It was a delightful experience to go into their cottages, not to read them a homily or to present them with a book or a shilling, nor to inquire into their welfare, material and spiritual, but to converse intimately with a human interest in them, as would be the case in a country where there are no caste distinctions.

It was delightful, because they were so responsive, so sympathetic, so alive.

Now it was just at this time, when the subject was in my mind, that the book of sonnets came into my hands--given to me by the generous caretaker--and I read in it this one on "Innocent Amusements":-- There lacks a something to complete the round Of our fair England's homely happiness A something, yet how oft do trifles bless When greater gifts by far redound To honours lone, but no responsive sound Of joy or mirth awake, nay, oft oppress, While gifts of which we scarce the moment guess In never-failing joys abound.
No nation can be truly great That hath not something childlike in its life Of every day; it should its youth renew With simple joys that sweetly recreate The jaded mind, conjoined in friendly strife The pleasures of its childhood days pursue.
What wise and kindly thoughts he had--the old squire of Norton! Surely, when telling me the story of his life, they had omitted something! I questioned them on the point.

Did he not in all the years he was at Norton House, and later when he lived among them in a cottage in the village--did he not go into their homes and meet them as if he knew and felt that they were all of the same flesh, children of one universal Father, and did he not make them feel this about him--that the differences in fortune and position and education were mere accidents?
And the answer was: No, certainly not! as if I had asked a preposterous question.

He was the squire, a gentleman--any one might understand that he could not come among them like that! That is what a parson can do because he is, so to speak, paid to keep an eye on them, and besides it's religion there and a different thing.