‘And on their stomachs, too, sir. They never lay by a farthing; and I don’t see how they can, when their club-money’s paid, and their insides are well filled.’
‘Do you mean to say that they actually have not as much to eat after they marry?’
‘Indeed and I do, sir. They get no more wages afterwards round here, and have four or five to clothe and feed off the same money that used to keep one; and that sum won’t take long to work out, I think.’
‘But do they not in some places pay the married men higher wages than the unmarried?’
‘That’s a worse trick still, sir; for it tempts the poor thoughtless boys to go and marry the first girl they can get hold of; and it don’t want much persuasion to make them do that at any time.’
‘But why don’t the clergymen teach them to put into the savings banks?’
‘One here and there, sir, says what he can, though it’s of very little use. Besides, every one is afraid of savings banks now; not a year but one reads of some breaking and the lawyers going off with the earnings of the poor. And if they didn’t, youth’s a foolish time at best; and the carnal man will be hankering after amusement, sir—amusement.’
‘And no wonder,’ said Lancelot; ‘at all events, I should not think they got much of it. But it does seem strange that no other amusement can be found for them than the beer-shop. Can’t they read? Can’t they practise light and interesting handicrafts at home, as the German peasantry do?’
‘Who’ll teach ’em, sir? From the plough-tail to the reaping-hook, and back again, is all they know. Besides, sir, they are not like us Cornish; they are a stupid pigheaded generation at the best, these south countrymen. They’re grown-up babies who want the parson and the squire to be leading them, and preaching to them, and spurring them on, and coaxing them up, every moment. And as for scholarship, sir, a boy leaves school at nine or ten to follow the horses; and between that time and his wedding-day he forgets every word he ever learnt, and becomes, for the most part, as thorough a heathen savage at heart as those wild Indians in the Brazils used to be.’
‘And then we call them civilised Englishmen!’ said Lancelot. ‘We can see that your Indian is a savage, because he wears skins and feathers; but your Irish cottar or your English labourer, because he happens to wear a coat and trousers, is to be considered a civilised man.’