ew ordinary working farmers walk much
less than ten miles a day on the average, backwards and forwards over
the fields.

Half-past eleven used to be luncheon time, but now it is about twelve,
except in harvest, when, as work begins earlier, it is at eleven. This
luncheon hour is another source of constant irritation to the
agriculturist. He does not wish to bind his men down to an exact minute,
and if a man has some distance to walk to his cottage, will readily make
all allowance. He does not stint the beer carried out either then or in
the field. But do what he likes, be as considerate as he will, and let
the season be never so pressing, it is impossible to get the labourers
out to their work when the hour is up. Most of them go to sleep, and
have to be waked up, after which they are as stupid as owls for a
quarter of an hour. One or two, it will be found, have strolled down to
the adjacent ale-house, and are missing. These will come on the field
about an hour later. Then one man has a rake too heavy for him, and
another a prong too light. There is always some difficulty in starting
to work; the agriculturist must therefore be himself present if he
wishes to get the labourers out to the field in anything like a moderate
time.

The nuisance of mowers must be gone through to be appreciated. They come
and work very well for the first week. They slash down acre after acre,
and stick to it almost day and night. In consequence the farmer puts on
every man who applies for work, everything goes on first-rate, and there
is a prospect of getting the crop in speedily. At the end of the week
the mowers draw their money, quite a lump for them, and away they go to
the ale-house. Saturday night sees them as drunk as men can be. They lie
about the fields under the hedges all day Sunday, drinking when the
public-house is open. Monday morning they go on to work for
half-an-hour, but the fever engendered by so much liquor, and the
disordered state of the stomach, cause a burning thirst. They fling the
scythes down, and go off to the barrel. During all this week perhaps
between them they manage to cut half an acre. What is the result? The
haymakers have made all the grass that was cut the first week into hay,
and are standing about idle, unable to proceed, but still drawing their
wages from the unfortunate agriculturist. The hot sun is burning
on--better weather for haymaking could not be--but there is not a rood
of grass cut for them t