"I have been in this country before; and I have been on the Thames in those days.""O,"said the old man, eagerly, "so you have been in this country before. Now really, don't you _find_ it(apart from all theory, you know) much changed for the worse?""No, not at all," said I; "I find it much changed for the better.""Ah," quoth he, "I fear that you have been prejudiced by some theory or another. However, of course the time when you were here before must have been so near our own days that the deterioration might not be very great: as then we were, of course, living under the same customs as we are now I was thinking of earlier days than that.""In short," said Clara, "you have _theories_ about the change which has taken place.
"I have facts as well," said he. "Look here! from this hill you can see just four little houses, including this one. Well, I know for certain that in old times, even in the summer, when the leaves were thickest, you could see from the same place six quite big and fine houses; and higher up the water, garden joined garden right up to Windsor; and there were big houses in all the gardens. Ah! England was an important place in those days."I was getting nettled, and said: "What you mean is that you de-cockneyised the place, and sent the damned flunkies packing, and that everybody can live comfortably and happily, and not a few damned thieves only, who were centres of vulgrarity and corruption wherever they were, and who, as to this lovely river, destroyed its beauty morally, and had almmost destroyed it physically, when they were thrown out of it."There was silence after this outburst, which for the life of me Icould not help, remembering how I had suffered from cockneyism and its cause on those same waters of old time. But at last the old man said, quite coolly:
"My dear guest, I really don't know what you mean by either cockneys, or flunkies, or thieves or damned; or how only a few people could live happily and comfortably in a wealthy country. All I can see is that you are angry, and I fear with me: so if you like we will change the subject."I thought this kind and hospitable in him, considering his obstinacy about his theory; and hastened to say that I did not mean to be angry, only emphatic. He bowed gravely, and I thought the storm was over, when suddenly Ellen broke in:
"Grandfather, our guest is reticent from courtesy; but really what he has in mind to say to you ought to be said; so as I know pretty well what it is, I will say it for him; for as you knnow, I have been taught these things by people who--""Yes," said the old man, "by the sage of Bloomsbury, and others.""O," said ****, "so youknow my old kinsman Hammond?""Yes," said she, "and other people too, as my grandfather says, and they have taught me things: and this is the upshot of it. We live in a little house now, not because we have nothing grander to do than working in the fields, but because we please; for if we liked, we could go and live in a big house amongst pleasant companions."Grumbled the old man: "Just so! As if I would live amongst those conceited fellows; all of them looking down upon me!"She smiled on him kindly, but went on as if he had not spoken. "In the past times, when those big houses of which grandfather speaks were so plenty, we _must_ have lived in a cottage whether we liked it or not;and the said cottage, instead of having in it everything we want, would have been bare and empty. We should not have got enough to eat;our clothes would have been ugly to look at, dirty and frowsy. You, grandfather, have done no hard work for years now, but wander about and read your books and have nothing to worry you; and as for me, Iwork hard when I like it, because I like it, and think it does me good, and knits up my muscles, and makes me prettier to look at, and healthier and happier. But in those past days you, grandfather, would have had to work hard after you were old; and would have been always afraid of having to be shut up in a kind of prison wlong with other old men, half-starved and without amusement. And as for me, I am twenty years old. In those days my middle age would be beginning now, and in a few years I should be pinched, thin, and haggard, beset with troubles and miseries,so that no one could have guessed that I was once a beautiful girl.""Is this what you have had in your mind, guest?" said she, the tears in her eyes at thought of the past miseries of people like herself.
"Yes," said I, much moved; "that and more. often--in my country I have seen that wretched change you have spoken of, from the fresh handsome country lass to the poor draggle-tailed country woman."The old man sat silent for a little, but presently recovered himself and took comfort in his old phrase of "Well, you like it so, do you?""Yes." said Ellen, "I love life better than death.""O, you do, do you?" said he. "Well, for my part I like reading a good old book with plenty of fun in it, like Thackeray's `Vanity Fair.' Why don't you write books like that now? Ask that question of your Bloomsbury sage."Seeing ****'s cheeks reddening a little at this sally, and noting that silence followed, I thought I had better do something. So I said: "Iam only the guest, friends; but I know you want to show me your river at its best, so don't you think we had better be moving presently, as it is certainly going to be a hot day?"