ABSTRACT
The countryside of the past presents two opposed and contrasting faces. On the one, riders in scarlet gaily halloo as they leap the fences; heavily bewhiskered men in Norfolk jackets take aim at a covey of partridges; a solitary fisherman casts his line into a silvery stream; and a cheerful group of stout labourers play at skittles in the yard of a rustic inn. On the other, a procession of ragged men, pinch-cheeked, wild-eyed, armed with staves, pitchforks and reaping hooks, march to some desperate rendezvous; bands of similar scarecrows sport a loaf impaled on a long pole, the mark of their grievance; yet others grip iron bars and hammers, intent on breaking up a hated piece of machinery; and still more, in ones or twos, flee into the night, leaving behind them an ill-fated cow or sheep bellowing in pain, or the soaring flames of a haystack lighting up the near horizon.
