All had been to meeting that night, and all were delighted to find how the young preacher had given utterance to their peculiar and somewhat contradictory views. Then, there were the old steady friends, who feared that the young man would be led away by people’s applause. He was said to have talent, and that was not the one thing needful. He was said to be fond of human larnin’, and that was a mockery and a snare. The more narrow-minded preponderated, as they always do in religious circles, or, at any rate, as they did then. They believed that ‘Ignorance was the mother of devotion.’ They were a stumbling-block in many a promising career, ever ready to censure, ever ready to take offence, ever ready to find fault, ever ready to hint a doubt and hesitate dislike. How many have such kept away who might have been useful members of the Church! How many have they driven into doubt and scepticism and despair! How true is it that against stupidity the gods fight in vain!
It is a mistake to suppose a village life dull. It has its public opinion—its hopes, its fears, its joys. Its little life in its way is as intense as that of London or Paris. Our great men and oracles and dictators—many of our best men—come from our country villages. They are our national nurseries. We cannot breed men or women in the foul air of towns, where soul and body alike wither away. If England is to flourish, we must get back the people to the villages.
The other night Hodge paid me a visit, and to me, revolving these things in my mind, as Cicero was wont to say, the Lord Brougham after him, it seemed that it was worth putting in print Hodge’s opinions about things in general, and farming in particular. Hodge is a Liberal, and will vote for the Gladstonian candidate. Not that he takes much interest in Ireland, or has any particular acquaintance with Irish affairs. Hodge told me he did not read the newspapers, solely because he can’t read at all. He left school before he had mastered the elements, and the cause of his leaving was this: He had, as boys will do, played truant, and the next day the schoolmaster took him to the door of the school to give him a flogging. Unfortunately, the master had left his stick behind, and when he was gone, Hodge, who had his cap in his pocket, thought he might as well run away. He did so, and went to a farmer to give him a job. The farmer set him to scare the crows, and after that Hodge never went to school again. At a proper age he went to ploughing, and a ploughman he has been ever since. He married early, of course. I told him that was a pity; but, as he said, what was he to do? He had no father nor mother, and he wanted a home of his own, and, though his wife worked in a brickyard, she is as natty and tidy a little woman as you could wish to see anywhere, and the children are neat and orderly. He lives in a red-brick cottage with four rooms, for which he pays £4 a year, and has a nice little bit of garden, which produces most of the food consumed by the family—for he can’t afford butcher’s meat. Now and then, though, he buys a few bones of the butcher, or a few scraps such as a butcher has always to dispose of at the rate of sixpence a pound. He can’t eat fat pork, and he can’t smoke. He is tall, but not stout, and has a fine colour on his face, as if his occupation was healthy. His wages are 13s. 6d. a week—not a bad wage in Essex. His hours are long—from six in the morning till half-past five in the evening. On a Sunday morning he has to look after the horses; when he has done that he walks over to have a chat with his father-in-law.