RURAL FELICITY

Superb day, isn't it?The New Curate."Superb day, isn't it?"Giles."Ay?"Curate."Superb day."Giles."Ay?"Curate."Er—a—superb—day!"Giles."Whoa, Dobbin!" (Pulls up). "Ay?"Curate."I only remarked—er—it was asuperb day."Giles."D——! Gw'on, Dobbin!"

The New Curate."Superb day, isn't it?"Giles."Ay?"Curate."Superb day."Giles."Ay?"Curate."Er—a—superb—day!"Giles."Whoa, Dobbin!" (Pulls up). "Ay?"Curate."I only remarked—er—it was asuperb day."Giles."D——! Gw'on, Dobbin!"

this is a wicked worldSerious Old Party."Eh, but this is a wicked world!"Flippant Individual."You are right, Mrs. Mumble. For my part, I shall be quite satisfied if I get out of it alive!"

Serious Old Party."Eh, but this is a wicked world!"

Flippant Individual."You are right, Mrs. Mumble. For my part, I shall be quite satisfied if I get out of it alive!"

Village JobberObliging.—Lady(to village jobber, who for days has been "working" in the house). "Can you tell me when you are likely to havefinishedthis job?"Village Jobber."Ifyoucan tell me, mum, wheer I'm likely to get another."

Obliging.—Lady(to village jobber, who for days has been "working" in the house). "Can you tell me when you are likely to havefinishedthis job?"Village Jobber."Ifyoucan tell me, mum, wheer I'm likely to get another."

Yes, they stings!Useful information.—Jones(who has forsworn town life for a more healthful existence, to hired compendium of agricultural knowledge at 14s. 6d. a week, with cottage and 'tater patch). "Do you know anything about bees, Isaac?"Isaac."Yes, they stings!"

Useful information.—Jones(who has forsworn town life for a more healthful existence, to hired compendium of agricultural knowledge at 14s. 6d. a week, with cottage and 'tater patch). "Do you know anything about bees, Isaac?"Isaac."Yes, they stings!"

[This is the second Nature article that has recently arrived atMr. Punch'soffices through inadvertence. It was obviously intended forThe Country-Side, the new Harmsworth-Robinson organ, which is designed to bring home to townsmen the wonders of country life.]

Evening in the country! A Spring evening! Ah, you dweller in the close perfervid city, how I wish I could have transported you to my side yesterday, while I stood and watched the sinking fire of day (a bright impulsive fellow this sun) waving me from his Orient window.

A Glad Good-night!

How I wish you could have lain near me on that pile of fresh-cut hay, redolent of clover and the scarlet vetch, lulled to sleep, it may be, by the lowmoaning of rats in the stack, or the melancholy hoot of the night-jar! Sleep follows swiftly, sleep such as you denizens of the crowded street can never know—sleep beneath the stars.

Up with the lark! Shelley's skylark! There he is, the blithe unconscious creature, hovering above the plough-share, ready to pounce upon the first unwary field-vole upturned from his

Nest in the Luxuriant Loam.

My heart is full to bursting as I pass onward into the harvest-field and watch the gleaners at their busy toil. For one thing I have my "Topical Quotations" to prepare, and am "dividing my swift mind" between theGeorgicsof Virgil and Wordsworth's "Intimations of Immortality" for a suitable selection. Then there are the straw bonnets and rough smocks of the rustics to be sketched for the fashion-plate, and my column upon the Insanitary Condition of Birds' Nests to be compiled.

Yet how difficult to fix one's mind upon merejournalism, when on this side and on that the lithe rabbit is popping up from his "forme," and beneath their white blossoms the red strawberries lurk under every springing hedge-tuft. A glass of creamy butter-milk supplied by the smiling lass at the cottage wicket, together with a light and delicious scone

Eaten in the Stubble

under the sighing alders, has served me for my simple yet hygienic meal. And now as I watch the shepherd lead his flock of lowing kine into the pastures, the stately old bell-wether bringing up the rear, I feel that here is life indeed, and here (had the exigencies of a week-end return permitted) I could willingly have spent the remainder of my days, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," but inexorable Fate with her iron shears forbids. I must

Back to the Smoky Streets

once more and my half-finished essay on "Cotton-spinning in our Great Public Schools." Brief dream, farewell!

HORTICULTURALHORTICULTURALVicar's Daughter."Well, John, I see you are looking as young as ever."John."Yes, miss, thankyee. An' they tell me I'll soon be an octogeranium."

Vicar's Daughter."Well, John, I see you are looking as young as ever."

John."Yes, miss, thankyee. An' they tell me I'll soon be an octogeranium."

Oi be eighty-foive"Oi be eighty-foive, zur.""Dear me! You don't look it. And how old is your wife?""Oh, she be eighty-foive too. But she've looked it fer the last fowrty year!"

"Oi be eighty-foive, zur."

"Dear me! You don't look it. And how old is your wife?"

"Oh, she be eighty-foive too. But she've looked it fer the last fowrty year!"

Benefits Forgot"Benefits Forgot!"—Old Gentleman(he had been chased across the field by the infuriated animal, and only just scrambled over the gate in time—gasping for breath). "You in—fernal un—gra'ful beast!—an' me—been veg'tarian allm'life!!"

"Benefits Forgot!"—Old Gentleman(he had been chased across the field by the infuriated animal, and only just scrambled over the gate in time—gasping for breath). "You in—fernal un—gra'ful beast!—an' me—been veg'tarian allm'life!!"

TEMPORA MU-TATURTEMPORA MU-TATUR!!First Farmer."Aye, 'taters gets complaints now they never got in my young days."

First Farmer."Aye, 'taters gets complaints now they never got in my young days."

gie up matrimony"Be it true as your nevvy b'ain't a-goin' to marry that Miss Giles arter all?""Well, you see I 'vised 'un to gie up matrimony, an' take to a trade."

"Be it true as your nevvy b'ain't a-goin' to marry that Miss Giles arter all?"

"Well, you see I 'vised 'un to gie up matrimony, an' take to a trade."

Pleasuring!Pleasuring!—Vicar(to old lady, who is returning from a funeral). "Well, Martha, I'm afraid you've had a sad afternoon. It has been a long walk, too, for you——"Martha."Sure-ly, 'tis sir; Ah, sir, 'tain't much pleasure now for me to go to funerals; I be too old and full o' rheumatiz. It was very different when we was young—that 'twer!!"

Pleasuring!—Vicar(to old lady, who is returning from a funeral). "Well, Martha, I'm afraid you've had a sad afternoon. It has been a long walk, too, for you——"Martha."Sure-ly, 'tis sir; Ah, sir, 'tain't much pleasure now for me to go to funerals; I be too old and full o' rheumatiz. It was very different when we was young—that 'twer!!"

A worse preacher would have done for usSexton(to a divine, who was spending his holidays in the country and who, on the sudden illness of the village parson, volunteered to take the duties). "A worse preacher would have done for us, sir,but we couldn't get one!"

Sexton(to a divine, who was spending his holidays in the country and who, on the sudden illness of the village parson, volunteered to take the duties). "A worse preacher would have done for us, sir,but we couldn't get one!"

Predestined!Predestined!—Northern Matron(before the School Board). "I'm not against eddication, ladies and gen'l'men. I al'ays make him take his book o' nights. But reelly I calls it a flyin' in the face o' providence to be keepin' a boy out o' the stables with such a pair o' legs as his'n!!"

Predestined!—Northern Matron(before the School Board). "I'm not against eddication, ladies and gen'l'men. I al'ays make him take his book o' nights. But reelly I calls it a flyin' in the face o' providence to be keepin' a boy out o' the stables with such a pair o' legs as his'n!!"

Try zideways, Mrs. JonesCarrier."Try zideways, Mrs. Jones, try zideways!"Mrs. Jones."Lar' bless 'ee, John, I ain't got no zideways."

Carrier."Try zideways, Mrs. Jones, try zideways!"

Mrs. Jones."Lar' bless 'ee, John, I ain't got no zideways."

Bo and the Blacksheep.A Story of the Sex.

(ByThomas of Wessex,Author of "Guess how a Murder feels," "The Cornet Minor," "The Horse that Cast a Shoe," "One in a Turret," "The Foot of Ethel hurt her," "The Flight of the Bivalve," "Hard on the Gadding Crowd," "A Lay o' Deceivers," &c.)

["I am going to give you," writes the Author of this book, "one of my powerful and fascinating stories of life in modern Wessex. It is well known, of course, that although I often write agricultural novels, I invariably call a spade a spade, and not an agricultural implement. Thus I am led to speak in plain language of women, their misdoings, and their undoings. Unstrained dialect is a speciality. If you want to know the extent of Wessex, consult histories of the Heptarchy with maps."]

In our beautiful Blackmoor or Blakemore Vale not far from the point where the Melchester Road turns sharply towards Icenhurst on its way toWintoncester, having on one side the hamlet of Batton, on the other the larger town of Casterbridge, stands the farmhouse wherewith in this narrative we have to deal. There for generations have dwelt the rustic family of the Peeps, handing down from father to son a well-stocked cow-shed and a tradition of rural virtues which yet excluded not an overgreat affection on the male side for the home-brewed ale and the home-made language in which, as is known, the Wessex peasantry delights. On this winter morning the smoke rose thinly into the still atmosphere, and faded there as though ashamed of bringing a touch of Thermidorean warmth into a degree of temperature not far removed from the zero-mark of the local Fahrenheit. Within, a fire of good Wessex logs crackled cheerily upon the hearth. Old Abraham Peep sat on one side of the fireplace, his figure yet telling a tale of former vigour. On the other sat Polly, his wife, an aimless, neutral, slatternly peasant woman, such as in these parts a man may find with the profusion of Wessex blackberries. An empty chair between them spoke with all an empty chair's eloquence of an absent inmate. A butter-churnstood in a corner next to an ancient clock that had ticked away the mortality of many a past and gone Peep.

"Where be Bonduca?" said Abraham, shifting his body upon his chair so as to bring his wife's faded tints better into view. "Like enough she's met in with that slack-twisted 'hor's bird of a feller, Tom Tatters. And she'll let the sheep draggle round the hills. My soul, but I'd like to baste 'en for a poor slammick of a chap."

Mrs. Peep smiled feebly. She had had her troubles. Like other realities, they took on themselves a metaphysical mantle of infallibility, sinking to minor cerebral phenomena for quiet contemplation. She had no notion how they did this. And, it must be added, that they might, had they felt so disposed, have stood as pressing concretions which chafe body and soul—a most disagreeable state of things, peculiar to the miserably passive existence of a Wessex peasant woman.

"Bonduca went early," she said, adding, with a weak irrelevance, "She mid 'a' had her pick to-day.A mampus o' men have bin after her—fourteen o' 'em, all the best lads round about, some of 'em wi' bags and bags of gold to their names, and all wanting Bonduca to be their lawful wedded wife."

Abraham shifted again. A cunning smile played about the hard lines of his face. "Polly," he said, bringing his closed fist down upon his knee with a sudden violence, "you pick the richest, and let him carry Bonduca to the pa'son. Good looks wear badly, and good characters be of no account; but the gold's the thing for us. Why," he continued, meditatively, "the old house could be new thatched, and you and me live like Lords and Ladies, away from the mulch o' the barton, all in silks and satins, wi' golden crowns to our heads, and silver buckles to our feet."

Polly nodded eagerly. She was a Wessex woman born, and thoroughly understood the pure and unsophisticated nature of the Wessex peasant.

Meanwhile Bonduca Peep—little Bo Peep was the name by which the country-folk all knew her—sat dreaming upon the hill-side, looking out with a premature woman's eyes upon the rich valley that stretched away to the horizon. The rest of the landscape was made up of agricultural scenes and incidents which the slightest knowledge of Wessex novels can fill in amply. There were rows of swedes, legions of dairymen, maidens to milk the lowing cows that grazed soberly upon the rich pasture, farmers speaking rough words of an uncouth dialect, and gentlefolk careless of a milkmaid's honour. But nowhere, as far as the eye could reach, was there a sign of the sheep that Bo had that morning set forth to tend for her parents. Bo had a flexuous and finely-drawn figure not unreminiscent of many a vanished knight and dame, her remote progenitors, whose dust now mouldered in many churchyards. There was about her an amplitude of curve which, joined to a certain luxuriance of moulding, betrayed her sex even to a careless observer. And when she spoke, it was often with a fetishistic utterance in a monotheistic falsetto which almost had the effect of startling her relations into temporary propriety.

Thus she sat for some time in the suspended attitude of an amiable tiger-cat at pause on the edge of a spring. A rustle behind her caused her to turn her head, and she saw a strange procession advancing over the parched fields where—[Two pages of field-scenery omitted.—Ed.] Oneby one they toiled along, a far-stretching line of women sharply defined against the sky. All were young, and most of them haughty and full of feminine waywardness. Here and there a coronet sparkled on some noble brow where predestined suffering had set its stamp. But what most distinguished these remarkable processionists in the clear noon of this winter day was that each one carried in her arms an infant. And each one, as she reached the place where the enthralled Bonduca sat obliviscent of her sheep, stopped for a moment and laid the baby down. First came the Duchess of Hamptonshire followed at an interval by Lady Mottisfont and the Marchioness of Stonehenge. To them succeeded Barbara of the House of Grebe, Lady Icenway and Squire Petrick's lady. Next followed the Countess of Wessex, the Honourable Laura and the Lady Penelope. Anna, Lady Baxby, brought up the rear.

Bonduca shuddered at the terrible re-encounter. Was her young life to be surrounded with infants? She was not a baby-farm after all, and the audition of these squalling nurslings vexed her. What could the matter mean? No answer was given to these questionings. A man's figure, vast and terrible, appeared on the hill's brow, with a cruel look of triumph on his wicked face. It was Thomas Tatters. Bonduca cowered; the noble dames fled shrieking down the valley.

"Bo," said he, "my own sweet Bo, behold the blood-red ray in the spectrum of your young life."

"Say those words quickly," she retorted.

"Certainly," said Tatters. "Blood-red ray, Broo-red ray, Broo-re-ray, Brooray! Tush!" he broke off, vexed with Bonduca and his own imperfect tongue-power, "you are fooling me. Beware!"

"I know you, I know you!" was all she could gasp, as she bowed herself submissive before him. "I detest you, and shall therefore marry you. Trample upon me!" And he trampled upon her.

Thus Bo Peep lost her sheep, leaving these fleecy tail-bearers to come home solitary to the accustomed fold. She did but humble herself before the manifestation of a Wessex necessity.

And Fate,sitting aloft in the careless expanse of ether, rolled her destined chariots thundering along the pre-ordained highways of heaven, crushing a soul here and a life there with the tragic completeness of a steam-roller, granite-smashing, steam-fed, irresistible. And butter was churned with a twang in it, and rustics danced, and sheep that had fed in clover were "blasted," like poor Bonduca's budding prospects. And, from the calm nonchalance of a Wessex hamlet, another novel was launched into a world of reviews, where the multitude of readers is not as to their external displacements, but as to their subjective experiences.

[The End.

"The Last Straw."—For further particulars apply to the gleaners.

The Weather and the Crops.—Note.Always have your hair cut very short in the hottest weather.

Gardening Amusement for Colwell-Hatchney.—Spinning turnip tops.

Advice to the Farmer.—Keep your weather eye open.

HINC ILLÆ LACRYIMÆ"HINC ILLÆ LACRYIMÆ"Master Tommy(returning from the funeral). "Why did Uncle Jonas cry so for, Aunt? He cried more than anybody!"Aunt(grimly). "Of course! Most of the property is left to him, my dear!"

Master Tommy(returning from the funeral). "Why did Uncle Jonas cry so for, Aunt? He cried more than anybody!"

Aunt(grimly). "Of course! Most of the property is left to him, my dear!"

that's for the folks as can't read"What's that there blank space left for, Jim?""Why, that's for the folks as can't read!"

"What's that there blank space left for, Jim?"

"Why, that's for the folks as can't read!"

A YORKSHIRE GOSSIPA YORKSHIRE GOSSIPFirst Gossip."So you was nivver axed tu t'funeral?"Second Gossip."Nivver as much as inside t'house. But nobbut; wait tillwehev' a funeral of us own, an'we'll show 'em!"

First Gossip."So you was nivver axed tu t'funeral?"

Second Gossip."Nivver as much as inside t'house. But nobbut; wait tillwehev' a funeral of us own, an'we'll show 'em!"

I be too wet to workParson."Why, John, what are you doing there?"John."I be too wet to work, zur."Parson.. "Well, if it's too wet to work, why don't you go home?"John."Wull, my old 'ooman, she do jaw so!"

Parson."Why, John, what are you doing there?"

John."I be too wet to work, zur."

Parson.. "Well, if it's too wet to work, why don't you go home?"

John."Wull, my old 'ooman, she do jaw so!"

jump in, I'll drive yerYoung Lady."Can you tell me the nearest way to get to Pulham from here?"Sweep."Well, miss, I'm going there meself. So, if yer jump in, I'll drive yer!"

Young Lady."Can you tell me the nearest way to get to Pulham from here?"

Sweep."Well, miss, I'm going there meself. So, if yer jump in, I'll drive yer!"

No, indeed, you did notFirst Village Dame."Did I bring you back that basket you lent me last week?"Second Dame(emphatically). "No, indeed, you did not."First Dame."That's a pity, for I just came round to borrow it again!"

First Village Dame."Did I bring you back that basket you lent me last week?"

Second Dame(emphatically). "No, indeed, you did not."

First Dame."That's a pity, for I just came round to borrow it again!"

cool grot and mossy cell"Here in cool grot and mossy cellWe rural fays and fairies dwell!"

"Here in cool grot and mossy cellWe rural fays and fairies dwell!"

"Here in cool grot and mossy cell

We rural fays and fairies dwell!"

Mainly senility, Mrs. Wilkins"Hard on the Doctor—Old Lady."My 'usband 'e never did 'old with doctors, and 'e wouldn't let me send for yer till 'e was real bad. What's wrong with him, doctor?"Doctor."Mainly senility, Mrs. Wilkins."Old Lady."Lor' now! An' I dessay 'e wouldn't 'ave 'ad it if 'e'd 'ad yer soon enough!"

Hard on the Doctor—Old Lady."My 'usband 'e never did 'old with doctors, and 'e wouldn't let me send for yer till 'e was real bad. What's wrong with him, doctor?"Doctor."Mainly senility, Mrs. Wilkins."Old Lady."Lor' now! An' I dessay 'e wouldn't 'ave 'ad it if 'e'd 'ad yer soon enough!"

more things in Heaven and Earth"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."—Hamlet.(Heard outside a Country Circus.)Old Jarge."Wen ye sees wot comes from furrin parts, bless yer 'eart, ye just feels like a bit o' dirt!"

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."—Hamlet.

(Heard outside a Country Circus.)

Old Jarge."Wen ye sees wot comes from furrin parts, bless yer 'eart, ye just feels like a bit o' dirt!"

Did ye see the Lord Mayor"Did ye see the Lord Mayor when you was up to Lunnon?""Aye, lad, I did.""De' 'e gang aboot wi' a chain?""No; 'e gangs loose!"

"Did ye see the Lord Mayor when you was up to Lunnon?"

"Aye, lad, I did."

"De' 'e gang aboot wi' a chain?"

"No; 'e gangs loose!"

Yes; I'm burning itMiss Hobbs(who dislikes tobacco). "I see you are at your idol again!"Smoker."Yes; I'm burning it!"

Miss Hobbs(who dislikes tobacco). "I see you are at your idol again!"

Smoker."Yes; I'm burning it!"

A DRY CALLINGA DRY CALLING"Th' ole squire stop an' spoke to me this marnin'; an' Oi ast 'im 'ow Master Philip was gettin' on in Lunnon. 'Oh,' says 'e, ''e 's bin called to the Bar.' Oi dunno wot 'e meant, so Oi didn' say nothin'; but Oi says to meself, 'Ah,' Oi says, 'from whatOiremember of 'im, 'e didn' want nocallin'!'"

"Th' ole squire stop an' spoke to me this marnin'; an' Oi ast 'im 'ow Master Philip was gettin' on in Lunnon. 'Oh,' says 'e, ''e 's bin called to the Bar.' Oi dunno wot 'e meant, so Oi didn' say nothin'; but Oi says to meself, 'Ah,' Oi says, 'from whatOiremember of 'im, 'e didn' want nocallin'!'"

I ain't pertickler, ladyAccommodating.—Old Lady."Now then, what do you want?"The Tramp."I ain't pertickler, lady. What 'av' yer got?"

Accommodating.—Old Lady."Now then, what do you want?"The Tramp."I ain't pertickler, lady. What 'av' yer got?"

The Village ReprobateThe Vicar's Daughter."Papa was very shocked, Giles, to see you standing outside the 'Green Man' this morning, after church."The Village Reprobate."Oi can 'sure ye, miss, it wus na fault o' moine that I wus standin' ootside!"]

The Vicar's Daughter."Papa was very shocked, Giles, to see you standing outside the 'Green Man' this morning, after church."

The Village Reprobate."Oi can 'sure ye, miss, it wus na fault o' moine that I wus standin' ootside!"]

you can barely keep your wife"I'm surprised to find that you keep a dog, Tomkins! Why, you can barely keep your wife! What on earth do you feed him on?""Well, I gives 'im cat's-meat. And when I can't afford that, why, 'e 'as to 'ave wotwe'ave."

"I'm surprised to find that you keep a dog, Tomkins! Why, you can barely keep your wife! What on earth do you feed him on?"

"Well, I gives 'im cat's-meat. And when I can't afford that, why, 'e 'as to 'ave wotwe'ave."

Yes—a pound of muttonMrs. A."I've just been to see a poor soul who was almost dying of destitution."Miss B."Did you take her anything?"Mrs. A."Yes—a pound of mutton."Miss B."That wasn't much, was it?"Mrs. A.(indignantly). "Quite enough to make her somebeef tea!"

Mrs. A."I've just been to see a poor soul who was almost dying of destitution."Miss B."Did you take her anything?"Mrs. A."Yes—a pound of mutton."Miss B."That wasn't much, was it?"Mrs. A.(indignantly). "Quite enough to make her somebeef tea!"

Tell your fortune"Tell your fortune, pretty gentleman?"

"Tell your fortune, pretty gentleman?"

Fond of music!"Fond of music! Why, when I'm in town, I go to a music-hall every night!"

"Fond of music! Why, when I'm in town, I go to a music-hall every night!"

I hope your wife is much better to-dayA Sure Sign of Improvement.—Village Doctor."Well Scroggins, I hope your wife is much better to-day, eh? How is her pulse, eh? And how's her temperature?"Scroggins(considering). "Well, doctor, I don't know much about her pulses, but as for her temper"—(feelingly)—"she's got a plenty ofthatto-day!"

A Sure Sign of Improvement.—Village Doctor."Well Scroggins, I hope your wife is much better to-day, eh? How is her pulse, eh? And how's her temperature?"

Scroggins(considering). "Well, doctor, I don't know much about her pulses, but as for her temper"—(feelingly)—"she's got a plenty ofthatto-day!"

THE PITY O' IT"THE PITY O' IT!""Well, Simpson, how do you like the hot weather?""Can't stand it, sir! It's hawful! Ain't got no stomach for my victuals, sir!"

"Well, Simpson, how do you like the hot weather?"

"Can't stand it, sir! It's hawful! Ain't got no stomach for my victuals, sir!"

An Autumn Reminiscence

Scene—A large open space near a cathedral town. Fat old farmers in white hats, and smart young farmers in Newmarket coats and neat riding boots; elderly shepherds in blue, grey, and white smocks. From time to time there is a stampede of bewildered bullocks, whose hind legs are continually getting hitched over each other's horns. Connoisseurs lean over pen-rails and examine pigs reverently, as if they were Old Masters. Others prod them perfunctorily. The pigs bear these inconveniences meekly, as part of the penalty of greatness. Sheep look over one another's shoulders and chew nervously on one side of their mouths.

By the Pig-Pens

First Enthusiast.Did y' iver see sech a sow as that theer?Iniver did, and (aggressively) naw mooryo'didn't neither, 'Enery,didye now?

'Enery(unimpressed). I doan't see naw 'dvantage in heving pigs so big as that theer.

First Enth.Big! She's like a elephant.Theer's a lop ear now—weighs thutty-four stoan if she weighs a hounce, she do!

[The sow grunts complacently.

'Enery.Ah. I 'ad one loike 'er, I 'ad. Eat three bucketsful a day, she did, and (with a sense of unforgettable injury) mis'able little pegs she 'ad with it all!

Second Enth.I go in fur Berkshire myself But Sussex are very good; they scale so much better 'n they look;fullo' flesh they are—weigh a good stun moor nor ye'd take 'em fur, and then they cutupso well! (With a dreamy tenderness.) Yes, I'm fond o' they Sussexes, I am—veryfond of 'em!

A Dealer(trying to dispose of a litter of small black pigs). Seven good ole stiddy little pigs! I don't care 'oobuys 'em (as if he usually required the strictest testimonials to character). Imustsell 'em. Pig-buyin' to-day, sir? You'dbetter'ave that little lot, sir.

[Persuasively, to a passer-by, who however appears to think he had much better not.

By the Sheep-Pens

Intending Purchaser(to Seller). What d'ye carl them yoes now? Southdowns?

[He fixes his eyes on the cathedral spire, and awaits the next move.

Seller(after watching a rook out of sight, stirs up the sheep meditatively, and decides on candour). Well—bout aaff an' aaff.

Int. Purch.Old yoes—well, ye know, 'taint likeyoungyoes,beit now?

Seller(when he has finished shredding tobacco in the palm of his hand). That's true enough.

Int. Purch.I dunno as I can do wi' any moor shep just now, if 'twas iver so.

Seller(listlessly). Cann't ye, now? Theer's bin a genl'man from Leicestershire 'ere, wawntin' me to run 'im off a dozen or so—fur his perrk, d'ye see?

Int. Purch.(with unaffected incredulity). Ah.

[A protracted silence, employed by each in careful inspection of his boots.

Seller(addressing space). They're a tidy lot o' yoes.

Int. Purch.(as if this was a new view of them, which would require consideration). Come off o' your own farm?

Seller.Druv 'em in myself this very marnin'.

Int. Purch.Ah. (A pause apparently spent in mental calculation.) What might ye be askin' for 'un now?

Seller.For them yoes?

Int. Purch.Ah.

Seller(falls into a brown study, from which he at length emerges to tap the nearest ewe on the forehead and expectorate). I wawnt five-an'-twenty shellin' a yead for them yoes.

Int. Purch.Five-an'-twenty?

Seller.Ah, that's whatIwawnt.

[A longer silence than ever.

Int. Purch.I s'pose ye aint seen ole Jim 'Arrows 'bout 'ere this marnin', hev ye?

[After some further preliminaries of this kind the moment at length arrives at which a bargain can be struck without any suggestion of unbecoming haste on either side.

Anything to obligeAnything to oblige.—Old Lady."I wish you would make him go faster. I shall be late for the market."Carrier."Well, you see, mum, he always falls on his head if he trots down-hill. Hecan'ttrot up-hill, for he's broken-winded, and if you hurry him on the level he mostly has a fit of blind staggers. But we'll try if you like, mum. Come up, hoss!"

Anything to oblige.—Old Lady."I wish you would make him go faster. I shall be late for the market."Carrier."Well, you see, mum, he always falls on his head if he trots down-hill. Hecan'ttrot up-hill, for he's broken-winded, and if you hurry him on the level he mostly has a fit of blind staggers. But we'll try if you like, mum. Come up, hoss!"

BYE-ELECTION HUMOURSBYE-ELECTION HUMOURSFree and Independent Voter."Wull, if they can't zend zummat better than thic ther cart to fetch I to the poll, I ain't a-goin' to vote. Zo there's an end of it; and you can go back an' tell 'um zo!"

Free and Independent Voter."Wull, if they can't zend zummat better than thic ther cart to fetch I to the poll, I ain't a-goin' to vote. Zo there's an end of it; and you can go back an' tell 'um zo!"

THE NEW SQUIRETHE NEW SQUIREFarmer."Well, Giles, what do you think of him?"Giles."I reckon he's allers in at meal-times, sir!"

Farmer."Well, Giles, what do you think of him?"

Giles."I reckon he's allers in at meal-times, sir!"

Them as is inside can't get outCurate."Oh—er—by the way, Mr. Bloggs, I was wondering whether you would give me a small subscription for a most excellent object: I mean the repairing of the cemetery wall."Wealthy Parvenu."Not me, sir. The cemetery wall don'tneedany repairing. Them as is inside can't get out, an' them as is outside don't want to get in. Good mornin'!"

Curate."Oh—er—by the way, Mr. Bloggs, I was wondering whether you would give me a small subscription for a most excellent object: I mean the repairing of the cemetery wall."

Wealthy Parvenu."Not me, sir. The cemetery wall don'tneedany repairing. Them as is inside can't get out, an' them as is outside don't want to get in. Good mornin'!"

First Rustic(just out of the County Hospital). An' they putt me under that theer chlorryfum—an' I simmed to go right oop into 'Evin—yes, I wur oop in 'Evin fur a toime, sure 'nough.

Second Rustic(with interest). An' did ye 'ear a pianner?

Elderly Farmer(who is being applied to for the character of his late shepherd). No, I never 'ad no fault to find wi' the fellow—(conscientiously) not as I knows on. He unnerstan's shep—I will saythatfur 'en—he's a rare 'un at doctorin' of 'em, too. An' a stiddy chap an' that, keps a civil tongue in 'is yead, and don't go away on the booze. No,Iaint got nawthen' to say 'gainst th' man.

The Inquirer.Would ye hev any objection to sayin' why ye're partin' wi' en?

Eld. F.Well, I dunno as theer was any particklerreasonfor 't. (He endeavours to think of one in a puzzle-headed way.) I s'pose I must ha' thowt I'd make a bit of a shift like—and theer ye hev it.

First Stock-breeder(to Second). Well, an' how's Muster Spuddock to-day?

Muster Spuddock.Oh, 'mong th' middlins—'mong th' middlins. Pretty well fur an old 'un?

First Stockbr.An' how's trade withyou, eh?

Muster Sp.(beaming). Oh, nawthen' doin'—nawthen' doin' 't all!

First Stockbr.(with equal cheerfulness). Same'ere, sir—same 'ere. On'y thing that's got money has been th' dead meat.

Muster Sp.(without appearing to envy the dead meat on this account). Ah, that's it. Ye cann't reckon on moor nor thrippence,—an' your own expenses, i' coorse.

First Stockbr.An'thet's borderin' nigh on fowerpence; an' when it comes to two pound a bullock——!

[They shake their heads with an unsuccessful attempt to look lugubrious at these cryptic considerations.

Muster Sp.Well, well; sheep food's goin' to be plentiful, too, right up to Christmas.

First Stockbr.That's the way to look on it.

[They go off to dine at the ordinary, with a sense that matters might be worse.

Portrait of one of the village CochinsJones, who can't sleep well in London during the hot weather, goes to have a quiet night in a village![Portrait ofoneof the village Cochins, &c.

Jones, who can't sleep well in London during the hot weather, goes to have a quiet night in a village!

[Portrait ofoneof the village Cochins, &c.

EducationEducation.—Squire."Hobson, they tell me you've taken your boy away from the National School. What's that for?"Villager."'Cause the master ain't fit to teach un!"Squire."O, I've heard he's a very good master."Villager."Well, all I knows is, he wanted to teach my boy to spell ''taters' with a 'p'!!!"

Education.—Squire."Hobson, they tell me you've taken your boy away from the National School. What's that for?"Villager."'Cause the master ain't fit to teach un!"Squire."O, I've heard he's a very good master."Villager."Well, all I knows is, he wanted to teach my boy to spell ''taters' with a 'p'!!!"

Compliments of the SeasonCompliments of the Season.—Farmer's Wife(to little rustic, her protégè). "Well, Sam, your master and I are going up to London for the cattle show."Cow Boy."Oh, I'm sure I hope yeou'll take the fust prize, 'm—that I dew!"

Compliments of the Season.—Farmer's Wife(to little rustic, her protégè). "Well, Sam, your master and I are going up to London for the cattle show."

Cow Boy."Oh, I'm sure I hope yeou'll take the fust prize, 'm—that I dew!"

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