IS COUNTRY LIFE STILL POSSIBLE P
TO ask such a question as that which heads this paper may at first seem mere paradox. That every sound-minded Englishman is at heart a countryman, has been for so long a fixed idea that we have hardly realised that what was once the inborn bias of a nation has perhaps dwindled to a sentiment. There are good grounds for thinking that the old belief (to which we would still most gladly cling) was based on fact, and not on fancy. Lord Burleigh's axiom that "he who sells an acre of land sells an ounce of credit," was respected long enough to become a guarantee for its transmission. Men who made fortunes, large or small, clung to the habit of investing them in land, and their sons, to whom they left their "money "- that is, their land—were brought up to live on it, and there learnt that passionate love for country life which seems almost inseparable from early association with the soil. They were countrymen in the best sense, and knew how to reap the most conscious and complete enjoyment which their manner of life could afford. Of the general tendency of a nation, there is no quicker judge than an intelligent foreigner ; and even so late as M. Taine's first visit to England, his diagnosis of the end proposed to himself by the average successful Englishman—namely, the possession of a country estate, with the social and political prestige which it conferred—was pro- bably not wide of the truth. The change had already begun, but not for the generation with which M. Taine was probably most in contact during his visit. For most of them, "modern life" had begun too late to destroy the tradition of the past. Those of his hosts who were engaged in commerce, probably took as it came the huge rush of "business" of the first half of the present reign, with its rapid increase of wealth, its bustle and excitement, and wisely made the most of it. But their ideas of leisure were those of their fathers. The form which their enjoyment of that leisure should take was determined by the ideals of their youth. When the money was made and the time came to enjoy it, they bought estates, or added new acres to the old ones, settled down naturally to country interests and country sports, the taste for which had been early formed ;. and shook off the dust of the City without regret. There was no cause for them to feel ennui or isolation, for they merely. exchanged one set of occupations for another, with which early associations made them not unfamiliar. They did not leave affairs to dawdle through the morning with the Times, or potter with vineries and early asparagus, but found work in the management of their property and amusement, in field- sports, or more rarely in the observation of the wild life which surrounded them. In the last, they renewed their youth ; in the first, they found employment for the energies of maturity..
But though this reaction towards the country was partly due to early sentiment, it must be remembered that London life was then infinitely dull for the busy man, and especially' so for the "business maxi." Office-hours were much longer, and holidays very rare and short. Mr. and Mrs. John Gilpin's.
"Twice ten tedious years that we No holiday have seen," was the common experience not only of decent tradesfolk like the hero of the ride to Edmonton, but of merchants and pro- fessional men of standing. We were told by the head of an old City business, who is now, excellent man, enjoying his country house in old English fashion, that the first day on which he so far complied with modern habits as to take a " half-holiday " on Saturday, he made bold to go so far as Hampstead Heath ; and when there, was so overcome by the- enormity of the thing he had done, that be went back to his. office, though he knew that he should find it shut up, and his younger employes taking their holiday without any scruples of conscience. Again, we still recall the memory of two old partners in a leading firm of solicitors, whose sole- form of enjoyment for twenty years was a solemn drive round the park together in a yellow chariot at half-past 6, as a pre- liminary to dinner, whist, and bed. There was little or no mixing with other men and other interests ; no journalists or- artists to chat with ; no mixture of the leisured class with the busy class ; no " society " for the business man. If be wanted a change, and a chance of meeting fresh ideas in others, "e'en from the peasant to the lord," he could only find it in the- country and to the country he went.
That neither of the two causes which mainly kept up the old English taste for the country retain their old force, is certain, though the effect of their gradual weakening is. curiously sudden. Early association certainly has less hold on the imagination of the present generation than it had on their predecessors, mainly because it is allowed so- little time to act before it is supplanted by rival in- terests. When the author of "Tom Brown's Schooldays" complained that "young England" did not know their own lanes and fields and hedges, he found a reason in the "globe- trotting spirit" which sent young men abroad travelling, instead of returning to the old country haunts. By a curious irony, the later chapters of his book, in which the author has so vividly painted the delights of organised athletics, have appealed so powerfully to "young England," that, with our usual instinct for doing one thing with all our might, games of every kind have not only in a great measure supplanted the- old interest in wild life, but even threaten to rival the taste for field-sports which once seemed innate in every Englishman... To be able to ride fairly, to throw a fly, and to shoot with some skill himself, and without danger to his neighbours, were the- common accomplishments of an English gentleman. Excel- len.ce at cricket, tennis, and golf are now more important social qualifications ; and if "young England" has a marked taste for riding anything, it is probably the safety-bicycle. Organised athletics do not flourish in the country nearly so- well as in a London suburb or a fashionable watering- place. But these counter-attractions are mainly, though not wholly, for young men and—it must not be forgotten— for young ladies. Later, the disabilities of country life, and the necessity of the hourly fillip given to the mind by close and easy contact with the executive centre of the world at Westminster and the financial centre in Capel Court, become more and more imperious. To the man who has really been engaged in affairs, the mere perusal of the morning papers is. a poor substitute for the day-long possibilities of telegrams. and special editions. Even if he secures a constant supply of "news," he wants the right people with whom to talk it over.. In London, he can generally find the man he wants. In the country, he feels that his views are lost for want of an audience. He may give up the attempt, and try his hand at farming or managing his estate. But, as a rule, he soon tires of both, lets his farm, and delegates his property to an agent. True, he may spend his time in study. But the appetite grows by what it feeds on, and what his has fed upon is usually his daily paper. If not, and he takes up a "subject," he generally feels the need of being in the neighbourhood of "libraries." So -suburban villas grow, and country houses decay. Cobbett, when riding forth from "the Wen," waxed furious at the houses of " tax-eaters " which lined his route from Kensington, in whatever direction he chose for his excursions. What would he say of us if he could see them now ?
Are we, then, become hopelessly " suburban "? And is the next step for Englishmen to make London what Paris is to Frenchmen? Probably not ; if only because we are at present suburban, and, by the effort so made to retain and reconcile a part of the old love of country with our new love of the excitement and actuality of the cosmopolitan interests which crowd and centre round Westminster, Fleet Street, and the -City, do in a measure confess that country life is still an article of faith, if not part of our practice. English sentiment, at any rate, is still with the trees and fields. French sentiment is so far absolutely hostile to them, that it breaks out, almost spite- fully, in some of the cleverest and most " modern " of modern French writers. Take, for instance, M. de Goncourt. These are the reflections suggested by a visit to the not too natural scenery of the Seine at Bougival :—" La. nature pour moi est ennemi. La campagne semble mortuaire. Cette terre verte me paratt -un grand cimetiere qui attend. Cette herbe pait l'homme.
Non ; cela ne me touche pas comme la causerie d'hier ; la causerie alerte et crnelle physionomie de
femme, et parole d'homme seulement est mon plaisir, mon interet." However much we desire our daily gossip to be fresh and frequent, which, as provided by the papers solely devoted to it, is cruel enough to satisfy M. de Goncourt, if hardly as "alert" as Parisian taste would demand, we have not yet come to look upon Nature as an enemy; and while the taste for Nature, even Nature as interpreted in suburban life, still survives, we may say, without for the present in- -quiring how country life is possible, that it still remains one of -our possibilities.
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