the
thing would have a salutary effect upon the desultory life of the
village.

Next comes the water-supply of the village. This is a matter of
vital importance. There are, of course, villages where water is
abundant, even too abundant, as in low-lying meadow-land by the side
of rivers which are liable to overflow. There are villages traversed
throughout the whole of their length by a brook running parallel
with the road, so that to gain access to each cottage it is
necessary to cross a 'drock,' or small bridge, and in summer-time
such villages are very picturesque. In the colder months, the mist
on the water and damp air are not so pleasant or healthy. Many
villages, situated at the edge of a range of hills--a most favourite
position for villages--are supplied with good springs of the
clearest water rising in those hills. But there are also large
numbers of villages placed high up above the water-level on the same
hills, which are most scantily supplied with water; and there are
also villages far away down in the valley which are liable to run
short in the summer or dry time, when the 'bourne,' or winter
watercourse, fails them. Such places, situated in the midst of rich
meadows, can sometimes barely find water enough for the cattle, who
are not so particular as to quality. Even in places where there is a
good natural spring, or a brook which is rarely dry, the cottagers
experience no little difficulty in conveying it to their homes,
which may be situated a mile away. It is not uncommon in country
places to see the water trickling along in the ditch by the roadside
bayed up with a miniature dam in front of a cottage, and from the
turbid pool thus formed the woman fills her kettle. People who live
in towns, and can turn on the water in any room of their houses
without the slightest exertion, have no idea of the difficulty the
poor experience in the country in procuring good water, despite all
the beautiful rivers and springs and brooks which poetry sings of.
After a man or woman has worked all day in the field, perhaps at a
distance of two miles from home, it is weary and discouraging work
to have to trudge with the pail another weary half-mile or so to the
pool for water. It is harder still, after trudging that weary
half-mile, pail in hand, to find the water almost too low to dip,
muddied by cattle, and diminished in quantity to serve the pressing
needs of the animals living higher up the stream. Now, in starting,