The general impression that prevailed throughout Burford, however, so soon as the story of the exclusive ladies and their Indian prince was in full circulation--and it did not take long to pass round the town--was that the incident should teach a lesson to a good many people who take it upon them to lead the red-tiled society of the new town. But whether they learn any lesson or not, there seems to be a consensus of opinion that the sooner the name of the High Street is changed to Prince's Parade the better it will be for the town, Messrs. Caterham, and, incidentally, Mr. Isaac Moss, professionally known as the Cachar of Darjeeling. (As a matter of fact, there are already several people not belonging to the governing classes who, ever since the episode just recorded, have invariably alluded to the lower part of the High Street--that part which has been annexed by Messrs. Caterham--as the Prince's Parade.) CHAPTER TEN--LESSER ENGLISH COUNTRY TOWNS I.--STARKIE AND THE STATES I REMEMBER WITH WHAT ADROITNESS several years ago a distinguished dramatist explained to a pressing interviewer what was his intention in writing a certain play of his which was being widely discussed in many directions. It was merely to show how dangerous it was for any man to wander off the beaten track, he said: “A man must keep in line with his fellow-men if he hopes to avoid disaster”--and so forth. The explanation was no doubt accounted quite satisfactory by such persons as had been perturbed on the matter to which it referred. It certainly would have been accepted with every token of assent by the majority of the inhabitants of the lesser English country towns. They regard as highly dangerous to the community the least departure from the primrose path of the commonplace. They have a hymn which goes-- “We are travelling home to God In the way our fathers trod, They are happy now, and we Soon their happiness shall see.” [Illustration: 0185] The stanza embodies their highest aspirations; and really, when one comes to consider the whole matter, one could hardly formulate a more satisfactory walk of life; only it is a walk, not a race, and some people (outside a country town) look to go through life at a faster pace. “In the way our fathers trod”--that is the sound motto of the country town, and the man who tries to get out of the old ruts is looked upon with suspicion by the sensible people to whom he may allude as old rutters or even old rotters. A middle-aged inhabitant of a town nearly twice as large as our Mallingham was greatly impressed with this truth by an incident which had just come under his notice when I had occasion to call upon him some time ago. He told me that he had been visited by a former townsman of his, but one whom he had not seen for more than fifteen years.