to eat.’  His teeth are large, his jaws strong, his digestive powers such as would astonish a city man; he likes solid food, bacon, butcher’s meat, cheese, or something that gives him a sense of fulness, like a mass of vegetables.  This is the natural result of his training and work in the fields.  The materials used by the cottage cook are often quite capable of being made into agreeable dishes, but then those dishes would not suit the man.  All the soups and kickshaws—­though excellent in themselves—­in the world are not, for his purpose, equal to a round of beef or a side of bacon.  Let any one go and labour daily in the field, and they will come quickly to the same opinion.  Yet something might certainly be done in the way of preventing waste.  The real secret lies in the education of the women when young—­that is, for the future.  But, taking the present day, looking at things as they actually exist, it is no use abusing or lecturing the cottage cook.  She might, perhaps, be persuaded to adopt a systematic plan of disposing of the refuse.

The Saturday half-holiday is scarcely so closely observed in rural labour as in urban.  The work closes earlier, that is, so far as the day labourer is concerned, for he gets the best of this as of other things.  But, half-holiday or not, cows have to be fed and milked, sheep must be looked after, and the stable attended to, so that the regular men do not get off much sooner.  In winter, the days being short, they get little advantage from the short time; in summer they do.  Compensation is, however, as much as possible afforded to the settled men who have gardens, by giving them a half-day now and then when work is slack to attend to them.

On Sunday morning the labourer cleans and polishes his boots (after digging the potatoes for dinner), puts on a black or dark coat, put his hands in his pockets—­a marked feature this—­and rambles down to his garden or the allotment.  There, if it be spring or summer, he is sure to find some acquaintances likewise ‘looking round.’  This seems to be one of the greatest pleasures of the labourer, noting the growth of a cabbage here, and the promise of potatoes yonder; he does not work, but strolls to and fro, discussing the vegetable prospect.  Then back home in time for dinner—­the great event of Sunday, being often the only day in the week that he can get a hot dinner in the middle of the day.  It is his day at home, and though he may ramble out he never goes far.

Ladies residing in the country are accustomed to receive periodical appeals from friends in town asking their assistance in procuring servants.  So frequent are such appeals that there would seem to be a popular belief that the supply is inexhaustible.  The villages are supposed to be full of girls, all ready to enter service, and, though a little uncouth in manner, possessed nevertheless of sterling good qualities.  The letter is usually couched in something like the following