LITMIR.BIZ

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do not they see that all goes right?’

      The giant twisted his huge limbs, as if trying to avoid an answer, and yet not daring to do so.

      ‘Do clergymen go about among the poor much, sir, at college, before they are ordained?’

      Lancelot smiled, and shook his head.

      ‘I thought so, sir.  Our good vicar is like the rest hereabouts.  God knows, he stints neither time nor money—the souls of the poor are well looked after, and their bodies too—as far as his purse will go; but that’s not far.’

      ‘Is he ill-off, then?’

      ‘The living’s worth some forty pounds a year.  The great tithes, they say, are worth better than twelve hundred; but Squire Lavington has them.’

      ‘Oh, I see!’ said Lancelot.

      ‘I’m glad you do, sir, for I don’t,’ meekly answered Tregarva.  ‘But the vicar, sir, he is a kind man, and a good; but the poor don’t understand him, nor he them.  He is too learned, sir, and, saving your presence, too fond of his prayer-book.’

      ‘One can’t be too fond of a good thing.’

      ‘Not unless you make an idol of it, sir, and fancy that men’s souls were made for the prayer-book, and not the prayer-book for them.’

      ‘But cannot he expose and redress these evils, if they exist?’

      Tregarva twisted about again.

      ‘I do not say that I think it, sir; but this I know, that every poor man in the vale thinks it—that the parsons are afraid of the landlords.  They must see these things, for they are not blind; and they try to plaster them up out of their own pockets.’

      ‘But why, in God’s name, don’t they strike at the root of the matter, and go straight to the landlords and tell them the truth?’ asked Lancelot.

      ‘So people say, sir.  I see no reason for it except the one which I gave you.  Besides, sir, you must remember, that a man can’t quarrel with his own kin; and so many of them are their squire’s brothers, or sons, or nephews.’

      ‘Or good friends with him, at least.’

      ‘Ay, sir, and, to do them justice, they had need, for the poor’s sake, to keep good friends with the squire.  How else are they to get a farthing for schools, or coal-subscriptions, or lying-in societies, or lending libraries, or penny clubs?  If they spoke their minds to the great ones, sir, how could they keep the parish together?’

      ‘You seem to see both sides of a question, certainly.  But what a miserable state of things, that the labouring man should require all these societies, and charities, and helps from the rich!—that an industrious freeman cannot live without alms!’

      ‘So I have thought this long time,’ quietly answered Tregarva.

      ‘But Miss Honoria,—she is not afraid to tell her father the truth?’

      ‘Suppose, sir, when Adam and Eve were in the garden, that all the devils had come up and played their fiends’ tricks before them,—do you think they’d have seen any shame in it?’

      ‘I really cannot tell,’ said Lancelot, smiling.

      ‘Then I can, sir.  They’d have seen no more harm in it than there was harm already in themselves; and that was none.  A man’s eyes can only see what they’ve learnt to see.’

      Lancelot started: it was a favourite dictum of his in Carlyle’s works.

      ‘Where did you get that thought, my friend’

      ‘By seeing, sir.’

      ‘But what has that to do with Miss Honoria?’

      ‘She is an angel of holiness herself, sir; and, therefore, she goes on without blushing or suspecting, where our blood would boil again.  She sees people in want, and thinks it must be so, and pities them and relieves them.  But she don’t know want herself; and, therefore, she don’t know that it makes men beasts and devils.  She’s as pure as God’s light herself; and, therefore, she fancies every one is as spotless as she is.  And there’s another mistake in your charitable great people, sir.  When they see poor folk sick or hungry before their eyes, they pull out their purses fast enough, God bless them; for they wouldn’t like to be so themselves.  But the oppression that goes on all the year round, and the want that goes on all the year round, and the filth, and the lying, and the swearing, and the profligacy, that go on all the year round, and the sickening weight of debt, and the miserable grinding anxiety from rent-day to rent-day, and Saturday night to Saturday night, that crushes a man’s soul down, and drives every thought out of his head but how he is to fill his stomach and warm his back, and keep a house over his head, till he daren’t for his life take his thoughts one moment off the meat that perisheth—oh, sir, they never felt this; and, therefore, they never dream that there are thousands who pass them in their daily walks who feel this, and feel nothing else!’

      This outburst was uttered with an earnestness and majesty which astonished Lancelot.  He forgot the subject in the speaker.

      ‘You are a very extraordinary gamekeeper!’ said he.

      ‘When the Lord shows a man a thing, he can’t well help seeing it,’ answered Tregarva, in his usual staid tone.

      There was a pause.  The keeper looked at him with a glance, before which Lancelot’s eyes fell.

      ‘Hell is paved with hearsays, sir, and as all this talk of mine is hearsay, if you are in earnest, sir, go and see for yourself.  I know you have a kind heart, and they tell me that you are a great scholar, which would to God I was! so you ought not to condescend to take my word for anything which you can look into yourself;’ with which sound piece of common-sense Tregarva returned busily to his eel-lines.

      ‘Hand me the rod and can, and help me out along the buck-stage,’ said Lancelot; ‘I must have some more talk with you, my fine fellow.’

      ‘Amen,’ answered Tregarva, as he assisted our lame hero along a huge beam which stretched out into the pool; and having settled him there, returned mechanically to his work, humming a Wesleyan hymn-tune.

      Lancelot sat and tried to catch perch, but Tregarva’s words haunted him.  He lighted his cigar, and tried to think earnestly over the matter, but he had got into the wrong place for thinking.  All his thoughts, all his sympathies, were drowned in the rush and whirl of the water.  He forgot everything else in the mere animal enjoyment of sight and sound.  Like many young men at his crisis of life, he had given himself up to the mere contemplation of Nature till he had become her slave; and now a luscious scene, a singing bird, were enough to allure his mind away from the most earnest and awful thoughts.  He tried to think, but the river would not let him.  It thundered and spouted out behind him from the hatches, and leapt madly past him, and caught his eyes in spite of him, and swept them away down its dancing waves, and let them go again only to sweep them down again and again, till his brain felt a delicious dizziness from the everlasting rush and the everlasting roar.  And then below, how it spread, and writhed, and whirled into transparent fans, hissing and twining snakes, polished glass-wreaths, huge crystal bells, which boiled up from the bottom, and dived again beneath long threads of creamy foam, and swung round posts and roots, and rushed blackening under dark weed-fringed boughs, and gnawed at the marly banks, and shook the ever-restless bulrushes, till it was swept away and down over the white pebbles and olive weeds, in one broad rippling sheet of molten silver, towards the distant sea.  Downwards it fleeted ever, and bore his thoughts floating on its oily stream; and the great trout, with their yellow sides and peacock backs, lounged among the eddies, and the silver grayling dimpled and wandered upon the shallows, and the may-flies flickered and rustled round him like water fairies, with their green gauzy wings; the coot clanked musically among the reeds; the frogs hummed their ceaseless vesper-monotone; the kingfisher darted from his hole in the bank like a blue spark of electric light; the swallows’ bills snapped as they twined and hawked above the pool; the swift’s wings whirred like musket-balls, as they rushed screaming past his head; and ever the river fleeted by, bearing his eyes away down

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