e for outdoor pursuits, a cultured
man.

It was natural, perhaps, that he should find Hugh Seymour "a pity."
Nearly everything that he said about Hugh Seymour began with the words----

"It's a pity that----"

"It's a pity that you can't get some red into your cheeks, my boy."

"It's a pity you don't care about porridge. You must learn to like it."

"It's a pity you can't even make a little progress with your
mathematics."

"It's a pity you told me a lie because----"

"It's a pity you were rude to Mrs. Lasher. No gentleman----"

"It's a pity you weren't attending when----"

Mr. Lasher was, very earnestly, determined to do his best for the boy,
and, as he said, "You see, Hugh, if we do our best for you, you must do
your best for us. Now I can't, I'm afraid, call this your best."

Hugh would have liked to say that it _was_ the best that he could do in
that particular direction (very probably Euclid), but if only he might
be allowed to try his hand in quite _another_ direction, he might do
something very fine indeed. He never, of course, had a chance of saying
this, nor would such a declaration have greatly benefited him, because,
for Mr. Lasher, there was only one way for every one and the sooner (if
you were a small boy) you followed it the better.

"Don't dream, Hugh," said Mr. Lasher, "remember that no man ever did
good-work by dreaming. The goal is to the strong. Remember that."

Hugh, did remember it and would have liked very much to be as strong as
possible, but whenever he tried feats of strength he failed and looked
foolish.

"My dear boy, _that's_ not the way to do it," said Mr. Lasher; "it's a
pity that you don't listen to what I tell you."

II

A very remarkable fact about Mr. Lasher was this--that he paid no
attention whatever to the county in which he lived. Now there are
certain counties in England where it is possible to say, "I am in
England," and to leave it at that; their quality is simply English with
no more individual personality. But Glebeshire has such an
individuality, whether for good or evil, that it forces comment from the
most sluggish and inattentive of human beings. Mr. Lasher was perhaps
the only soul, living or dead, who succeeded in living in it during
forty years (he is still there, he is a Canon now in Polchester) and
never saying anything about it. When on his visits to London people
inquired his opinion of Glebeshire, he would say: "Ah well!... I'm
afraid Methodism