We press still thorow,
Nought that abides in it
Daunting us,--onward!"

It is a sad thing when the "big house" of the village is empty. The
labourers who never see their squire begin to look upon him as a sort of
ogre, who exists merely to screw rents out of the land they till. Those
who are dependent on land alone are often the men who do their duty best
on their estates, and, poor though they may be, they are much beloved.
But it is to be feared that in some parts of England men who are not
suffering from the depression--rich tenants of country houses and the
like--are apt to take a somewhat limited view of their duty towards
their poorer neighbours. To be sure, the good ladies at the "great
house" are invariably "ministering angels" to the poor in time of
sickness, but even in these democratic days there is too great a gulf
fixed between all classes. Let all those who are fortunate enough to
live in such a place as we have attempted to describe remember that a
kind word, a shake of the hand, the occasional distribution of game
throughout the village, and a hundred other small kindnesses do more to
win the heart of the labouring man than much talk at election times of
Small Holdings, Parish Councils, or Free Education.

A tea given two or three times a year by the squire to the whole
village, when the grounds are thrown open to them, does much to lighten
the dulness of their existence and to cheer the monotonous round of
daily toil. It is often thoughtlessness rather than poverty that
prevents those who live in the large house of the village from being
really loved by those around them. There are many instances of unpopular
squires whose faces the cottagers never behold, and yet these men may be
spending hundreds of pounds each year for the benefit of those whose