YEAST
:
A
PROBLEM
PREFACE
TO
THE
FOURTH
EDITION
This
book
was
written
nearly
twelve
years
ago
;
and
so
many
things
have
changed
since
then
,
that
it
is
hardly
fair
to
send
it
into
the
world
afresh
,
without
some
notice
of
the
improvement
—
if
such
there
be
—
which
has
taken
place
meanwhile
in
those
southern
counties
of
England
,
with
which
alone
this
book
deals
.
I
believe
that
things
are
improved
.
Twelve
years
more
of
the
new
Poor
Law
have
taught
the
labouring
men
greater
self-help
and
independence
;
I
hope
that
those
virtues
may
not
be
destroyed
in
them
once
more
,
by
the
boundless
and
indiscriminate
almsgiving
which
has
become
the
fashion
of
the
day
,
in
most
parishes
where
there
are
resident
gentry
.
If
half
the
money
which
is
now
given
away
in
different
forms
to
the
agricultural
poor
could
be
spent
in
making
their
dwellings
fit
for
honest
men
to
live
in
,
then
life
,
morals
,
and
poor-rates
,
would
be
saved
to
an
immense
amount
.
But
as
I
do
not
see
how
to
carry
out
such
a
plan
,
I
have
no
right
to
complain
of
others
for
not
seeing
.
Meanwhile
cottage
improvement
,
and
sanitary
reform
,
throughout
the
country
districts
,
are
going
on
at
a
fearfully
slow
rate
.
Here
and
there
high-hearted
landlords
,
like
the
Duke
of
Bedford
,
are
doing
their
duty
like
men
;
but
in
general
,
the
apathy
of
the
educated
classes
is
most
disgraceful
.
But
the
labourers
,
during
the
last
ten
years
,
are
altogether
better
off
.
Free
trade
has
increased
their
food
,
without
lessening
their
employment
.
The
politician
who
wishes
to
know
the
effect
on
agricultural
life
of
that
wise
and
just
measure
,
may
find
it
in
Mr.
Grey
of
Dilston’s
answers
to
the
queries
of
the
French
Government
.
The
country
parson
will
not
need
to
seek
so
far
.
He
will
see
it
(
if
he
be
an
observant
man
)
in
the
faces
and
figures
of
his
school-children
.
He
will
see
a
rosier
,
fatter
,
bigger-boned
race
growing
up
,
which
bids
fair
to
surpass
in
bulk
the
puny
and
ill-fed
generation
of
1815-45
,
and
equal
,
perhaps
,
in
thew
and
sinew
,
to
the
men
who
saved
Europe
in
the
old
French
war
.
If
it
should
be
so
(
as
God
grant
it
may
)
,
there
is
little
fear
but
that
the
labouring
men
of
England
will
find
their
aristocracy
able
to
lead
them
in
the
battle-field
,
and
to
develop
the
agriculture
of
the
land
at
home
,
even
better
than
did
their
grandfathers
of
the
old
war
time
.
To
a
thoughtful
man
,
no
point
of
the
social
horizon
is
more
full
of
light
,
than
the
altered
temper
of
the
young
gentlemen
.
They
have
their
faults
and
follies
still
—
for
when
will
young
blood
be
other
than
hot
blood
?
But
when
one
finds
,
more
and
more
,
swearing
banished
from
the
hunting-field
,
foul
songs
from
the
universities
,
drunkenness
and
gambling
from
the
barracks
;
when
one
finds
everywhere
,
whether
at
college
,
in
camp
,
or
by
the
cover-side
,
more
and
more
,
young
men
desirous
to
learn
their
duty
as
Englishmen
,
and
if
possible
to
do
it
;
when
one
hears
their
altered
tone
toward
the
middle
classes
,
and
that
word
‘snob’
(
thanks
very
much
to
Mr.
Thackeray
)
used
by
them
in
its
true
sense
,
without
regard
of
rank
;
when
one
watches
,
as
at
Aldershott
,
the
care
and
kindness
of
officers
toward
their
men
;
and
over
and
above
all
this
,
when
one
finds
in
every
profession
(
in
that
of
the
soldier
as
much
as
any
)
young
men
who
are
not
only
‘in
the
world
,
’
but
(
in
religious
phraseology
)
‘of
the
world
,
’
living
God-fearing
,
virtuous
,
and
useful
lives
,
as
Christian
men
should
:
then
indeed
one
looks
forward
with
hope
and
confidence
to
the
day
when
these
men
shall
settle
down
in
life
,
and
become
,
as
holders
of
the
land
,
the
leaders
of
agricultural
progress
,
and
the
guides
and
guardians
of
the
labouring
man
.
I
am
bound
to
speak
of
the
farmer
,
as
I
know
him
in
the
South
of
England
.
In
the
North
he
is
a
man
of
altogether
higher
education
and
breeding
:
but
he
is
,
even
in
the
South
,
a
much
better
man
than
it
is
the
fashion
to
believe
him
.
No
doubt
,
he
has
given
heavy
cause
of
complaint
.
He
was
demoralised
,
as
surely
,
if
not
as
deeply
,
as
his
own
labourers
,
by
the
old
Poor
Law
.
He
was
bewildered
—
to
use
the
mildest
term
—
by
promises
of
Protection
from
men
who
knew
better
.
But
his
worst
fault
after
all
has
been
,
that
young
or
old
,
he
has
copied
his
landlord
too
closely
,
and
acted
on
his
maxims
and
example
.
And
now
that
his
landlord
is
growing
wiser
,
he
is
growing
wiser
too
.
Experience
of
the
new
Poor
Law
,
and
experience
of
Free-trade
,
are
helping
him
to
show
himself
what
he
always
was
at
heart
,
an
honest
Englishman
.
All
his
brave
persistence
and
industry
,
his
sturdy
independence
and
self-help
,
and
last
,
but
not
least
,
his
strong
sense
of
justice
,
and
his
vast
good-nature
,
are
coming
out
more
and
more
,
and
working
better
and
better
upon
the
land
and
the
labourer
;
while
among
his
sons
I
see
many
growing
up
brave
,
manly
,
prudent
young
men
,
with
a
steadily
increasing
knowledge
of
what
is
required
of
them
,
both
as
manufacturers
of
food
,
and
employers
of
human
labour
.
The
country
clergy
,
again
,
are
steadily
improving
.
I
do
not
mean
merely
in
morality
—
for
public
opinion
now
demands
that
as
a
sine
quà
non
—
but
in
actual
efficiency
.
Every
fresh
appointment
seems
to
me
,
on
the
whole
,
a
better
one
than
the
last
.
They
are
gaining
more
and
more
the
love
and
respect
of
their
flocks
;
they
are
becoming
more
and
more
centres
of
civilisation
and
morality
to
their
parishes
;
they
are
working
,
for
the
most
part
,
very
hard
,
each
in
his
own
way
;
indeed
their
great
danger
is
,
that
they
should
trust
too
much
in
that
outward
‘business’
work
which
they
do
so
heartily
;
that
they
should
fancy
that
the
administration
of
schools
and
charities
is
their
chief
business
,
and
literally
leave
the
Word
of
God
to
serve
tables
.
Would
that
we
clergymen
could
learn
(
some
of
us
are
learning
already
)
that
influence
over
our
people
is
not
to
be
gained
by
perpetual
interference
in
their
private
affairs
,
too
often
inquisitorial
,
irritating
,
and
degrading
to
both
parties
,
but
by
showing
ourselves
their
personal
friends
,
of
like
passions
with
them
.
Let
a
priest
do
that
.
Let
us
make
our
people
feel
that
we
speak
to
them
,
and
feel
to
them
,
as
men
to
men
,
and
then
the
more
cottages
we
enter
the
better
.
If
we
go
into
our
neighbours’
houses
only
as
judges
,
inquisitors
,
or
at
best
gossips
,
we
are
best
—
as
too
many
are
—
at
home
in
our
studies
.
Would
,
too
,
that
we
would
recollect
this
—
that
our
duty
is
,
among
other
things
,
to
preach
the
Gospel
;
and
consider
firstly
whether
what
we
commonly
preach
be
any
Gospel
or
good
news
at
all
,
and
not
rather
the
worst
possible
news
;
and
secondly
,
whether
we
preach
at
all
;
whether
our
sermons
are
not
utterly
unintelligible
(
being
delivered
in
an
unknown
tongue
)
,
and
also
of
a
dulness
not
to
be
surpassed
;
and
whether
,
therefore
,
it
might
not
be
worth
our
while
to
spend
a
little
time
in
studying
the
English
tongue
,
and
the
art
of
touching
human
hearts
and
minds
.
But
to
return
:
this
improved
tone
(
if
the
truth
must
be
told
)
is
owing
,
far
more
than
people
themselves
are
aware
,
to
the
triumphs
of
those
liberal
principles
,
for
which
the
Whigs
have
fought
for
the
last
forty
years
,
and
of
that
sounder
natural
philosophy
of
which
they
have
been
the
consistent
patrons
.
England
has
become
Whig
;
and
the
death
of
the
Whig
party
is
the
best
proof
of
its
victory
.
It
has
ceased
to
exist
,
because
it
has
done
its
work
;
because
its
principles
are
accepted
by
its
ancient
enemies
;
because
the
political
economy
and
the
physical
science
,
which
grew
up
under
its
patronage
,
are
leavening
the
thoughts
and
acts
of
Anglican
and
of
Evangelical
alike
,
and
supplying
them
with
methods
for
carrying
out
their
own
schemes
.
Lord
Shaftesbury’s
truly
noble
speech
on
Sanitary
Reform
at
Liverpool
is
a
striking
proof
of
the
extent
to
which
the
Evangelical
leaders
have
given
in
their
adherence
to
those
scientific
laws
,
the
original
preachers
of
which
have
been
called
by
his
Lordship’s
party
heretics
and
infidels
,
materialists
and
rationalists
.
Be
it
so
.
Provided
truth
be
preached
,
what
matter
who
preaches
it
?
Provided
the
leaven
of
sound
inductive
science
leaven
the
whole
lump
,
what
matter
who
sets
it
working
?
Better
,
perhaps
,
because
more
likely
to
produce
practical
success
,
that
these
novel
truths
should
be
instilled
into
the
minds
of
the
educated
classes
by
men
who
share
somewhat
in
their
prejudices
and
superstitions
,
and
doled
out
to
them
in
such
measure
as
will
not
terrify
or
disgust
them
.
The
child
will
take
its
medicine
from
the
nurse’s
hand
trustfully
enough
,
when
it
would
scream
itself
into
convulsions
at
the
sight
of
the
doctor
,
and
so
do
itself
more
harm
than
the
medicine
would
do
it
good
.
The
doctor
meanwhile
(
unless
he
be
one
of
Hesiod’s
‘fools
,
who
know
not
how
much
more
half
is
than
the
whole’
)
is
content
enough
to
see
any
part
of
his
prescription
got
down
,
by
any
hands
whatsoever
.
But
there
is
another
cause
for
the
improved
tone
of
the
Landlord
class
,
and
of
the
young
men
of
what
is
commonly
called
the
aristocracy
;
and
that
is
,
a
growing
moral
earnestness
;
which
is
in
great
part
owing
(
that
justice
may
be
done
on
all
sides
)
to
the
Anglican
movement
.
How
much
soever
Neo-Anglicanism
may
have
failed
as
an
Ecclesiastical
or
Theological
system
;
how
much
soever
it
may
have
proved
itself
,
both
by
the
national
dislike
of
it
,
and
by
the
defection
of
all
its
master-minds
,
to
be
radically
un-English
,
it
has
at
least
awakened
hundreds
,
perhaps
thousands
,
of
cultivated
men
and
women
to
ask
themselves
whether
God
sent
them
into
the
world
merely
to
eat
,
drink
,
and
be
merry
,
and
to
have
‘their
souls
saved’
upon
the
Spurgeon
method
,
after
they
die
;
and
has
taught
them
an
answer
to
that
question
not
unworthy
of
English
Christians
.
The
Anglican
movement
,
when
it
dies
out
,
will
leave
behind
at
least
a
legacy
of
grand
old
authors
disinterred
,
of
art
,
of
music
;
of
churches
too
,
schools
,
cottages
,
and
charitable
institutions
,
which
will
form
so
many
centres
of
future
civilisation
,
and
will
entitle
it
to
the
respect
,
if
not
to
the
allegiance
,
of
the
future
generation
.
And
more
than
this
;
it
has
sown
in
the
hearts
of
young
gentlemen
and
young
ladies
seed
which
will
not
perish
;
which
,
though
it
may
develop
into
forms
little
expected
by
those
who
sowed
it
,
will
develop
at
least
into
a
virtue
more
stately
and
reverent
,
more
chivalrous
and
self-sacrificing
,
more
genial
and
human
,
than
can
be
learnt
from
that
religion
of
the
Stock
Exchange
,
which
reigned
triumphant
—
for
a
year
and
a
day
—
in
the
popular
pulpits
.
I
have
said
,
that
Neo-Anglicanism
has
proved
a
failure
,
as
seventeenth-century
Anglicanism
did
.
The
causes
of
that
failure
this
book
has
tried
to
point
out
:
and
not
one
word
which
is
spoken
of
it
therein
,
but
has
been
drawn
from
personal
and
too-intimate
experience
.
But
now
—
peace
to
its
ashes
.
Is
it
so
great
a
sin
,
to
have
been
dazzled
by
the
splendour
of
an
impossible
ideal
?
Is
it
so
great
a
sin
,
to
have
had
courage
and
conduct
enough
to
attempt
the
enforcing
of
that
ideal
,
in
the
face
of
the
prejudices
of
a
whole
nation
?
And
if
that
ideal
was
too
narrow
for
the
English
nation
,
and
for
the
modern
needs
of
mankind
,
is
that
either
so
great
a
sin
?
Are
other
extant
ideals
,
then
,
so
very
comprehensive
?
Does
Mr.
Spurgeon
,
then
,
take
so
much
broader
or
nobler
views
of
the
capacities
and
destinies
of
his
race
,
than
that
great
genius
,
John
Henry
Newman
?
If
the
world
cannot
answer
that
question
now
,
it
will
answer
it
promptly
enough
in
another
five-and-twenty
years
.
And
meanwhile
let
not
the
party
and
the
system
which
has
conquered
boast
itself
too
loudly
.
Let
it
take
warning
by
the
Whigs
;
and
suspect
(
as
many
a
looker-on
more
than
suspects
)
that
its
triumph
may
be
,
as
with
the
Whigs
,
its
ruin
;
and
that
,
having
done
the
work
for
which
it
was
sent
into
the
world
,
there
may
only
remain
for
it
,
to
decay
and
die
.
And
die
it
surely
will
,
if
(
as
seems
too
probable
)
there
succeeds
to
this
late
thirty
years
of
peace
a
thirty
years
of
storm
.
For
it
has
lost
all
hold
upon
the
young
,
the
active
,
the
daring
.
It
has
sunk
into
a
compromise
between
originally
opposite
dogmas
.
It
has
become
a
religion
for
Jacob
the
smooth
man
;
adapted
to
the
maxims
of
the
market
,
and
leaving
him
full
liberty
to
supplant
his
brother
by
all
methods
lawful
in
that
market
.
No
longer
can
it
embrace
and
explain
all
known
facts
of
God
and
man
,
in
heaven
and
earth
,
and
satisfy
utterly
such
minds
and
hearts
as
those
of
Cromwell’s
Ironsides
,
or
the
Scotch
Covenanters
,
or
even
of
a
Newton
and
a
Colonel
Gardiner
.
Let
it
make
the
most
of
its
Hedley
Vicars
and
its
Havelock
,
and
sound
its
own
trumpet
as
loudly
as
it
can
,
in
sounding
theirs
;
for
they
are
the
last
specimens
of
heroism
which
it
is
likely
to
beget
—
if
indeed
it
did
in
any
true
sense
beget
them
,
and
if
their
gallantry
was
really
owing
to
their
creed
,
and
not
to
the
simple
fact
of
their
being
—
like
others
—
English
gentlemen
.
Well
may
Jacob’s
chaplains
cackle
in
delighted
surprise
over
their
noble
memories
,
like
geese
who
have
unwittingly
hatched
a
swan
!
But
on
Esau
in
general
:
—
on
poor
rough
Esau
,
who
sails
Jacob’s
ships
,
digs
Jacob’s
mines
,
founds
Jacob’s
colonies
,
pours
out
his
blood
for
him
in
those
wars
which
Jacob
himself
has
stirred
up
—
while
his
sleek
brother
sits
at
home
in
his
counting-house
,
enjoying
at
once
‘the
means
of
grace’
and
the
produce
of
Esau’s
labour
—
on
him
Jacob’s
chaplains
have
less
and
less
influence
;
for
him
they
have
less
and
less
good
news
.
He
is
afraid
of
them
,
and
they
of
him
;
the
two
do
not
comprehend
one
another
,
sympathise
with
one
another
;
they
do
not
even
understand
one
another’s
speech
.
The
same
social
and
moral
gulf
has
opened
between
them
,
as
parted
the
cultivated
and
wealthy
Pharisee
of
Jerusalem
from
the
rough
fishers
of
the
Galilæan
Lake
:
and
yet
the
Galilæan
fishers
(
if
we
are
to
trust
Josephus
and
the
Gospels
)
were
trusty
,
generous
,
affectionate
—
and
it
was
not
from
among
the
Pharisees
,
it
is
said
,
that
the
Apostles
were
chosen
.
Be
that
as
it
may
,
Esau
has
a
birthright
;
and
this
book
,
like
all
books
which
I
have
ever
written
,
is
written
to
tell
him
so
;
and
,
I
trust
,
has
not
been
written
in
vain
.
But
it
is
not
this
book
,
or
any
man’s
book
,
or
any
man
at
all
,
who
can
tell
Esau
the
whole
truth
about
himself
,
his
powers
,
his
duty
,
and
his
God
.
Woman
must
do
it
,
and
not
man
.
His
mother
,
his
sister
,
the
maid
whom
he
may
love
;
and
failing
all
these
(
as
they
often
will
fail
him
,
in
the
wild
wandering
life
which
he
must
live
)
,
those
human
angels
of
whom
it
is
written
—
‘The
barren
hath
many
more
children
than
she
who
has
an
husband.’
And
such
will
not
be
wanting
.
As
long
as
England
can
produce
at
once
two
such
women
as
Florence
Nightingale
and
Catherine
Marsh
,
there
is
good
hope
that
Esau
will
not
be
defrauded
of
his
birthright
;
and
that
by
the
time
that
Jacob
comes
crouching
to
him
,
to
defend
him
against
the
enemies
who
are
near
at
hand
,
Esau
,
instead
of
borrowing
Jacob’s
religion
,
may
be
able
to
teach
Jacob
his
;
and
the
two
brothers
face
together
the
superstition
and
anarchy
of
Europe
,
in
the
strength
of
a
lofty
and
enlightened
Christianity
,
which
shall
be
thoroughly
human
,
and
therefore
thoroughly
divine
.
C
.
K
.
February
17th
,
1859.
PREFACE
TO
THE
FIRST
EDITION
This
little
tale
was
written
between
two
and
three
years
ago
,
in
the
hope
that
it
might
help
to
call
the
attention
of
wiser
and
better
men
than
I
am
,
to
the
questions
which
are
now
agitating
the
minds
of
the
rising
generation
,
and
to
the
absolute
necessity
of
solving
them
at
once
and
earnestly
,
unless
we
would
see
the
faith
of
our
forefathers
crumble
away
beneath
the
combined
influence
of
new
truths
which
are
fancied
to
be
incompatible
with
it
,
and
new
mistakes
as
to
its
real
essence
.
That
this
can
be
done
I
believe
and
know
:
if
I
had
not
believed
it
,
I
would
never
have
put
pen
to
paper
on
the
subject
.
I
believe
that
the
ancient
Creed
,
the
Eternal
Gospel
,
will
stand
,
and
conquer
,
and
prove
its
might
in
this
age
,
as
it
has
in
every
other
for
eighteen
hundred
years
,
by
claiming
,
and
subduing
,
and
organising
those
young
anarchic
forces
,
which
now
,
unconscious
of
their
parentage
,
rebel
against
Him
to
whom
they
owe
their
being
.
But
for
the
time
being
,
the
young
men
and
women
of
our
day
are
fast
parting
from
their
parents
and
each
other
;
the
more
thoughtful
are
wandering
either
towards
Rome
,
towards
sheer
materialism
,
or
towards
an
unchristian
and
unphilosophic
spiritualism
.
Epicurism
which
,
in
my
eyes
,
is
the
worst
evil
spirit
of
the
three
,
precisely
because
it
looks
at
first
sight
most
like
an
angel
of
light
.
The
mass
,
again
,
are
fancying
that
they
are
still
adhering
to
the
old
creeds
,
the
old
church
,
to
the
honoured
patriarchs
of
English
Protestantism
.
I
wish
I
could
agree
with
them
in
their
belief
about
themselves
.
To
me
they
seem
—
with
a
small
sprinkling
of
those
noble
and
cheering
exceptions
to
popular
error
which
are
to
be
found
in
every
age
of
Christ’s
church
—
to
be
losing
most
fearfully
and
rapidly
the
living
spirit
of
Christianity
,
and
to
be
,
for
that
very
reason
,
clinging
all
the
more
convulsively
—
and
who
can
blame
them
?
—
to
the
outward
letter
of
it
,
whether
High
Church
or
Evangelical
;
unconscious
,
all
the
while
,
that
they
are
sinking
out
of
real
living
belief
,
into
that
dead
self-deceiving
belief-in-believing
,
which
has
been
always
heretofore
,
and
is
becoming
in
England
now
,
the
parent
of
the
most
blind
,
dishonest
,
and
pitiless
bigotry
.
In
the
following
pages
I
have
attempted
to
show
what
some
at
least
of
the
young
in
these
days
are
really
thinking
and
feeling
.
I
know
well
that
my
sketch
is
inadequate
and
partial
:
I
have
every
reason
to
believe
,
from
the
criticisms
which
I
have
received
since
its
first
publication
,
that
it
is
,
as
far
as
it
goes
,
correct
.
I
put
it
as
a
problem
.
It
would
be
the
height
of
arrogance
in
me
to
do
more
than
indicate
the
direction
in
which
I
think
a
solution
may
be
found
.
I
fear
that
my
elder
readers
may
complain
that
I
have
no
right
to
start
doubts
without
answering
them
.
I
can
only
answer
,
—
Would
that
I
had
started
them
!
would
that
I
was
not
seeing
them
daily
around
me
,
under
some
form
or
other
,
in
just
the
very
hearts
for
whom
one
would
most
wish
the
peace
and
strength
of
a
fixed
and
healthy
faith
.
To
the
young
,
this
book
can
do
no
harm
;
for
it
will
put
into
their
minds
little
but
what
is
there
already
.
To
the
elder
,
it
may
do
good
;
for
it
may
teach
some
of
them
,
as
I
earnestly
hope
,
something
of
the
real
,
but
too
often
utterly
unsuspected
,
state
of
their
own
children’s
minds
;
something
of
the
reasons
of
that
calamitous
estrangement
between
themselves
and
those
who
will
succeed
them
,
which
is
often
too
painful
and
oppressive
to
be
confessed
to
their
own
hearts
!
Whatever
amount
of
obloquy
this
book
may
bring
upon
me
,
I
shall
think
that
a
light
price
to
pay
,
if
by
it
I
shall
have
helped
,
even
in
a
single
case
,
to
‘turn
the
hearts
of
the
parents
to
the
children
,
and
the
hearts
of
the
children
to
the
parents
,
before
the
great
and
terrible
day
of
the
Lord
come
,
’
—
as
come
it
surely
will
,
if
we
persist
much
longer
in
substituting
denunciation
for
sympathy
,
instruction
for
education
,
and
Pharisaism
for
the
Good
News
of
the
Kingdom
of
God
.
1851.
CHAPTER
I
:
THE
PHILOSOPHY
OF
FOX-HUNTING
As
this
my
story
will
probably
run
counter
to
more
than
one
fashion
of
the
day
,
literary
and
other
,
it
is
prudent
to
bow
to
those
fashions
wherever
I
honestly
can
;
and
therefore
to
begin
with
a
scrap
of
description
.
The
edge
of
a
great
fox-cover
;
a
flat
wilderness
of
low
leafless
oaks
fortified
by
a
long
,
dreary
,
thorn
capped
clay
ditch
,
with
sour
red
water
oozing
out
at
every
yard
;
a
broken
gate
leading
into
a
straight
wood
ride
,
ragged
with
dead
grasses
and
black
with
fallen
leaves
,
the
centre
mashed
into
a
quagmire
by
innumerable
horsehoofs
;
some
forty
red
coats
and
some
four
black
;
a
sprinkling
of
young-farmers
,
resplendent
in
gold
buttons
and
green
;
a
pair
of
sleek
drab
stable-keepers
,
showing
off
horses
for
sale
;
the
surgeon
of
the
union
,
in
Mackintosh
and
antigropelos
;
two
holiday
schoolboys
with
trousers
strapped
down
to
bursting
point
,
like
a
penny
steamer’s
safety-valve
;
a
midshipman
,
the
only
merry
one
in
the
field
,
bumping
about
on
a
fretting
,
sweating
hack
,
with
its
nose
a
foot
above
its
ears
;
and
Lancelot
Smith
,
who
then
kept
two
good
horses
,
and
‘rode
forward’
as
a
fine
young
fellow
of
three-and-twenty
who
can
afford
it
,
and
‘has
nothing
else
to
do
,
’
has
a
very
good
right
to
ride
.
But
what
is
a
description
,
without
a
sketch
of
the
weather
?
—
In
these
Pantheist
days
especially
,
when
a
hero
or
heroine’s
moral
state
must
entirely
depend
on
the
barometer
,
and
authors
talk
as
if
Christians
were
cabbages
,
and
a
man’s
soul
as
well
as
his
lungs
might
be
saved
by
sea-breezes
and
sunshine
;
or
his
character
developed
by
wearing
guano
in
his
shoes
,
and
training
himself
against
a
south
wall
—
we
must
have
a
weather
description
,
though
,
as
I
shall
presently
show
,
one
in
flat
contradiction
of
the
popular
theory
.
Luckily
for
our
information
,
Lancelot
was
very
much
given
to
watch
both
the
weather
and
himself
,
and
had
indeed
,
while
in
his
teens
,
combined
the
two
in
a
sort
of
a
soul-almanack
on
the
principles
just
mentioned
—
somewhat
in
this
style
:
—
‘
Monday
,
21
st
.
—
Wind
S.W.
,
bright
sun
,
mercury
at
30½
inches
.
Felt
my
heart
expanded
towards
the
universe
.
Organs
of
veneration
and
benevolence
pleasingly
excited
;
and
gave
a
shilling
to
a
tramp
.
An
inexpressible
joy
bounded
through
every
vein
,
and
the
soft
air
breathed
purity
and
self-sacrifice
through
my
soul
.
As
I
watched
the
beetles
,
those
children
of
the
sun
,
who
,
as
divine
Shelley
says
,
“
laden
with
light
and
odour
,
pass
over
the
gleam
of
the
living
grass
,
”
I
gained
an
Eden-glimpse
of
the
pleasures
of
virtue
.
‘
N.B.
.
Found
the
tramp
drunk
in
a
ditch
.
I
could
not
have
degraded
myself
on
such
a
day
—
ah
!
how
could
he
?
‘Tuesday
,
22d
.
—
Barometer
rapidly
falling
.
Heavy
clouds
in
the
south-east
.
My
heart
sank
into
gloomy
forebodings
.
Read
Manfred
,
and
doubted
whether
I
should
live
long
.
The
laden
weight
of
destiny
seemed
to
crush
down
my
aching
forehead
,
till
the
thunderstorm
burst
,
and
peace
was
restored
to
my
troubled
soul.’
This
was
very
bad
;
but
to
do
justice
to
Lancelot
,
he
had
grown
out
of
it
at
the
time
when
my
story
begins
.
He
was
now
in
the
fifth
act
of
his
‘Werterean’
stage
;
that
sentimental
measles
,
which
all
clever
men
must
catch
once
in
their
lives
,
and
which
,
generally
,
like
the
physical
measles
,
if
taken
early
,
settles
their
constitution
for
good
or
evil
;
if
taken
late
,
goes
far
towards
killing
them
.
Lancelot
had
found
Byron
and
Shelley
pall
on
his
taste
and
commenced
devouring
Bulwer
and
worshipping
Ernest
Maltravers
.
He
had
left
Bulwer
for
old
ballads
and
romances
,
and
Mr.
Carlyle’s
reviews
;
was
next
alternately
chivalry-mad
;
and
Germany-mad
;
was
now
reading
hard
at
physical
science
;
and
on
the
whole
,
trying
to
become
a
great
man
,
without
any
very
clear
notion
of
what
a
great
man
ought
to
be
.
Real
education
he
never
had
had
.
Bred
up
at
home
under
his
father
,
a
rich
merchant
,
he
had
gone
to
college
with
a
large
stock
of
general
information
,
and
a
particular
mania
for
dried
plants
,
fossils
,
butterflies
,
and
sketching
,
and
some
such
creed
as
this
:
—
That
he
was
very
clever
.
That
he
ought
to
make
his
fortune
.
That
a
great
many
things
were
very
pleasant
—
beautiful
things
among
the
rest
.
That
it
was
a
fine
thing
to
be
‘superior
,
’
gentleman-like
,
generous
,
and
courageous
.
That
a
man
ought
to
be
religious
.
And
left
college
with
a
good
smattering
of
classics
and
mathematics
,
picked
up
in
the
intervals
of
boat-racing
and
hunting
,
and
much
the
same
creed
as
he
brought
with
him
,
except
in
regard
to
the
last
article
.
The
scenery-and-natural-history
mania
was
now
somewhat
at
a
discount
.
He
had
discovered
a
new
natural
object
,
including
in
itself
all
—
more
than
all
—
yet
found
beauties
and
wonders
—
woman
!
Draw
,
draw
the
veil
and
weep
,
guardian
angel
!
if
such
there
be
.
What
was
to
be
expected
?
Pleasant
things
were
pleasant
—
there
was
no
doubt
of
that
,
whatever
else
might
be
doubtful
.
He
had
read
Byron
by
stealth
;
he
had
been
flogged
into
reading
Ovid
and
Tibullus
;
and
commanded
by
his
private
tutor
to
read
Martial
and
Juvenal
‘for
the
improvement
of
his
style.’
All
conversation
on
the
subject
of
love
had
been
prudishly
avoided
,
as
usual
,
by
his
parents
and
teacher
.
The
parts
of
the
Bible
which
spoke
of
it
had
been
always
kept
out
of
his
sight
.
Love
had
been
to
him
,
practically
,
ground
tabooed
and
‘carnal.’
What
was
to
be
expected
?
Just
what
happened
—
if
woman’s
beauty
had
nothing
holy
in
it
,
why
should
his
fondness
for
it
?
Just
what
happens
every
day
—
that
he
had
to
sow
his
wild
oats
for
himself
,
and
eat
the
fruit
thereof
,
and
the
dirt
thereof
also
.
O
fathers
!
fathers
!
and
you
,
clergymen
,
who
monopolise
education
!
either
tell
boys
the
truth
about
love
,
or
do
not
put
into
their
hands
,
without
note
or
comment
,
the
foul
devil’s
lies
about
it
,
which
make
up
the
mass
of
the
Latin
poets
—
and
then
go
,
fresh
from
teaching
Juvenal
and
Ovid
,
to
declaim
at
Exeter
Hall
against
poor
Peter
Dens’s
well-meaning
prurience
!
Had
we
not
better
take
the
beam
out
of
our
own
eye
before
we
meddle
with
the
mote
in
the
Jesuit’s
?
But
where
is
my
description
of
the
weather
all
this
time
?
I
cannot
,
I
am
sorry
to
say
,
give
any
very
cheerful
account
of
the
weather
that
day
.
But
what
matter
?
Are
Englishmen
hedge-gnats
,
who
only
take
their
sport
when
the
sun
shines
?
Is
it
not
,
on
the
contrary
,
symbolical
of
our
national
character
,
that
almost
all
our
field
amusements
are
wintry
ones
?
Our
fowling
,
our
hunting
,
our
punt-shooting
(
pastime
for
Hymir
himself
and
the
frost
giants
)
—
our
golf
and
skating
,
—
our
very
cricket
,
and
boat-racing
,
and
jack
and
grayling
fishing
,
carried
on
till
we
are
fairly
frozen
out
.
We
are
a
stern
people
,
and
winter
suits
us
.
Nature
then
retires
modestly
into
the
background
,
and
spares
us
the
obtrusive
glitter
of
summer
,
leaving
us
to
think
and
work
;
and
therefore
it
happens
that
in
England
,
it
may
be
taken
as
a
general
rule
,
that
whenever
all
the
rest
of
the
world
is
in-doors
,
we
are
out
and
busy
,
and
on
the
whole
,
the
worse
the
day
,
the
better
the
deed
.
The
weather
that
day
,
the
first
day
Lancelot
ever
saw
his
beloved
,
was
truly
national
.
A
silent
,
dim
,
distanceless
,
steaming
,
rotting
day
in
March
.
The
last
brown
oak-leaf
which
had
stood
out
the
winter’s
frost
,
spun
and
quivered
plump
down
,
and
then
lay
;
as
if
ashamed
to
have
broken
for
a
moment
the
ghastly
stillness
,
like
an
awkward
guest
at
a
great
dumb
dinner-party
.
A
cold
suck
of
wind
just
proved
its
existence
,
by
toothaches
on
the
north
side
of
all
faces
.
The
spiders
having
been
weather-bewitched
the
night
before
,
had
unanimously
agreed
to
cover
every
brake
and
brier
with
gossamer-cradles
,
and
never
a
fly
to
be
caught
in
them
;
like
Manchester
cotton-spinners
madly
glutting
the
markets
in
the
teeth
of
‘no
demand.’
The
steam
crawled
out
of
the
dank
turf
,
and
reeked
off
the
flanks
and
nostrils
of
the
shivering
horses
,
and
clung
with
clammy
paws
to
frosted
hats
and
dripping
boughs
.
A
soulless
,
skyless
,
catarrhal
day
,
as
if
that
bustling
dowager
,
old
mother
Earth
—
what
with
match-making
in
spring
,
and
fêtes
champêtres
in
summer
,
and
dinner-giving
in
autumn
—
was
fairly
worn
out
,
and
put
to
bed
with
the
influenza
,
under
wet
blankets
and
the
cold-water
cure
.
There
sat
Lancelot
by
the
cover-side
,
his
knees
aching
with
cold
and
wet
,
thanking
his
stars
that
he
was
not
one
of
the
whippers-in
who
were
lashing
about
in
the
dripping
cover
,
laying
up
for
themselves
,
in
catering
for
the
amusement
of
their
betters
,
a
probable
old
age
of
bed-ridden
torture
,
in
the
form
of
rheumatic
gout
.
Not
that
he
was
at
all
happy
—
indeed
,
he
had
no
reason
to
be
so
;
for
,
first
,
the
hounds
would
not
find
;
next
,
he
had
left
half-finished
at
home
a
review
article
on
the
Silurian
System
,
which
he
had
solemnly
promised
an
abject
and
beseeching
editor
to
send
to
post
that
night
;
next
,
he
was
on
the
windward
side
of
the
cover
,
and
dare
not
light
a
cigar
;
and
lastly
,
his
mucous
membrane
in
general
was
not
in
the
happiest
condition
,
seeing
that
he
had
been
dining
the
evening
before
with
Mr.
Vaurien
of
Rottenpalings
,
a
young
gentleman
of
a
convivial
and
melodious
turn
of
mind
,
who
sang
—
and
played
also
—
as
singing
men
are
wont
—
in
more
senses
than
one
,
and
had
‘ladies
and
gentlemen’
down
from
town
to
stay
with
him
;
and
they
sang
and
played
too
;
and
so
somehow
between
vingt-un
and
champagne-punch
,
Lancelot
had
not
arrived
at
home
till
seven
o’clock
that
morning
,
and
was
in
a
fit
state
to
appreciate
the
feelings
of
our
grandfathers
,
when
,
after
the
third
bottle
of
port
,
they
used
to
put
the
black
silk
tights
into
their
pockets
,
slip
on
the
leathers
and
boots
,
and
ride
the
crop-tailed
hack
thirty
miles
on
a
winter’s
night
,
to
meet
the
hounds
in
the
next
county
by
ten
in
the
morning
.
They
are
‘gone
down
to
Hades
,
even
many
stalwart
souls
of
heroes
,
’
with
John
Warde
of
Squerries
at
their
head
—
the
fathers
of
the
men
who
conquered
at
Waterloo
;
and
we
their
degenerate
grandsons
are
left
instead
,
with
puny
arms
,
and
polished
leather
boots
,
and
a
considerable
taint
of
hereditary
disease
,
to
sit
in
club-houses
,
and
celebrate
the
progress
of
the
species
.
Whether
Lancelot
or
his
horse
,
under
these
depressing
circumstances
,
fell
asleep
;
or
whether
thoughts
pertaining
to
such
a
life
,
and
its
fitness
for
a
clever
and
ardent
young
fellow
in
the
nineteenth
century
,
became
gradually
too
painful
,
and
had
to
be
peremptorily
shaken
off
,
this
deponent
sayeth
not
;
but
certainly
,
after
five-and-thirty
minutes
of
idleness
and
shivering
,
Lancelot
opened
his
eyes
with
a
sudden
start
,
and
struck
spurs
into
his
hunter
without
due
cause
shown
;
whereat
Shiver-the-timbers
,
who
was
no
Griselda
in
temper
—
(
Lancelot
had
bought
him
out
of
the
Pytchley
for
half
his
value
,
as
unrideably
vicious
,
when
he
had
killed
a
groom
,
and
fallen
backwards
on
a
rough-rider
,
the
first
season
after
he
came
up
from
Horncastle
)
—
responded
by
a
furious
kick
or
two
,
threw
his
head
up
,
put
his
foot
into
a
drain
,
and
sprawled
down
all
but
on
his
nose
,
pitching
Lancelot
unawares
shamefully
on
the
pommel
of
his
saddle
.
A
certain
fatality
,
by
the
bye
,
had
lately
attended
all
Lancelot’s
efforts
to
shine
;
he
never
bought
a
new
coat
without
tearing
it
mysteriously
next
day
,
or
tried
to
make
a
joke
without
bursting
out
coughing
in
the
middle
...
and
now
the
whole
field
were
looking
on
at
his
mishap
;
between
disgust
and
the
start
he
turned
almost
sick
,
and
felt
the
blood
rush
into
his
cheeks
and
forehead
as
he
heard
a
shout
of
coarse
jovial
laughter
burst
out
close
to
him
,
and
the
old
master
of
the
hounds
,
Squire
Lavington
,
roared
aloud
—
‘A
pretty
sportsman
you
are
,
Mr.
Smith
,
to
fall
asleep
by
the
cover-side
and
let
your
horse
down
—
and
your
pockets
,
too
!
What’s
that
book
on
the
ground
?
Sapping
and
studying
still
?
I
let
nobody
come
out
with
my
hounds
with
their
pocket
full
of
learning
.
Hand
it
up
here
,
Tom
;
we’ll
see
what
it
is
.
French
,
as
I
am
no
scholar
!
Translate
for
us
,
Colonel
Bracebridge
!
’
And
,
amid
shouts
of
laughter
,
the
gay
Guardsman
read
out
,
—
‘St
.
Francis
de
Sales
:
Introduction
to
a
Devout
Life.’
Poor
Lancelot
!
Wishing
himself
fathoms
under-ground
,
ashamed
of
his
book
,
still
more
ashamed
of
himself
for
his
shame
,
he
had
to
sit
there
ten
physical
seconds
,
or
spiritual
years
,
while
the
colonel
solemnly
returned
him
the
book
,
complimenting
him
on
the
proofs
of
its
purifying
influence
which
he
had
given
the
night
before
,
in
helping
to
throw
the
turnpike-gate
into
the
river
.
But
‘all
things
do
end
,
’
and
so
did
this
;
and
the
silence
of
the
hounds
also
;
and
a
faint
but
knowing
whimper
drove
St.
Francis
out
of
all
heads
,
and
Lancelot
began
to
stalk
slowly
with
a
dozen
horsemen
up
the
wood-ride
,
to
a
fitful
accompaniment
of
wandering
hound-music
,
where
the
choristers
were
as
invisible
as
nightingales
among
the
thick
cover
.
And
hark
!
just
as
the
book
was
returned
to
his
pocket
,
the
sweet
hubbub
suddenly
crashed
out
into
one
jubilant
shriek
,
and
then
swept
away
fainter
and
fainter
among
the
trees
.
The
walk
became
a
trot
—
the
trot
a
canter
.
Then
a
faint
melancholy
shout
at
a
distance
,
answered
by
a
‘Stole
away
!
’
from
the
fields
;
a
doleful
‘toot
!
’
of
the
horn
;
the
dull
thunder
of
many
horsehoofs
rolling
along
the
farther
woodside
.
Then
red
coats
,
flashing
like
sparks
of
fire
across
the
gray
gap
of
mist
at
the
ride’s-mouth
,
then
a
whipper-in
,
bringing
up
a
belated
hound
,
burst
into
the
pathway
,
smashing
and
plunging
,
with
shut
eyes
,
through
ash-saplings
and
hassock-grass
;
then
a
fat
farmer
,
sedulously
pounding
through
the
mud
,
was
overtaken
and
bespattered
in
spite
of
all
his
struggles
;
—
until
the
line
streamed
out
into
the
wide
rushy
pasture
,
startling
up
pewits
and
curlews
,
as
horsemen
poured
in
from
every
side
,
and
cunning
old
farmers
rode
off
at
inexplicable
angles
to
some
well-known
haunts
of
pug
:
and
right
ahead
,
chiming
and
jangling
sweet
madness
,
the
dappled
pack
glanced
and
wavered
through
the
veil
of
soft
grey
mist
.
‘What’s
the
use
of
this
hurry
?
’
growled
Lancelot
.
‘They
will
all
be
back
again
.
I
never
have
the
luck
to
see
a
run.’
But
no
;
on
and
on
—
down
the
wind
and
down
the
vale
;
and
the
canter
became
a
gallop
,
and
the
gallop
a
long
straining
stride
;
and
a
hundred
horsehoofs
crackled
like
flame
among
the
stubbles
,
and
thundered
fetlock-deep
along
the
heavy
meadows
;
and
every
fence
thinned
the
cavalcade
,
till
the
madness
began
to
stir
all
bloods
,
and
with
grim
earnest
silent
faces
,
the
initiated
few
settled
themselves
to
their
work
,
and
with
the
colonel
and
Lancelot
at
their
head
,
‘took
their
pleasure
sadly
,
after
the
manner
of
their
nation
,
’
as
old
Froissart
has
it
.
‘Thorough
bush
,
through
brier
,
Thorough
park
,
through
pale
;
’
till
the
rolling
grass-lands
spread
out
into
flat
black
open
fallows
,
crossed
with
grassy
baulks
,
and
here
and
there
a
long
melancholy
line
of
tall
elms
,
while
before
them
the
high
chalk
ranges
gleamed
above
the
mist
like
a
vast
wall
of
emerald
enamelled
with
snow
,
and
the
winding
river
glittering
at
their
feet
.
‘A
polite
fox
!
’
observed
the
colonel
.
‘He’s
leading
the
squire
straight
home
to
Whitford
,
just
in
time
for
dinner.’
*
*
*
*
*
They
were
in
the
last
meadow
,
with
the
stream
before
them
.
A
line
of
struggling
heads
in
the
swollen
and
milky
current
showed
the
hounds’
opinion
of
Reynard’s
course
.
The
sportsmen
galloped
off
towards
the
nearest
bridge
.
Bracebridge
looked
back
at
Lancelot
,
who
had
been
keeping
by
his
side
in
sulky
rivalry
,
following
him
successfully
through
all
manner
of
desperate
places
,
and
more
and
more
angry
with
himself
and
the
guiltless
colonel
,
because
he
only
followed
,
while
the
colonel’s
quicker
and
unembarrassed
wit
,
which
lived
wholly
in
the
present
moment
,
saw
long
before
Lancelot
,
‘how
to
cut
out
his
work
,
’
in
every
field
.
‘I
shan’t
go
round
,
’
quietly
observed
the
colonel
.
‘Do
you
fancy
I
shall
?
’
growled
Lancelot
,
who
took
for
granted
—
poor
thin-skinned
soul
!
that
the
words
were
meant
as
a
hit
at
himself
.
‘You’re
a
brace
of
geese
,
’
politely
observed
the
old
squire
;
‘and
you’ll
find
it
out
in
rheumatic
fever
.
There
—
“
one
fool
makes
many
!
”
You’ll
kill
Smith
before
you’re
done
,
colonel
!
’
and
the
old
man
wheeled
away
up
the
meadow
,
as
Bracebridge
shouted
after
him
,
—
‘Oh
,
he’ll
make
a
fine
rider
—
in
time
!
’
‘In
time
!
’
Lancelot
could
have
knocked
the
unsuspecting
colonel
down
for
the
word
.
It
just
expressed
the
contrast
,
which
had
fretted
him
ever
since
he
began
to
hunt
with
the
Whitford
Priors
hounds
.
The
colonel’s
long
practice
and
consummate
skill
in
all
he
took
in
hand
,
—
his
experience
of
all
society
,
from
the
prairie
Indian
to
Crockford’s
,
from
the
prize-ring
to
the
continental
courts
,
—
his
varied
and
ready
store
of
information
and
anecdote
,
—
the
harmony
and
completeness
of
the
man
,
—
his
consistency
with
his
own
small
ideal
,
and
his
consequent
apparent
superiority
everywhere
and
in
everything
to
the
huge
awkward
Titan-cub
,
who
,
though
immeasurably
beyond
Bracebridge
in
intellect
and
heart
,
was
still
in
a
state
of
convulsive
dyspepsia
,
‘swallowing
formulæ
,
’
and
daily
well-nigh
choked
;
diseased
throughout
with
that
morbid
self-consciousness
and
lust
of
praise
,
for
which
God
prepares
,
with
His
elect
,
a
bitter
cure
.
Alas
!
poor
Lancelot
!
an
unlicked
bear
,
‘with
all
his
sorrows
before
him
!
’
—
‘Come
along
,
’
quoth
Bracebridge
,
between
snatches
of
a
tune
,
his
coolness
maddening
Lancelot
.
‘Old
Lavington
will
find
us
dry
clothes
,
a
bottle
of
port
,
and
a
brace
of
charming
daughters
,
at
the
Priory
.
In
with
you
,
little
Mustang
of
the
prairie
!
Neck
or
nothing
!
’
—
And
in
an
instant
the
small
wiry
American
,
and
the
huge
Horncastle-bred
hunter
,
were
wallowing
and
staggering
in
the
yeasty
stream
,
till
they
floated
into
a
deep
reach
,
and
swam
steadily
down
to
a
low
place
in
the
bank
.
They
crossed
the
stream
,
passed
the
Priory
Shrubberies
,
leapt
the
gate
into
the
park
,
and
then
on
and
upward
,
called
by
the
unseen
Ariel’s
music
before
them
.
—
Up
,
into
the
hills
;
past
white
crumbling
chalk-pits
,
fringed
with
feathered
juniper
and
tottering
ashes
,
their
floors
strewed
with
knolls
of
fallen
soil
and
vegetation
,
like
wooded
islets
in
a
sea
of
milk
.
—
Up
,
between
steep
ridges
of
tuft
crested
with
black
fir-woods
and
silver
beech
,
and
here
and
there
a
huge
yew
standing
out
alone
,
the
advanced
sentry
of
the
forest
,
with
its
luscious
fretwork
of
green
velvet
,
like
a
mountain
of
Gothic
spires
and
pinnacles
,
all
glittering
and
steaming
as
the
sun
drank
up
the
dew-drops
.
The
lark
sprang
upward
into
song
,
and
called
merrily
to
the
new-opened
sunbeams
,
while
the
wreaths
and
flakes
of
mist
lingered
reluctantly
about
the
hollows
,
and
clung
with
dewy
fingers
to
every
knoll
and
belt
of
pine
.
—
Up
into
the
labyrinthine
bosom
of
the
hills
,
—
but
who
can
describe
them
?
Is
not
all
nature
indescribable
?
every
leaf
infinite
and
transcendental
?
How
much
more
those
mighty
downs
,
with
their
enormous
sheets
of
spotless
turf
,
where
the
dizzy
eye
loses
all
standard
of
size
and
distance
before
the
awful
simplicity
,
the
delicate
vastness
,
of
those
grand
curves
and
swells
,
soft
as
the
outlines
of
a
Greek
Venus
,
as
if
the
great
goddess-mother
Hertha
had
laid
herself
down
among
the
hills
to
sleep
,
her
Titan
limbs
wrapt
in
a
thin
veil
of
silvery
green
.
Up
,
into
a
vast
amphitheatre
of
sward
,
whose
walls
banked
out
the
narrow
sky
above
.
And
here
,
in
the
focus
of
the
huge
ring
,
an
object
appeared
which
stirred
strange
melancholy
in
Lancelot
,
—
a
little
chapel
,
ivy-grown
,
girded
with
a
few
yews
,
and
elders
,
and
grassy
graves
.
A
climbing
rose
over
the
porch
,
and
iron
railings
round
the
churchyard
,
told
of
human
care
;
and
from
the
graveyard
itself
burst
up
one
of
those
noble
springs
known
as
winter-bournes
in
the
chalk
ranges
,
which
,
awakened
in
autumn
from
the
abysses
to
which
it
had
shrunk
during
the
summer’s
drought
,
was
hurrying
down
upon
its
six
months’
course
,
a
broad
sheet
of
oily
silver
over
a
temporary
channel
of
smooth
greensward
.
The
hounds
had
checked
in
the
woods
behind
;
now
they
poured
down
the
hillside
,
so
close
together
‘that
you
might
have
covered
them
with
a
sheet
,
’
straight
for
the
little
chapel
.
A
saddened
tone
of
feeling
spread
itself
through
Lancelot’s
heart
.
There
were
the
everlasting
hills
around
,
even
as
they
had
grown
and
grown
for
countless
ages
,
beneath
the
still
depths
of
the
primeval
chalk
ocean
,
in
the
milky
youth
of
this
great
English
land
.
And
here
was
he
,
the
insect
of
a
day
,
fox-hunting
upon
them
!
He
felt
ashamed
,
and
more
ashamed
when
the
inner
voice
whispered
—
‘Fox-hunting
is
not
the
shame
—
thou
art
the
shame
.
If
thou
art
the
insect
of
a
day
,
it
is
thy
sin
that
thou
art
one.’
And
his
sadness
,
foolish
as
it
may
seem
,
grew
as
he
watched
a
brown
speck
fleet
rapidly
up
the
opposite
hill
,
and
heard
a
gay
view-halloo
burst
from
the
colonel
at
his
side
.
The
chase
lost
its
charm
for
him
the
moment
the
game
was
seen
.
Then
vanished
that
mysterious
delight
of
pursuing
an
invisible
object
,
which
gives
to
hunting
and
fishing
their
unutterable
and
almost
spiritual
charm
;
which
made
Shakespeare
a
nightly
poacher
;
Davy
and
Chantrey
the
patriarchs
of
fly-fishing
;
by
which
the
twelve-foot
rod
is
transfigured
into
an
enchanter’s
wand
,
potent
over
the
unseen
wonders
of
the
water-world
,
to
‘call
up
spirits
from
the
vasty
deep
,
’
which
will
really
‘come
if
you
do
call
for
them’
—
at
least
if
the
conjuration
be
orthodox
—
and
they
there
.
That
spell
was
broken
by
the
sight
of
poor
wearied
pug
,
his
once
gracefully-floating
brush
all
draggled
and
drooping
,
as
he
toiled
up
the
sheep-paths
towards
the
open
down
above
.
But
Lancelot’s
sadness
reached
its
crisis
,
as
he
met
the
hounds
just
outside
the
churchyard
.
Another
moment
—
they
had
leaped
the
rails
;
and
there
they
swept
round
under
the
gray
wall
,
leaping
and
yelling
,
like
Berserk
fiends
among
the
frowning
tombstones
,
over
the
cradles
of
the
quiet
dead
.
Lancelot
shuddered
—
the
thing
was
not
wrong
—
‘it
was
no
one’s
fault
,
’
—
but
there
was
a
ghastly
discord
in
it
.
Peace
and
strife
,
time
and
eternity
—
the
mad
noisy
flesh
,
and
the
silent
immortal
spirit
,
—
the
frivolous
game
of
life’s
outside
show
,
and
the
terrible
earnest
of
its
inward
abysses
,
jarred
together
without
and
within
him
.
He
pulled
his
horse
up
violently
,
and
stood
as
if
rooted
to
the
place
,
gazing
at
he
knew
not
what
.
The
hounds
caught
sight
of
the
fox
,
burst
into
one
frantic
shriek
of
joy
—
and
then
a
sudden
and
ghastly
stillness
,
as
,
mute
and
breathless
,
they
toiled
up
the
hillside
,
gaining
on
their
victim
at
every
stride
.
The
patter
of
the
horsehoofs
and
the
rattle
of
rolling
flints
died
away
above
.
Lancelot
looked
up
,
startled
at
the
silence
;
laughed
aloud
,
he
knew
not
why
,
and
sat
,
regardless
of
his
pawing
and
straining
horse
,
still
staring
at
the
chapel
and
the
graves
.
On
a
sudden
the
chapel-door
opened
,
and
a
figure
,
timidly
yet
loftily
stepped
out
without
observing
him
,
and
suddenly
turning
round
,
met
him
full
,
face
to
face
,
and
stood
fixed
with
surprise
as
completely
as
Lancelot
himself
.
That
face
and
figure
,
and
the
spirit
which
spoke
through
them
,
entered
his
heart
at
once
,
never
again
to
leave
it
.
Her
features
were
aquiline
and
grand
,
without
a
shade
of
harshness
;
her
eyes
shone
out
like
twain
lakes
of
still
azure
,
beneath
a
broad
marble
cliff
of
polished
forehead
;
her
rich
chestnut
hair
rippled
downward
round
the
towering
neck
.
With
her
perfect
masque
and
queenly
figure
,
and
earnest
,
upward
gaze
,
she
might
have
been
the
very
model
from
which
Raphael
conceived
his
glorious
St.
Catherine
—
the
ideal
of
the
highest
womanly
genius
,
softened
into
self-forgetfulness
by
girlish
devotion
.
She
was
simply
,
almost
coarsely
dressed
;
but
a
glance
told
him
that
she
was
a
lady
,
by
the
courtesy
of
man
as
well
as
by
the
will
of
God
.
They
gazed
one
moment
more
at
each
other
—
but
what
is
time
to
spirits
?
With
them
,
as
with
their
Father
,
‘one
day
is
as
a
thousand
years.’
But
that
eye-wedlock
was
cut
short
the
next
instant
by
the
decided
interference
of
the
horse
,
who
,
thoroughly
disgusted
at
his
master’s
whole
conduct
,
gave
a
significant
shake
of
his
head
,
and
shamming
frightened
(
as
both
women
and
horses
will
do
when
only
cross
)
,
commenced
a
war-dance
,
which
drove
Argemone
Lavington
into
the
porch
,
and
gave
the
bewildered
Lancelot
an
excuse
for
dashing
madly
up
the
hill
after
his
companions
.
‘What
a
horrible
ugly
face
!
’
said
Argemone
to
herself
,
‘but
so
clever
,
and
so
unhappy
!
’
Blest
pity
!
true
mother
of
that
graceless
scamp
,
young
Love
,
who
is
ashamed
of
his
real
pedigree
,
and
swears
to
this
day
that
he
is
the
child
of
Venus
!
—
the
coxcomb
!
*
*
*
*
*
[
Here
,
for
the
sake
of
the
reader
,
we
omit
,
or
rather
postpone
a
long
dissertation
on
the
famous
Erototheogonic
chorus
of
Aristophanes’s
Birds
,
with
illustrations
taken
from
all
earth
and
heaven
,
from
the
Vedas
and
Proclus
to
Jacob
Boëhmen
and
Saint
Theresa
.
]
‘The
dichotomy
of
Lancelot’s
personality
,
’
as
the
Germans
would
call
it
,
returned
as
he
dashed
on
.
His
understanding
was
trying
to
ride
,
while
his
spirit
was
left
behind
with
Argemone
.
Hence
loose
reins
and
a
looser
seat
.
He
rolled
about
like
a
tipsy
man
,
holding
on
,
in
fact
,
far
more
by
his
spurs
than
by
his
knees
,
to
the
utter
infuriation
of
Shiver-the-timbers
,
who
kicked
and
snorted
over
the
down
like
one
of
Mephistopheles’s
Demon-steeds
.
They
had
mounted
the
hill
—
the
deer
fled
before
them
in
terror
—
they
neared
the
park
palings
.
In
the
road
beyond
them
the
hounds
were
just
killing
their
fox
,
struggling
and
growling
in
fierce
groups
for
the
red
gobbets
of
fur
,
a
panting
,
steaming
ring
of
horses
round
them
.
Half
a
dozen
voices
hailed
him
as
he
came
up
.
‘Where
have
you
been
?
’
‘He’ll
tumble
off
!
’
‘He’s
had
a
fall
!
’
‘No
he
hasn’t
!
’
‘’Ware
hounds
,
man
alive
!
’
‘He’ll
break
his
neck
!
’
‘He
has
broken
it
,
at
last
!
’
shouted
the
colonel
,
as
Shiver-the-timbers
rushed
at
the
high
pales
,
out
of
breath
,
and
blind
with
rage
.
Lancelot
saw
and
heard
nothing
till
he
was
awakened
from
his
dream
by
the
long
heave
of
the
huge
brute’s
shoulder
,
and
the
maddening
sensation
of
sweeping
through
the
air
over
the
fence
.
He
started
,
checked
the
curb
,
the
horse
threw
up
his
head
,
fulfilling
his
name
by
driving
his
knees
like
a
battering-ram
against
the
pales
—
the
top-bar
bent
like
a
withe
,
flew
out
into
a
hundred
splinters
,
and
man
and
horse
rolled
over
headlong
into
the
hard
flint-road
.
For
one
long
sickening
second
Lancelot
watched
the
blue
sky
between
his
own
knees
.
Then
a
crash
as
if
a
shell
had
burst
in
his
face
—
a
horrible
grind
—
a
sheet
of
flame
—
and
the
blackness
of
night
.
Did
you
ever
feel
it
,
reader
?
When
he
awoke
,
he
found
himself
lying
in
bed
,
with
Squire
Lavington
sitting
by
him
.
There
was
real
sorrow
in
the
old
man’s
face
,
‘Come
to
himself
!
’
and
a
great
joyful
oath
rolled
out
.
‘The
boldest
rider
of
them
all
!
I
wouldn’t
have
lost
him
for
a
dozen
ready-made
spick
and
span
Colonel
Bracebridges
!
’
‘Quite
right
,
squire
!
’
answered
a
laughing
voice
from
behind
the
curtain
.
‘Smith
has
a
clear
two
thousand
a
year
,
and
I
live
by
my
wits
!
’
CHAPTER
II
:
SPRING
YEARNINGS
I
heard
a
story
the
other
day
of
our
most
earnest
and
genial
humorist
,
who
is
just
now
proving
himself
also
our
most
earnest
and
genial
novelist
.
‘I
like
your
novel
exceedingly
,
’
said
a
lady
;
‘the
characters
are
so
natural
—
all
but
the
baronet
,
and
he
surely
is
overdrawn
:
it
is
impossible
to
find
such
coarseness
in
his
rank
of
life
!
’
The
artist
laughed
.
‘And
that
character
,
’
said
he
,
‘is
almost
the
only
exact
portrait
in
the
whole
book.’
So
it
is
.
People
do
not
see
the
strange
things
which
pass
them
every
day
.
‘The
romance
of
real
life’
is
only
one
to
the
romantic
spirit
.
And
then
they
set
up
for
critics
,
instead
of
pupils
;
as
if
the
artist’s
business
was
not
just
to
see
what
they
cannot
see
—
to
open
their
eyes
to
the
harmonies
and
the
discords
,
the
miracles
and
the
absurdities
,
which
seem
to
them
one
uniform
gray
fog
of
commonplaces
.
Then
let
the
reader
believe
,
that
whatsoever
is
commonplace
in
my
story
is
my
own
invention
.
Whatsoever
may
seem
extravagant
or
startling
is
most
likely
to
be
historic
fact
,
else
I
should
not
have
dared
to
write
it
down
,
finding
God’s
actual
dealings
here
much
too
wonderful
to
dare
to
invent
many
fresh
ones
for
myself
.
Lancelot
,
who
had
had
a
severe
concussion
of
the
brain
and
a
broken
leg
,
kept
his
bed
for
a
few
weeks
,
and
his
room
for
a
few
more
.
Colonel
Bracebridge
installed
himself
at
the
Priory
,
and
nursed
him
with
indefatigable
good-humour
and
few
thanks
.
He
brought
Lancelot
his
breakfast
before
hunting
,
described
the
run
to
him
when
he
returned
,
read
him
to
sleep
,
told
him
stories
of
grizzly
bear
and
buffalo-hunts
,
made
him
laugh
in
spite
of
himself
at
extempore
comic
medleys
,
kept
his
tables
covered
with
flowers
from
the
conservatory
,
warmed
his
chocolate
,
and
even
his
bed
.
Nothing
came
amiss
to
him
,
and
he
to
nothing
.
Lancelot
longed
at
first
every
hour
to
be
rid
of
him
,
and
eyed
him
about
the
room
as
a
bulldog
does
the
monkey
who
rides
him
.
In
his
dreams
he
was
Sinbad
the
Sailor
,
and
Bracebridge
the
Old
Man
of
the
Sea
;
but
he
could
not
hold
out
against
the
colonel’s
merry
bustling
kindliness
,
and
the
almost
womanish
tenderness
of
his
nursing
.
The
ice
thawed
rapidly
;
and
one
evening
it
split
up
altogether
,
when
Bracebridge
,
who
was
sitting
drawing
by
Lancelot’s
sofa
,
instead
of
amusing
himself
with
the
ladies
below
,
suddenly
threw
his
pencil
into
the
fire
,
and
broke
out
,
à
propos
de
rien
—
‘What
a
strange
pair
we
are
,
Smith
!
I
think
you
just
the
best
fellow
I
ever
met
,
and
you
hate
me
like
poison
—
you
can’t
deny
it.’
There
was
something
in
the
colonel’s
tone
so
utterly
different
from
his
usual
courtly
and
measured
speech
,
that
Lancelot
was
taken
completely
by
surprise
,
and
stammered
out
,
—
‘I
—
I
—
I
—
no
—
no.
I
know
I
am
very
foolish
—
ungrateful
.
But
I
do
hate
you
,
’
he
said
,
with
a
sudden
impulse
,
‘and
I’ll
tell
you
why.’
‘Give
me
your
hand
,
’
quoth
the
colonel
:
‘I
like
that
.
Now
we
shall
see
our
way
with
each
other
,
at
least.’
‘Because
,
’
said
Lancelot
slowly
,
‘because
you
are
cleverer
than
I
,
readier
than
I
,
superior
to
me
in
every
point.’
The
colonel
laughed
,
not
quite
merrily
.
Lancelot
went
on
,
holding
down
his
shaggy
brows
.
‘I
am
a
brute
and
an
ass
!
—
And
yet
I
do
not
like
to
tell
you
so
.
For
if
I
am
an
ass
,
what
are
you
?
’
‘Heyday
!
’
‘Look
here
.
—
I
am
wasting
my
time
and
brains
on
ribaldry
,
