re no better off. I had heard of the
rector of one of these villages as a rather original man, and went and
discussed the subject with him. "It is quite useless thinking about it,"
he said. "The people here are clods, and will not respond to any effort
you can make to introduce a little light and sweetness into their
lives." There was no more to be said to him, but I knew he was wrong. I
found the villagers in that part of the country the most intelligent
and responsive people of their class I had ever encountered. It was
a delightful experience to go into their cottages, not to read them a
homily or to present them with a book or a shilling, nor to inquire into
their welfare, material and spiritual, but to converse intimately with
a human interest in them, as would be the case in a country where there
are no caste distinctions. It was delightful, because they were so
responsive, so sympathetic, so alive. Now it was just at this time,
when the subject was in my mind, that the book of sonnets came into my
hands--given to me by the generous caretaker--and I read in it this one
on "Innocent Amusements":--

There lacks a something to complete the round
Of our fair England's homely happiness
A something, yet how oft do trifles bless
When greater gifts by far redound
To honours lone, but no responsive sound
Of joy or mirth awake, nay, oft oppress,
While gifts of which we scarce the moment guess
In never-failing joys abound.
No nation can be truly great
That hath not something childlike in its life
Of every day; it should its youth renew
With simple joys that sweetly recreate
The jaded mind, conjoined in friendly strife
The pleasures of its childhood days pursue.

What wise and kindly thoughts he had--the old squire of Norton! Surely,
when telling me the story of his life, they had omitted something! I
questioned them on the point. Did he not in all the years he was at
Norton House, and later when he lived among them in a cottage in the
village--did he not go into their homes and meet them as if he knew and
felt that they were all of the same flesh, children of one universal
Father, and did he not make them feel this about him--that the
differences in fortune and position and education were mere accidents?
And the answer was: No, certainly not! as if I had asked a preposterous
question. He was the squire, a gentleman--any one might understand that
he could not com