ust had to be carefully
removed, because the grain was for the racing-stable. The dainty
creatures up there must have food free from dust, which makes them too
thirsty. The hay supplied, for the same reason, had to be shaken
before being used. No oats would do under 40 lb. the bushel, and the
heavier the better.

Luckett was a man whom every one knew to be 'square;' but, if the talk
of the country-side is to be believed, the farmers who have much to do
with the stables do not always come off successful. They sometimes
become too sharp, and fancy themselves cleverer than a class of men
who, if their stature be not great, are probably the keenest of wit.
The farmer who obliges them is invariably repaid with lucrative
'tips;' but if he betrays those 'tips' may possibly find his
information in turn untrustworthy, and have to sell by auction, and
depart to Texas. Luckett avoids such pitfalls by the simple policy of
'squareness,' which is, perhaps, the wisest of all. When the 'skit'
blew past he took his gun from the corner and stepped over the hatch,
and came down the path with me, grumbling that all the grain, even
where the crop looked well, had threshed out so light.

Farming had gone utterly to the dogs of late seasons; he thought he
should give up the land he rented, and live on the ninety acres
freehold. In short, to hear him talk, you would think that he was
conferring a very great favour upon his landlord in consenting to hold
that six or seven hundred acres at a rent which has not been altered
these fifty years at least. But the owner was a very good fellow, and
as Hilary said, 'There it is, you see.' My private opinion is that,
despite the late bad seasons, Hilary has long been doing remarkably
well; and as for his landlord, that he would stand by him shoulder to
shoulder if defence were needed.

Much as I admired the timber about the Chace, I could not help
sometimes wishing to have a chop at it. The pleasure of felling trees
is never lost. In youth, in manhood--so long as the arm can wield the
axe--the enjoyment is equally keen. As the heavy tool passes over the
shoulder the impetus of the swinging motion lightens the weight, and
something like a thrill passes through the sinews. Why is it so
pleasant to strike? What secret instinct is it that makes the delivery
of a blow with axe or hammer so exhilarating? The wilder frenzy of the
sword--the fury of striking with the keen blade, which overtakes men
even now