think, too, what
he hears; and he hears much of an enticing but subversive political creed,
and little of any other. There are busy tongues earnestly teaching him to
despise property and social order, to suggest the overthrow of existing
institutions; there is scarcely any one to instruct him in the true lesson
of history. Who calls together an audience of agricultural labourers to
explain to and interest them in the story of their own country? There are
many who are only too anxious to use the agricultural labourer as the
means to effect ends which he scarcely understands. But there are few,
indeed, who are anxious to instruct him in science or literature for his
own sake.

CHAPTER XXVI

A WHEAT COUNTRY

The aspect of a corn-growing district in the colder months is perhaps more
dreary than that of any other country scene. It is winter made visible.
The very houses at the edge of the village stand out harsh and angular,
especially if modern and slated, for the old thatched cottages are not
without a curve in the line of the eaves. No trees or bushes shelter them
from the bitter wind that rushes across the plain, and, because of the
absence of trees round the outskirts, the village may be seen from a great
distance.

The wayfarer, as he approaches along the interminable road, that now rises
over a hill and now descends into a valley, observes it from afar, his
view uninterrupted by wood, but the vastness of the plain seems to shorten
his step, so that he barely gains on the receding roofs. The hedges by the
road are cropped--cut down mercilessly--and do not afford the slightest
protection against wind, or rain, or sleet. If he would pause awhile to
rest his weary limbs no friendly bush keeps off the chilling blast.
Yonder, half a mile in front, a waggon creeps up the hill, always just so
much ahead, never overtaken, or seeming to alter its position, whether he
walks slow or fast. The only apparent inhabitants of the solitude are the
larks that every now and then cross the road in small flocks. Above, the
sky is dull and gloomy; beneath, the earth, except, where some snow
lingers, is of a still darker tint. On the northern side the low mounds
are white with snow here and there. Mile after mile the open level fields
extend on either hand; now brown from the late passage of the plough, now
a pale yellow where the short stubble yet remains, divided by black lines;
the low-cropped hedges bare of leaves. A fe