THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 89 



mire, out of which he scrambled shivering and all but 

 in tears. Cry, however, he did not, at the remon- 

 strance of his indignant elder brother, who immediately 

 remounted the wee one, and sent them over flying, with 

 a circus flourish of his hunting-whip that consternated 

 dame Shetland, and drew the sun out after tears on the 

 jockey's triumphant April face. 



Well, it's busy with the "taties" we are upon the 

 Farm. Of this inestimable esculent last year we grew 

 about double as many bushels as I expected to use ; 

 but, owing to an attack of dry rot, the ranks have been 

 so fearfully thinned that we shall barely have enough 

 left for seed. Potatoes in every shape and guise — 

 potatoes roasted, potatoes boiled, potatoes in their 

 jackets, and potatoes peeled — they are a delicious food 

 altogether ; and reader, gentle reader, did ye ever taste 

 them in combination with butter-milk ? Oh ! it makes 

 my teeth water at this early hour of the morning, to 

 think of it. If ye have not, then order in a snow-white 

 bowl and a jug of the precious drink. Then peel the 

 ragged jacket of a mealy specimen, and smash it up 

 with your spoon in the basin. Then pour in a small 

 quantity of milk, just enough to cool the vegetable ; in 

 a second or two again pour on a lot, and then peg in. 

 Oh ! the delicious sensation, passing description, with 

 which a cool spoonful with its potato-island passes down 

 the thirsty throat ! Oh ! then for the gullet of a crane, 

 as that party mentioned by Aristotle wished, to prolong 

 the happy taste ! There is but one drawback — it is 

 a very bilious food ; but there is a way of meeting this 

 difficulty. For about a fortnight you may indulge 

 yourself with this diet, but then possibly a headache 

 may loom in the distance. The way we do is, on the 



