"And how do you find the people about you, Marney?" said Lord
de Mowbray seating himself on a sofa by his guest.
"All very well, my lord," replied the earl, who ever treated
Lord de Mowbray with a certain degree of ceremony, especially
when the descendant of the crusaders affected the familiar. There was something of a Puck-like malignity in the temperament of Lord Marney, which exhibited itself in a remarkable talent for mortifying persons in a small way; by a gesture, an expression, a look, cloaked too very often with all the character of profound deference. The old nobility of Spain delighted to address each other only by their names, when in the presence of a spick-and-span grandee; calling each other, "Infantado," "Sidonia," "Ossuna," and then turning round with the most distinguished consideration, and appealing to the Most Noble Marquis of Ensenada.
"They begin to get a little uneasy here," said Lord de
Mowbray.
"We have nothing to complain of," said Lord Marney. "We
continue reducing the rates, and as long as we do that the
country must improve. The workhouse test tells. We had the
other day a case of incendiarism, which frightened some
people: but I inquired into it, and am quite satisfied it
originated in purely accidental circumstances; at least
nothing to do with wages. I ought to be a judge, for it was
on my own property."
"And what is the rate of wages, in your part of the world, Lord Marney?" inquired Mr St Lys who was standing by.
"Oh! good enough: not like your manufacturing districts; but
people who work in the open air, instead of a furnace, can't
expect, and don't require such. They get their eight
shillings a week; at least generally."
"Eight shillings a week!" said Mr St Lys. "Can a labouring
man with a family, perhaps of eight children, live on eight
shillings a week!"
"Oh! as for that," said Lord Marney; "they get more than that, because there is beer-money allowed, at least to a great extent among us, though I for one do not approve of the practice, and that makes nearly a shilling per week additional; and then some of them have potatoe grounds, though I am entirely opposed to that system.
"And yet," said Mr St Lys, "how they contrive to live is to me
marvellous."
"Oh! as for that," said Lord Marney, "I have generally found
the higher the wages the worse the workman. They only spend
their money in the beer-shops. They are the curse of this
country."
"But what is a poor man to do," said Mr St Lys; "after his
day's work if he returns to his own roof and finds no home: his fire extinguished, his food unprepared; the partner of his life, wearied with labour in the field or the factory, still absent, or perhaps in bed from exhaustion, or because she has returned wet to the skin, and has no change of raiment for her relief. We have removed woman from her sphere; we may have reduced wages by her introduction into the market of labour; but under these circumstances what we call domestic life is a condition impossible to be realized for the people of this country; and we must not therefore be surprised that they seek solace or rather refuge in the beer-shop.
Lord Marney looked up at Mr St Lys, with a stare of high-bred
impertinence, and then carelessly observed, without directing
his words to him, "They may say what they like, but it is all
an affair of population."
"I would rather believe that it is an affair of resources," said Mr St Lys; "not what is the amount of our population, but what is the amount of our resources for their maintenance.
"It comes to the same thing," said Lord Marney. "Nothing can
put this country right but emigration on a great scale; and as
the government do not choose to undertake it, I have commenced
it for my own defence on a small scale. I will take care that
the population of my parishes is not increased. I build no
cottages and I destroy all I can; and I am not ashamed or
afraid to say so."
"You have declared war to the cottage, then," said Mr St Lys, smiling. "It is not at the first sound so startling a cry as war to the castle."
"But you think it may lead to it?" said Lord Mowbray.
"I love not to be a prophet of evil," said Mr St Lys.