THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 259 



swede plant, sown on a thick muck dressing, was half 

 consumed by the grub. Time went on, and the leaves 

 began to dry, when the bulbs too (fed on artificial 

 only) turned out knotted and thick-rinded and small, 

 not yielding in weight nearly so large a result as the 

 muck-sustained lot, despite the ravages of that horned 

 pirate, the dark moth's son and heir, while in juicy 

 quality there was no comparison. Hurrah ! then for 

 the dung-heap of the stall-fed kine ! 



December, 1869. 



To be or not to be, to lie fallow or not to lie fallow, 

 that's the question. It does one good, though. As in 

 the land the rootlets, so in the mind the thoughtlings, in 

 consideration of the soil's rest, are grateful. But if you 

 will take my word for it, I am glad — right glad — to meet 

 again. And as for matter — as for stuff to say — you 

 cannot believe what a lot I've been storing, if you will 

 only be patient. First of all let me record the delight- 

 ful experience of yesterday. It had been pouring tor- 

 rents all night and throughout the forenoon — torrents of 

 rain, with wind and lightning fearful to behold — just 

 such weather as baffled so terribly the advance of the 

 Prussians to Waterloo, making old Wellington squeak 

 for it — and the hot-tempered river, already peat-stained 

 and choleric enough, began to rise furiously, to my joy ! 



Joy indeed I 



" Wherefore rejoice ? what triumph brings he home ? " 



Why already his subdued wave acknowledges sullenly 

 the success of the plan we have been adopting to pre- 

 vent his undermining our meadows, as he has for several 

 years been employed in doing, to his satisfaction, and 



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