Nor must we forget dear, honest Mr. White, the kindest and most pompous of men, who, after fulfilling his destiny as head butler in a great establishment, and earning golden opinions from all sorts and conditions of men, finally settled down to a quiet country life in a pretty cottage in our village, where he is the life and soul of every convivial gathering and beanfeast, carving a York ham or a sirloin with great nicety and judgment.  He has seen much of men and manners in his day, and has a fund of information on all kinds of subjects.  Having plenty of leisure, he is a capital hand at finding the whereabouts of outlying foxes; and once earned the eternal gratitude of the whole neighbourhood by starting a fine greyhound fox, known as the “old customer,” out of a decayed and hollow tree that lay in an unfrequented spot by the river.  He poked him out with a long pole, and gave the “view holloa” just as the hounds had drawn all the coverts “blank,” and the people’s faces were as blank as the coverts; whereupon such a run was enjoyed as had not been indulged in for many a long day.

But what of our miller—­our good, honest gentleman farmer and miller—­now, alas! retired from active business?  What can I say of him?  I show you a man worthy to sit amongst kings.  A little garrulous and inquisitive at times, yet a conqueror for all that in the battle of-life, and one of whom it may in truth be said,

     “And thus he bore without abuse
      The grand old name of gentleman.”

As to the morals of the Gloucestershire peasants in general, and of our village in particular, it may be said that they are on the whole excellent; in one respect only they are rather casual, not to say prehistoric.

The following story gives one a very good idea of the casual nature of hamlet morals:—­

A parson—­I do not know of which village, but it was somewhere in this neighbourhood—­paid a visit to a newly married man, to speak seriously about the exceptionally premature arrival of an heir.  “This is a terrible affair,” said the parson on entering the cottage.  “Yaas; ’twere a bad job to be sure,” replied the man.  “And what will yer take to drink?”

Let it in justice be said that such episodes are the exception and not the rule.

Among the characters to be met with in our Cotswold hamlet is the village politician.  Many a pleasant chat have we enjoyed in his snug cottage, whilst the honest proprietor was having his cup of tea and bread and butter after his work.  Common sense he has to a remarkable degree, and a good deal more knowledge than most people give him credit for.  He is a Radical of course; nine out of ten labourers are at heart.  And a very good case he makes out for his way of thinking, if one can only put oneself in his place for a time.  We have endeavoured to convert him to our way of thinking, but the strong, reflective mind,

     “Illi robur, et aes triplex
      Circa pectus erat,”