we have nothing to do with the
matter. Take notice that you shall eat bitter bread on earth, no
matter how you may whine, when our just grip is on you; if you persist
in practising scoundrelism, we shall make your lot harder and harder
for you; and, if in the end we find that you will go on working evil,
we shall treat you as a dangerous wild beast, and put you out of the
world altogether."

XXI.

QUIET OLD TOWNS.

A rather popular writer, who first came into notice by dint of naming
a book of essays, "Is Life worth Living?" gave us not long ago a very
sweet description of an English country town; and he worked himself up
to quite a moving pitch of rapture as he described the admirable
social arrangements which may be perceived on a market-day. This
enthusiast tells us how the members of the great county families drive
in to do their shopping. The stately great horses paw and champ at
their bits, the neat servants bustle about in deft attendance, and the
shopkeeper, who has a feudal sort of feeling towards his betters,
comes out to do proper homage. The great landowner brings his wealth
into the High Street or the market place, and the tradesmen raise
their voices to bless him. We have all heard of institutions called
"stores"; but still it is a pity to carp at a pretty picture drawn by
a literary artist. I know that rebellious tradesmen in many of the
shires use violent language as they describe the huge packing-cases
which are deposited at various mansions by the railway vans. I know
also that the regulation saddler who airs his apron at the door of his
shop on market-days will inform the stranger that the gentry get
saddles, harness, and everything else nowadays from the abominable
"stores"; but I must not leave my artist, and shall let the saddler
growl to himself for the present. The polished writer goes on to speak
of the ruddy farmer who strolls round in elephantine fashion and hooks
out sample-bags from his plethoric and prosperous pockets; the dealers
drive a brisk trade, the small shopkeepers are encouraged by their
neighbours from the country, and everything is extremely idyllic and
pure and pretty and representative of England at her best. The old
church rears its quaint height above the quainter houses that cluster
near. In the churchyard the generations of natives sleep sound; one
may trace some families back for hundreds of years, and thus perceive
how firmly the love of the true townsman clin