The altered tone of the labouring population has caused the position of the landlord, especially if resident, to be one of considerable difficulty.  Something like diplomatic tact is necessary in dealing with the social and political problems which now press themselves upon the country gentleman.  Forces are at work which are constantly endeavouring to upset the village equilibrium, and it is quite in vain to ignore their existence.  However honestly he may desire peace and goodwill to reign, it is impossible for a man to escape the influence of his own wealth and property.  These compel him to be a sort of centre around which everything revolves.  His duties extend far beyond the set, formal lines—­the easy groove of old times—­and are concerned with matters which were once thought the exclusive domain of the statesman or the philosopher.

The growth of a public opinion among the rural population is a great fact which cannot be overlooked.  Some analogy may be traced between the awaking of a large class, hitherto almost silent, and the strange new developments which occur in the freshly-settled territories of the United States.  There, all kinds of social experiments are pushed to the extreme characteristic of American energy.  A Salt Lake City and civilised polygamy, and a variety of small communities endeavouring to work out new theories of property and government, attest a frame of mind escaped from the control of tradition, and groping its way to the future.  Nothing so extravagant, of course, distinguishes the movement among the agricultural labourers of this country.  There have been strikes; indignation meetings held expressly for the purpose of exciting public opinion; an attempt to experimentalise by a kind of joint-stock farming, labourers holding shares; and a preaching of doctrines which savour much of Communism.  There have been marches to London, and annual gatherings on hill tops.  These are all within the pale of law, and outrage no social customs.  But they proclaim a state of mind restless and unsatisfied, striving for something new, and not exactly knowing what.

Without a vote for the most part, without an all-embracing organisation—­for the Union is somewhat limited in extent—­with few newspapers expressing their views, with still fewer champions in the upper ranks, the agricultural labourers have become in a sense a power in the land.  It is a power that is felt rather individually than collectively—­it affects isolated places, but these in the aggregate reach importance.  This power presses on the landlord—­the resident country gentleman—­upon one side; upon the other, the dissatisfied tenant-farmers present a rugged front.