Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900 / 2008-11-14 00:00:00

It has not felt the desolating tramp of
lawyer or land-agent, nor been bombarded by fine and recovery, lease and
release, bargain and sale, Doe and Roe and Geoffrey Styles, and the rest
of the pitiless shower of slugs, ending with a charge of Demons. Blows,
and blights, and plagues of that sort have not come to Anerley, nor any
other drain of nurture to exhaust the green of meadow and the gold of
harvest. Here stands the homestead, and here lies the meadow-land;
there walk the kine (having no call to run), and yonder the wheat in the
hollow of the hill, bowing to the silvery stroke of the wind, is touched
with the promise of increasing gold.
As good as the cattle and the crops themselves are the people that live
upon them; or at least, in a fair degree, they try to be so; though
not of course so harmless, or faithful, or peaceful, or charitable.
But still, in proportion, they may be called as good; and in fact they
believe themselves much better. And this from no conceit of any sort,
beyond what is indispensable; for nature not only enables but compels a
man to look down upon his betters.
From generation to generation, man, and beast, and house, and land, have
gone on in succession here, replacing, following, renewing, repairing
and being repaired, demanding and getting more support, with such
judicious give-and-take, and thoroughly good understanding, that now in
the August of this year, when Scargate Hall is full of care, and afraid
to cart a load of dung, Anerley farm is quite at ease, and in the very
best of heart, man, and horse, and land, and crops, and the cock that
crows the time of day.
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