第21部分(第6/7 頁)

f　things；　one　understands　it　only　too　well。　The　bucolic　wants　to　〃better〃　himself。　He　is　sick　of　feeding　cows　and　horses；　he　imagines　that；　on　the　pavement　of　London；　he　would　walk　with　a　manlier　tread。

There　is　no　help　in　visions　of　Arcadia；　yet　it　is　plain　fact　that　in　days　gone　by　the　peasantry　found　life　more　than　endurable；　and　yet　were　more　intelligent　than　our　clod…hoppers　who　still　hold　by　the　plough。　They　had　their　folk…songs；　now　utterly　forgotten。　They　had　romances　and　fairy　lore；　which　their　descendants　could　no　more　appreciate　than　an　idyll　of　Theocritus。　Ah；　but　let　it　be　remembered　that　they　had　also　a　HOME；　and　this　is　the　illumining　word。　If　your　peasant　love　the　fields　which　give　him　bread；　he　will　not　think　it　hard　to　labour　in　them；　his　toil　will　no　longer　be　as　that　of　the　beast；　but　upward…looking　and　touched　with　a　light　from　other　than　the　visible　heavens。　No　use　to　blink　the　hard　and　dull　features　of　rustic　existence；　let　them　rather　be　insisted　upon；　that　those　who　own　and　derive　profit　from　the　land　may　be　constant　in　human　care　for　the　lives　which　make　it　fruitful。　Such　care　may　perchance　avail；　in　some　degree；　to　counteract　the　restless　tendency　of　the　time；　the　dweller　in　a　pleasant　cottage　is　not　so　likely　to　wish　to　wander　from　it　as　he　who　shelters　himself　in　a　hovel。　Well…　meaning　folk　talk　about　reawakening　love　of　the　country　by　means　of　deliberate　instruction。　Lies　any　hope　that　way？　Does　it　seem　to　promise　a　return　of　the　time　when　the　old　English　names　of　all　our　flowers　were　mon　on　rustic　lips……by　which；　indeed；　they　were　first　uttered？　The　fact　that　flowers　and　birds　are　well…nigh　forgotten；　together　with　the　songs　and　the　elves；　shows　how　advanced　is　the　process　of　rural　degeneration。　Most　likely　it　is　foolishness　to　hope