ble to do
anything at all were not many, and when their repertory of songs learnt
by ear was exhausted, there was nothing new forthcoming. Gradually,
therefore, the club began to depend on the few members with a smattering
of middle-class attainments; and they, imitating the rich--asking for
piano accompaniments to their singing, and so on--at the same time gave
themselves airs of superiority to the crowd. And that was fatal. The
less cultivated behaved in the manner usual to them where there is any
unwarrantable condescension going--that is to say, they kept out of the
way of it, until, finally, the performers and organizers had the club
almost to themselves. From the outset the strong labouring men had
contemptuously refused to have anything to do with what was often, I
admit, a foolish and "gassy" affair; but their wives and sons and
daughters had been very well pleased, until the taint of superiority
drove them away. The club died when its democratic character was lost.

Yet, though I was glad to have done with it, I have never regretted the
experience. It is easy now to see the absurdity of my idea, but at that
time I knew less than I do now of the labouring people's condition, and
in furthering the movement I entertained a shadowy hope of finding
amongst the illiterate villagers some fragment or other of primitive
art. It is almost superfluous to say that nothing of the sort was found.
My neighbours had no arts of their own. For any refreshment of that kind
they were dependent on the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table,
or on such cheap refuse as had come into the village from London
music-halls or from the canteens at Aldershot. Street pianos in the
neighbouring town supplied them with popular airs, which they
reproduced--it may be judged with what amazing effect--on flute or
accordion; but the repertory of songs was filled chiefly from the
sources just mentioned. The young men--the shyest creatures in the
country, and the most sensitive to ridicule--found safety in comic songs
which, if produced badly, raised but the greater laugh. Only once or
twice were these songs imprudently chosen; as a rule, they dealt with
somebody's misfortunes or discomforts, in a humorous, practical-joking
spirit, and so came nearer, probably, to the expression of a genuine
village sentiment than anything else that was done. But for all that
they were an imported product. Instead of an indigenous folk-art, with
its roots in the