towards the household expenses. For the rest, it is taken out in liberty,
out-of-door life, field sports, and unlimited horses. His wife and
daughter mix in the best society the county affords, besides their annual
visits to town and the sea-side: they probably enjoy thrice the liberty
and pleasure they would elsewhere. Certainly they are in blooming health.
The eldest son is studying for the law, the younger has the commercial
instinct more strongly developed, and is already with the 'firm.' Both of
them get the full benefit of country life whenever they wish; both of them
feel that there is plenty of capital behind them, and not the slightest
jealousy exists on account of primogeniture. Of course they have their
troubles--what family has not its troubles?--but on the whole their
position is an enviable one.

When Mrs. ---- and her daughter rustle into their pew at church--placed
next in honour to that of the proprietor of the soil--all eyes are turned
upon them. The old-fashioned farmer's wife, who until her years pressed
heavily upon her made the cheese and butter in her husband's dairy, is not
so old but that her eyes can distinguish the colour of a ribbon. She may
talk of such things as vanities, and unknown in her day, but for all that
a pair of keen eyes criticise skirt, and trimmings, and braidings, and so
forth, as displayed up in the Grange pew. Her daughter, who is quite
young--for in her mother's time farming people did not marry till late in
life--brings a still keener pair of eyes to bear in the same direction.

The bonnets from Regent Street are things to think over and talk of. The
old lady disinters her ancient finery; the girl, by hook or crook, is
determined to dress in the fashion. If one farmer's wife is a fine lady,
why not another? Do not even the servant girls at the Grange come out
twenty times finer than people who have a canvas bag full of sovereigns at
home, and many such bags at the bank? So that the Grange people, though
they pay their way handsomely, and plough deep and manure lavishly, and
lead the van of agriculture, are not, perhaps, an unmixed good. They help
on that sapping and undermining of the ancient, sturdy simplicity, the
solid oak of country character, replacing it with veneer. It is not, of
course, all, or a tenth part, their fault, or in any way traceable to
them. It is part and parcel of the wide-spread social changes which have
gradually been proceeding.

But the tenant fa