That remote little village without a squire or any person of means or education in or near it capable of feeling the slightest interest in the people, except the parson, an old infirm man who was never seen but once a week--how wanting in some essential thing it appeared! It seemed to me that the one thing which might be done in these small centres of rural life to brighten and beautify existence is precisely the thing which is never done, also that what really is being done is of doubtful value and sometimes actually harmful.
Leaving Norton one day I visited other small villages in the neighbourhood and found they were no better off.

I had heard of the rector of one of these villages as a rather original man, and went and discussed the subject with him.

"It is quite useless thinking about it," he said.

"The people here are clods, and will not respond to any effort you can make to introduce a little light and sweetness into their lives." There was no more to be said to him, but I knew he was wrong.

I found the villagers in that part of the country the most intelligent and responsive people of their class I had ever encountered.