ping the top of the XXX
cask; and the 'servant-wench,' who is in and out all day, also says
nothing. Nor can anything exceed the care with which she disposes of
the feathers when she picks the bird. There is a thorough sympathy
between master and man so far. Hilary himself, with all that great
estate to sport over, cannot at times refrain from stepping across the
boundary. His landlord once, it is whispered, was out with Hilary
shooting, and they became so absent-minded while discussing some
interesting subject as to wander several fields beyond the property
before they discovered their mistake.

At Lucketts' Place the favourite partridge always comes up for supper:
a pleasant meal that nowadays can rarely be had out of a farmhouse.
Then the bright light from the burning log outshines the lamp, and
glances rosy on the silver tankard standing under a glass shade on a
bracket against the wall. Hilary's father won it near half a century
since in some heats that were run on the Downs on the old racecourse,
before it was ploughed up. For the wicked turnip is responsible for
the destruction of old England; far more so than the steam-engine.

Waste lands all glorious with golden blossoming furze, with purple
foxglove, or curious orchis hiding in stray corners; wild moor-like
lands, beautiful with heaths and honey-bottle; grand stretches of
sloping downs where the hares hid in the grass, and where all the
horses in the kingdom might gallop at their will; these have been
overthrown with the plough because of the turnip. As the root crops
came in, the rage began for thinning the hedges and grubbing the
double mounds and killing the young timber, besides putting in the
drains and driving away the wild-ducks. The wicked turnip put diamonds
on the fingers of the farmer's wife, and presently raised his rent.
But now some of the land is getting 'turnip-sick,' the roots come
stringy and small and useless, so that many let it 'vall down.'

After the last crop it is left alone, the couch grows, the docks
spread out from the hedges, every species of weed starts up, till
by-and-by the ploughed land becomes green and is called pasture. This
is a process going on at the present moment, and to which owners of
land should see without delay. Hilary has been looked on somewhat
coldly by other tenants for openly calling the lord of the manor's
attention to it. He sturdily maintains that arable land if laid down
for pasture should be laid down