YEASTS

Maoriland Worker, Volume 12, Issue 303, 20 December 1922, Page 2

YEASTS

By KINGSLEY

(English clergyman and novelist, 1819-1875; of the Christian Socialist rnovenxent? In the scene here quoted, a young University' man is takaa by a gamekeeper to see the, degradation of Hnffl'sh v ; llase i;fe. Tte* time is that of Chartist agitat'ian.).; -

"Can't they read? Can't to*y.prac- :- tice light- and pleasant handicrafts at home, as the Germaii peasantry 'do?"

"Who'll teach 'em,- sir? From the

ploxign-t&il to the *eapjng-hok, and back again, is ail they know. Besides, six*, tliey are not like us Cornish; they are a stupid, pis-headed gefteration at the best, these south countrymen. They're grown-up babies ■ •■•■' who want the parson and the:-aquire- to, be leading them, and preaching to theDi, and spurring them cni,-;and coaxing them up, every moment. • And as for scholarship, sir, a boy leaves sc?>ool at nine or ten to follow =the horses; and between that time and- bis wedding-day he forgets everyword : Tic ever learnt, and becomes, i'm- the most pai*t, as thorough a heathen savage at heart as those wilcl Indians m Lht , Brazil's used to be. -, ■■•.-.

"And then Avo. call Ui em civilised Englishmen." said "We can see that your Indian is a savage, because .he"wears.-.skins., and feathers; biit your Irish? cottar or ..your English labouror, because, he• happ-cus* io'wear a, coat and M to. bo considered a civilised, man." :>■■'"'

"It's the way? pt" the world, sir." said Tvegarva, "judging carnal Judgment, according to the sight .of its own eyes; always looking;, ajk the': outsides of 'things and i-noiii'Siv, and hever much, deeper. But as^:fpr ; reading .sir, it's; all very well lorme, wh 0 have• been a keeper and , dawdler] about Mko a gentleman with- a- giin' over' ■arm;.• but did you ever do a good day's far.rn\Tork in youv life? 1£ you had, man or boy, you Vt'OulcUx'j liavq-?seengame for much reading vy.lien .; y.ou got home: you'd do jusi. what; tkcae pooridlows do—tnm'ble. into bed at eigiit o'clock, hardly waiting to /take your: clothes off, knowing that you .must turn up again 'at five the next, morning to get a breakfast of bread and, perhaps, a nab oi ;the squire's dripping, and then back to .work, again; and so on, day after day, ; sir ; week arler week, year after-, year, without, a hope or chance of anything but what you arc, and only too thankful if you can tret, work to break your back and catch the rheumatism over.'. , .' "But. do you .mean to say that .their labour Is 30 severe and incessant?" "It's only God's blessing- if it is incessant, sir, for if it s.tops. they starve or go to the house to be worse fed than Uift thieveV in.gaol. And as for its being severe, there's • many a boy, as their mothers will tell, you, comes home .night after night, too tired to cat their suppers,.and tumble, fasting, to bed in. the same foul shirt which they've been working in all; the day, never changing their rag of calico from week's ; end :! to •"•week's ■ end,, or washing tiic'skin that's uncier--!-; once in seven years. , ' •■ '

"No vv ciider," said..• Lancelot, "that such a lif a of drudgery malcca them brutal and reckless." ...

"No .vroiuler, indeed, sir: theyVa no time to think; they're born to be raachines, and machines, they fnxisi be; and I think, sir," he added, bitterly, "it's God's mercy that they daren't think. Its God's mercy.that they don't feel. Men that write books and talk at elections call,this a free country, and say that the poorest and meanest has a free opening to rise and become prime'minister, if he can. But you see, sir, the misfortune is, that in practice he can't; for one who gets into a gentleman's family, or into a little shop, and so saves a few pounds, fifty know that they've no chance before them, but day-labourer born, daylabourer live, from hand to'mouth, scraping and pinching tb get not meat and beer even, but bread and potatoes? and then, at the end of it all, for a worthy reward, half-a-crown a weelc of parish pay—or the workhouse. That's a lively hopeful prospect for a Ckristian man !'-■...

Into the booth they turned; and as soon as Lancelot's eyes were accustomed to the reeking atmosphere, &© saw seated at two long temporary tables of hoard, fifty or sixty of "My brethren," as clergymen call them in their sermons, wrangling, stupid, beery, with sodden eyes and drooping lips—interspersed with more gk'ls and tirazen-Jfaced women, .with, dirty flowers in their caps, whose, sole business seemed to be to cast jealous looks at each other, and defend themselves from the t coarse overtures o£ t&oir swains, '...,. ~:' poison, and dranlc and gave Ms comrade to drink also,-through which, they soon died. ' So perished these two murderers, and also the poisoner, , Now, good mon, may God, forgive you your trespasses an ti ifiay you beware of the* em of aYfttioel.:"' ~..-'.■ -i

Lancelot had been already perfectly astonished at the foulness of language which prevailed^ - and the utter" absence of ahytliing like chivalrous re-? spect, almost of common decency, towards women. But lo! the language of the elder women was quite as disgusting as , that of the melt, if not worse. He> whispered a remark on the point to Tregarva, who shbok hishead. ;

"It's the field-work, sir—the, fieldwork, that does it all. They get accustomed from their childhood to "hear words whose very meanings tlfey shouldn't know; and the elder testch the younger ones, and the married ones are worst of all. It-wears them out in body, sir, that field-work, and makes them brutes in soul and in manners. . . ."

Sadder jind sadder, Lancelot tried to listen to the conversation of the men round him. To his astonishment, he hardly understood a word of it. It was half articulate, nasal, guttural, made up almost entirely of vowels, like the speech of savages. He had never before been struck -with the significant contrast between the sharp, clearly defined articulation, the vivid and varied tones of the gentleman, or even of the London street-boy, when compared with the coarse, half-formed growls, as of a company of seals, which he heard round him. That single fact struck him, perhaps, more deeply than any; it connected itself v. r it3i ninny ol his psychological fancies; it was the parent of many thoughts - and plans of his after T life. Here and there he could distinguish a half-sentence. An old shrunken" i"an opposite him was drawing figures in the spilt beer with his pipe-stem, and 'discoursing-of the, glorious times before the great war, "when there was more food than there svas mouths; and more work than there were hands." "Poor human nature., thought Lancelot, as he tried to follow one of those unintelligible discussions about the relative prices of tlic> loaf and the bushel of flour, which ended, as .usual,' in more swearing, and more Quarrelling, anil more beer to make it up—"Poor human nature! always looking back, as the German sage says, to some fancied golden age, never looking forward to the real one which is coming!"

"But I say, vather," drawled oiit some one, "they say there's a. sight more money in England, now, than there was afore the war-time." "Ees. booy," said the old man; "but IT'S GOT INTO TOO PEW;HANDS!" .. "Well," thought Lancelot,'! there's a j glimpse oC practical thought, at least." And a pedlar who sat next him,.a bold, black-whiskered bully from the Potteries, hazarded a joke— "It's all along of .th.'s new sky-and- j tough-it farming-. They used to spread j the money broadcast, but now they; drills it all in one place, like bonedust i under their fancy plants, and we'poor | self-sown chaps get none." . i This garland of fancies ,was receiv-j ed with great applause, whereat the pedlar, emboldened, proceeded to observe, mysteriously, that "donkeys took a beating, but horses kicked at it; and that they'd found out that in Staffordshire long ago. You want a , good Chajtist lecturer down here, my covies, to show you donkeys of labouring men that you.have sot iron on your heels, if you only knowed how to usa it. ..." ■ . Blackbird was by this time prevailed onto sing, and burst out as melodious as ever, while all heads were cocked on one side in delighted attention. "I seed a.vire o' Monday night. A vire both great and high; But I wool not tell you where, my boys, ; Nor wool not tell you why. The v&rmej he comes screeching out. To zave 'uns new brood mare; Zays I, "You and your stock may roast,. Vor aught us poor chaps care.' "Coorus, boys, coorus!" • And the chorus burst out— "Then here's a curse on varmers all, As rob and grind the poor; To rep the fruit of all their works In —• tor evermoor-r-r-a*. "A blind owld dame come to the vire, Zo near as she could get; Zaye, 'Hero's a luck Iwarn't asleep, To lose this blessed 'heft. They robs us of our turfing rights Our bits of chips and sticks, Till poor folks now can't warm their hands, ; "Except by varmers' ricks. , "Then, etc. , - And again tlie "Boy's delicate voice rang put the ferocious chorus, with something, Lancelot fancied, of fiendish •exultation, and every worn face lighted up .with a coarse laugh, tliat Indicated:"no" malice—ijut also -no mercy. . » * - •-' -Lancelot -almost raa out into tlie night—into a triad of figlits, two -■drunken men, two jealous wires, and a brute wlio struck a poor, tkinl, worn* out woman, Cor trying to coax- him home. Lancelot rushed up to interfere, but a man soized ' his uplifted , arm. . "

to usa it,

'£H'll only beat liar all t&e more he gettetk home.**