252 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 



hauled on to the grass, which is more than can be said 

 of its kind generally. 



Since I wrote last there has been a furious flood, 

 and, to my delight, the elbow-arms of my jetty-piers 

 are quite filling-up with a rich alluvial deposit from 

 head-quarters. The experiment becomes deliciously 

 successful. 



We were in decided luck while staying at a seaside 

 town in North Wales two months since. A friend and 

 myself were sauntering along a road by the mountain- 

 side, watching at once the spreading tints of sunset 

 along a distant range of hills and the curious effect upon 

 the calm silvery surface of the sleeping ocean produced 

 by the quick diving and ultimate reappearance of several 

 flocks of fowl, to which it seemed a matter of indifler- 

 ence whether their home were on the billow or under it, 

 so carelessly did they divide their time between cruising 

 above water and a sudden protracted incursion under, 

 after the broad countless shoals of fish with which the 

 whole bay teemed — when all at once, quite close by, a 

 horse neighed and raised up such a beautiful pony-head, 

 with broad front and lustrous large eyes. " The very 

 horse I want!" I exclaimed: for the farm required a new 

 team. " Just wait a moment till I return 1" I found 

 him in a bit of a grass yard inclosed with boulders from 

 the mountain-side, nibbling quite patiently at the short 

 turf, tied only by a cord around his neck to a spray — 

 it was literally no more — of a Scotch fir tree. A child 

 of a few years of age only was sitting near, apparently 

 in charge of him. " Whose horse, my boy ? " we in- 

 quired in Welsh. "Father's: he's there." Whereupon 

 we saw the man reaping a small field of wheat. After 

 a few moments' inspection and a trot along the adjoin- 



