rt of the
service, by means of flute and bass violin and clarionet, was ever a
gratification and delight. And even winter had its charms in the shape
of sliding and skating under a clear blue sky--all the trees and hedges
everywhere decked out with diamonds, ever sparkling in the rays of an
unclouded sun. We were all glad when the snow came and covered the earth
with a robe of white. We were glad when it went away, and the birds
began to build their nests, and the plougher went forth to turn up the
soil, which had a fragrant savour after the wet and snow of winter, and
the sower went forth to sow, while the rooks cawed in the morning air as
they followed like an army in search of worms and whatever else they
could feed on, and the graceful swallow, under the eaves of the old
thatched cottage, built her clay nest, and lined it carefully for the
reception of the little ones that were to come. They were always
welcome, for in the opinion of the villagers they brought good luck.
Abroad in the meadows there were the white woolly lambs, always at their
gambols, and leaping all over the meadows.

It was a great happiness to be born in a village. Our village was rather
a pretty one. Afar off we heard the murmurs and smelt the salt air of
the distant sea, and that was something. There were no beerhouses then,
and, alas! few attractions to keep raw village lads under good influence.
My father, as I have said, was a Dissenting minister, painful, godly and
laborious, ever seeking the spiritual welfare of his people, and
relieving as far as possible their temporal wants. I had to accompany
him in his pastoral visits, sometimes an irksome task, as the poor were
numerous and garrulous, and made the most on such occasions of the
infirmities of their lot. Some of the old ones were so worn and withered
that their weird faces often haunted me by night and terrified me in my
dreams.

Another thing that gave me trouble was the fact of being a Dissenter. It
seemed to me a badge of inferiority, as the ignorant farmers and
tradesmen around made Nonconformity the subject of deprecating remarks.
"Dissenters were sly," said the son of the village shopkeeper, the only
boy of my age in the village, whose father was the most servile of men
himself to the parochial dignitaries, and I felt that, as a Dissenter, I
was under a cloud. It was the fashion to call us "Pograms," and the
word--no one knew what it meant--had rather an unpleasant so