LOST INTERESTS.
MEN and women like to live among those whose interests are the same as their own. By "interests" we do not, of course, mean material interests, but favourite preoccupations. That is why most of us prefer to lead our lives upon that rung of the social ladder whereon we were brought up. So true is this that the expres- sion "come down," like the more precise French expression deelassF, has acquired a depreciatory meaning. The person who uses it does not for a moment think that one class has the slightest moral precedence over another, but only alludes to the mysterious fart that the " best" people move socially in one direction
only. The present crisis will probably modify this rule in a marked manner, because it has made a break in almost all men's old interests and given them new ones. Many a man and woman will realize that the new atmosphere in which they fund themselves is morecongenial to them than the old. For instance, let us imagine a young woman of a moderate amount of education who has been brought up in London. Her father is, perhaps, a professional man of small income who has been able at most to afford his family a month's holiday in the year. This does not mean, of course, only a month's leisure—except for himself. His daughters have had while they were at school three months' leisure, and after they left school they may have been at leisure for a year or so in spring, summer, autumn, and winter.
Now there is born in some people a passion for a country life, a passion which can be kept in being by four weeks' experience out of fifty-two. Oddly enough, it is extremely common in townswomen. As children they associate the thought of the country with an all too short time of sun and freedom, and an augmented sensation of health and happiness. Before they grow up they wonder why in the world grown-up people choose to live among houses. As they get older they discount this childish notion. Livings must be made, they say ; and " the country is very dull in winter," they repeat after their town-loving friends ; and the craving of their hearts is held in check. When the leisure of early girlhood begins to pall they take up some work or occupation, and they become moderately interested in teaching or philanthropy or secretarial work. When the new leaves appear on the town trees the longings of childhood come back. They feel a craving for the open sky, the grass, the scents, and the ever-changing lights of the country. In the days before the war their probable fate was to marry a hard-working Londoner and slake their thirst for the land by living "a little way out" and digging and planting half-an-acre of overlooked garden. But suppose the " crisis " caught such a woman still untied, and she elected, as her instinct prompted her, to take work on the land, and suppose she found in her work an intense satisfaction—the fulfilment of a latent passion. It would soon cease to be for her " war work," and it might become the work of her life. She might feel herself quite incapable of ever again living in her old surroundings. They might seem, upon looking back, as a sort of prison. All interest in "bettering conditions," which must still be town conditions, and therefore in her eyes squalid, all pleasure in instructing, all ability to throw her energies into some one else's profession., might leave her as she rejoiced in her intimacy with Mother Earth. At the beginning of her nave career she would be, of course, a "lady worker" on the land. But that artificial desig- nation could not last—she must become simply a woman worker on a small wage. Very likely sho and a kindred spirit—another girl of the same upbringing—might take up their abode together. They need not necessarily give up the essential refinements of life, but they must, to some extent, take their place in a new class without being, in the ordinary sense, declassies. They might, perhaps they would, meet with some young men in like case, too delicate for the Army or spared for work on the land, and finally marry them. It is thinkable that the couples would live in great happiness, but it is not thinkable when the children come that they should maintain exclusiveness. They would not be likely to be people of any very strong intellectual bias. That passion for the country does not belong to such, unless they are artists. They have— in a good sense—come down.
Is it a desirable thing that this should happen ? We are inclined to think that it is. It is always well that every man and woman should live under those conditions which instinctively appeal to them. If they are really high-minded people, they must have an immense effect for good among their neighbours. They am almost SLIM to sot a standard such as can only be set by men and women who have been brought up according to that standard, but who are, as a rule, divided from their less fortunate neighbours by the fact of a better income. Mrs. Smith, the rector's wife, by daily precept inculcates the cleanliness, the attention to higher things, the gentle speech, which are in her position easy to her ; but her sister, Mrs. Jones, who " went upon the land " during the war, teaches the same by daily example, and her children in the school may also sot it forth. The " coming down " of the Joneses may be the uplifting of a whole neighbourhood. The worst of it is that it is but too likely that these land workers will not marry. In this case they will work on, regarded as eccentrics, though not as dielaasies, till middle age brings the usual small legacies, which middle age does bring, from parents or relations to the middle class, and then they will live M a cottage without working. There is a sense in which an unmarried woman's example, even if she lives among those less refined and instructed than herself. is not of very groat offset—because wherever ehe lives, she lives under conditions unlike those of the majority. It is probable too that she will always manage to live her social life apart from the hand-workers. No woman who truly loves Nature minds loneliness.
Will the same thing happen the other way about ? We should say it most certainly will. The wish for town conditions is stronger in England just now than the wish for country ones. The daughters of farmers, clergymen, and doctors who have lived entirely in rural surroundings have, many of them, an intense longing for life in the crowd. We do not for one instant mean a frivolous longing. A great many feel this, no doubt, but it is not of such that we are thinking. Frivolity comes of lack of interest in life and lack of reasonable outlet for energy. We are writing of girls who have had interests and outlets for their energies which have come to an end, and who have always been unconsciously, perhaps, suppressing a wish for an urban and more vivid life. Breaking off from the old associations, they come to the nearest towns, and soon find them- selves more or less in the position of factory hands. It is the fashion to feel very sorry for the mechanical hand-worker. Just now he and she are, of course, overworked. It cannot be helped, but this is not always the case—will, we hope, in the future be very seldom the case. Life in a herd is immensely agreeable to some natures, is indeed the one life worth living. Thousands, wo know, would rather be poor in a throng than well off in comparative solitude. This feeling is not confined to those whom we describe as thepoorer class—it is temperamental and to be seen everywhere. Women munition-workers are sure to be found in large numbers who will become absorbed in their new way of life, and many of them are sure to marry the men they meet. Some of these men may- have had a like upbringing with themselves, but many will be ambitious, self-educated in a measure, self-refined working men. It must be remembered that such women as we mean will have a far larger, if a far less select, choice than could have been theirs in their former estate. They will not need to marry the first comer or else live single. We should imagine that many such marriages will lead to worldly success, but many of them will not. The couple will continue to work for wages. Again there will be the object-lesson. But surely, it may bo said, such couples run a great risk. They do. But if circumstances destroy all the little interests of daily life by substituting one great interest, when that great interest is gone new little interests must take its place. Life consists very largely in its little interests. Those who have the same must inevitably drift together. New and formerly impossible propinquities will ho one of the most noticeable outcomes of the war.
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