be grateful? [‘No, no!’ cheers; hoo-hooing from the tenant-farmers.] Gentlemen, I cannot express my astonishment that a member of a Church which professes to hold a falsehood as an abomination [cheers] can have the cool assurance to stand here in the light of day and deliver statements so absolutely at variance with fact. [Agitation on the platform; Robert Godwin held back by the solicitor.] I tell you—and you are, most of you, aware of the fact yourselves—that there does not exist a race of free men on the face of the earth who have been so completely under the thumb as farmers. There are many tenants of
Mr. Cornleigh’s here this afternoon. There is not one of these who would dare, were voting not now secret under the Ballot Act, to vote contrary to
Mr. Cornleigh’s wishes. [Uproar—savage blows exchanged; Robert Godwin seizes Martial by the shoulder; excited cries, “Let him alone—let him speak!” Martial shakes Robert off roughly.] You see how much liberty—you see we should not be allowed even to speak! [Cheers.] Till the Ballot Act was passed not a farmer dared to vote contrary to his landlord’s opinion; I warn you all that the Ballot Act is not perfect; the secrets of voting are allowed to leak out, and pressure is still put on. I warn you of this! I say that the man who discloses the secret of another man’s vote, deserves as severe a punishment as is awarded to perjury. [Hear, hear! from the opposition; uproar from the tenant-farmers.] We hear very much nowadays of this or that landlord having reduced rent, or having returned ten, twenty, or thirty percent, at audit. This is generous indeed, is it not? For the very same land has fallen in value fifty percent. — an acre that was worth £70 is now hardly worth £35, and in fact you cannot get a purchaser at all. What better proof could there be that the letting value must have depreciated equally? We know that the trade and commerce of this country are declining; it is traced to the depression of farming, and who is responsible for the depression of farming? [Shouts of ‘Cornleigh, Cornleigh!’] Now let us kowtow and bend the knee and touch the hat to our landlords’ grooms and gardeners, stewards, solicitors, agents, and sycophants. [Uproar.] We hear now of landlords seeking tenants; using every blandishment, offering every advantage—even the shooting—fancy, permission to shoot!—lowering rents, and doing everything possible to attract tenants now they find their rent-rolls diminishing and their cash disappearing. Was there ever anything more despicable? To grind us and oppress us, to insult us and ride over us in their time of prosperity; and now to fawn on us and treat us as equals, to beckon to us, and to hope to get over us with such manifestations of affection! [Cheers from the opposition; groans from the tenant-farmers.] The whole thing is a farce, a disgraceful farce and national shame [cheers, met with frantic yelling from the farmers]; a disgraceful farce—I am disgusted with it—I see you are disgusted with it—every man of commonsense in the country is disgusted with it. There never will be any more prosperity in English agriculture till the entire system is revised; till a man can cultivate the land free from vexatious hindrances, medieval hindrances, superstitious hindrances, and burdens such as tithes, ordinary and extraordinary; till there be nothing to contend against but the seasons and the honest competition of the United States. I am thankful to say I have done with it. To me it is not so serious a matter as it is to many. I am young; I can work [cheers from the opposition]; if need be, I can emigrate to those United States. But it is a bitter thing to older men thus forced from their homesteads. To me, too, it will be a bitter thing to quit the old home where I was born, where my father lived, where my grandfather lived, with which all my associations are bound up; but there will be one great compensation for me—from this afternoon I have done with the landlord’s agent; I have done with the steward, with the solicitor, with the parson, with the gardener and the gamekeeper; I have done with the groom, and the whole circle of despicable sycophants!”
Tremendous cheering and groaning, in the midst of which Martial got off the platform into the crowd. Felise drew her breath, for to her it seemed that in the surging mass he was knocked to and fro like a tennis-ball. The opposition helped him towards the door; the tenant-farmers pushed and struggled and struck to crush him, hooting their loudest at the man who had expressed the very thoughts in their own hearts. He got out at last without hurt, having lost his hat; his coat, having been torn open violently, was split. At the foot of the gallery staircase he found Mr. Goring and Felise; he had to buy a new hat before they started for Beechknoll. The meeting continued for some time, and several speeches were made; but the testimonial was declared to be voted unanimously.
“It is the first time the truth has been spoken in Maasbury since—since the Crusades,” said Mr. Goring, as they drove homewards. “Did you notice Cornleigh?”
“I never thought of him—personally,” said Martial. “It was the whole system I thought of.”
“Well, there he sat demurely all the time, with that faint scarce perceptible smile on his face. I wonder whether it is conceit or stupidity—his hands folded, and looking down in the same innocent manner as if it did not concern him in the least?”
“Are you quite sure you are not hurt?” said Felise.
“My shoulder is bruised a little—nothing else.”
Presently they saw in the distance the village church by which Mary Shaw was buried.
“Could there be anything more grotesque—more hideous in its mockery?” said Mr. Goring, “than to hang up pictures in cottages, and Mary lying there for want of a
