146 ENGLISH AGRICULTURAL LABOURER. 



the wayfaring man ceaseth.' The farm labourer is looked down 

 upon, especially by young women of his own class, and conse- 

 quently he looks down upon himself. He is at the very bottom 

 of the social scale." 



Few more poignant stories are told of our empty country- 

 side than that of Mr. W. H. Hudson, in the opening chapter 

 of his book A Shepherd's Life. Whilst cycling along the 

 valley of the Ebble, a farm boy standing alone in the middle 

 of a big field raced across the field to the gate which gave on 

 to the road. On being questioned as to what he wanted, 

 the boy replied, " Nothing ; it was just to see you pass." 

 And this was eight years later ! 



Chiefly, Sir Rider Haggard contended, it was a matter 

 of wages. " But," he adds, " it was not solely a question of 

 wages ; he (Hodge) and his wife seek the change in the excite- 

 ment of the streets. Nature has little meaning for most of 

 them and no charm ; but they love a gas lamp. Nature, 

 in my experience, only appeals to the truly educated." 



That it was largely a question of higher wages, to which 

 I would add, more abundant leisure, is indubitable ; but it is 

 not true in my opinion that Nature makes no appeal to those 

 who work under the open sky. 



Though often unexpressed for poets arc as rare 

 amongst farm labourers as they are amongst the educated 

 classes there is a strong, indefinable feeling for Nature in 

 the hearts of those who earn their daily bread in the fields 

 and in the woods. 



" Ah," sighingly said a man of my acquaintance who 

 had been brought up at the plough-tail, dreaming out of a 

 dingy city window, " the seagulls will now be following the 

 plough ! " The cuckoo's first haunting note signalling the 

 eternal youth of the world, invariably evokes from the 

 uneducated a thrill of pleasure as if it were the opening 

 bar of some well-known melody. 



The beauty of the blackthorn throwing its bridal wreath 

 across the hedge when March leans upon April has been often 

 pointed out to me by some toil-smitten labourer, and the 

 glory of the wild cherry, in snowy blossom has, I have 

 noticed, stricken him mute with admiration. The song of the 



