THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 217 



and skipping and squeaking. The last thing I saw of 

 it was just before they started on the fatal expedition, 

 when a youngster, whose province it was to carry him 

 in a green baize bag, took him out for me to admire, 

 and started him caracoling across the servants' -hall- 

 floor. They have already arranged to have " his nephew " 

 from a neighbour's coachman, so I hope that there 

 will be no great intermission in the extermination of 

 the bunnies, especially as I have been indulging in a 

 young plantation, which I have no desire at all that 

 they should invade. I have caught two ideas lately 

 from the paper — the one being the making all rain- 

 fall from the roofs pass through a box-filter laden with 

 gravel and charcoal, and put to intersect the delivery- 

 pipe into the reservoir. 



I have hitherto been used to throw charcoal into the 

 reservoir itself occasionally, as well as to filter its con- 

 tents before use. I wonder we never thous^ht of so 

 simple an expedient before. The other idea, which my 

 man, who is just engaged in brewing, won't credit, is 

 that a bag of malt and a bag of barley yield as good 

 liquor as two bags of malt would. I only hope so. I 

 shall try the experiment on a small scale. 



" Blow me, if I'd try a hogsyed fust," was old Melon's 

 commentary : he having been engaged to assist in the 

 carrying down of the brew. 



I wish some one would tell me a simple plan of 

 hauling up hay three hundred yards along slopes in- 

 clining at about forty degrees, where the use of carts 

 and waggons is difficult, there being no roadway cut, 

 so as to save one's sending it more than a mile around 

 the bottom of the hill, and then winding up the mail 

 road. I have bethought me that something like a 



