an and ended with the assertion that one
Englishman could beat any six foreigners. This is crude in his eyes. He
knows all about Gladstone and the Land Bill; he is abreast of his age in
knowledge of the Eastern Question; and he claims kindred with a Party.
His self-confidence is phenomenal, but not often offensive. In short, he
is a sort of nautical bagman, with all the faults and all the
business-like virtues of his kind.

THE SQUIRE.

Every afternoon when the weather was bright, an erect old man used to
ride round the Fisher Row on a stout cob. If the men happened to be
sitting in the sun, on the benches, he would stop and speak to them, in
sharp, ringing accents, and he always had a word for the women as they
sat baiting their lines in the open air. He called the men by their
Christian names, and they called him by the name of his estate. None of
the fishermen ever ventured to be familiar with him; but he often held
long talks with them about commonplace matters. They considered that
they had a proprietary interest in him, and they always inquired about
his family affairs. He would tell them that Mr. Harry had gone with his
regiment to India, or that Miss Mabel had gone to stay with her aunt at
the West Moor, or, that Miss Ella was coming home from school for
altogether next month. All this cross-questioning was carried on without
the least vulgarity. The people were really anxious to hear news of the
boys and girls who had grown up amongst them, and they thought it would
please the Squire if they treated him as a sort of Patriarch.

The old man lived for nearly a century in the one place. It may be said
that not long before he died he wagered that he would reach his
hundredth year, but he missed that by three years. His whole energy and
thought were devoted to improving his estate. He had no notion of art or
things of that kind, yet he managed to make his village and its
surroundings very beautiful by long years of care. The sleepy place
where he lived was right away from the currents of modern life. If you
walked over a mile of moorland, then through five miles of deep wood,
where splendid elms and fine beeches made shade for you, you would come
at last to some rising ground, and, if you waited, you might see far
away the trailing smoke of a train. But there are men now, on the
Squire's estate, who have never seen an engine, and there must be a
score or so of the population who have never slept one night