ting so many small sums and other circumstances
are taken into consideration. The moral effect of the arrangement has
been incalculable--as one old woman pertinently remarked, "We needn't
steal now, sir." In the olden times the farmers' gardens were constantly
subject to depredations. The ordinary rate at which gardens are let in
the neighbourhood is 6d. per "lug." At Swindon, the nearest town (12,000
inhabitants), there are large allotment fields let at 1s. 6d. per "lug,"
or L12 per acre, and eagerly caught up at that price. These allotments
are rented by every class, from labourers and mechanics to well-to-do
tradesmen.

The very first desire of every agricultural labourer's heart is a
garden, and so strong is the feeling that I have known men apply for
permission to cultivate the vacant space between the large double
mounds of the hedges on some pasture farms, and work hard at it despite
the roots of the bushes and the thefts of the rooks.

The facts mentioned above only add one more to the numberless ways in
which the noble clergy of the Church of England have been silently
labouring for the good of the people committed to their care for years
before the agitators bestowed one thought on the agricultural poor.--I
am, Sir, faithfully yours,

RICHARD JEFFERIES.

COATE FARM, SWINDON.

(_Published in the "Times," Nov. 23, 1872._)

_A TRUE TALE OF THE WILTSHIRE LABOURER._

"Now then--hold fast there--mind the furrow, Tim." The man who was
loading prepared himself for the shock, and the waggon safely jolted
over the furrow, and on between the wakes of light-brown hay, crackling
to the touch as if it would catch fire in the brilliant sunshine. The
pitchers, one on each side, stuck their prongs into the wakes and sent
up great "pitches," clearing the ground rapidly, through emulation, for
it was a point of honour to keep pace with each other. Tim, the old man
who had led the horses, resumed his rake in the rear among the women,
who instantly began teasing the poor wretch.

"Tim, she's allus in the way," said one, purposely hitching her rake in
his. "Thur--get away."

"I shan't," said Tim, surly as crabbed age and incessant banter under a
hot sun could make him. "Now--mind, thee's break th' rake."

They both pulled as hard as they dared--each expecting the other to give
way, for the master was in sight, on horseback, by the rick, and a rake
broken wantonly would bring a sharp reprimand.

"Go it, Sal!"