gs to his native place.
Perhaps a castle looms over the modest streets and squares--it is
converted into a prison in all probability; but the sight of it brings
memories of haughty nobles, or of untitled personages whose pride of
race would put monarchs to the blush. The river flows sweetly past the
sleepy lovely town, and sober citizens walk solemnly beside the
rippling watery highway when the day's toil is over. On Sunday, when
the bells chime their invitation, all sorts and conditions of men meet
in the dim romantic precincts of the ancient church, and there is much
pleasant gossiping when morning and evening worship are ended. Good
old solid England is put before us in miniature when we glance at such
of the community as choose to show themselves before the artistic
observer, and, as we drive away along the sound level roads, we
say--if we are very literary and enthusiastic--"Happy little town!
Happy little nation!" Now that is all very pretty; and yet the
conscientious philosopher is bound to admit that there is another
side--nay, several other sides--to the charming picture. I do not want
any students of the modern French school to prove that rural life in
small towns may be as base and horrible as the life of crowded
cities--I do not want any minute analysis of degradation; but I may
prick a windbag of conceit and do some little service if I try to show
that the state of things in some scores of these delightful old places
is base and corrupt enough to warm the heart of the most exacting
cynic that ever thought evil of his fellow-creatures.

Let us go behind the scenes and see what the idyllic prospect looks
like from the rear. We must proceed with great deliberation, and we
must take our rustic society stratum by stratum. First, then, there
are the idle men who have inherited or earned fortunes, and who like
to settle in luxurious houses away from great centres of population.
Such men are always in great force on the skirts of quiet old towns,
and they are much revered by the tradesmen. I cannot help thinking
that the fate of the average "retired" man must be not a little
dolorous, for I find that the typical member of that class conducts
himself in much the same way no matter where he pitches his habitation
in broad England. He is saved if he has a hobby; but, without a hobby,
he is a very poor creature, and his ways of living on from day to day
are the reverse of admirable. If such a revolutionary institution