useful enough to see how
oats went, the time of high water, and the price of stocks. But when
my ladies came home, forsooth, I was soon wheedled out of that, and
forced to take a London paper, that tells a deal about the caps and
feathers, and all the trumpery of the quality, and the French dress,
and the French undress. When I want to know what hops are a bag,
they are snatching the paper to see what violet soap is a pound. And
as to the dairy, they never care how cow's milk goes, as long as
they can get some stuff which they call milk of roses. Seeing them
disputing violently the other day about cream and butter, I thought
it a sign they were beginning to care for the farm, till I found it
was cold cream for the hands, and jessamine butter for the hair.

_Worthy._ But do your daughters never read?

_Bragwell._ Read! I believe they do too. Why our Jack, the plow-boy,
spends half his time in going to a shop in our market town, where
they let out books to read, with marble covers. And they sell paper
with all manner of colors on the edges, and gim-cracks, and
powder-puffs, and wash-balls, and cards without any pips, and every
thing in the world that's genteel and of no use. 'Twas but the other
day I met Jack with a basket full of these books; so having some
time to spare, I sat down to see a little what they were about.

_Worthy._ Well, I hope you there found what was likely to improve
your daughters, and teach them the true use of time.

_Bragwell._ O, as to that, you are pretty much out. I could make
neither head nor tail of it; it was neither fish, flesh, nor good
red-herring; it was all about my lord, and Sir Harry, and the
captain. But I never met with such nonsensical fellows in my life.
Their talk was no more like that of my old landlord, who was a lord
you know, nor the captain of our fencibles, than chalk is like
cheese. I was fairly taken in at first, and began to think I had got
hold of a _godly_ book; for there was a deal about hope and despair,
and death, and heaven, and angels, and torments, and everlasting
happiness. But when I got a little on, I found there was no meaning
in all these words, or if any, it was a bad meaning. Eternal misery,
perhaps, only meant a moment's disappointment about a bit of a
letter; and everlasting happiness meant two people talking nonsense
together for five minutes. In short, I never met with such a pack
of lies. The people talk such wild gibberish as no folks in their
s