ng
me. His _manner_, when he addressed the servant-girl, was not more
pleasing. When I followed him from the room, I regretted the haste with
which I had accepted my appointment; but a moment afterwards I entered
into fairyland again, and the passing shadow left me grateful to
Providence for so much real enjoyment. We descended the hill, and for a
time, in silence, Mr Fairman was evidently engaged in deep thought, and
I had no wish to disturb him. Every now and then we lighted upon a view
of especial beauty, and I was on the point of expressing my unbounded
admiration, when one look at my cool and matter-of-fact companion at
once annoyed and stopped me.

"Yes," said Mr Fairman at length, still musing. "It is very
difficult--very difficult to manage the poor. I wonder if they are
grateful at heart. What do you think, Mr Stukely?"

"I have nothing to say of the poor, sir, but praise."

Mr Fairman looked hard at me, and smiled unpleasantly.

"It is the scenery, I suppose. That will make you praise every thing for
the next day or so. It will not do, though. We must walk on our feet,
and be prosaic in this world. The poor are not as poets paint them, nor
is there so much happiness in a hovel as they would lead you to expect.
The poets are like you--they have nothing to say but praise. Ah, me!
they draw largely on their imaginations."

"I do not, sir, in this instance," I answered, somewhat nettled. "My
most valued friends are in the humblest ranks of life. I am proud to say
so. I am not prepared to add, that the most generous of men are the most
needy, although it has been my lot to meet with sympathy and succour at
the hands of those who were much in want of both themselves."

"I believe you, Mr Stukely," answered the incumbent in a more feeling
tone. "I am not fond of theories; yet that's a theory with which I would
willingly pass through life; but it will not answer. It is knocked on
the head every hour of the day. Perhaps it is our own fault. We do not
know how to reach the hearts, and educate the feelings of the ignorant
and helpless. Just step in here."

We were standing before a hut at the base of the hill. It was a low
dirty-looking place, all roof, with a neglected garden surrounding it.
One window was in the cob-wall. It had been fixed there originally,
doubtless with the object of affording light to the inmates; but light,
not being essential to the comfort or happiness of the present tenants,
was in a gre