Hugh, did remember it and would have liked very much to be as strong as
possible, but whenever he tried feats of strength he failed and looked
foolish.

"My dear boy, _that's_ not the way to do it," said Mr. Lasher; "it's a
pity that you don't listen to what I tell you."


II

A very remarkable fact about Mr. Lasher was this--that he paid no
attention whatever to the county in which he lived. Now there are
certain counties in England where it is possible to say, "I am in
England," and to leave it at that; their quality is simply English with
no more individual personality. But Glebeshire has such an
individuality, whether for good or evil, that it forces comment from the
most sluggish and inattentive of human beings. Mr. Lasher was perhaps
the only soul, living or dead, who succeeded in living in it during
forty years (he is still there, he is a Canon now in Polchester) and
never saying anything about it. When on his visits to London people
inquired his opinion of Glebeshire, he would say: "Ah well!... I'm
afraid Methodism and intemperance are very strong ... all the same,
we're fighting 'em, fighting 'em!"

This was the more remarkable in that Mr. Lasher lived upon the very edge
of Roche St. Mary Moor, a stretch of moor and sand. Roche St. Mary Moor,
that runs to the sea, contains the ruins of St. Arthe Church (buried
until lately in the sand, but recently excavated through the kind
generosity of Sir John Porthcullis, of Borhaze, and shown to visitors,