all I have read and heard, Imuch doubt whether, without this seemingly dreadful civil war, the duetalent for administration would have been developed amongst the workingmen. Anyhow, it was there, and they soon got leaders far more than equalto the best men amongst the reactionaries. For the rest, they had nodifficulty about the material of their army; for that revolutionaryinstinct so acted on the ordinary soldier in the ranks that the greaterpart, certainly the best part, of the soldiers joined the side of thepeople. But the main element of their success was this, that whereverthe working people were not coerced, they worked, not for thereactionists, but for 'the rebels. ' The reactionists could get no workdone for them outside the districts where they were all-powerful: andeven in those districts they were harassed by continual risings; and inall cases and everywhere got nothing done without obstruction and blacklooks and sulkiness; so that not only were their armies quite worn outwith the difficulties which they had to meet, but the non-combatants whowere on their side were so worried and beset with hatred and a thousandlittle troubles and annoyances that life became almost unendurable tothem on those terms. Not a few of them actually died of the worry; manycommitted suicide. Of course, a vast number of them joined actively inthe cause of reaction, and found some solace to their misery in theeagerness of conflict. Lastly, many thousands gave way and submitted to'the rebels'; and as the numbers of these latter increased, it at lastbecame clear to all men that the cause which was once hopeless, was nowtriumphant, and that the hopeless cause was that of slavery andprivilege. "

CHAPTER XVIII: THE BEGINNING OF THE NEW LIFE

"Well, " said I, "so you got clear out of all your trouble. Were peoplesatisfied with the new order of things when it came?"

"People?" he said. "Well, surely all must have been glad of peace whenit came; especially when they found, as they must have found, that afterall, they--even the once rich--were not living very badly. As to thosewho had been poor, all through the war, which lasted about two years, their condition had been bettering, in spite of the struggle; and whenpeace came at last, in a very short time they made great strides towardsa decent life. The great difficulty was that the once-poor had such afeeble conception of the real pleasure of life: so to say, they did notask enough, did not know how to ask enough, from the new state of things. It was perhaps rather a good than an evil thing that the necessity forrestoring the wealth destroyed during the war forced them into working atfirst almost as hard as they had been used to before the Revolution. Forall historians are agreed that there never was a war in which there wasso much destruction of wares, and instruments for making them as in thiscivil war. "

"I am rather surprised at that, " said I. 

"Are you? I don't see why, " said Hammond. 

"Why, " I said, "because the party of order would surely look upon thewealth as their own property, no share of which, if they could help it, should go to their slaves, supposing they conquered. And on the otherhand, it was just for the possession of that wealth that 'the rebels'were fighting, and I should have thought, especially when they saw thatthey were winning, that they would have been careful to destroy as littleas possible of what was so soon to be their own. "

"It was as I have told you, however, " said he. "The party of order, whenthey recovered from their first cowardice of surprise--or, if you please, when they fairly saw that, whatever happened, they would be ruined, fought with great bitterness, and cared little what they did, so long asthey injured the enemies who had destroyed the sweets of life for them. As to 'the rebels, ' I have told you that the outbreak of actual war madethem careless of trying to save the wretched scraps of wealth that theyhad. It was a common saying amongst them, Let the country be cleared ofeverything except valiant living men, rather than that we fall intoslavery again!"

He sat silently thinking a little while, and then said:

"When the conflict was once really begun, it was seen how little of anyvalue there was in the old world of slavery and inequality. Don't yousee what it means? In the times which you are thinking of, and of whichyou seem to know so much, there was no hope; nothing but the dull jog ofthe mill-horse under compulsion of collar and whip; but in that fighting-time that followed, all was hope: 'the rebels' at least felt themselvesstrong enough to build up the world again from its dry bones, --and theydid it, too!" said the old man, his eyes glittering under his beetlingbrows. He went on: "And their opponents at least and at last learnedsomething about the reality of life, and its sorrows, which they--theirclass, I mean--had once known nothing of. In short, the two combatants, the workman and the gentleman, between them--"

"Between them, " said I, quickly, "they destroyed commercialism!"

"Yes, yes, yes, " said he; "that is it. Nor could it have been destroyedotherwise; except, perhaps, by the whole of society gradually fallinginto lower depths, till it should at last reach a condition as rude asbarbarism, but lacking both the hope and the pleasures of barbarism. Surely the sharper, shorter remedy was the happiest. "

"Most surely, " said I. 

"Yes, " said the old man, "the world was being brought to its secondbirth; how could that take place without a tragedy? Moreover, think ofit. The spirit of the new days, of our days, was to be delight in thelife of the world; intense and overweening love of the very skin andsurface of the earth on which man dwells, such as a lover has in the fairflesh of the woman he loves; this, I say, was to be the new spirit of thetime. All other moods save this had been exhausted: the unceasingcriticism, the boundless curiosity in the ways and thoughts of man, whichwas the mood of the ancient Greek, to whom these things were not so mucha means, as an end, was gone past recovery; nor had there been really anyshadow of it in the so-called science of the nineteenth century, which, as you must know, was in the main an appendage to the commercial system;nay, not seldom an appendage to the police of that system. In spite ofappearances, it was limited and cowardly, because it did not reallybelieve in itself. It was the outcome, as it was the sole relief, of theunhappiness of the period which made life so bitter even to the rich, andwhich, as you may see with your bodily eyes, the great change has sweptaway. More akin to our way of looking at life was the spirit of theMiddle Ages, to whom heaven and the life of the next world was such areality, that it became to them a part of the life upon the earth; whichaccordingly they loved and adorned, in spite of the ascetic doctrines oftheir formal creed, which bade them contemn it. 

"But that also, with its assured belief in heaven and hell as twocountries in which to live, has gone, and now we do, both in word and indeed, believe in the continuous life of the world of men, and as it were, add every day of that common life to the little stock of days which ourown mere individual experience wins for us: and consequently we arehappy. Do you wonder at it? In times past, indeed, men were told tolove their kind, to believe in the religion of humanity, and so forth. But look you, just in the degree that a man had elevation of mind andrefinement enough to be able to value this idea, was he repelled by theobvious aspect of the individuals composing the mass which he was toworship; and he could only evade that repulsion by making a conventionalabstraction of mankind that had little actual or historical relation tothe race; which to his eyes was divided into blind tyrants on the onehand and apathetic degraded slaves on the other. But now, where is thedifficulty in accepting the religion of humanity, when the men and womenwho go to make up humanity are free, happy, and energetic at least, andmost commonly beautiful of body also, and surrounded by beautiful thingsof their own fashioning, and a nature bettered and not worsened bycontact with mankind? This is what this age of the world has reservedfor us. "

"It seems true, " said I, "or ought to be, if what my eyes have seen is atoken of the general life you lead. Can you now tell me anything of yourprogress after the years of the struggle?"

Said he: "I could easily tell you more than you have time to listen to;but I can at least hint at one of the chief difficulties which had to bemet: and that was, that when men began to settle down after the war, andtheir labour had pretty much filled up the gap in wealth caused by thedestruction of that war, a kind of disappointment seemed coming over us, and the prophecies of some of the reactionists of past times seemed as ifthey would come true, and a dull level of utilitarian comfort be the endfor a while of our aspirations and success. The loss of the competitivespur to exertion had not, indeed, done anything to interfere with thenecessary production of the community, but how if it should make men dullby giving them too much time for thought or idle musing? But, after all, this dull thunder-cloud only threatened us, and then passed over. Probably, from what I have told you before, you will have a guess at theremedy for such a disaster; remembering always that many of the thingswhich used to be produced--slave-wares for the poor and merewealth-wasting wares for the rich--ceased to be made. That remedy was, in short, the production of what used to be called art, but which has noname amongst us now, because it has become a necessary part of the labourof every man who produces. "

Said I: "What! had men any time or opportunity for cultivating the finearts amidst the desperate struggle for life and freedom that you havetold me of?"

Said Hammond: "You must not suppose that the new form of art was foundedchiefly on the memory of the art of the past; although, strange to say, the civil war was much less destructive of art than of other things, andthough what of art existed under the old forms, revived in a wonderfulway during the latter part of the struggle, especially as regards musicand poetry. The art or work-pleasure, as one ought to call it, of whichI am now speaking, sprung up almost spontaneously, it seems, from a kindof instinct amongst people, no longer driven desperately to painful andterrible over-work, to do the best they could with the work in hand--tomake it excellent of its kind; and when that had gone on for a little, acraving for beauty seemed to awaken in men's minds, and they began rudelyand awkwardly to ornament the wares which they made; and when they hadonce set to work at that, it soon began to grow. All this was muchhelped by the abolition of the squalor which our immediate ancestors putup with so coolly; and by the leisurely, but not stupid, country-lifewhich now grew (as I told you before) to be common amongst us. Thus atlast and by slow degrees we got pleasure into our work; then we becameconscious of that pleasure, and cultivated it, and took care that we hadour fill of it; and then all was gained, and we were happy. So may it befor ages and ages!"

The old man fell into a reverie, not altogether without melancholy Ithought; but I would not break it. Suddenly he started, and said: "Well, dear guest, here are come Dick and Clara to fetch you away, and there isan end of my talk; which I daresay you will not be sorry for; the longday is coming to an end, and you will have a pleasant ride back toHammersmith. "

CHAPTER XIX: THE DRIVE BACK TO HAMMERSMITH

I said nothing, for I was not inclined for mere politeness to him aftersuch very serious talk; but in fact I should liked to have gone ontalking with the older man, who could understand something at least of mywonted ways of looking at life, whereas, with the younger people, inspite of all their kindness, I really was a being from another planet. However, I made the best of it, and smiled as amiably as I could on theyoung couple; and Dick returned the smile by saying, "Well, guest, I amglad to have you again, and to find that you and my kinsman have notquite talked yourselves into another world; I was half suspecting as Iwas listening to the Welshmen yonder that you would presently bevanishing away from us, and began to picture my kinsman sitting in thehall staring at nothing and finding that he had been talking a while pastto nobody. "

I felt rather uncomfortable at this speech, for suddenly the picture ofthe sordid squabble, the dirty and miserable tragedy of the life I hadleft for a while, came before my eyes; and I had, as it were, a vision ofall my longings for rest and peace in the past, and I loathed the idea ofgoing back to it again. But the old man chuckled and said:

"Don't be afraid, Dick. In any case, I have not been talking to thinair; nor, indeed to this new friend of ours only. Who knows but I maynot have been talking to many people? For perhaps our guest may some daygo back to the people he has come from, and may take a message from uswhich may bear fruit for them, and consequently for us. "

Dick looked puzzled, and said: "Well, gaffer, I do not quite understandwhat you mean. All I can say is, that I hope he will not leave us: fordon't you see, he is another kind of man to what we are used to, andsomehow he makes us think of all kind of things; and already I feel as ifI could understand Dickens the better for having talked with him. "

"Yes, " said Clara, "and I think in a few months we shall make him lookyounger; and I should like to see what he was like with the wrinklessmoothed out of his face. Don't you think he will look younger after alittle time with us?"

The old man shook his head, and looked earnestly at me, but did notanswer her, and for a moment or two we were all silent. Then Clara brokeout:

"Kinsman, I don't like this: something or another troubles me, and I feelas if something untoward were going to happen. You have been talking ofpast miseries to the guest, and have been living in past unhappy times, and it is in the air all round us, and makes us feel as if we werelonging for something that we cannot have. "

The old man smiled on her kindly, and said: "Well, my child, if that beso, go and live in the present, and you will soon shake it off. " Then heturned to me, and said: "Do you remember anything like that, guest, inthe country from which you come?"

The lovers had turned aside now, and were talking together softly, andnot heeding us; so I said, but in a low voice: "Yes, when I was a happychild on a sunny holiday, and had everything that I could think of. "

"So it is, " said he. "You remember just now you twitted me with livingin the second childhood of the world. You will find it a happy world tolive in; you will be happy there--for a while. "

Again I did not like his scarcely veiled threat, and was beginning totrouble myself with trying to remember how I had got amongst this curiouspeople, when the old man called out in a cheery voice: "Now, my children, take your guest away, and make much of him; for it is your business tomake him sleek of skin and peaceful of mind: he has by no means been aslucky as you have. Farewell, guest!" and he grasped my hand warmly. 

"Good-bye, " said I, "and thank you very much for all that you have toldme. I will come and see you as soon as I come back to London. May I?"

"Yes, " he said, "come by all means--if you can. "

"It won't be for some time yet, " quoth Dick, in his cheery voice; "forwhen the hay is in up the river, I shall be for taking him a roundthrough the country between hay and wheat harvest, to see how our friendslive in the north country. Then in the wheat harvest we shall do a goodstroke of work, I should hope, --in Wiltshire by preference; for he willbe getting a little hard with all the open-air living, and I shall be astough as nails. "

"But you will take me along, won't you, Dick?" said Clara, laying herpretty hand on his shoulder. 

"Will I not?" said Dick, somewhat boisterously. "And we will manage tosend you to bed pretty tired every night; and you will look so beautifulwith your neck all brown, and your hands too, and you under your gown aswhite as privet, that you will get some of those strange discontentedwhims out of your head, my dear. However, our week's haymaking will doall that for you. "

The girl reddened very prettily, and not for shame but for pleasure; andthe old man laughed, and said:

"Guest, I see that you will be as comfortable as need be; for you neednot fear that those two will be too officious with you: they will be sobusy with each other, that they will leave you a good deal to yourself, Iam sure, and that is a real kindness to a guest, after all. O, you neednot be afraid of being one too many, either: it is just what these birdsin a nest like, to have a good convenient friend to turn to, so that theymay relieve the ecstasies of love with the solid commonplace offriendship. Besides, Dick, and much more Clara, likes a little talkingat times; and you know lovers do not talk unless they get into trouble, they only prattle. Good-bye, guest; may you be happy!"

Clara went up to old Hammond, threw her arms about his neck and kissedhim heartily, and said:

"You are a dear old man, and may have your jest about me as much as youplease; and it won't be long before we see you again; and you may be surewe shall make our guest happy; though, mind you, there is some truth inwhat you say. "

Then I shook hands again, and we went out of the hall and into thecloisters, and so in the street found Greylocks in the shafts waiting forus. He was well looked after; for a little lad of about seven years oldhad his hand on the rein and was solemnly looking up into his face; onhis back, withal, was a girl of fourteen, holding a three-year old sisteron before her; while another girl, about a year older than the boy, hungon behind. The three were occupied partly with eating cherries, partlywith patting and punching Greylocks, who took all their caresses in goodpart, but pricked up his ears when Dick made his appearance. The girlsgot off quietly, and going up to Clara, made much of her and snuggled upto her. And then we got into the carriage, Dick shook the reins, and wegot under way at once, Greylocks trotting soberly between the lovelytrees of the London streets, that were sending floods of fragrance intothe cool evening air; for it was now getting toward sunset. 

We could hardly go but fair and softly all the way, as there were a greatmany people abroad in that cool hour. Seeing so many people made menotice their looks the more; and I must say, my taste, cultivated in thesombre greyness, or rather brownness, of the nineteenth century, wasrather apt to condemn the gaiety and brightness of the raiment; and Ieven ventured to say as much to Clara. She seemed rather surprised, andeven slightly indignant, and said: "Well, well, what's the matter? Theyare not about any dirty work; they are only amusing themselves in thefine evening; there is nothing to foul their clothes. Come, doesn't itall look very pretty? It isn't gaudy, you know. "

Indeed that was true; for many of the people were clad in colours thatwere sober enough, though beautiful, and the harmony of the colours wasperfect and most delightful. 

I said, "Yes, that is so; but how can everybody afford such costlygarments? Look! there goes a middle-aged man in a sober grey dress; butI can see from here that it is made of very fine woollen stuff, and iscovered with silk embroidery. "

Said Clara: "He could wear shabby clothes if he pleased, --that is, if hedidn't think he would hurt people's feelings by doing so. "

"But please tell me, " said I, "how can they afford it?"

As soon as I had spoken I perceived that I had got back to my oldblunder; for I saw Dick's shoulders shaking with laughter; but hewouldn't say a word, but handed me over to the tender mercies of Clara, who said--

"Why, I don't know what you mean. Of course we can afford it, or else weshouldn't do it. It would be easy enough for us to say, we will onlyspend our labour on making our clothes comfortable: but we don't chooseto stop there. Why do you find fault with us? Does it seem to you as ifwe starved ourselves of food in order to make ourselves fine clothes? Ordo you think there is anything wrong in liking to see the coverings ofour bodies beautiful like our bodies are?--just as a deer's or an otter'sskin has been made beautiful from the first? Come, what is wrong withyou?"

I bowed before the storm, and mumbled out some excuse or other. I mustsay, I might have known that people who were so fond of architecturegenerally, would not be backward in ornamenting themselves; all the moreas the shape of their raiment, apart from its colour, was both beautifuland reasonable--veiling the form, without either muffling or caricaturingit. 

Clara was soon mollified; and as we drove along toward the wood beforementioned, she said to Dick--

"I tell you what, Dick: now that kinsman Hammond the Elder has seen ourguest in his queer clothes, I think we ought to find him something decentto put on for our journey to-morrow: especially since, if we do not, weshall have to answer all sorts of questions as to his clothes and wherethey came from. Besides, " she said slily, "when he is clad in handsomegarments he will not be so quick to blame us for our childishness inwasting our time in making ourselves look pleasant to each other. "

"All right, Clara, " said Dick; "he shall have everything that you--thathe wants to have. I will look something out for him before he gets up to-morrow. "

CHAPTER XX: THE HAMMERSMITH GUEST-HOUSE AGAIN

Amidst such talk, driving quietly through the balmy evening, we came toHammersmith, and were well received by our friends there. Boffin, in afresh suit of clothes, welcomed me back with stately courtesy; the weaverwanted to button-hole me and get out of me what old Hammond had said, butwas very friendly and cheerful when Dick warned him off; Annie shookhands with me, and hoped I had had a pleasant day--so kindly, that I felta slight pang as our hands parted; for to say the truth, I liked herbetter than Clara, who seemed to be always a little on the defensive, whereas Annie was as frank as could be, and seemed to get honest pleasurefrom everything and everybody about her without the least effort. 

We had quite a little feast that evening, partly in my honour, andpartly, I suspect, though nothing was said about it, in honour of Dickand Clara coming together again. The wine was of the best; the hall wasredolent of rich summer flowers; and after supper we not only had music(Annie, to my mind, surpassing all the others for sweetness and clearnessof voice, as well as for feeling and meaning), but at last we even got totelling stories, and sat there listening, with no other light but that ofthe summer moon streaming through the beautiful traceries of the windows, as if we had belonged to time long passed, when books were scarce and theart of reading somewhat rare. Indeed, I may say here, that, though, asyou will have noted, my friends had mostly something to say about books, yet they were not great readers, considering the refinement of theirmanners and the great amount of leisure which they obviously had. Infact, when Dick, especially, mentioned a book, he did so with an air of aman who has accomplished an achievement; as much as to say, "There, yousee, I have actually read that!"

The evening passed all too quickly for me; since that day, for the firsttime in my life, I was having my fill of the pleasure of the eyes withoutany of that sense of incongruity, that dread of approaching ruin, whichhad always beset me hitherto when I had been amongst the beautiful worksof art of the past, mingled with the lovely nature of the present; bothof them, in fact, the result of the long centuries of tradition, whichhad compelled men to produce the art, and compelled nature to run intothe mould of the ages. Here I could enjoy everything without anafterthought of the injustice and miserable toil which made my leisure;the ignorance and dulness of life which went to make my keen appreciationof history; the tyranny and the struggle full of fear and mishap whichwent to make my romance. The only weight I had upon my heart was a vaguefear as it drew toward bed-time concerning the place wherein I shouldwake on the morrow: but I choked that down, and went to bed happy, and ina very few moments was in a dreamless sleep. 

CHAPTER XXI: GOING UP THE RIVER

When I did wake, to a beautiful sunny morning, I leapt out of bed with myover-night apprehension still clinging to me, which vanished delightfullyhowever in a moment as I looked around my little sleeping chamber and sawthe pale but pure-coloured figures painted on the plaster of the wall, with verses written underneath them which I knew somewhat over well. Idressed speedily, in a suit of blue laid ready for me, so handsome that Iquite blushed when I had got into it, feeling as I did so that excitedpleasure of anticipation of a holiday, which, well remembered as it was, I had not felt since I was a boy, new come home for the summer holidays. 

It seemed quite early in the morning, and I expected to have the hall tomyself when I came into it out of the corridor wherein was my sleepingchamber; but I met Annie at once, who let fall her broom and gave me akiss, quite meaningless I fear, except as betokening friendship, thoughshe reddened as she did it, not from shyness, but from friendly pleasure, and then stood and picked up her broom again, and went on with hersweeping, nodding to me as if to bid me stand out of the way and look on;which, to say the truth, I thought amusing enough, as there were fiveother girls helping her, and their graceful figures engaged in theleisurely work were worth going a long way to see, and their merry talkand laughing as they swept in quite a scientific manner was worth going along way to hear. But Annie presently threw me back a word or two as shewent on to the other end of the hall: "Guest, " she said, "I am glad thatyou are up early, though we wouldn't disturb you; for our Thames is alovely river at half-past six on a June morning: and as it would be apity for you to lose it, I am told just to give you a cup of milk and abit of bread outside there, and put you into the boat: for Dick and Claraare all ready now. Wait half a minute till I have swept down this row. "

So presently she let her broom drop again, and came and took me by thehand and led me out on to the terrace above the river, to a little tableunder the boughs, where my bread and milk took the form of as dainty abreakfast as any one could desire, and then sat by me as I ate. And in aminute or two Dick and Clara came to me, the latter looking most freshand beautiful in a light silk embroidered gown, which to my unused eyeswas extravagantly gay and bright; while Dick was also handsomely dressedin white flannel prettily embroidered. Clara raised her gown in herhands as she gave me the morning greeting, and said laughingly: "Look, guest! you see we are at least as fine as any of the people you feltinclined to scold last night; you see we are not going to make the brightday and the flowers feel ashamed of themselves. Now scold me!"

Quoth I: "No, indeed; the pair of you seem as if you were born out of thesummer day itself; and I will scold you when I scold it. "

"Well, you know, " said Dick, "this is a special day--all these days are, I mean. The hay-harvest is in some ways better than corn-harvest becauseof the beautiful weather; and really, unless you had worked in the hay-field in fine weather, you couldn't tell what pleasant work it is. Thewomen look so pretty at it, too, " he said, shyly; "so all thingsconsidered, I think we are right to adorn it in a simple manner. "

"Do the women work at it in silk dresses?" said I, smiling. 

Dick was going to answer me soberly; but Clara put her hand over hismouth, and said, "No, no, Dick; not too much information for him, or Ishall think that you are your old kinsman again. Let him find out forhimself: he will not have long to wait. "

"Yes, " quoth Annie, "don't make your description of the picture too fine, or else he will be disappointed when the curtain is drawn. I don't wanthim to be disappointed. But now it's time for you to be gone, if you areto have the best of the tide, and also of the sunny morning. Good-bye, guest. "

She kissed me in her frank friendly way, and almost took away from me mydesire for the expedition thereby; but I had to get over that, as it wasclear that so delightful a woman would hardly be without a due lover ofher own age. We went down the steps of the landing stage, and got into apretty boat, not too light to hold us and our belongings comfortably, andhandsomely ornamented; and just as we got in, down came Boffin and theweaver to see us off. The former had now veiled his splendour in a duesuit of working clothes, crowned with a fantail hat, which he took off, however, to wave us farewell with his grave old-Spanish-like courtesy. Then Dick pushed off into the stream, and bent vigorously to his sculls, and Hammersmith, with its noble trees and beautiful water-side houses, began to slip away from us. 

As we went, I could not help putting beside his promised picture of thehay-field as it was then the picture of it as I remembered it, andespecially the images of the women engaged in the work rose up before me:the row of gaunt figures, lean, flat-breasted, ugly, without a grace ofform or face about them; dressed in wretched skimpy print gowns, andhideous flapping sun-bonnets, moving their rakes in a listless mechanicalway. How often had that marred the loveliness of the June day to me; howoften had I longed to see the hay-fields peopled with men and womenworthy of the sweet abundance of midsummer, of its endless wealth ofbeautiful sights, and delicious sounds and scents. And now, the worldhad grown old and wiser, and I was to see my hope realised at last!

CHAPTER XXII: HAMPTON COURT AND A PRAISER OF PAST TIMES

So on we went, Dick rowing in an easy tireless way, and Clara sitting bymy side admiring his manly beauty and heartily good-natured face, andthinking, I fancy, of nothing else. As we went higher up the river, there was less difference between the Thames of that day and Thames as Iremembered it; for setting aside the hideous vulgarity of the cockneyvillas of the well-to-do, stockbrokers and other such, which in oldertime marred the beauty of the bough-hung banks, even this beginning ofthe country Thames was always beautiful; and as we slipped between thelovely summer greenery, I almost felt my youth come back to me, and as ifI were on one of those water excursions which I used to enjoy so much indays when I was too happy to think that there could be much amissanywhere. 

At last we came to a reach of the river where on the left hand a verypretty little village with some old houses in it came down to the edge ofthe water, over which was a ferry; and beyond these houses the elm-besetmeadows ended in a fringe of tall willows, while on the right hand wentthe tow-path and a clear space before a row of trees, which rose upbehind huge and ancient, the ornaments of a great park: but these drewback still further from the river at the end of the reach to make way fora little town of quaint and pretty houses, some new, some old, dominatedby the long walls and sharp gables of a great red-brick pile of building, partly of the latest Gothic, partly of the court-style of Dutch William, but so blended together by the bright sun and beautiful surroundings, including the bright blue river, which it looked down upon, that evenamidst the beautiful buildings of that new happy time it had a strangecharm about it. A great wave of fragrance, amidst which the lime-treeblossom was clearly to be distinguished, came down to us from its unseengardens, as Clara sat up in her place, and said:

"O Dick, dear, couldn't we stop at Hampton Court for to-day, and take theguest about the park a little, and show him those sweet old buildings?Somehow, I suppose because you have lived so near it, you have seldomtaken me to Hampton Court. "

Dick rested on his oars a little, and said: "Well, well, Clara, you arelazy to-day. I didn't feel like stopping short of Shepperton for thenight; suppose we just go and have our dinner at the Court, and go onagain about five o'clock?"

"Well, " she said, "so be it; but I should like the guest to have spent anhour or two in the Park. "

"The Park!" said Dick; "why, the whole Thames-side is a park this time ofthe year; and for my part, I had rather lie under an elm-tree on theborders of a wheat-field, with the bees humming about me and the corn-crake crying from furrow to furrow, than in any park in England. Besides--"

"Besides, " said she, "you want to get on to your dearly-loved upperThames, and show your prowess down the heavy swathes of the mowinggrass. "

She looked at him fondly, and I could tell that she was seeing him in hermind's eye showing his splendid form at its best amidst the rhymedstrokes of the scythes; and she looked down at her own pretty feet with ahalf sigh, as though she were contrasting her slight woman's beauty withhis man's beauty; as women will when they are really in love, and are notspoiled with conventional sentiment. 

As for Dick, he looked at her admiringly a while, and then said at last:"Well, Clara, I do wish we were there! But, hilloa! we are getting backway. " And he set to work sculling again, and in two minutes we were allstanding on the gravelly strand below the bridge, which, as you mayimagine, was no longer the old hideous iron abortion, but a handsomepiece of very solid oak framing. 

We went into the Court and straight into the great hall, so wellremembered, where there were tables spread for dinner, and everythingarranged much as in Hammersmith Guest-Hall. Dinner over, we saunteredthrough the ancient rooms, where the pictures and tapestry were stillpreserved, and nothing was much changed, except that the people whom wemet there had an indefinable kind of look of being at home and at ease, which communicated itself to me, so that I felt that the beautiful oldplace was mine in the best sense of the word; and my pleasure of pastdays seemed to add itself to that of to-day, and filled my whole soulwith content. 

Dick (who, in spite of Clara's gibe, knew the place very well) told methat the beautiful old Tudor rooms, which I remembered had been thedwellings of the lesser fry of Court flunkies, were now much used bypeople coming and going; for, beautiful as architecture had now become, and although the whole face of the country had quite recovered itsbeauty, there was still a sort of tradition of pleasure and beauty whichclung to that group of buildings, and people thought going to HamptonCourt a necessary summer outing, as they did in the days when London wasso grimy and miserable. We went into some of the rooms looking into theold garden, and were well received by the people in them, who gotspeedily into talk with us, and looked with politely half-concealedwonder at my strange face. Besides these birds of passage, and a fewregular dwellers in the place, we saw out in the meadows near the garden, down "the Long Water, " as it used to be called, many gay tents with men, women, and children round about them. As it seemed, this pleasure-lovingpeople were fond of tent-life, with all its inconveniences, which, indeed, they turned into pleasure also. 

We left this old friend by the time appointed, and I made some feebleshow of taking the sculls; but Dick repulsed me, not much to my grief, Imust say, as I found I had quite enough to do between the enjoyment ofthe beautiful time and my own lazily blended thoughts. 

As to Dick, it was quite right to let him pull, for he was as strong as ahorse, and had the greatest delight in bodily exercise, whatever it was. We really had some difficulty in getting him to stop when it was gettingrather more than dusk, and the moon was brightening just as we were offRunnymede. We landed there, and were looking about for a place whereonto pitch our tents (for we had brought two with us), when an old man cameup to us, bade us good evening, and asked if we were housed for that thatnight; and finding that we were not, bade us home to his house. Nothingloth, we went with him, and Clara took his hand in a coaxing way which Inoticed she used with old men; and as we went on our way, made somecommonplace remark about the beauty of the day. The old man stoppedshort, and looked at her and said: "You really like it then?"

"Yes, " she said, looking very much astonished, "Don't you?"

"Well, " said he, "perhaps I do. I did, at any rate, when I was younger;but now I think I should like it cooler. "

She said nothing, and went on, the night growing about as dark as itwould be; till just at the rise of the hill we came to a hedge with agate in it, which the old man unlatched and led us into a garden, at theend of which we could see a little house, one of whose little windows wasalready yellow with candlelight. We could see even under the doubtfullight of the moon and the last of the western glow that the garden wasstuffed full of flowers; and the fragrance it gave out in the gatheringcoolness was so wonderfully sweet, that it seemed the very heart of thedelight of the June dusk; so that we three stopped instinctively, andClara gave forth a little sweet "O, " like a bird beginning to sing. 

"What's the matter?" said the old man, a little testily, and pulling ather hand. "There's no dog; or have you trodden on a thorn and hurt yourfoot?"

"No, no, neighbour, " she said; "but how sweet, how sweet it is!"

"Of course it is, " said he, "but do you care so much for that?"

She laughed out musically, and we followed suit in our gruffer voices;and then she said: "Of course I do, neighbour; don't you?"

"Well, I don't know, " quoth the old fellow; then he added, as if somewhatashamed of himself: "Besides, you know, when the waters are out and allRunnymede is flooded, it's none so pleasant. "

"_I_ should like it, " quoth Dick. "What a jolly sail one would get abouthere on the floods on a bright frosty January morning!"

"_Would_ you like it?" said our host. "Well, I won't argue with you, neighbour; it isn't worth while. Come in and have some supper. "

We went up a paved path between the roses, and straight into a verypretty room, panelled and carved, and as clean as a new pin; but thechief ornament of which was a young woman, light-haired and grey-eyed, but with her face and hands and bare feet tanned quite brown with thesun. Though she was very lightly clad, that was clearly from choice, notfrom poverty, though these were the first cottage-dwellers I had comeacross; for her gown was of silk, and on her wrists were bracelets thatseemed to me of great value. She was lying on a sheep-skin near thewindow, but jumped up as soon as we entered, and when she saw the guestsbehind the old man, she clapped her hands and cried out with pleasure, and when she got us into the middle of the room, fairly danced round usin delight of our company. 

"What!" said the old man, "you are pleased, are you, Ellen?"

The girl danced up to him and threw her arms round him, and said: "Yes Iam, and so ought you to be grandfather. "

"Well, well, I am, " said he, "as much as I can be pleased. Guests, please be seated. "

This seemed rather strange to us; stranger, I suspect, to my friends thanto me; but Dick took the opportunity of both the host and hisgrand-daughter being out of the room to say to me, softly: "A grumbler:there are a few of them still. Once upon a time, I am told, they werequite a nuisance. "

The old man came in as he spoke and sat down beside us with a sigh, which, indeed, seemed fetched up as if he wanted us to take notice of it;but just then the girl came in with the victuals, and the carle missedhis mark, what between our hunger generally and that I was pretty busywatching the grand-daughter moving about as beautiful as a picture. 

Everything to eat and drink, though it was somewhat different to what wehad had in London, was better than good, but the old man eyed rathersulkily the chief dish on the table, on which lay a leash of fine perch, and said:

"H'm, perch! I am sorry we can't do better for you, guests. The timewas when we might have had a good piece of salmon up from London for you;but the times have grown mean and petty. "

"Yes, but you might have had it now, " said the girl, giggling, "if youhad known that they were coming. "

"It's our fault for not bringing it with us, neighbours, " said Dick, good-humouredly. "But if the times have grown petty, at any rate the perchhaven't; that fellow in the middle there must have weighed a good twopounds when he was showing his dark stripes and red fins to the minnowsyonder. And as to the salmon, why, neighbour, my friend here, who comesfrom the outlands, was quite surprised yesterday morning when I told himwe had plenty of salmon at Hammersmith. I am sure I have heard nothingof the times worsening. "

He looked a little uncomfortable. And the old man, turning to me, saidvery courteously:

"Well, sir, I am happy to see a man from over the water; but I reallymust appeal to you to say whether on the whole you are not better off inyour country; where I suppose, from what our guest says, you are briskerand more alive, because you have not wholly got rid of competition. Yousee, I have read not a few books of the past days, and certainly _they_are much more alive than those which are written now; and good soundunlimited competition was the condition under which they were written, --ifwe didn't know that from the record of history, we should know it fromthe books themselves. There is a spirit of adventure in them, and signsof a capacity to extract good out of evil which our literature quitelacks now; and I cannot help thinking that our moralists and historiansexaggerate hugely the unhappiness of the past days, in which suchsplendid works of imagination and intellect were produced. "

Clara listened to him with restless eyes, as if she were excited andpleased; Dick knitted his brow and looked still more uncomfortable, butsaid nothing. Indeed, the old man gradually, as he warmed to hissubject, dropped his sneering manner, and both spoke and looked veryseriously. But the girl broke out before I could deliver myself of theanswer I was framing:

"Books, books! always books, grandfather! When will you understand thatafter all it is the world we live in which interests us; the world ofwhich we are a part, and which we can never love too much? Look!" shesaid, throwing open the casement wider and showing us the white lightsparkling between the black shadows of the moonlit garden, through whichran a little shiver of the summer night-wind, "look! these are our booksin these days!--and these, " she said, stepping lightly up to the twolovers and laying a hand on each of their shoulders; "and the guestthere, with his over-sea knowledge and experience;--yes, and even you, grandfather" (a smile ran over her face as she spoke), "with all yourgrumbling and wishing yourself back again in the good old days, --inwhich, as far as I can make out, a harmless and lazy old man like youwould either have pretty nearly starved, or have had to pay soldiers andpeople to take the folk's victuals and clothes and houses away from themby force. Yes, these are our books; and if we want more, can we not findwork to do in the beautiful buildings that we raise up all over thecountry (and I know there was nothing like them in past times), wherein aman can put forth whatever is in him, and make his hands set forth hismind and his soul. "

She paused a little, and I for my part could not help staring at her, andthinking that if she were a book, the pictures in it were most lovely. The colour mantled in her delicate sunburnt cheeks; her grey eyes, lightamidst the tan of her face, kindly looked on us all as she spoke. Shepaused, and said again:

"As for your books, they were well enough for times when intelligentpeople had but little else in which they could take pleasure, and whenthey must needs supplement the sordid miseries of their own lives withimaginations of the lives of other people. But I say flatly that inspite of all their cleverness and vigour, and capacity for story-telling, there is something loathsome about them. Some of them, indeed, do hereand there show some feeling for those whom the history-books call 'poor, 'and of the misery of whose lives we have some inkling; but presently theygive it up, and towards the end of the story we must be contented to seethe hero and heroine living happily in an island of bliss on otherpeople's troubles; and that after a long series of sham troubles (ormostly sham) of their own making, illustrated by dreary introspectivenonsense about their feelings and aspirations, and all the rest of it;while the world must even then have gone on its way, and dug and sewedand baked and built and carpentered round about these useless--animals. "

"There!" said the old man, reverting to his dry sulky manner again. "There's eloquence! I suppose you like it?"

"Yes, " said I, very emphatically. 

"Well, " said he, "now the storm of eloquence has lulled for a little, suppose you answer my question?--that is, if you like, you know, " quothhe, with a sudden access of courtesy. 

"What question?" said I. For I must confess that Ellen's strange andalmost wild beauty had put it out of my head. 

Said he: "First of all (excuse my catechising), is there competition inlife, after the old kind, in the country whence you come?"

"Yes, " said I, "it is the rule there. " And I wondered as I spoke whatfresh complications I should get into as a result of this answer. 

"Question two, " said the carle: "Are you not on the whole much freer, more energetic--in a word, healthier and happier--for it?"

I smiled. "You wouldn't talk so if you had any idea of our life. To meyou seem here as if you were living in heaven compared with us of thecountry from which I came. "

"Heaven?" said he: "you like heaven, do you?"

"Yes, " said I--snappishly, I am afraid; for I was beginning rather toresent his formula. 

"Well, I am far from sure that I do, " quoth he. "I think one may do morewith one's life than sitting on a damp cloud and singing hymns. "

I was rather nettled by this inconsequence, and said: "Well, neighbour, to be short, and without using metaphors, in the land whence I come, where the competition which produced those literary works which youadmire so much is still the rule, most people are thoroughly unhappy;here, to me at least most people seem thoroughly happy. "

"No offence, guest--no offence, " said he; "but let me ask you; you likethat, do you?"

His formula, put with such obstinate persistence, made us all laughheartily; and even the old man joined in the laughter on the sly. However, he was by no means beaten, and said presently:

"From all I can hear, I should judge that a young woman so beautiful asmy dear Ellen yonder would have been a lady, as they called it in the oldtime, and wouldn't have had to wear a few rags of silk as she does now, or to have browned herself in the sun as she has to do now. What do yousay to that, eh?"

Here Clara, who had been pretty much silent hitherto, struck in, andsaid: "Well, really, I don't think that you would have mended matters, orthat they want mending. Don't you see that she is dressed deliciouslyfor this beautiful weather? And as for the sun-burning of yourhay-fields, why, I hope to pick up some of that for myself when we get alittle higher up the river. Look if I don't need a little sun on mypasty white skin!"

And she stripped up the sleeve from her arm and laid it beside Ellen'swho was now sitting next her. To say the truth, it was rather amusing tome to see Clara putting herself forward as a town-bred fine lady, for shewas as well-knit and clean-skinned a girl as might be met with anywhereat the best. Dick stroked the beautiful arm rather shyly, and pulleddown the sleeve again, while she blushed at his touch; and the old mansaid laughingly: "Well, I suppose you _do_ like that; don't you?"

Ellen kissed her new friend, and we all sat silent for a little, till shebroke out into a sweet shrill song, and held us all entranced with thewonder of her clear voice; and the old grumbler sat looking at herlovingly. The other young people sang also in due time; and then Ellenshowed us to our beds in small cottage chambers, fragrant and clean asthe ideal of the old pastoral poets; and the pleasure of the eveningquite extinguished my fear of the last night, that I should wake up inthe old miserable world of worn-out pleasures, and hopes that were halffears. 

CHAPTER XXIII: AN EARLY MORNING BY RUNNYMEDE

Though there were no rough noises to wake me, I could not lie long abedthe next morning, where the world seemed so well awake, and, despite theold grumbler, so happy; so I got up, and found that, early as it was, someone had been stirring, since all was trim and in its place in thelittle parlour, and the table laid for the morning meal. Nobody wasafoot in the house as then, however, so I went out a-doors, and after aturn or two round the superabundant garden, I wandered down over themeadow to the river-side, where lay our boat, looking quite familiar andfriendly to me. I walked up stream a little, watching the light mistcurling up from the river till the sun gained power to draw it all away;saw the bleak speckling the water under the willow boughs, whence thetiny flies they fed on were falling in myriads; heard the great chubsplashing here and there at some belated moth or other, and felt almostback again in my boyhood. Then I went back again to the boat, andloitered there a minute or two, and then walked slowly up the meadowtowards the little house. I noted now that there were four more housesof about the same size on the slope away from the river. The meadow inwhich I was going was not up for hay; but a row of flake-hurdles ran upthe slope not far from me on each side, and in the field so parted offfrom ours on the left they were making hay busily by now, in the simplefashion of the days when I was a boy. My feet turned that wayinstinctively, as I wanted to see how haymakers looked in these new andbetter times, and also I rather expected to see Ellen there. I came tothe hurdles and stood looking over into the hay-field, and was close tothe end of the long line of haymakers who were spreading the low ridgesto dry off the night dew. The majority of these were young women cladmuch like Ellen last night, though not mostly in silk, but in lightwoollen mostly gaily embroidered; the men being all clad in white flannelembroidered in bright colours. The meadow looked like a gigantic tulip-bed because of them. All hands were working deliberately but well andsteadily, though they were as noisy with merry talk as a grove of autumnstarlings. Half a dozen of them, men and women, came up to me and shookhands, gave me the sele of the morning, and asked a few questions as towhence and whither, and wishing me good luck, went back to their work. Ellen, to my disappointment, was not amongst them, but presently I saw alight figure come out of the hay-field higher up the slope, and make forour house; and that was Ellen, holding a basket in her hand. But beforeshe had come to the garden gate, out came Dick and Clara, who, after aminute's pause, came down to meet me, leaving Ellen in the garden; thenwe three went down to the boat, talking mere morning prattle. We stayedthere a little, Dick arranging some of the matters in her, for we hadonly taken up to the house such things as we thought the dew mightdamage; and then we went toward the house again; but when we came nearthe garden, Dick stopped us by laying a hand on my arm and said, --

"Just look a moment. "

I looked, and over the low hedge saw Ellen, shading her eyes against thesun as she looked toward the hay-field, a light wind stirring in hertawny hair, her eyes like light jewels amidst her sunburnt face, whichlooked as if the warmth of the sun were yet in it. 

"Look, guest, " said Dick; "doesn't it all look like one of those verystories out of Grimm that we were talking about up in Bloomsbury? Hereare we two lovers wandering about the world, and we have come to a fairygarden, and there is the very fairy herself amidst of it: I wonder whatshe will do for us. "

Said Clara demurely, but not stiffly: "Is she a good fairy, Dick?"

"O, yes, " said he; "and according to the card, she would do better, if itwere not for the gnome or wood-spirit, our grumbling friend of lastnight. "

We laughed at this; and I said, "I hope you see that you have left me outof the tale. "

"Well, " said he, "that's true. You had better consider that you have gotthe cap of darkness, and are seeing everything, yourself invisible. "

That touched me on my weak side of not feeling sure of my position inthis beautiful new country; so in order not to make matters worse, I heldmy tongue, and we all went into the garden and up to the house together. I noticed by the way that Clara must really rather have felt the contrastbetween herself as a town madam and this piece of the summer country thatwe all admired so, for she had rather dressed after Ellen that morning asto thinness and scantiness, and went barefoot also, except for lightsandals. 

The old man greeted us kindly in the parlour, and said: "Well, guests, soyou have been looking about to search into the nakedness of the land: Isuppose your illusions of last night have given way a bit before themorning light? Do you still like, it, eh?"

"Very much, " said I, doggedly; "it is one of the prettiest places on thelower Thames. "

"Oho!" said he; "so you know the Thames, do you?"

I reddened, for I saw Dick and Clara looking at me, and scarcely knewwhat to say. However, since I had said in our early intercourse with myHammersmith friends that I had known Epping Forest, I thought a hastygeneralisation might be better in avoiding complications than a downrightlie; so I said--

"I have been in this country before; and I have been on the Thames inthose days. "

"O, " said the old man, eagerly, "so you have been in this country before. Now really, don't you _find_ it (apart from all theory, you know) muchchanged for the worse?"

"No, not at all, " said I; "I find it much changed for the better. "

"Ah, " quoth he, "I fear that you have been prejudiced by some theory oranother. However, of course the time when you were here before must havebeen so near our own days that the deterioration might not be very great:as then we were, of course, still living under the same customs as we arenow. I was thinking of earlier days than that. "

"In short, " said Clara, "you have _theories_ about the change which hastaken place. "

"I have facts as well, " said he. "Look here! from this hill you can seejust four little houses, including this one. Well, I know for certainthat in old times, even in the summer, when the leaves were thickest, youcould see from the same place six quite big and fine houses; and higherup the water, garden joined garden right up to Windsor; and there werebig houses in all the gardens. Ah! England was an important place inthose days. "

I was getting nettled, and said: "What you mean is that youde-cockneyised the place, and sent the damned flunkies packing, and thateverybody can live comfortably and happily, and not a few damned thievesonly, who were centres of vulgarity and corruption wherever they were, and who, as to this lovely river, destroyed its beauty morally, and hadalmost destroyed it physically, when they were thrown out of it. "

There was silence after this outburst, which for the life of me I couldnot help, remembering how I had suffered from cockneyism and its cause onthose same waters of old time. But at last the old man said, quitecoolly:

"My dear guest, I really don't know what you mean by either cockneys, orflunkies, or thieves, or damned; or how only a few people could livehappily and comfortably in a wealthy country. All I can see is that youare angry, and I fear with me: so if you like we will change thesubject. "

I thought this kind and hospitable in him, considering his obstinacyabout his theory; and hastened to say that I did not mean to be angry, only emphatic. He bowed gravely, and I thought the storm was over, whensuddenly Ellen broke in:

"Grandfather, our guest is reticent from courtesy; but really what he hasin his mind to say to you ought to be said; so as I know pretty well whatit is, I will say it for him: for as you know, I have been taught thesethings by people who--"

"Yes, " said the old man, "by the sage of Bloomsbury, and others. "

"O, " said Dick, "so you know my old kinsman Hammond?"

"Yes, " said she, "and other people too, as my grandfather says, and theyhave taught me things: and this is the upshot of it. We live in a littlehouse now, not because we have nothing grander to do than working in thefields, but because we please; for if we liked, we could go and live in abig house amongst pleasant companions. "

Grumbled the old man: "Just so! As if I would live amongst thoseconceited fellows; all of them looking down upon me!"

She smiled on him kindly, but went on as if he had not spoken. "In thepast times, when those big houses of which grandfather speaks were soplenty, we _must_ have lived in a cottage whether we had liked it or not;and the said cottage, instead of having in it everything we want, wouldhave been bare and empty. We should not have got enough to eat; ourclothes would have been ugly to look at, dirty and frowsy. You, grandfather, have done no hard work for years now, but wander about andread your books and have nothing to worry you; and as for me, I work hardwhen I like it, because I like it, and think it does me good, and knitsup my muscles, and makes me prettier to look at, and healthier andhappier. But in those past days you, grandfather, would have had to workhard after you were old; and would have been always afraid of having tobe shut up in a kind of prison along with other old men, half-starved andwithout amusement. And as for me, I am twenty years old. In those daysmy middle age would be beginning now, and in a few years I should bepinched, thin, and haggard, beset with troubles and miseries, so that noone could have guessed that I was once a beautiful girl. 

"Is this what you have had in your mind, guest?" said she, the tears inher eyes at thought of the past miseries of people like herself. 

"Yes, " said I, much moved; "that and more. Often--in my country I haveseen that wretched change you have spoken of, from the fresh handsomecountry lass to the poor draggle-tailed country woman. "

The old man sat silent for a little, but presently recovered himself andtook comfort in his old phrase of "Well, you like it so, do you?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, "I love life better than death. "

"O, you do, do you?" said he. "Well, for my part I like reading a goodold book with plenty of fun in it, like Thackeray's 'Vanity Fair. ' Whydon't you write books like that now? Ask that question of yourBloomsbury sage. "

Seeing Dick's cheeks reddening a little at this sally, and noting thatsilence followed, I thought I had better do something. So I said: "I amonly the guest, friends; but I know you want to show me your river at itsbest, so don't you think we had better be moving presently, as it iscertainly going to be a hot day?"

CHAPTER XXIV: UP THE THAMES: THE SECOND DAY

They were not slow to take my hint; and indeed, as to the mere time ofday, it was best for us to be off, as it was past seven o'clock, and theday promised to be very hot. So we got up and went down to ourboat--Ellen thoughtful and abstracted; the old man very kind andcourteous, as if to make up for his crabbedness of opinion. Clara wascheerful and natural, but a little subdued, I thought; and she at leastwas not sorry to be gone, and often looked shyly and timidly at Ellen andher strange wild beauty. So we got into the boat, Dick saying as he tookhis place, "Well, it _is_ a fine day!" and the old man answering "What!you like that, do you?" once more; and presently Dick was sending thebows swiftly through the slow weed-checked stream. I turned round as wegot into mid-stream, and waving my hand to our hosts, saw Ellen leaningon the old man's shoulder, and caressing his healthy apple-red cheek, andquite a keen pang smote me as I thought how I should never see thebeautiful girl again. Presently I insisted on taking the sculls, and Irowed a good deal that day; which no doubt accounts for the fact that wegot very late to the place which Dick had aimed at. Clara wasparticularly affectionate to Dick, as I noticed from the rowing thwart;but as for him, he was as frankly kind and merry as ever; and I was gladto see it, as a man of his temperament could not have taken her caressescheerfully and without embarrassment if he had been at all entangled bythe fairy of our last night's abode. 

I need say little about the lovely reaches of the river here. I dulynoted that absence of cockney villas which the old man had lamented; andI saw with pleasure that my old enemies the "Gothic" cast-iron bridgeshad been replaced by handsome oak and stone ones. Also the banks of theforest that we passed through had lost their courtly game-keeperishtrimness, and were as wild and beautiful as need he, though the treeswere clearly well seen to. I thought it best, in order to get the mostdirect information, to play the innocent about Eton and Windsor; but Dickvolunteered his knowledge to me as we lay in Datchet lock about thefirst. Quoth he:

"Up yonder are some beautiful old buildings, which were built for a greatcollege or teaching-place by one of the mediaeval kings--Edward theSixth, I think" (I smiled to myself at his rather natural blunder). "Hemeant poor people's sons to be taught there what knowledge was going inhis days; but it was a matter of course that in the times of which youseem to know so much they spoilt whatever good there was in the founder'sintentions. My old kinsman says that they treated them in a very simpleway, and instead of teaching poor men's sons to know something, theytaught rich men's sons to know nothing. It seems from what he says thatit was a place for the 'aristocracy' (if you know what that word means; Ihave been told its meaning) to get rid of the company of their malechildren for a great part of the year. I daresay old Hammond would giveyou plenty of information in detail about it. "

"What is it used for now?" said I. 

"Well, " said he, "the buildings were a good deal spoilt by the last fewgenerations of aristocrats, who seem to have had a great hatred againstbeautiful old buildings, and indeed all records of past history; but itis still a delightful place. Of course, we cannot use it quite as thefounder intended, since our ideas about teaching young people are sochanged from the ideas of his time; so it is used now as a dwelling forpeople engaged in learning; and folk from round about come and get taughtthings that they want to learn; and there is a great library there of thebest books. So that I don't think that the old dead king would be muchhurt if he were to come to life and see what we are doing there. "

"Well, " said Clara, laughing, "I think he would miss the boys. "

"Not always, my dear, " said Dick, "for there are often plenty of boysthere, who come to get taught; and also, " said he, smiling, "to learnboating and swimming. I wish we could stop there: but perhaps we hadbetter do that coming down the water. "

The lock-gates opened as he spoke, and out we went, and on. And as forWindsor, he said nothing till I lay on my oars (for I was sculling then)in Clewer reach, and looking up, said, "What is all that building upthere?"

Said he: "There, I thought I would wait till you asked, yourself. Thatis Windsor Castle: that also I thought I would keep for you till we comedown the water. It looks fine from here, doesn't it? But a great dealof it has been built or skinned in the time of the Degradation, and wewouldn't pull the buildings down, since they were there; just as with thebuildings of the Dung-Market. You know, of course, that it was thepalace of our old mediaeval kings, and was used later on for the samepurpose by the parliamentary commercial sham-kings, as my old kinsmancalls them. "

"Yes, " said I, "I know all that. What is it used for now?"

"A great many people live there, " said he, "as, with all drawbacks, it isa pleasant place; there is also a well-arranged store of antiquities ofvarious kinds that have seemed worth keeping--a museum, it would havebeen called in the times you understand so well. "

I drew my sculls through the water at that last word, and pulled as if Iwere fleeing from those times which I understood so well; and we weresoon going up the once sorely be-cockneyed reaches of the river aboutMaidenhead, which now looked as pleasant and enjoyable as the up-riverreaches. 

The morning was now getting on, the morning of a jewel of a summer day;one of those days which, if they were commoner in these islands, wouldmake our climate the best of all climates, without dispute. A light windblew from the west; the little clouds that had arisen at about ourbreakfast time had seemed to get higher and higher in the heavens; and inspite of the burning sun we no more longed for rain than we feared it. Burning as the sun was, there was a fresh feeling in the air that almostset us a-longing for the rest of the hot afternoon, and the stretch ofblossoming wheat seen from the shadow of the boughs. No one unburdenedwith very heavy anxieties could have felt otherwise than happy thatmorning: and it must be said that whatever anxieties might lie beneaththe surface of things, we didn't seem to come across any of them. 

We passed by several fields where haymaking was going on, but Dick, andespecially Clara, were so jealous of our up-river festival that theywould not allow me to have much to say to them. I could only notice thatthe people in the fields looked strong and handsome, both men and women, and that so far from there being any appearance of sordidness about theirattire, they seemed to be dressed specially for the occasion, --lightly, of course, but gaily and with plenty of adornment. 

Both on this day as well as yesterday we had, as you may think, met andpassed and been passed by many craft of one kind and another. The mostpart of these were being rowed like ourselves, or were sailing, in thesort of way that sailing is managed on the upper reaches of the river;but every now and then we came on barges, laden with hay or other countryproduce, or carrying bricks, lime, timber, and the like, and these weregoing on their way without any means of propulsion visible to me--just aman at the tiller, with often a friend or two laughing and talking withhim. Dick, seeing on one occasion this day, that I was looking ratherhard on one of these, said: "That is one of our force-barges; it is quiteas easy to work vehicles by force by water as by land. "

I understood pretty well that these "force vehicles" had taken the placeof our old steam-power carrying; but I took good care not to ask anyquestions about them, as I knew well enough both that I should never beable to understand how they were worked, and that in attempting to do soI should betray myself, or get into some complication impossible toexplain; so I merely said, "Yes, of course, I understand. "

We went ashore at Bisham, where the remains of the old Abbey and theElizabethan house that had been added to them yet remained, none theworse for many years of careful and appreciative habitation. The folk ofthe place, however, were mostly in the fields that day, both men andwomen; so we met only two old men there, and a younger one who had stayedat home to get on with some literary work, which I imagine weconsiderably interrupted. Yet I also think that the hard-working man whoreceived us was not very sorry for the interruption. Anyhow, he kept onpressing us to stay over and over again, till at last we did not get awaytill the cool of the evening. 

However, that mattered little to us; the nights were light, for the moonwas shining in her third quarter, and it was all one to Dick whether hesculled or sat quiet in the boat: so we went away a great pace. Theevening sun shone bright on the remains of the old buildings atMedmenham; close beside which arose an irregular pile of building whichDick told us was a very pleasant house; and there were plenty of housesvisible on the wide meadows opposite, under the hill; for, as it seemsthat the beauty of Hurley had compelled people to build and live there agood deal. The sun very low down showed us Henley little altered inoutward aspect from what I remembered it. Actual daylight failed us aswe passed through the lovely reaches of Wargrave and Shiplake; but themoon rose behind us presently. I should like to have seen with my eyeswhat success the new order of things had had in getting rid of thesprawling mess with which commercialism had littered the banks of thewide stream about Reading and Caversham: certainly everything smelt toodeliciously in the early night for there to be any of the old carelesssordidness of so-called manufacture; and in answer to my question as towhat sort of a place Reading was, Dick answered:

"O, a nice town enough in its way; mostly rebuilt within the last hundredyears; and there are a good many houses, as you can see by the lightsjust down under the hills yonder. In fact, it is one of the mostpopulous places on the Thames round about here. Keep up your spirits, guest! we are close to our journey's end for the night. I ought to askyour pardon for not stopping at one of the houses here or higher up; buta friend, who is living in a very pleasant house in the Maple-Durhammeads, particularly wanted me and Clara to come and see him on our way upthe Thames; and I thought you wouldn't mind this bit of nighttravelling. "

He need not have adjured me to keep up my spirits, which were as high aspossible; though the strangeness and excitement of the happy and quietlife which I saw everywhere around me was, it is true, a little wearingoff, yet a deep content, as different as possible from languidacquiescence, was taking its place, and I was, as it were, really new-born. 

We landed presently just where I remembered the river making an elbow tothe north towards the ancient house of the Blunts; with the wide meadowsspreading on the right-hand side, and on the left the long line ofbeautiful old trees overhanging the water. As we got out of the boat, Isaid to Dick--

"Is it the old house we are going to?"

"No, " he said, "though that is standing still in green old age, and iswell inhabited. I see, by the way, that you know your Thames well. Butmy friend Walter Allen, who asked me to stop here, lives in a house, notvery big, which has been built here lately, because these meadows are somuch liked, especially in summer, that there was getting to be rather toomuch of tenting on the open field; so the parishes here about, who ratherobjected to that, built three houses between this and Caversham, andquite a large one at Basildon, a little higher up. Look, yonder are thelights of Walter Allen's house!"

So we walked over the grass of the meadows under a flood of moonlight, and soon came to the house, which was low and built round a quadranglebig enough to get plenty of sunshine in it. Walter Allen, Dick's friend, was leaning against the jamb of the doorway waiting for us, and took usinto the hall without overplus of words. There were not many people init, as some of the dwellers there were away at the haymaking in theneighbourhood, and some, as Walter told us, were wandering about themeadow enjoying the beautiful moonlit night. Dick's friend looked to bea man of about forty; tall, black-haired, very kind-looking andthoughtful; but rather to my surprise there was a shade of melancholy onhis face, and he seemed a little abstracted and inattentive to our chat, in spite of obvious efforts to listen. 

Dick looked on him from time to time, and seemed troubled; and at last hesaid: "I say, old fellow, if there is anything the matter which we didn'tknow of when you wrote to me, don't you think you had better tell usabout it at once? Or else we shall think we have come here at an unluckytime, and are not quite wanted. "

Walter turned red, and seemed to have some difficulty in restraining histears, but said at last: "Of course everybody here is very glad to seeyou, Dick, and your friends; but it is true that we are not at our best, in spite of the fine weather and the glorious hay-crop. We have had adeath here. "

Said Dick: "Well, you should get over that, neighbour: such things mustbe. "

"Yes, " Walter said, "but this was a death by violence, and it seemslikely to lead to at least one more; and somehow it makes us feel rathershy of one another; and to say the truth, that is one reason why thereare so few of us present to-night. "

"Tell us the story, Walter, " said Dick; "perhaps telling it will help youto shake off your sadness. "

Said Walter: "Well, I will; and I will make it short enough, though Idaresay it might be spun out into a long one, as used to be done withsuch subjects in the old novels. There is a very charming girl here whomwe all like, and whom some of us do more than like; and she verynaturally liked one of us better than anybody else. And another of us (Iwon't name him) got fairly bitten with love-madness, and used to go aboutmaking himself as unpleasant as he could--not of malice prepense, ofcourse; so that the girl, who liked him well enough at first, though shedidn't love him, began fairly to dislike him. Of course, those of us whoknew him best--myself amongst others--advised him to go away, as he wasmaking matters worse and worse for himself every day. Well, he wouldn'ttake our advice (that also, I suppose, was a matter of course), so we hadto tell him that he _must_ go, or the inevitable sending to Coventrywould follow; for his individual trouble had so overmastered him that wefelt that _we_ must go if he did not. 

"He took that better than we expected, when something or other--aninterview with the girl, I think, and some hot words with the successfullover following close upon it, threw him quite off his balance; and hegot hold of an axe and fell upon his rival when there was no one by; andin the struggle that followed the man attacked, hit him an unlucky blowand killed him. And now the slayer in his turn is so upset that he islike to kill himself; and if he does, the girl will do as much, I fear. And all this we could no more help than the earthquake of the year beforelast. "

"It is very unhappy, " said Dick; "but since the man is dead, and cannotbe brought to life again, and since the slayer had no malice in him, Icannot for the life of me see why he shouldn't get over it before long. Besides, it was the right man that was killed and not the wrong. Whyshould a man brood over a mere accident for ever? And the girl?"

"As to her, " said Walter, "the whole thing seems to have inspired herwith terror rather than grief. What you say about the man is true, or itshould be; but then, you see, the excitement and jealousy that was theprelude to this tragedy had made an evil and feverish element round abouthim, from which he does not seem to be able to escape. However, we haveadvised him to go away--in fact, to cross the seas; but he is in such astate that I do not think he _can_ go unless someone _takes_ him, and Ithink it will fall to my lot to do so; which is scarcely a cheerfuloutlook for me. "

"O, you will find a certain kind of interest in it, " said Dick. "And ofcourse he _must_ soon look upon the affair from a reasonable point ofview sooner or later. "

"Well, at any rate, " quoth Walter, "now that I have eased my mind bymaking you uncomfortable, let us have an end of the subject for thepresent. Are you going to take your guest to Oxford?"

"Why, of course we must pass through it, " said Dick, smiling, "as we aregoing into the upper waters: but I thought that we wouldn't stop there, or we shall be belated as to the haymaking up our way. So Oxford and mylearned lecture on it, all got at second-hand from my old kinsman, mustwait till we come down the water a fortnight hence. "

I listened to this story with much surprise, and could not help wonderingat first that the man who had slain the other had not been put in custodytill it could be proved that he killed his rival in self-defence only. However, the more I thought of it, the plainer it grew to me that noamount of examination of witnesses, who had witnessed nothing but the ill-blood between the two rivals, would have done anything to clear up thecase. I could not help thinking, also, that the remorse of this homicidegave point to what old Hammond had said to me about the way in which thisstrange people dealt with what I had been used to hear called crimes. Truly, the remorse was exaggerated; but it was quite clear that theslayer took the whole consequences of the act upon himself, and did notexpect society to whitewash him by punishing him. I had no fear anylonger that "the sacredness of human life" was likely to suffer amongstmy friends from the absence of gallows and prison. 

CHAPTER XXV: THE THIRD DAY ON THE THAMES

As we went down to the boat next morning, Walter could not quite keep offthe subject of last night, though he was more hopeful than he had beenthen, and seemed to think that if the unlucky homicide could not be gotto go over-sea, he might at any rate go and live somewhere in theneighbourhood pretty much by himself; at any rate, that was what hehimself had proposed. To Dick, and I must say to me also, this seemed astrange remedy; and Dick said as much. Quoth he:

"Friend Walter, don't set the man brooding on the tragedy by letting himlive alone. That will only strengthen his idea that he has committed acrime, and you will have him killing himself in good earnest. "

Said Clara: "I don't know. If I may say what I think of it, it is thathe had better have his fill of gloom now, and, so to say, wake uppresently to see how little need there has been for it; and then he willlive happily afterwards. As for his killing himself, you need not beafraid of that; for, from all you tell me, he is really very much in lovewith the woman; and to speak plainly, until his love is satisfied, hewill not only stick to life as tightly as he can, but will also make themost of every event of his life--will, so to say, hug himself up in it;and I think that this is the real explanation of his taking the wholematter with such an excess of tragedy. "

Walter looked thoughtful, and said: "Well, you may be right; and perhapswe should have treated it all more lightly: but you see, guest" (turningto me), "such things happen so seldom, that when they do happen, wecannot help being much taken up with it. For the rest, we are allinclined, to excuse our poor friend for making us so unhappy, on theground that he does it out of an exaggerated respect for human life andits happiness. Well, I will say no more about it; only this: will yougive me a cast up stream, as I want to look after a lonely habitation forthe poor fellow, since he will have it so, and I hear that there is onewhich would suit us very well on the downs beyond Streatley; so if youwill put me ashore there I will walk up the hill and look to it. "

"Is the house in question empty?" said I. 

"No, " said Walter, "but the man who lives there will go out of it, ofcourse, when he hears that we want it. You see, we think that the freshair of the downs and the very emptiness of the landscape will do ourfriend good. "

"Yes, " said Clara, smiling, "and he will not be so far from his belovedthat they cannot easily meet if they have a mind to--as they certainlywill. "

This talk had brought us down to the boat, and we were presently afloaton the beautiful broad stream, Dick driving the prow swiftly through thewindless water of the early summer morning, for it was not yet sixo'clock. We were at the lock in a very little time; and as we lay risingand rising on the in-coming water, I could not help wondering that my oldfriend the pound-lock, and that of the very simplest and most rural kind, should hold its place there; so I said:

"I have been wondering, as we passed lock after lock, that you people, soprosperous as you are, and especially since you are so anxious forpleasant work to do, have not invented something which would get rid ofthis clumsy business of going up-stairs by means of these rudecontrivances. "

Dick laughed. "My dear friend, " said he, "as long as water has theclumsy habit of running down hill, I fear we must humour it by going up-stairs when we have our faces turned from the sea. And really I don'tsee why you should fall foul of Maple-Durham lock, which I think a verypretty place. "

There was no doubt about the latter assertion, I thought, as I looked upat the overhanging boughs of the great trees, with the sun comingglittering through the leaves, and listened to the song of the summerblackbirds as it mingled with the sound of the backwater near us. So notbeing able to say why I wanted the locks away--which, indeed, I didn't doat all--I held my peace. But Walter said--

"You see, guest, this is not an age of inventions. The last epoch didall that for us, and we are now content to use such of its inventions aswe find handy, and leaving those alone which we don't want. I believe, as a matter of fact, that some time ago (I can't give you a date) someelaborate machinery was used for the locks, though people did not go sofar as try to make the water run up hill. However, it was troublesome, Isuppose, and the simple hatches, and the gates, with a big counterpoisingbeam, were found to answer every purpose, and were easily mended whenwanted with material always to hand: so here they are, as you see. "

"Besides, " said Dick, "this kind of lock is pretty, as you can see; and Ican't help thinking that your machine-lock, winding up like a watch, would have been ugly and would have spoiled the look of the river: andthat is surely reason enough for keeping such locks as these. Good-bye, old fellow!" said he to the lock, as he pushed us out through the nowopen gates by a vigorous stroke of the boat-hook. "May you live long, and have your green old age renewed for ever!"

On we went; and the water had the familiar aspect to me of the daysbefore Pangbourne had been thoroughly cocknified, as I have seen it. It(Pangbourne) was distinctly a village still--_i. E. _, a definite group ofhouses, and as pretty as might be. The beech-woods still covered thehill that rose above Basildon; but the flat fields beneath them were muchmore populous than I remembered them, as there were five large houses insight, very carefully designed so as not to hurt the character of thecountry. Down on the green lip of the river, just where the water turnstoward the Goring and Streatley reaches, were half a dozen girls playingabout on the grass. They hailed us as we were about passing them, asthey noted that we were travellers, and we stopped a minute to talk withthem. They had been bathing, and were light clad and bare-footed, andwere bound for the meadows on the Berkshire side, where the haymaking hadbegun, and were passing the time merrily enough till the Berkshire folkcame in their punt to fetch them. At first nothing would content thembut we must go with them into the hay-field, and breakfast with them; butDick put forward his theory of beginning the hay-harvest higher up thewater, and not spoiling my pleasure therein by giving me a taste of itelsewhere, and they gave way, though unwillingly. In revenge they askedme a great many questions about the country I came from and the mannersof life there, which I found rather puzzling to answer; and doubtlesswhat answers I did give were puzzling enough to them. I noticed bothwith these pretty girls and with everybody else we met, that in defaultof serious news, such as we had heard at Maple-Durham, they were eager todiscuss all the little details of life: the weather, the hay-crop, thelast new house, the plenty or lack of such and such birds, and so on; andthey talked of these things not in a fatuous and conventional way, but astaking, I say, real interest in them. Moreover, I found that the womenknew as much about all these things as the men: could name a flower, andknew its qualities; could tell you the habitat of such and such birds andfish, and the like. 

It is almost strange what a difference this intelligence made in myestimate of the country life of that day; for it used to be said in pasttimes, and on the whole truly, that outside their daily work countrypeople knew little of the country, and at least could tell you nothingabout it; while here were these people as eager about all the goings onin the fields and woods and downs as if they had been Cockneys newlyescaped from the tyranny of bricks and mortar. 

I may mention as a detail worth noticing that not only did there seem tobe a great many more birds about of the non-predatory kinds, but theirenemies the birds of prey were also commoner. A kite hung over our headsas we passed Medmenham yesterday; magpies were quite common in thehedgerows; I saw several sparrow-hawks, and I think a merlin; and nowjust as we were passing the pretty bridge which had taken the place ofBasildon railway-bridge, a couple of ravens croaked above our boat, asthey sailed off to the higher ground of the downs. I concluded from allthis that the days of the gamekeeper were over, and did not even need toask Dick a question about it. 

CHAPTER XXVI: THE OBSTINATE REFUSERS

Before we parted from these girls we saw two sturdy young men and a womanputting off from the Berkshire shore, and then Dick bethought him of alittle banter of the girls, and asked them how it was that there wasnobody of the male kind to go with them across the water, and where theirboats were gone to. Said one, the youngest of the party: "O, they havegot the big punt to lead stone from up the water. "

"Who do you mean by 'they, ' dear child?" said Dick. 

Said an older girl, laughing: "You had better go and see them. Lookthere, " and she pointed northwest, "don't you see building going onthere?"

"Yes, " said Dick, "and I am rather surprised at this time of the year;why are they not haymaking with you?"

The girls all laughed at this, and before their laugh was over, theBerkshire boat had run on to the grass and the girls stepped in lightly, still sniggering, while the new comers gave us the sele of the day. Butbefore they were under way again, the tall girl said:

"Excuse us for laughing, dear neighbours, but we have had some friendlybickering with the builders up yonder, and as we have no time to tell youthe story, you had better go and ask them: they will be glad to seeyou--if you don't hinder their work. "

They all laughed again at that, and waved us a pretty farewell as thepunters set them over toward the other shore, and left us standing on thebank beside our boat. 

"Let us go and see them, " said Clara; "that is, if you are not in a hurryto get to Streatley, Walter?"

"O no, " said Walter, "I shall be glad of the excuse to have a little moreof your company. "

So we left the boat moored there, and went on up the slow slope of thehill; but I said to Dick on the way, being somewhat mystified: "What wasall that laughing about? what was the joke!"

"I can guess pretty well, " said Dick; "some of them up there have got apiece of work which interests them, and they won't go to the haymaking, which doesn't matter at all, because there are plenty of people to dosuch easy-hard work as that; only, since haymaking is a regular festival, the neighbours find it amusing to jeer good-humouredly at them. "

"I see, " said I, "much as if in Dickens's time some young people were sowrapped up in their work that they wouldn't keep Christmas. "

"Just so, " said Dick, "only these people need not be young either. "

"But what did you mean by easy-hard work?" said I. 

Quoth Dick: "Did I say that? I mean work that tries the muscles andhardens them and sends you pleasantly weary to bed, but which isn'ttrying in other ways: doesn't harass you in short. Such work is alwayspleasant if you don't overdo it. Only, mind you, good mowing requiressome little skill. I'm a pretty good mower. "

This talk brought us up to the house that was a-building, not a largeone, which stood at the end of a beautiful orchard surrounded by an oldstone wall. "O yes, I see, " said Dick; "I remember, a beautiful placefor a house: but a starveling of a nineteenth century house stood there:I am glad they are rebuilding: it's all stone, too, though it need nothave been in this part of the country: my word, though, they are making aneat job of it: but I wouldn't have made it all ashlar. "

Walter and Clara were already talking to a tall man clad in his mason'sblouse, who looked about forty, but was I daresay older, who had hismallet and chisel in hand; there were at work in the shed and on thescaffold about half a dozen men and two women, blouse-clad like thecarles, while a very pretty woman who was not in the work but was dressedin an elegant suit of blue linen came sauntering up to us with herknitting in her hand. She welcomed us and said, smiling: "So you arecome up from the water to see the Obstinate Refusers: where are you goinghaymaking, neighbours?"

"O, right up above Oxford, " said Dick; "it is rather a late country. Butwhat share have you got with the Refusers, pretty neighbour?"

Said she, with a laugh: "O, I am the lucky one who doesn't want to work;though sometimes I get it, for I serve as model to Mistress Philippathere when she wants one: she is our head carver; come and see her. "

She led us up to the door of the unfinished house, where a rather littlewoman was working with mallet and chisel on the wall near by. She seemedvery intent on what she was doing, and did not turn round when we cameup; but a taller woman, quite a girl she seemed, who was at work near by, had already knocked off, and was standing looking from Clara to Dick withdelighted eyes. None of the others paid much heed to us. 

The blue-clad girl laid her hand on the carver's shoulder and said: "NowPhilippa, if you gobble up your work like that, you will soon have noneto do; and what will become of you then?"

The carver turned round hurriedly and showed us the face of a woman offorty (or so she seemed), and said rather pettishly, but in a sweetvoice:

"Don't talk nonsense, Kate, and don't interrupt me if you can help it. "She stopped short when she saw us, then went on with the kind smile ofwelcome which never failed us. "Thank you for coming to see us, neighbours; but I am sure that you won't think me unkind if I go on withmy work, especially when I tell you that I was ill and unable to doanything all through April and May; and this open-air and the sun and thework together, and my feeling well again too, make a mere delight ofevery hour to me; and excuse me, I must go on. "

She fell to work accordingly on a carving in low relief of flowers andfigures, but talked on amidst her mallet strokes: "You see, we all thinkthis the prettiest place for a house up and down these reaches; and thesite has been so long encumbered with an unworthy one, that we masonswere determined to pay off fate and destiny for once, and build theprettiest house we could compass here--and so--and so--"

Here she lapsed into mere carving, but the tall foreman came up and said:"Yes, neighbours, that is it: so it is going to be all ashlar because wewant to carve a kind of a wreath of flowers and figures all round it; andwe have been much hindered by one thing or other--Philippa's illnessamongst others, --and though we could have managed our wreath withouther--"

"Could you, though?" grumbled the last-named from the face of the wall. 

"Well, at any rate, she is our best carver, and it would not have beenkind to begin the carving without her. So you see, " said he, looking atDick and me, "we really couldn't go haymaking, could we, neighbours? Butyou see, we are getting on so fast now with this splendid weather, that Ithink we may well spare a week or ten days at wheat-harvest; and won't wego at that work then! Come down then to the acres that lie north and bywest here at our backs and you shall see good harvesters, neighbours. 

"Hurrah, for a good brag!" called a voice from the scaffold above us;"our foreman thinks that an easier job than putting one stone onanother!"

There was a general laugh at this sally, in which the tall foremanjoined; and with that we saw a lad bringing out a little table into theshadow of the stone-shed, which he set down there, and then going back, came out again with the inevitable big wickered flask and tall glasses, whereon the foreman led us up to due seats on blocks of stone, and said:

"Well, neighbours, drink to my brag coming true, or I shall think youdon't believe me! Up there!" said he, hailing the scaffold, "are youcoming down for a glass?" Three of the workmen came running down theladder as men with good "building legs" will do; but the others didn'tanswer, except the joker (if he must so be called), who called outwithout turning round: "Excuse me, neighbours for not getting down. Imust get on: my work is not superintending, like the gaffer's yonder;but, you fellows, send us up a glass to drink the haymakers' health. " Ofcourse, Philippa would not turn away from her beloved work; but the otherwoman carver came; she turned out to be Philippa's daughter, but was atall strong girl, black-haired and gipsey-like of face and curiouslysolemn of manner. The rest gathered round us and clinked glasses, andthe men on the scaffold turned about and drank to our healths; but thebusy little woman by the door would have none of it all, but onlyshrugged her shoulders when her daughter came up to her and touched her. 

So we shook hands and turned our backs on the Obstinate Refusers, wentdown the slope to our boat, and before we had gone many steps heard thefull tune of tinkling trowels mingle with the humming of the bees and thesinging of the larks above the little plain of Basildon. 

CHAPTER XXVII: THE UPPER WATERS

We set Walter ashore on the Berkshire side, amidst all the beauties ofStreatley, and so went our ways into what once would have been the deepercountry under the foot-hills of the White Horse; and though the contrastbetween half-cocknified and wholly unsophisticated country existed nolonger, a feeling of exultation rose within me (as it used to do) atsight of the familiar and still unchanged hills of the Berkshire range. 

We stopped at Wallingford for our mid-day meal; of course, all signs ofsqualor and poverty had disappeared from the streets of the ancient town, and many ugly houses had been taken down and many pretty new ones built, but I thought it curious, that the town still looked like the old place Iremembered so well; for indeed it looked like that ought to have looked. 

At dinner we fell in with an old, but very bright and intelligent man, who seemed in a country way to be another edition of old Hammond. He hadan extraordinary detailed knowledge of the ancient history of the country-side from the time of Alfred to the days of the Parliamentary Wars, manyevents of which, as you may know, were enacted round about Wallingford. But, what was more interesting to us, he had detailed record of theperiod of the change to the present state of things, and told us a greatdeal about it, and especially of that exodus of the people from the townto the country, and the gradual recovery by the town-bred people on oneside, and the country-bred people on the other, of those arts of lifewhich they had each lost; which loss, as he told us, had at one time goneso far that not only was it impossible to find a carpenter or a smith ina village or small country town, but that people in such places had evenforgotten how to bake bread, and that at Wallingford, for instance, thebread came down with the newspapers by an early train from London, workedin some way, the explanation of which I could not understand. He told usalso that the townspeople who came into the country used to pick up theagricultural arts by carefully watching the way in which the machinesworked, gathering an idea of handicraft from machinery; because at thattime almost everything in and about the fields was done by elaboratemachines used quite unintelligently by the labourers. On the other hand, the old men amongst the labourers managed to teach the younger onesgradually a little artizanship, such as the use of the saw and the plane, the work of the smithy, and so forth; for once more, by that time it wasas much as--or rather, more than--a man could do to fix an ash pole to arake by handiwork; so that it would take a machine worth a thousandpounds, a group of workmen, and half a day's travelling, to do fiveshillings' worth of work. He showed us, among other things, an accountof a certain village council who were working hard at all this business;and the record of their intense earnestness in getting to the bottom ofsome matter which in time past would have been thought quite trivial, as, for example, the due proportions of alkali and oil for soap-making forthe village wash, or the exact heat of the water into which a leg ofmutton should be plunged for boiling--all this joined to the utterabsence of anything like party feeling, which even in a village assemblywould certainly have made its appearance in an earlier epoch, was veryamusing, and at the same time instructive. 

This old man, whose name was Henry Morsom, took us, after our meal and arest, into a biggish hall which contained a large collection of articlesof manufacture and art from the last days of the machine period to thatday; and he went over them with us, and explained them with great care. They also were very interesting, showing the transition from themakeshift work of the machines (which was at about its worst a littleafter the Civil War before told of) into the first years of the newhandicraft period. Of course, there was much overlapping of the periods:and at first the new handwork came in very slowly. 

"You must remember, " said the old antiquary, "that the handicraft was notthe result of what used to be called material necessity: on the contrary, by that time the machines had been so much improved that almost allnecessary work might have been done by them: and indeed many people atthat time, and before it, used to think that machinery would entirelysupersede handicraft; which certainly, on the face of it, seemed morethan likely. But there was another opinion, far less logical, prevalentamongst the rich people before the days of freedom, which did not die outat once after that epoch had begun. This opinion, which from all I canlearn seemed as natural then, as it seems absurd now, was, that while theordinary daily work of the world would be done entirely by automaticmachinery, the energies of the more intelligent part of mankind would beset free to follow the higher forms of the arts, as well as science andthe study of history. It was strange, was it not, that they should thusignore that aspiration after complete equality which we now recognise asthe bond of all happy human society?"

I did not answer, but thought the more. Dick looked thoughtful, andsaid:

"Strange, neighbour? Well, I don't know. I have often heard my oldkinsman say the one aim of all people before our time was to avoid work, or at least they thought it was; so of course the work which their dailylife forced them to do, seemed more like work than that which they seemedto choose for themselves. "

"True enough, " said Morsom. "Anyhow, they soon began to find out theirmistake, and that only slaves and slave-holders could live solely bysetting machines going. "

Clara broke in here, flushing a little as she spoke: "Was not theirmistake once more bred of the life of slavery that they had beenliving?--a life which was always looking upon everything, except mankind, animate and inanimate--'nature, ' as people used to call it--as one thing, and mankind as another, it was natural to people thinking in this way, that they should try to make 'nature' their slave, since they thought'nature' was something outside them. "

"Surely, " said Morsom; "and they were puzzled as to what to do, till theyfound the feeling against a mechanical life, which had begun before theGreat Change amongst people who had leisure to think of such things, wasspreading insensibly; till at last under the guise of pleasure that wasnot supposed to be work, work that was pleasure began to push out themechanical toil, which they had once hoped at the best to reduce tonarrow limits indeed, but never to get rid of; and which, moreover, theyfound they could not limit as they had hoped to do. "

"When did this new revolution gather head?" said I. 

"In the half-century that followed the Great Change, " said Morsom, "itbegan to be noteworthy; machine after machine was quietly dropped underthe excuse that the machines could not produce works of art, and thatworks of art were more and more called for. Look here, " he said, "hereare some of the works of that time--rough and unskilful in handiwork, butsolid and showing some sense of pleasure in the making. "

"They are very curious, " said I, taking up a piece of pottery fromamongst the specimens which the antiquary was showing us; "not a bit likethe work of either savages or barbarians, and yet with what would oncehave been called a hatred of civilisation impressed upon them. "

"Yes, " said Morsom, "you must not look for delicacy there: in that periodyou could only have got that from a man who was practically a slave. Butnow, you see, " said he, leading me on a little, "we have learned thetrick of handicraft, and have added the utmost refinement of workmanshipto the freedom of fancy and imagination. "

I looked, and wondered indeed at the deftness and abundance of beauty ofthe work of men who had at last learned to accept life itself as apleasure, and the satisfaction of the common needs of mankind and thepreparation for them, as work fit for the best of the race. I musedsilently; but at last I said--

"What is to come after this?"

The old man laughed. "I don't know, " said he; "we will meet it when itcomes. "

"Meanwhile, " quoth Dick, "we have got to meet the rest of our day'sjourney; so out into the street and down to the strand! Will you come aturn with us, neighbour? Our friend is greedy of your stories. "

"I will go as far as Oxford with you, " said he; "I want a book or two outof the Bodleian Library. I suppose you will sleep in the old city?"

"No, " said Dick, "we are going higher up; the hay is waiting us there, you know. "

Morsom nodded, and we all went into the street together, and got into theboat a little above the town bridge. But just as Dick was getting thesculls into the rowlocks, the bows of another boat came thrusting throughthe low arch. Even at first sight it was a gay little craftindeed--bright green, and painted over with elegantly drawn flowers. Asit cleared the arch, a figure as bright and gay-clad as the boat rose upin it; a slim girl dressed in light blue silk that fluttered in thedraughty wind of the bridge. I thought I knew the figure, and sureenough, as she turned her head to us, and showed her beautiful face, Isaw with joy that it was none other than the fairy godmother from theabundant garden on Runnymede--Ellen, to wit. 

We all stopped to receive her. Dick rose in the boat and cried out agenial good morrow; I tried to be as genial as Dick, but failed; Clarawaved a delicate hand to her; and Morsom nodded and looked on withinterest. As to Ellen, the beautiful brown of her face was deepened by aflush, as she brought the gunwale of her boat alongside ours, and said:

"You see, neighbours, I had some doubt if you would all three come backpast Runnymede, or if you did, whether you would stop there; and besides, I am not sure whether we--my father and I--shall not be away in a week ortwo, for he wants to see a brother of his in the north country, and Ishould not like him to go without me. So I thought I might never see youagain, and that seemed uncomfortable to me, and--and so I came afteryou. "

"Well, " said Dick, "I am sure we are all very glad of that; although youmay be sure that as for Clara and me, we should have made a point ofcoming to see you, and of coming the second time, if we had found youaway the first. But, dear neighbour, there you are alone in the boat, and you have been sculling pretty hard I should think, and might find alittle quiet sitting pleasant; so we had better part our company intotwo. "

"Yes, " said Ellen, "I thought you would do that, so I have brought arudder for my boat: will you help me to ship it, please?"

And she went aft in her boat and pushed along our side till she hadbrought the stern close to Dick's hand. He knelt down in our boat andshe in hers, and the usual fumbling took place over hanging the rudder onits hooks; for, as you may imagine, no change had taken place in thearrangement of such an unimportant matter as the rudder of a pleasure-boat. As the two beautiful young faces bent over the rudder, they seemedto me to be very close together, and though it only lasted a moment, asort of pang shot through me as I looked on. Clara sat in her place anddid not look round, but presently she said, with just the least stiffnessin her tone:

"How shall we divide? Won't you go into Ellen's boat, Dick, since, without offence to our guest, you are the better sculler?"

Dick stood up and laid his hand on her shoulder, and said: "No, no; letGuest try what he can do--he ought to be getting into training now. Besides, we are in no hurry: we are not going far above Oxford; and evenif we are benighted, we shall have the moon, which will give us nothingworse of a night than a greyer day. "

"Besides, " said I, "I may manage to do a little more with my scullingthan merely keeping the boat from drifting down stream. "

They all laughed at this, as if it had a been very good joke; and Ithought that Ellen's laugh, even amongst the others, was one of thepleasantest sounds I had ever heard. 

To be short, I got into the new-come boat, not a little elated, andtaking the sculls, set to work to show off a little. For--must I sayit?--I felt as if even that happy world were made the happier for mybeing so near this strange girl; although I must say that of all thepersons I had seen in that world renewed, she was the most unfamiliar tome, the most unlike what I could have thought of. Clara, for instance, beautiful and bright as she was, was not unlike a _very_ pleasant andunaffected young lady; and the other girls also seemed nothing more thanspecimens of very much improved types which I had known in other times. But this girl was not only beautiful with a beauty quite different fromthat of "a young lady, " but was in all ways so strangely interesting; sothat I kept wondering what she would say or do next to surprise andplease me. Not, indeed, that there was anything startling in what sheactually said or did; but it was all done in a new way, and always withthat indefinable interest and pleasure of life, which I had noticed moreor less in everybody, but which in her was more marked and more charmingthan in anyone else that I had seen. 

We were soon under way and going at a fair pace through the beautifulreaches of the river, between Bensington and Dorchester. It was nowabout the middle of the afternoon, warm rather than hot, and quitewindless; the clouds high up and light, pearly white, and gleaming, softened the sun's burning, but did not hide the pale blue in mostplaces, though they seemed to give it height and consistency; the sky, inshort, looked really like a vault, as poets have sometimes called it, andnot like mere limitless air, but a vault so vast and full of light thatit did not in any way oppress the spirits. It was the sort of afternoonthat Tennyson must have been thinking about, when he said of the Lotos-Eaters' land that it was a land where it was always afternoon. 

Ellen leaned back in the stern and seemed to enjoy herself thoroughly. Icould see that she was really looking at things and let nothing escapeher, and as I watched her, an uncomfortable feeling that she had been alittle touched by love of the deft, ready, and handsome Dick, and thatshe had been constrained to follow us because of it, faded out of mymind; since if it had been so, she surely could not have been soexcitedly pleased, even with the beautiful scenes we were passingthrough. For some time she did not say much, but at last, as we hadpassed under Shillingford Bridge (new built, but somewhat on its oldlines), she bade me hold the boat while she had a good look at thelandscape through the graceful arch. Then she turned about to me andsaid:

"I do not know whether to be sorry or glad that this is the first timethat I have been in these reaches. It is true that it is a greatpleasure to see all this for the first time; but if I had had a year ortwo of memory of it, how sweetly it would all have mingled with my life, waking or dreaming! I am so glad Dick has been pulling slowly, so as tolinger out the time here. How do you feel about your first visit tothese waters?"

I do not suppose she meant a trap for me, but anyhow I fell into it, andsaid: "My first visit! It is not my first visit by many a time. I knowthese reaches well; indeed, I may say that I know every yard of theThames from Hammersmith to Cricklade. "

I saw the complications that might follow, as her eyes fixed mine with acurious look in them, that I had seen before at Runnymede, when I hadsaid something which made it difficult for others to understand mypresent position amongst these people. I reddened, and said, in order tocover my mistake: "I wonder you have never been up so high as this, sinceyou live on the Thames, and moreover row so well that it would be nogreat labour to you. Let alone, " quoth I, insinuatingly, "that anybodywould be glad to row you. "

She laughed, clearly not at my compliment (as I am sure she need not havedone, since it was a very commonplace fact), but at something which wasstirring in her mind; and she still looked at me kindly, but with theabove-said keen look in her eyes, and then she said:

"Well, perhaps it is strange, though I have a good deal to do at home, what with looking after my father, and dealing with two or three youngmen who have taken a special liking to me, and all of whom I cannotplease at once. But you, dear neighbour; it seems to me stranger thatyou should know the upper river, than that I should not know it; for, asI understand, you have only been in England a few days. But perhaps youmean that you have read about it in books, and seen pictures ofit?--though that does not come to much, either. "

"Truly, " said I. "Besides, I have not read any books about the Thames:it was one of the minor stupidities of our time that no one thought fitto write a decent book about what may fairly be called our only Englishriver. "

The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I saw that I had madeanother mistake; and I felt really annoyed with myself, as I did not wantto go into a long explanation just then, or begin another series ofOdyssean lies. Somehow, Ellen seemed to see this, and she took noadvantage of my slip; her piercing look changed into one of mere frankkindness, and she said:

"Well, anyhow I am glad that I am travelling these waters with you, sinceyou know our river so well, and I know little of it past Pangbourne, foryou can tell me all I want to know about it. " She paused a minute, andthen said: "Yet you must understand that the part I do know, I know asthoroughly as you do. I should be sorry for you to think that I amcareless of a thing so beautiful and interesting as the Thames. "

She said this quite earnestly, and with an air of affectionate appeal tome which pleased me very much; but I could see that she was only keepingher doubts about me for another time. 

Presently we came to Day's Lock, where Dick and his two sitters hadwaited for us. He would have me go ashore, as if to show me somethingwhich I had never seen before; and nothing loth I followed him, Ellen bymy side, to the well-remembered Dykes, and the long church beyond them, which was still used for various purposes by the good folk of Dorchester:where, by the way, the village guest-house still had the sign of theFleur-de-luce which it used to bear in the days when hospitality had tobe bought and sold. This time, however, I made no sign of all this beingfamiliar to me: though as we sat for a while on the mound of the Dykeslooking up at Sinodun and its clear-cut trench, and its sister _mamelon_of Whittenham, I felt somewhat uncomfortable under Ellen's seriousattentive look, which almost drew from me the cry, "How little anythingis changed here!"

We stopped again at Abingdon, which, like Wallingford, was in a way bothold and new to me, since it had been lifted out of its nineteenth-centurydegradation, and otherwise was as little altered as might be. 

Sunset was in the sky as we skirted Oxford by Oseney; we stopped a minuteor two hard by the ancient castle to put Henry Morsom ashore. It was amatter of course that so far as they could be seen from the river, Imissed none of the towers and spires of that once don-beridden city; butthe meadows all round, which, when I had last passed through them, weregetting daily more and more squalid, more and more impressed with theseal of the "stir and intellectual life of the nineteenth century, " wereno longer intellectual, but had once again become as beautiful as theyshould be, and the little hill of Hinksey, with two or three very prettystone houses new-grown on it (I use the word advisedly; for they seemedto belong to it) looked down happily on the full streams and wavinggrass, grey now, but for the sunset, with its fast-ripening seeds. 

The railway having disappeared, and therewith the various level bridgesover the streams of Thames, we were soon through Medley Lock and in thewide water that washes Port Meadow, with its numerous population of geesenowise diminished; and I thought with interest how its name and use hadsurvived from the older imperfect communal period, through the time ofthe confused struggle and tyranny of the rights of property, into thepresent rest and happiness of complete Communism. 

I was taken ashore again at Godstow, to see the remains of the oldnunnery, pretty nearly in the same condition as I had remembered them;and from the high bridge over the cut close by, I could see, even in thetwilight, how beautiful the little village with its grey stone houses hadbecome; for we had now come into the stone-country, in which every housemust be either built, walls and roof, of grey stone or be a blot on thelandscape. 

We still rowed on after this, Ellen taking the sculls in my boat; wepassed a weir a little higher up, and about three miles beyond it came bymoonlight again to a little town, where we slept at a house thinlyinhabited, as its folk were mostly tented in the hay-fields. 

CHAPTER XXVIII: THE LITTLE RIVER

We started before six o'clock the next morning, as we were still twenty-five miles from our resting place, and Dick wanted to be there beforedusk. The journey was pleasant, though to those who do not know theupper Thames, there is little to say about it. Ellen and I were oncemore together in her boat, though Dick, for fairness' sake, was forhaving me in his, and letting the two women scull the green toy. Ellen, however, would not allow this, but claimed me as the interesting personof the company. "After having come so far, " said she, "I will not be putoff with a companion who will be always thinking of somebody else thanme: the guest is the only person who can amuse me properly. I mean thatreally, " said she, turning to me, "and have not said it merely as apretty saying. "

Clara blushed and looked very happy at all this; for I think up to thistime she had been rather frightened of Ellen. As for me I felt youngagain, and strange hopes of my youth were mingling with the pleasure ofthe present; almost destroying it, and quickening it into something likepain. 

As we passed through the short and winding reaches of the now quicklylessening stream, Ellen said: "How pleasant this little river is to me, who am used to a great wide wash of water; it almost seems as if we shallhave to stop at every reach-end. I expect before I get home this eveningI shall have realised what a little country England is, since we can sosoon get to the end of its biggest river. "

"It is not big, " said I, "but it is pretty. "

"Yes, " she said, "and don't you find it difficult to imagine the timeswhen this little pretty country was treated by its folk as if it had beenan ugly characterless waste, with no delicate beauty to be guarded, withno heed taken of the ever fresh pleasure of the recurring seasons, andchangeful weather, and diverse quality of the soil, and so forth? Howcould people be so cruel to themselves?"

"And to each other, " said I. Then a sudden resolution took hold of me, and I said: "Dear neighbour, I may as well tell you at once that I findit easier to imagine all that ugly past than you do, because I myselfhave been part of it. I see both that you have divined something of thisin me; and also I think you will believe me when I tell you of it, sothat I am going to hide nothing from you at all. "

She was silent a little, and then she said: "My friend, you have guessedright about me; and to tell you the truth I have followed you up fromRunnymede in order that I might ask you many questions, and because I sawthat you were not one of us; and that interested and pleased me, and Iwanted to make you as happy as you could be. To say the truth, there wasa risk in it, " said she, blushing--"I mean as to Dick and Clara; for Imust tell you, since we are going to be such close friends, that evenamongst us, where there are so many beautiful women, I have oftentroubled men's minds disastrously. That is one reason why I was livingalone with my father in the cottage at Runnymede. But it did not answeron that score; for of course people came there, as the place is not adesert, and they seemed to find me all the more interesting for livingalone like that, and fell to making stories of me to themselves--like Iknow you did, my friend. Well, let that pass. This evening, orto-morrow morning, I shall make a proposal to you to do something whichwould please me very much, and I think would not hurt you. "

I broke in eagerly, saying that I would do anything in the world for her;for indeed, in spite of my years and the too obvious signs of them(though that feeling of renewed youth was not a mere passing sensation, Ithink)--in spite of my years, I say, I felt altogether too happy in thecompany of this delightful girl, and was prepared to take her confidencesfor more than they meant perhaps. 

She laughed now, but looked very kindly on me. "Well, " she said, "meantime for the present we will let it be; for I must look at this newcountry that we are passing through. See how the river has changedcharacter again: it is broad now, and the reaches are long and very slow-running. And look, there is a ferry!"

I told her the name of it, as I slowed off to put the ferry-chain overour heads; and on we went passing by a bank clad with oak trees on ourleft hand, till the stream narrowed again and deepened, and we rowed onbetween walls of tall reeds, whose population of reed sparrows andwarblers were delightfully restless, twittering and chuckling as the washof the boats stirred the reeds from the water upwards in the still, hotmorning. 

She smiled with pleasure, and her lazy enjoyment of the new scene seemedto bring out her beauty doubly as she leaned back amidst the cushions, though she was far from languid; her idleness being the idleness of aperson, strong and well-knit both in body and mind, deliberately resting. 

"Look!" she said, springing up suddenly from her place without anyobvious effort, and balancing herself with exquisite grace and ease;"look at the beautiful old bridge ahead!"

"I need scarcely look at that, " said I, not turning my head away from herbeauty. "I know what it is; though" (with a smile) "we used not to callit the Old Bridge time agone. "

She looked down upon me kindly, and said, "How well we get on now you areno longer on your guard against me!"

And she stood looking thoughtfully at me still, till she had to sit downas we passed under the middle one of the row of little pointed arches ofthe oldest bridge across the Thames. 

"O the beautiful fields!" she said; "I had no idea of the charm of a verysmall river like this. The smallness of the scale of everything, theshort reaches, and the speedy change of the banks, give one a feeling ofgoing somewhere, of coming to something strange, a feeling of adventurewhich I have not felt in bigger waters. "

I looked up at her delightedly; for her voice, saying the very thingwhich I was thinking, was like a caress to me. She caught my eye and hercheeks reddened under their tan, and she said simply:

"I must tell you, my friend, that when my father leaves the Thames thissummer he will take me away to a place near the Roman wall in Cumberland;so that this voyage of mine is farewell to the south; of course with mygoodwill in a way; and yet I am sorry for it. I hadn't the heart to tellDick yesterday that we were as good as gone from the Thames-side; butsomehow to you I must needs tell it. "

She stopped and seemed very thoughtful for awhile, and then said smiling:

"I must say that I don't like moving about from one home to another; onegets so pleasantly used to all the detail of the life about one; it fitsso harmoniously and happily into one's own life, that beginning again, even in a small way, is a kind of pain. But I daresay in the countrywhich you come from, you would think this petty and unadventurous, andwould think the worse of me for it. "

She smiled at me caressingly as she spoke, and I made haste to answer:"O, no, indeed; again you echo my very thoughts. But I hardly expectedto hear you speak so. I gathered from all I have heard that there was agreat deal of changing of abode amongst you in this country. "

"Well, " she said, "of course people are free to move about; but exceptfor pleasure-parties, especially in harvest and hay-time, like this ofours, I don't think they do so much. I admit that I also have othermoods than that of stay-at-home, as I hinted just now, and I should liketo go with you all through the west country--thinking of nothing, "concluded she smiling. 

"I should have plenty to think of, " said I. 

CHAPTER XXIX: A RESTING-PLACE ON THE UPPER THAMES

Presently at a place where the river flowed round a headland of themeadows, we stopped a while for rest and victuals, and settled ourselveson a beautiful bank which almost reached the dignity of a hill-side: thewide meadows spread before us, and already the scythe was busy amidst thehay. One change I noticed amidst the quiet beauty of the fields--to wit, that they were planted with trees here and there, often fruit-trees, andthat there was none of the niggardly begrudging of space to a handsometree which I remembered too well; and though the willows were oftenpolled (or shrowded, as they call it in that country-side), this was donewith some regard to beauty: I mean that there was no polling of rows onrows so as to destroy the pleasantness of half a mile of country, but athoughtful sequence in the cutting, that prevented a sudden barenessanywhere. To be short, the fields were everywhere treated as a gardenmade for the pleasure as well as the livelihood of all, as old Hammondtold me was the case. 

On this bank or bent of the hill, then, we had our mid-day meal; somewhatearly for dinner, if that mattered, but we had been stirring early: theslender stream of the Thames winding below us between the garden of acountry I have been telling of; a furlong from us was a beautiful littleislet begrown with graceful trees; on the slopes westward of us was awood of varied growth overhanging the narrow meadow on the south side ofthe river; while to the north was a wide stretch of mead rising verygradually from the river's edge. A delicate spire of an ancient buildingrose up from out of the trees in the middle distance, with a few greyhouses clustered about it; while nearer to us, in fact not half a furlongfrom the water, was a quite modern stone house--a wide quadrangle of onestory, the buildings that made it being quite low. There was no gardenbetween it and the river, nothing but a row of pear-trees still quiteyoung and slender; and though there did not seem to be much ornamentabout it, it had a sort of natural elegance, like that of the treesthemselves. 

As we sat looking down on all this in the sweet June day, rather happythan merry, Ellen, who sat next me, her hand clasped about one knee, leaned sideways to me, and said in a low voice which Dick and Clara mighthave noted if they had not been busy in happy wordless love-making:"Friend, in your country were the houses of your field-labourers anythinglike that?"

I said: "Well, at any rate the houses of our rich men were not; they weremere blots upon the face of the land. "

"I find that hard to understand, " she said. "I can see why the workmen, who were so oppressed, should not have been able to live in beautifulhouses; for it takes time and leisure, and minds not over-burdened withcare, to make beautiful dwellings; and I quite understand that these poorpeople were not allowed to live in such a way as to have these (to us)necessary good things. But why the rich men, who had the time and theleisure and the materials for building, as it would be in this case, should not have housed themselves well, I do not understand as yet. Iknow what you are meaning to say to me, " she said, looking me full in theeyes and blushing, "to wit that their houses and all belonging to themwere generally ugly and base, unless they chanced to be ancient likeyonder remnant of our forefathers' work" (pointing to the spire); "thatthey were--let me see; what is the word?"

"Vulgar, " said I. "We used to say, " said I, "that the ugliness andvulgarity of the rich men's dwellings was a necessary reflection from thesordidness and bareness of life which they forced upon the poor people. "

She knit her brows as in thought; then turned a brightened face on me, asif she had caught the idea, and said: "Yes, friend, I see what you mean. We have sometimes--those of us who look into these things--talked thisvery matter over; because, to say the truth, we have plenty of record ofthe so-called arts of the time before Equality of Life; and there are notwanting people who say that the state of that society was not the causeof all that ugliness; that they were ugly in their life because theyliked to be, and could have had beautiful things about them if they hadchosen; just as a man or body of men now may, if they please, make thingsmore or less beautiful--Stop! I know what you are going to say. "

"Do you?" said I, smiling, yet with a beating heart. 

"Yes, " she said; "you are answering me, teaching me, in some way oranother, although you have not spoken the words aloud. You were going tosay that in times of inequality it was an essential condition of the lifeof these rich men that they should not themselves make what they wantedfor the adornment of their lives, but should force those to make themwhom they forced to live pinched and sordid lives; and that as anecessary consequence the sordidness and pinching, the ugly barrenness ofthose ruined lives, were worked up into the adornment of the lives of therich, and art died out amongst men? Was that what you would say, myfriend?"

"Yes, yes, " I said, looking at her eagerly; for she had risen and wasstanding on the edge of the bent, the light wind stirring her daintyraiment, one hand laid on her bosom, the other arm stretched downward andclenched in her earnestness. 

"It is true, " she said, "it is true! We have proved it true!"

I think amidst my--something more than interest in her, and admirationfor her, I was beginning to wonder how it would all end. I had aglimmering of fear of what might follow; of anxiety as to the remedywhich this new age might offer for the missing of something one might setone's heart on. But now Dick rose to his feet and cried out in hishearty manner: "Neighbour Ellen, are you quarrelling with the guest, orare you worrying him to tell you things which he cannot properly explainto our ignorance?"

"Neither, dear neighbour, " she said. "I was so far from quarrelling withhim that I think I have been making him good friends both with himselfand me. Is it so, dear guest?" she said, looking down at me with adelightful smile of confidence in being understood. 

"Indeed it is, " said I. 

"Well, moreover, " she said, "I must say for him that he has explainedhimself to me very well indeed, so that I quite understand him. "

"All right, " quoth Dick. "When I first set eyes on you at Runnymede Iknew that there was something wonderful in your keenness of wits. Idon't say that as a mere pretty speech to please you, " said he quickly, "but because it is true; and it made me want to see more of you. But, come, we ought to be going; for we are not half way, and we ought to bein well before sunset. "

And therewith he took Clara's hand, and led her down the bent. But Ellenstood thoughtfully looking down for a little, and as I took her hand tofollow Dick, she turned round to me and said:

"You might tell me a great deal and make many things clear to me, if youwould. "

"Yes, " said I, "I am pretty well fit for that, --and for nothing else--anold man like me. "

She did not notice the bitterness which, whether I liked it or not, wasin my voice as I spoke, but went on: "It is not so much for myself; Ishould be quite content to dream about past times, and if I could notidealise them, yet at least idealise some of the people who lived inthem. But I think sometimes people are too careless of the history ofthe past--too apt to leave it in the hands of old learned men likeHammond. Who knows? Happy as we are, times may alter; we may be bittenwith some impulse towards change, and many things may seem too wonderfulfor us to resist, too exciting not to catch at, if we do not know thatthey are but phases of what has been before; and withal ruinous, deceitful, and sordid. "

As we went slowly down toward the boats she said again: "Not for myselfalone, dear friend; I shall have children; perhaps before the end a goodmany;--I hope so. And though of course I cannot force any special kindof knowledge upon them, yet, my Friend, I cannot help thinking that justas they might be like me in body, so I might impress upon them some partof my ways of thinking; that is, indeed, some of the essential part ofmyself; that part which was not mere moods, created by the matters andevents round about me. What do you think?"

Of one thing I was sure, that her beauty and kindness and eagernesscombined, forced me to think as she did, when she was not earnestlylaying herself open to receive my thoughts. I said, what at the time wastrue, that I thought it most important; and presently stood entranced bythe wonder of her grace as she stepped into the light boat, and held outher hand to me. And so on we went up the Thames still--or whither?

CHAPTER XXX: THE JOURNEY'S END

On we went. In spite of my new-born excitement about Ellen, and mygathering fear of where it would land me, I could not help takingabundant interest in the condition of the river and its banks; all themore as she never seemed weary of the changing picture, but looked atevery yard of flowery bank and gurgling eddy with the same kind ofaffectionate interest which I myself once had so fully, as I used tothink, and perhaps had not altogether lost even in this strangely changedsociety with all its wonders. Ellen seemed delighted with my pleasure atthis, that, or the other piece of carefulness in dealing with the river:the nursing of pretty corners; the ingenuity in dealing with difficultiesof water-engineering, so that the most obviously useful works lookedbeautiful and natural also. All this, I say, pleased me hugely, and shewas pleased at my pleasure--but rather puzzled too. 

"You seem astonished, " she said, just after we had passed a mill {2}which spanned all the stream save the water-way for traffic, but whichwas as beautiful in its way as a Gothic cathedral--"You seem astonishedat this being so pleasant to look at. "

"Yes, " I said, "in a way I am; though I don't see why it should not be. "

"Ah!" she said, looking at me admiringly, yet with a lurking smile in herface, "you know all about the history of the past. Were they not alwayscareful about this little stream which now adds so much pleasantness tothe country side? It would always be easy to manage this little river. Ah! I forgot, though, " she said, as her eye caught mine, "in the days weare thinking of pleasure was wholly neglected in such matters. But howdid they manage the river in the days that you--" Lived in she was goingto say; but correcting herself, said--"in the days of which you haverecord?"

"They _mis_managed it, " quoth I. "Up to the first half of the nineteenthcentury, when it was still more or less of a highway for the countrypeople, some care was taken of the river and its banks; and though Idon't suppose anyone troubled himself about its aspect, yet it was trimand beautiful. But when the railways--of which no doubt you haveheard--came into power, they would not allow the people of the country touse either the natural or artificial waterways, of which latter therewere a great many. I suppose when we get higher up we shall see one ofthese; a very important one, which one of these railways entirely closedto the public, so that they might force people to send their goods bytheir private road, and so tax them as heavily as they could. "

Ellen laughed heartily. "Well, " she said, "that is not stated clearlyenough in our history-books, and it is worth knowing. But certainly thepeople of those days must have been a curiously lazy set. We are noteither fidgety or quarrelsome now, but if any one tried such a piece offolly on us, we should use the said waterways, whoever gaidsaid us:surely that would be simple enough. However, I remember other cases ofthis stupidity: when I was on the Rhine two years ago, I remember theyshowed us ruins of old castles, which, according to what we heard, musthave been made for pretty much the same purpose as the railways were. ButI am interrupting your history of the river: pray go on. "

"It is both short and stupid enough, " said I. "The river having lost itspractical or commercial value--that is, being of no use to make moneyof--"

She nodded. "I understand what that queer phrase means, " said she. "Goon!"

"Well, it was utterly neglected, till at last it became a nuisance--"

"Yes, " quoth Ellen, "I understand: like the railways and the robberknights. Yes?"

"So then they turned the makeshift business on to it, and handed it overto a body up in London, who from time to time, in order to show that theyhad something to do, did some damage here and there, --cut down trees, destroying the banks thereby; dredged the river (where it was not neededalways), and threw the dredgings on the fields so as to spoil them; andso forth. But for the most part they practised 'masterly inactivity, ' asit was then called--that is, they drew their salaries, and let thingsalone. "

"Drew their salaries, " she said. "I know that means that they wereallowed to take an extra lot of other people's goods for doing nothing. And if that had been all, it really might have been worth while to letthem do so, if you couldn't find any other way of keeping them quiet; butit seems to me that being so paid, they could not help doing something, and that something was bound to be mischief, --because, " said she, kindling with sudden anger, "the whole business was founded on lies andfalse pretensions. I don't mean only these river-guardians, but allthese master-people I have read of. "

"Yes, " said I, "how happy you are to have got out of the parsimony ofoppression!"

"Why do you sigh?" she said, kindly and somewhat anxiously. "You seem tothink that it will not last?"

"It will last for you, " quoth I. 

"But why not for you?" said she. "Surely it is for all the world; and ifyour country is somewhat backward, it will come into line before long. Or, " she said quickly, "are you thinking that you must soon go backagain? I will make my proposal which I told you of at once, and soperhaps put an end to your anxiety. I was going to propose that youshould live with us where we are going. I feel quite old friends withyou, and should be sorry to lose you. " Then she smiled on me, and said:"Do you know, I begin to suspect you of wanting to nurse a sham sorrow, like the ridiculous characters in some of those queer old novels that Ihave come across now and then. "

I really had almost begun to suspect it myself, but I refused to admit somuch; so I sighed no more, but fell to giving my delightful companionwhat little pieces of history I knew about the river and its borderlands;and the time passed pleasantly enough; and between the two of us (she wasa better sculler than I was, and seemed quite tireless) we kept up fairlywell with Dick, hot as the afternoon was, and swallowed up the way at agreat rate. At last we passed under another ancient bridge; and throughmeadows bordered at first with huge elm-trees mingled with sweet chestnutof younger but very elegant growth; and the meadows widened out so muchthat it seemed as if the trees must now be on the bents only, or aboutthe houses, except for the growth of willows on the immediate banks; sothat the wide stretch of grass was little broken here. Dick got verymuch excited now, and often stood up in the boat to cry out to us thatthis was such and such a field, and so forth; and we caught fire at hisenthusiasm for the hay-field and its harvest, and pulled our best. 

At last as we were passing through a reach of the river where on the sideof the towing-path was a highish bank with a thick whispering bed ofreeds before it, and on the other side a higher bank, clothed withwillows that dipped into the stream and crowned by ancient elm-trees, wesaw bright figures coming along close to the bank, as if they werelooking for something; as, indeed, they were, and we--that is, Dick andhis company--were what they were looking for. Dick lay on his oars, andwe followed his example. He gave a joyous shout to the people on thebank, which was echoed back from it in many voices, deep and sweetlyshrill; for there were above a dozen persons, both men, women, andchildren. A tall handsome woman, with black wavy hair and deep-set greyeyes, came forward on the bank and waved her hand gracefully to us, andsaid:

"Dick, my friend, we have almost had to wait for you! What excuse haveyou to make for your slavish punctuality? Why didn't you take us bysurprise, and come yesterday?"

"O, " said Dick, with an almost imperceptible jerk of his head toward ourboat, "we didn't want to come too quick up the water; there is so much tosee for those who have not been up here before. "

"True, true, " said the stately lady, for stately is the word that must beused for her; "and we want them to get to know the wet way from the eastthoroughly well, since they must often use it now. But come ashore atonce, Dick, and you, dear neighbours; there is a break in the reeds and agood landing-place just round the corner. We can carry up your things, or send some of the lads after them. "

"No, no, " said Dick; "it is easier going by water, though it is but astep. Besides, I want to bring my friend here to the proper place. Wewill go on to the Ford; and you can talk to us from the bank as we paddlealong. "

He pulled his sculls through the water, and on we went, turning a sharpangle and going north a little. Presently we saw before us a bank of elm-trees, which told us of a house amidst them, though I looked in vain forthe grey walls that I expected to see there. As we went, the folk on thebank talked indeed, mingling their kind voices with the cuckoo's song, the sweet strong whistle of the blackbirds, and the ceaseless note of thecorn-crake as he crept through the long grass of the mowing-field; whencecame waves of fragrance from the flowering clover amidst of the ripegrass. 

In a few minutes we had passed through a deep eddying pool into the sharpstream that ran from the ford, and beached our craft on a tiny strand oflimestone-gravel, and stepped ashore into the arms of our up-riverfriends, our journey done. 

I disentangled myself from the merry throng, and mounting on the cart-road that ran along the river some feet above the water, I looked roundabout me. The river came down through a wide meadow on my left, whichwas grey now with the ripened seeding grasses; the gleaming water waslost presently by a turn of the bank, but over the meadow I could see themingled gables of a building where I knew the lock must be, and which nowseemed to combine a mill with it. A low wooded ridge bounded the river-plain to the south and south-east, whence we had come, and a few lowhouses lay about its feet and up its slope. I turned a little to myright, and through the hawthorn sprays and long shoots of the wild rosescould see the flat country spreading out far away under the sun of thecalm evening, till something that might be called hills with a look ofsheep-pastures about them bounded it with a soft blue line. Before me, the elm-boughs still hid most of what houses there might be in this river-side dwelling of men; but to the right of the cart-road a few greybuildings of the simplest kind showed here and there. 

There I stood in a dreamy mood, and rubbed my eyes as if I were notwholly awake, and half expected to see the gay-clad company of beautifulmen and women change to two or three spindle-legged back-bowed men andhaggard, hollow-eyed, ill-favoured women, who once wore down the soil ofthis land with their heavy hopeless feet, from day to day, and season toseason, and year to year. But no change came as yet, and my heartswelled with joy as I thought of all the beautiful grey villages, fromthe river to the plain and the plain to the uplands, which I couldpicture to myself so well, all peopled now with this happy and lovelyfolk, who had cast away riches and attained to wealth. 

CHAPTER XXXI: AN OLD HOUSE AMONGST NEW FOLK

As I stood there Ellen detached herself from our happy friends who stillstood on the little strand and came up to me. She took me by the hand, and said softly, "Take me on to the house at once; we need not wait forthe others: I had rather not. "

I had a mind to say that I did not know the way thither, and that theriver-side dwellers should lead; but almost without my will my feet movedon along the road they knew. The raised way led us into a little fieldbounded by a backwater of the river on one side; on the right hand wecould see a cluster of small houses and barns, new and old, and before usa grey stone barn and a wall partly overgrown with ivy, over which a fewgrey gables showed. The village road ended in the shallow of theaforesaid backwater. We crossed the road, and again almost without mywill my hand raised the latch of a door in the wall, and we stoodpresently on a stone path which led up to the old house to which fate inthe shape of Dick had so strangely brought me in this new world of men. My companion gave a sigh of pleased surprise and enjoyment; nor did Iwonder, for the garden between the wall and the house was redolent of theJune flowers, and the roses were rolling over one another with thatdelicious superabundance of small well-tended gardens which at firstsight takes away all thought from the beholder save that of beauty. Theblackbirds were singing their loudest, the doves were cooing on the roof-ridge, the rooks in the high elm-trees beyond were garrulous among theyoung leaves, and the swifts wheeled whining about the gables. And thehouse itself was a fit guardian for all the beauty of this heart ofsummer. 

Once again Ellen echoed my thoughts as she said:

"Yes, friend, this is what I came out for to see; this many-gabled oldhouse built by the simple country-folk of the long-past times, regardlessof all the turmoil that was going on in cities and courts, is lovelystill amidst all the beauty which these latter days have created; and Ido not wonder at our friends tending it carefully and making much of it. It seems to me as if it had waited for these happy days, and held in itthe gathered crumbs of happiness of the confused and turbulent past. "

She led me up close to the house, and laid her shapely sun-browned handand arm on the lichened wall as if to embrace it, and cried out, "O me! Ome! How I love the earth, and the seasons, and weather, and all thingsthat deal with it, and all that grows out of it, --as this has done!"

I could not answer her, or say a word. Her exultation and pleasure wereso keen and exquisite, and her beauty, so delicate, yet so interfusedwith energy, expressed it so fully, that any added word would have beencommonplace and futile. I dreaded lest the others should come insuddenly and break the spell she had cast about me; but we stood there awhile by the corner of the big gable of the house, and no one came. Iheard the merry voices some way off presently, and knew that they weregoing along the river to the great meadow on the other side of the houseand garden. 

We drew back a little, and looked up at the house: the door and thewindows were open to the fragrant sun-cured air; from the upper window-sills hung festoons of flowers in honour of the festival, as if theothers shared in the love for the old house. 

"Come in, " said Ellen. "I hope nothing will spoil it inside; but I don'tthink it will. Come! we must go back presently to the others. They havegone on to the tents; for surely they must have tents pitched for thehaymakers--the house would not hold a tithe of the folk, I am sure. "

She led me on to the door, murmuring little above her breath as she didso, "The earth and the growth of it and the life of it! If I could butsay or show how I love it!"

We went in, and found no soul in any room as we wandered from room toroom, --from the rose-covered porch to the strange and quaint garretsamongst the great timbers of the roof, where of old time the tillers andherdsmen of the manor slept, but which a-nights seemed now, by the smallsize of the beds, and the litter of useless and disregardedmatters--bunches of dying flowers, feathers of birds, shells ofstarling's eggs, caddis worms in mugs, and the like--seemed to beinhabited for the time by children. 

Everywhere there was but little furniture, and that only the mostnecessary, and of the simplest forms. The extravagant love of ornamentwhich I had noted in this people elsewhere seemed here to have givenplace to the feeling that the house itself and its associations was theornament of the country life amidst which it had been left stranded fromold times, and that to re-ornament it would but take away its use as apiece of natural beauty. 

We sat down at last in a room over the wall which Ellen had caressed, andwhich was still hung with old tapestry, originally of no artistic value, but now faded into pleasant grey tones which harmonised thoroughly wellwith the quiet of the place, and which would have been ill supplanted bybrighter and more striking decoration. 

I asked a few random questions of Ellen as we sat there, but scarcelylistened to her answers, and presently became silent, and then scarceconscious of anything, but that I was there in that old room, the dovescrooning from the roofs of the barn and dovecot beyond the windowopposite to me. 

My thought returned to me after what I think was but a minute or two, butwhich, as in a vivid dream, seemed as if it had lasted a long time, whenI saw Ellen sitting, looking all the fuller of life and pleasure anddesire from the contrast with the grey faded tapestry with its futiledesign, which was now only bearable because it had grown so faint andfeeble. 

She looked at me kindly, but as if she read me through and through. Shesaid: "You have begun again your never-ending contrast between the pastand this present. Is it not so?"

"True, " said I. "I was thinking of what you, with your capacity andintelligence, joined to your love of pleasure, and your impatience ofunreasonable restraint--of what you would have been in that past. Andeven now, when all is won and has been for a long time, my heart issickened with thinking of all the waste of life that has gone on for somany years. "

"So many centuries, " she said, "so many ages!"

"True, " I said; "too true, " and sat silent again. 

She rose up and said: "Come, I must not let you go off into a dream againso soon. If we must lose you, I want you to see all that you can seefirst before you go back again. "

"Lose me?" I said--"go back again? Am I not to go up to the North withyou? What do you mean?"

She smiled somewhat sadly, and said: "Not yet; we will not talk of thatyet. Only, what were you thinking of just now?"

I said falteringly: "I was saying to myself, The past, the present?Should she not have said the contrast of the present with the future: ofblind despair with hope?"

"I knew it, " she said. Then she caught my hand and said excitedly, "Come, while there is yet time! Come!" And she led me out of the room;and as we were going downstairs and out of the house into the garden by alittle side door which opened out of a curious lobby, she said in a calmvoice, as if she wished me to forget her sudden nervousness: "Come! weought to join the others before they come here looking for us. And letme tell you, my friend, that I can see you are too apt to fall into meredreamy musing: no doubt because you are not yet used to our life ofrepose amidst of energy; of work which is pleasure and pleasure which iswork. "

She paused a little, and as we came out into the lovely garden again, shesaid: "My friend, you were saying that you wondered what I should havebeen if I had lived in those past days of turmoil and oppression. Well, I think I have studied the history of them to know pretty well. I shouldhave been one of the poor, for my father when he was working was a meretiller of the soil. Well, I could not have borne that; therefore mybeauty and cleverness and brightness" (she spoke with no blush or simperof false shame) "would have been sold to rich men, and my life would havebeen wasted indeed; for I know enough of that to know that I should havehad no choice, no power of will over my life; and that I should neverhave bought pleasure from the rich men, or even opportunity of action, whereby I might have won some true excitement. I should have wrecked andwasted in one way or another, either by penury or by luxury. Is it notso?"

"Indeed it is, " said I. 

She was going to say something else, when a little gate in the fence, which led into a small elm-shaded field, was opened, and Dick came withhasty cheerfulness up the garden path, and was presently standing betweenus, a hand laid on the shoulder of each. He said: "Well, neighbours, Ithought you two would like to see the old house quietly without a crowdin it. Isn't it a jewel of a house after its kind? Well, come along, for it is getting towards dinner-time. Perhaps you, guest, would like aswim before we sit down to what I fancy will be a pretty long feast?"

"Yes, " I said, "I should like that. "

"Well, good-bye for the present, neighbour Ellen, " said Dick. "Herecomes Clara to take care of you, as I fancy she is more at home amongstour friends here. "

Clara came out of the fields as he spoke; and with one look at Ellen Iturned and went with Dick, doubting, if I must say the truth, whether Ishould see her again. 

CHAPTER XXXII: THE FEAST'S BEGINNING--THE END

Dick brought me at once into the little field which, as I had seen fromthe garden, was covered with gaily-coloured tents arranged in orderlylanes, about which were sitting and lying on the grass some fifty orsixty men, women, and children, all of them in the height of good temperand enjoyment--with their holiday mood on, so to say. 

"You are thinking that we don't make a great show as to numbers, " saidDick; "but you must remember that we shall have more to-morrow; becausein this haymaking work there is room for a great many people who are notover-skilled in country matters: and there are many who lead sedentarylives, whom it would be unkind to deprive of their pleasure in the hay-field--scientific men and close students generally: so that the skilledworkmen, outside those who are wanted as mowers, and foremen of thehaymaking, stand aside, and take a little downright rest, which you knowis good for them, whether they like it or not: or else they go to othercountrysides, as I am doing here. You see, the scientific men andhistorians, and students generally, will not be wanted till we are fairlyin the midst of the tedding, which of course will not be till the dayafter to-morrow. " With that he brought me out of the little field on toa kind of causeway above the river-side meadow, and thence turning to theleft on to a path through the mowing grass, which was thick and verytall, led on till we came to the river above the weir and its mill. Therewe had a delightful swim in the broad piece of water above the lock, where the river looked much bigger than its natural size from its beingdammed up by the weir. 

"Now we are in a fit mood for dinner, " said Dick, when we had dressed andwere going through the grass again; "and certainly of all the cheerfulmeals in the year, this one of haysel is the cheerfullest; not evenexcepting the corn-harvest feast; for then the year is beginning to fail, and one cannot help having a feeling behind all the gaiety, of the comingof the dark days, and the shorn fields and empty gardens; and the springis almost too far off to look forward to. It is, then, in the autumn, when one almost believes in death. "

"How strangely you talk, " said I, "of such a constantly recurring andconsequently commonplace matter as the sequence of the seasons. " Andindeed these people were like children about such things, and had whatseemed to me a quite exaggerated interest in the weather, a fine day, adark night, or a brilliant one, and the like. 

"Strangely?" said he. "Is it strange to sympathise with the year and itsgains and losses?"

"At any rate, " said I, "if you look upon the course of the year as abeautiful and interesting drama, which is what I think you do, you shouldbe as much pleased and interested with the winter and its trouble andpain as with this wonderful summer luxury. "

"And am I not?" said Dick, rather warmly; "only I can't look upon it asif I were sitting in a theatre seeing the play going on before me, myselftaking no part of it. It is difficult, " said he, smilinggood-humouredly, "for a non-literary man like me to explain myselfproperly, like that dear girl Ellen would; but I mean that I am part ofit all, and feel the pain as well as the pleasure in my own person. Itis not done for me by somebody else, merely that I may eat and drink andsleep; but I myself do my share of it. "

In his way also, as Ellen in hers, I could see that Dick had thatpassionate love of the earth which was common to but few people at least, in the days I knew; in which the prevailing feeling amongst intellectualpersons was a kind of sour distaste for the changing drama of the year, for the life of earth and its dealings with men. Indeed, in those daysit was thought poetic and imaginative to look upon life as a thing to beborne, rather than enjoyed. 

So I mused till Dick's laugh brought me back into the Oxfordshire hay-fields. "One thing seems strange to me, " said he--"that I must needstrouble myself about the winter and its scantiness, in the midst of thesummer abundance. If it hadn't happened to me before, I should havethought it was your doing, guest; that you had thrown a kind of evilcharm over me. Now, you know, " said he, suddenly, "that's only a joke, so you mustn't take it to heart. "

"All right, " said I; "I don't. " Yet I did feel somewhat uneasy at hiswords, after all. 

We crossed the causeway this time, and did not turn back to the house, but went along a path beside a field of wheat now almost ready toblossom. I said:

"We do not dine in the house or garden, then?--as indeed I did not expectto do. Where do we meet, then? For I can see that the houses are mostlyvery small. "

"Yes, " said Dick, "you are right, they are small in this country-side:there are so many good old houses left, that people dwell a good deal insuch small detached houses. As to our dinner, we are going to have ourfeast in the church. I wish, for your sake, it were as big and handsomeas that of the old Roman town to the west, or the forest town to thenorth; {3} but, however, it will hold us all; and though it is a littlething, it is beautiful in its way. "

This was somewhat new to me, this dinner in a church, and I thought ofthe church-ales of the Middle Ages; but I said nothing, and presently wecame out into the road which ran through the village. Dick looked up anddown it, and seeing only two straggling groups before us, said: "It seemsas if we must be somewhat late; they are all gone on; and they will besure to make a point of waiting for you, as the guest of guests, sinceyou come from so far. "

He hastened as he spoke, and I kept up with him, and presently we came toa little avenue of lime-trees which led us straight to the church porch, from whose open door came the sound of cheerful voices and laughter, andvaried merriment. 

"Yes, " said Dick, "it's the coolest place for one thing, this hotevening. Come along; they will be glad to see you. "

Indeed, in spite of my bath, I felt the weather more sultry andoppressive than on any day of our journey yet. 

We went into the church, which was a simple little building with onelittle aisle divided from the nave by three round arches, a chancel, anda rather roomy transept for so small a building, the windows mostly ofthe graceful Oxfordshire fourteenth century type. There was no modernarchitectural decoration in it; it looked, indeed, as if none had beenattempted since the Puritans whitewashed the mediaeval saints andhistories on the wall. It was, however, gaily dressed up for this latter-day festival, with festoons of flowers from arch to arch, and greatpitchers of flowers standing about on the floor; while under the westwindow hung two cross scythes, their blades polished white, and gleamingfrom out of the flowers that wreathed them. But its best ornament wasthe crowd of handsome, happy-looking men and women that were set down totable, and who, with their bright faces and rich hair over their gayholiday raiment, looked, as the Persian poet puts it, like a bed oftulips in the sun. Though the church was a small one, there was plentyof room; for a small church makes a biggish house; and on this eveningthere was no need to set cross tables along the transepts; thoughdoubtless these would be wanted next day, when the learned men of whomDick has been speaking should be come to take their more humble part inthe haymaking. 

I stood on the threshold with the expectant smile on my face of a man whois going to take part in a festivity which he is really prepared toenjoy. Dick, standing by me was looking round the company with an air ofproprietorship in them, I thought. Opposite me sat Clara and Ellen, withDick's place open between them: they were smiling, but their beautifulfaces were each turned towards the neighbours on either side, who weretalking to them, and they did not seem to see me. I turned to Dick, expecting him to lead me forward, and he turned his face to me; butstrange to say, though it was as smiling and cheerful as ever, it made noresponse to my glance--nay, he seemed to take no heed at all of mypresence, and I noticed that none of the company looked at me. A pangshot through me, as of some disaster long expected and suddenly realised. Dick moved on a little without a word to me. I was not three yards fromthe two women who, though they had been my companions for such a shorttime, had really, as I thought, become my friends. Clara's face wasturned full upon me now, but she also did not seem to see me, though Iknow I was trying to catch her eye with an appealing look. I turned toEllen, and she _did_ seem to recognise me for an instant; but her brightface turned sad directly, and she shook her head with a mournful look, and the next moment all consciousness of my presence had faded from herface. 

I felt lonely and sick at heart past the power of words to describe. Ihung about a minute longer, and then turned and went out of the porchagain and through the lime-avenue into the road, while the blackbirdssang their strongest from the bushes about me in the hot June evening. 

Once more without any conscious effort of will I set my face toward theold house by the ford, but as I turned round the corner which led to theremains of the village cross, I came upon a figure strangely contrastingwith the joyous, beautiful people I had left behind in the church. Itwas a man who looked old, but whom I knew from habit, now half forgotten, was really not much more than fifty. His face was rugged, and grimedrather than dirty; his eyes dull and bleared; his body bent, his calvesthin and spindly, his feet dragging and limping. His clothing was amixture of dirt and rags long over-familiar to me. As I passed him hetouched his hat with some real goodwill and courtesy, and much servility. 

Inexpressibly shocked, I hurried past him and hastened along the roadthat led to the river and the lower end of the village; but suddenly Isaw as it were a black cloud rolling along to meet me, like a nightmareof my childish days; and for a while I was conscious of nothing else thanbeing in the dark, and whether I was walking, or sitting, or lying down, I could not tell. 

* * *

I lay in my bed in my house at dingy Hammersmith thinking about it all;and trying to consider if I was overwhelmed with despair at finding I hadbeen dreaming a dream; and strange to say, I found that I was not sodespairing. 

Or indeed _was_ it a dream? If so, why was I so conscious all along thatI was really seeing all that new life from the outside, still wrapped upin the prejudices, the anxieties, the distrust of this time of doubt andstruggle?

All along, though those friends were so real to me, I had been feeling asif I had no business amongst them: as though the time would come whenthey would reject me, and say, as Ellen's last mournful look seemed tosay, "No, it will not do; you cannot be of us; you belong so entirely tothe unhappiness of the past that our happiness even would weary you. Goback again, now you have seen us, and your outward eyes have learned thatin spite of all the infallible maxims of your day there is yet a time ofrest in store for the world, when mastery has changed into fellowship--butnot before. Go back again, then, and while you live you will see allround you people engaged in making others live lives which are not theirown, while they themselves care nothing for their own real lives--men whohate life though they fear death. Go back and be the happier for havingseen us, for having added a little hope to your struggle. Go on livingwhile you may, striving, with whatsoever pain and labour needs must be, to build up little by little the new day of fellowship, and rest, andhappiness. "

Yes, surely! and if others can see it as I have seen it, then it may becalled a vision rather than a dream. 

FOOTNOTES:

{1} "Elegant, " I mean, as a Persian pattern is elegant; not like a rich"elegant" lady out for a morning call. I should rather call thatgenteel. 

{2} I should have said that all along the Thames there were abundance ofmills used for various purposes; none of which were in any degreeunsightly, and many strikingly beautiful; and the gardens about themmarvels of loveliness. 

{3} Cirencester and Burford he must have meant.