A WET AUTUMN. 183 



" What ! " I exclaimed, " on such a morning as 

 this ? " 



"Yes," he said. "Nice, ain't it, for tramping? 

 But there, never mind, I know where they'll get as 

 high up as they can in the tuffets of torey [rank] 

 grass, and they'll lay like stones till we waits 

 on 'em." 



That has exactly been the case : the birds have 

 not developed fully this season, either in body or 

 plumage; circumstances have been against them. 

 If the winter should be a bad one, things will be 

 still worse for them. There is a general growling 

 and complaining all about, and there is no help 

 for it, as all is due to the weather; but we must 

 hope for the best. 



Passing through a field of mangels the other day, 

 I remarked to one of the farmer's men engaged in 

 the field that there was a particularly fine show in 

 the root crops ; to which he replied, " Yes, the 

 wuzzles be big enough, so fur es that goes, but I 

 doan't think es they'll keep much — ther's bin too 

 much wet. An' the flies has bin on the turmuts. 

 As to fruit, well, what's the good on it ? The crap 

 is a gopd un, but it wun't keep ; an' nobody wun't 



