have all the gravy, and be very savory for them." "Ay,
but I have got no beer, master, the times are so hard that a poor
man can't afford to brew a drop of drink now as we used to do."

"Times are bad, and malt is very dear, Tom, and yet both don't
prevent you from spending seven shillings in keeping holiday. Now
send for a quart of ale as it is to be a feast: and you will even
then be four shillings richer than if you had gone to the public
house. I would have you put by these four shillings, till you can
add a couple to them; with this I would get a bushel of malt, and my
wife should brew it, and you may take a pint of your own beer at
home of a night, which will do you more good than a gallon at the
Red Lion." "I have a great mind to take your advice, master, but I
shall be made such fun of at the Lion! they will so laugh at me if I
don't go!" "Let those laugh that win, Tom." "But master, I have got
a friend to meet me there." "Then ask your friend to come and eat a
bit of your cold mutton at night, and here is sixpence for another
pot, if you will promise to brew a small cask of your own." "Thank
you, master, and so I will; and I won't go to the Lion. Come boy,
bring the helm, and fetch the ladder." And so Tom was upon the roof
in a twinkling. The barn was thatched, the mutton bought, the beer
brewed, the friend invited, and the holiday enjoyed.

THE SHEEP-SHEARING.

Dr. Shepherd happened to say to Farmer White one day, that there
was nothing that he disliked more than the manner in which
sheep-shearing and harvest-home were kept by some in his parish.
"What," said the good Doctor, "just when we are blessed with a
prosperous gathering in of these natural riches of our land, the
fleece of our flocks; when our barns are crowned with plenty, and
we have, through the divine blessing on our honest labor, reaped
the fruits of the earth in due season; is that very time to be set
apart for ribaldry, and riot, and drunkenness? Do we thank God for
his mercies, by making ourselves unworthy and unfit to enjoy them?
When he crowns the year with his goodness, shall we affront him by
our impiety? It is more than a common insult to his providence; it
is a worse than brutal return to _Him_ who openeth his hand and
filleth all things living with plenteousness."

"I thank you for the hint, sir," said the farmer. "I am resolved to
rejoice though, and others shall rejoice with me: and we will have a
merry night on't."

So Mrs.