human race.  But the man I like best to meet is he who either by natural insight or by the trained habit of his mind is able to look upon all mortals with eyes unprejudiced by outward show and circumstance, judging them by character alone.  Such a man may not be understood or be awarded the credit due to him as “lord of the lion heart” and despiser of sycophants and cringers.  The habit of mind, nevertheless, is worth cultivating; it will be so very useful some day, when mortal garments have been put off and the vast inequalities of destiny adjusted, and we all stand unclothed before the Judge.

Tom Peregrine was not a “great frequenter of the church”; indeed, both father and son often remarked to me that “’Twas a pity there was not a chapel of ease put up in the hamlet, the village church being a full mile away.”  However, when Tom was ailing from any cause or other he immediately sent for the parson, and told him that he intended in future to go to church regularly every Sunday.  Shakespeare would have enquired if he was troubled “about some act that had no relish of salvation in’t.”  “Thomas, he’s a terrible coward [I here quote Mrs. Peregrine].  He can’t a-bear to have anything a-wrong with him; yet he don’t mind killing any animal.”  He made a tremendous fuss about a sore finger he had at one time; and when the doctor exclaimed, like Romeo, “Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much,” Tom Peregrine replied, with much the same humour as poor Mercutio:  “No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ’tis enough.”  I do not mean to infer that he quoted Shakespeare, but he used words to the same effect.  If asked whether he had read Shakespeare, he might possibly have given the same reply as the young woman in High Life Below Stairs: 

“KITTY:  Shikspur?  Shikspur?  Who wrote it?  No, I never read Shikspur.

“LADY B.:  Then you have an immense pleasure to come.”

Let it be said, however, that in many respects Tom was an exceedingly well-informed and clever man.  The family of Peregrines were noted, like Sir Roger de Coverley, for their great friendliness to foxes; and to their credit let it be said that they have preserved them religiously for very many years.  I scarcely ever heard a word of complaint from them.  All honour to those who neither hunt nor care for hunting, yet who put up with a large amount of damage to crops and fences, as well as loss of poultry and ground game, and yet preserve the foxes for a sport in which they do not themselves take part.

When conversing with me on the subject of preserving foxes, old Mr. Peregrine would wax quite enthusiastic “You should put a barley rick in the Conygers, and thatch it, and there would always be a fox.” he would remark.  All this I hold to be distinctly creditable.  For what is there to prevent a farmer from pursuing a selfish policy and warning the whole hunt off his land?