n the grounds, only a few paces from
the manor house. This is the village club. Here squire, farmer, and
labourer are accustomed to meet on equal terms. I was somewhat surprised
to see on the club table the _Times_, the _Pall Mall Gazette_, and other
papers. These wonderful specimens of nineteenth-century literature
contrast strangely with a place that in many respects has remained
unchanged for centuries.

There are few labourers in England, even in these days, who have the
opportunity--if they will take it--of reading the _Times'_ report of
every speech made in parliament. Perhaps, some day, will come forth from
this hamlet

"Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood";

one who from earliest youth has kept himself in touch with the politics
of the day, and has fitted himself to sit in the House of Commons as the
representative of his class. There are still a few "little tyrants" in
the fields in all parts of England, but they are very much scarcer than
was the case fifty years ago.

I was much pleased with a conversation I had with an old-fashioned
labouring man who, though not past middle age, appeared to be
incapacitated from work owing to a "game leg," and whom I found sitting
under a walnut tree in the manor grounds hard by the brook. He informed
me that there was bagatelle at the club for those who liked it, and all
sorts of games, and smoking concerts: that it was a question who was the
best bagatelle player in the club; but that it probably lay between the
squire and his head gardener, though Tom, the carter, was likely to run
them close! I was glad to find so much good feeling existing among all
classes of this little community, and was not surprised to learn that
this was a contented and happy village.

In this description of "a Cotswold village" we have been looking on the
bright side of things, and there is, thank Heaven! many a place,
_mutato nomine_, that would answer to it. Alas! that there should be
another side to the picture, which we would fain leave untouched.

Gloucestershire, nay England, is full of old manor houses and fair,
smiling villages; but in many parts of the country we see buildings
falling out of repair and deserted mansions. Would that we knew the
remedy for agricultural depression! But let us not despair.

"The future hides in it
Gladness and sorrow;
We press still thorow,
Nought that abid