ight face, polished
as a mirror; and close beside stood a highly polished bread-trough and
cover, composed of walnut-tree wood, rubbed by the hand of housewifery
till you could see your face in it and from which issued a most tempting
smell of hot bread. A long and substantial table occupied the centre of
the kitchen; a tablecloth, which, though coarse in texture, vied with
the falling snow for whiteness, covered its entire length; while for
each expected guest was placed an earthenware plate, brown without, but
white within, and by its side a knife, fork, and spoon, lustrous as
silver itself. In the midst of the table, an immense tureen of vegetable
soup smoked like the crater of a volcano, and diffused its savoury
vapours over a dish of ham and greens, flanked by a most formidable
array of mutton, most relishly stewed with onions and potatoes. Below
was placed a large joint of roast veal, followed by two great plates of
winter salad, supported by a couple of baskets of apples; and a similar
number of cheeses completed the arrangements of the table. Three or four
stone pitchers filled with sparkling cider, and a like quantity of
loaves of brown bread, equal in size to the stones of a windmill, were
placed at the discretionary use of the supping party.

An old, shaggy, black shepherd dog, almost toothless, the superannuated
patriarch of all the canine tribe employed on the farm, was, by reason
of his great age and long services, indulged with permission to enjoy
the cheering warmth of the chimney-corner; but, using his privilege with
the utmost modesty and discretion, this venerable servitor, who answered
to the pastoral name of Lysander, lay quietly stretched out in a secure
side-nook, his nose resting on his paws, watching with the deepest
attention the various culinary preparations which preceded the supper.

The bill of fare thus presented to the reader, as the ordinary mode of
living at the farm of Bouqueval, may strike some of our readers as
unnecessarily sumptuous; but Madame Georges, faithfully following out
the wishes of Rodolph, endeavoured by all possible means to improve the
comforts of the labourers on the farm, who were always selected as being
the most worthy and industrious individuals of their district. They
were well paid, liberally treated, and so kindly used that to be
engaged on the Bouqueval farm was the highest ambition of all the best
labourers in that part of the country--an ambition which most