168 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 



given us much trouble. He will not be soothed, and 

 butts viciously at remonstrance of any sort ; whereas, 

 up to that period he was as gentle as need be. It is so 

 busy at the farm-house now. Such squadrons of duck- 

 lings, each officered by a single matron, dabbling about 

 as dirty and as short-clothed as campaigners upon a 

 heap of fresh vetches in apartments damp as I wish 

 the turnip ground could be. The burnt couch ashes, 

 of which I carted in quite thirsty some fifteen waggon- 

 loads last autumn, and upon which a shoal of pigs was 

 fattened, has sieved out so beautifully fine, and yet so 

 greasily damp, as to put the bailiff into ecstacies. I am 

 not quite sure that he did not actually taste a crumb on 

 the tip of his finger. I trust the swedes may like it. 

 I have not a seed in yet, nor shall I put any in until 

 rain threatens. Mildew always punishes our early 

 sowers. My seed is reposing the meanwhile amidst a 

 bedding of sulphur, as a precaution against the raids 

 of fly. 



I must — botheration ! — but yet I must, despite the 

 depressing effect of this fearful electrical weather, for 

 I have promised that I will write. I really hope that 

 at last the sky has arrived at its bursting period, for 

 there has gathered during the evening right above the 

 house, a most matrimonial-looking thunderous cloud, 

 which I think must needs come down about curtain- 

 time. What a thing it would be to be young again ! 

 Even at this sultry irritating moment there is a merry 

 noise from the roost of the youngster boys, who have 

 bolted the door against the remonstrance of the only 

 party they fear, their eldest brother, and are throwing 

 nude somersaults about the nursery floor. The hand- 

 maidens are weary, and only feebly expostulatory, for 



