England to the north.  The vigorous race on the other side of Trent only found its opportunity when the age of machinery began; its civilization, long delayed, differs in obvious respects from that of older England.  In Sussex or in Somerset, however dull and clownish the typical inhabitant, he plainly belongs to an ancient order of things, represents an immemorial subordination.  The rude man of the north is—­by comparison—­but just emerged from barbarism, and under any circumstances would show less smooth a front.  By great misfortune, he has fallen under the harshest lordship the modern world has known—­that of scientific industrialism, and all his vigorous qualities are subdued to a scheme of life based upon the harsh, the ugly, the sordid.  His racial heritage, of course, marks him to the eye; even as ploughman or shepherd, he differs notably from him of the same calling in the weald or on the downs.  But the frank brutality of the man in all externals has been encouraged, rather than mitigated, by the course his civilization has taken, and hence it is that, unless one knows him well enough to respect him, he seems even yet stamped with the half-savagery of his folk as they were a century and a half ago.  His fierce shyness, his arrogant self-regard, are notes of a primitive state.  Naturally, he never learnt to house himself as did the Southerner, for climate, as well as social circumstance, was unfavourable to all the graces of life.  And now one can only watch the encroachment of his rule upon that old, that true England whose strength and virtue were so differently manifested.  This fair broad land of the lovely villages signifies little save to the antiquary, the poet, the painter.  Vainly, indeed, should I show its beauty and its peace to the observant foreigner; he would but smile, and, with a glance at the traction-engine just coming along the road, indicate the direction of his thoughts.

XV.

Nothing in all Homer pleases me more than the bedstead of Odysseus.  I have tried to turn the passage describing it into English verse, thus:—­

   Here in my garth a goodly olive grew;
   Thick was the noble leafage of its prime,
   And like a carven column rose the trunk. 
   This tree about I built my chamber walls,
   Laying great stone on stone, and roofed them well,
   And in the portal set a comely door,
   Stout-hinged and tightly closing.  Then with axe
   I lopped the leafy olive’s branching head,
   And hewed the bole to four-square shapeliness,
   And smoothed it, craftsmanlike, and grooved and pierced,
   Making the rooted timber, where it grew,
   A corner of my couch.  Labouring on,
   I fashioned all the bed-frame; which complete,
   The wood I overlaid with shining gear
   Of gold, of silver, and of ivory. 
   And last, between the endlong beams I stretched
   Stout thongs of ox-hide, dipped in purple dye.