peasant, sunk in matter, insolent, gross and servile, makes a
startling contrast with our own long-legged, long-headed,
thoughtful, Bible-quoting ploughman. A week or two in such a place
as Suffolk leaves the Scotchman gasping. It seems incredible that
within the boundaries of his own island a class should have been
thus forgotten. Even the educated and intelligent, who hold our
own opinions and speak in our own words, yet seem to hold them with
a difference or, from another reason, and to speak on all things
with less interest and conviction. The first shock of English
society is like a cold plunge. It is possible that the Scot comes
looking for too much, and to be sure his first experiment will be
in the wrong direction. Yet surely his complaint is grounded;
surely the speech of Englishmen is too often lacking in generous
ardour, the better part of the man too often withheld from the
social commerce, and the contact of mind with mind evaded as with
terror. A Scotch peasant will talk more liberally out of his own
experience. He will not put you by with conversational counters
and small jests; he will give you the best of himself, like one
interested in life and man's chief end. A Scotchman is vain,
interested in himself and others, eager for sympathy, setting forth
his thoughts and experience in the best light. The egoism of the
Englishman is self-contained. He does not seek to proselytise. He
takes no interest in Scotland or the Scotch, and, what is the
unkindest cut of all, he does not care to justify his indifference.
Give him the wages of going on and being an Englishman, that is all
he asks; and in the meantime, while you continue to associate, he
would rather not be reminded of your baser origin. Compared with
the grand, tree-like self-sufficiency of his demeanour, the vanity
and curiosity of the Scot seem uneasy, vulgar, and immodest. That
you should continually try to establish human and serious