DULLNESS OF COUNTRY LIFE. 269 



had tried to get a more steady kind of work 

 as a painter, as an ironmonger's assistant ; but 

 his leg was against him. He had not a grumble 

 in his whole composition, and talked cheerfully 

 of the green grass, and confided that he was 

 forty-six. ct But I don't look it a bit, do I ? " 

 I lied manfully that he did not seem more than 

 thirty-five, though — poor, wizened little chap — I 

 would have put him down at ten years above 

 his age. But he was a patient little fighter, 

 and had with his lame leg kept up somehow 

 with the ranks of the workers, had never begged 

 a meal or a shilling in his life, and was, in a 

 way, happy for all Ins frustrated longing for the 

 open life of the country. But there was always 

 the longing. 



That love of the green fields I find in all 

 ranks of life in England, and more in England 

 than in any other part of the world. The 

 typical English gentleman is still a squire, more 

 " at home " in his country house than any- 

 where else, more attune to rustic joys than to 

 city pleasures. The typical English factory hand 

 keeps a hidden corner in his heart for the hedge- 

 rows and the green trees. That is not to say 



