 from
such success as he might have aspired to by following a mundane calling in the
impracticability of the spiritual one. But something had to be done; he had
wasted many valuable years; and having an acquaintance who was starting on a
thriving life as a Colonial farmer, it occurred to Angel that this might be a
lead in the right direction. Farming, either in the Colonies, America, or at
home - farming, at any rate, after becoming well qualified for the business by a
careful apprenticeship - that was a vocation which would probably afford an
independence without the sacrifice of what he valued even more than a competency
- intellectual liberty.
    So we find Angel Clare at six-and-twenty here at Talbothays as a student of
kine, and, as there were no houses near at hand in which he could get a
comfortable lodging, a boarder at the dairyman's.
    His room was an immense attic which ran the whole length of the dairy-house.
It could only be reached by a ladder from the cheese-loft, and had been closed
up for a long time till he arrived and selected it as his retreat. Here Clare
had plenty of space, and could often be heard by the dairy-folk pacing up and
down when the household had gone to rest. A portion was divided off at one end
by a curtain, behind which was his bed, the outer part being furnished as a
homely sitting-room.
    At first he lived up above entirely, reading a good deal, and strumming upon
an old harp which he had bought at a sale, saying when in a bitter humour that
he might have to get his living by it in the streets some day. But he soon
preferred to read human nature by taking his meals downstairs in the general
dining-kitchen, with the dairyman and his wife, and the maids and men, who all
together formed a lively assembly; for though but few milking hands slept in the
house, several joined the family at meals. The longer Clare resided here the
less objection had he to his company, and the more did he like to share quarters
with them in common.
    Much to his surprise he took, indeed, a real delight in their companionship.
The conventional farm-folk of his imagination - personified in the newspaper- by
the pitiable dummy known as Hodge - were obliterated after a few days'
residence. At close quarters no Hodge was to be seen. At first, it is true, when
Clare's intelligence was fresh from a contrasting society, these friends with
whom he now hobnobbed seemed
