Little Jack Rag's "Day In The Country"."

It must not be supposed , however , that our buoyancy of spirit has collapsed . The merest puff of a fair wind is enough to rouse it again , and we meet with it at Illford , where the first van is brought to a standstill to admit of the passage of a hay waggon turning out of a shady lane- —a

, waggon laden high as a house with fragrant hay , drawn by sleek horses who have bits of green boughs in the bridles to keep off the flies , and who have the aspect of cattle brimfullof the good thingsof this world , and whoif they had worn such thingswould

, , have unbuttoned at least the two bottom buttons of their waistcoats . The waggoner caring more for beer than for hay , makes a country joke respecting the barrel of small ale with which our foremost wain is

lumbered , and as he in the same breath almost suggests , " Why not turn out the whole troop on ' em to hev a tummel in that theer modeler ? " and guarantees us immunity from penalty if his timel y hint is adopted , we reward him with two pint tin jugsful , aud in less than five minutes the

" medcler" before mentioned is a scene of madness . If hay is the better for tossing , if laughter and mirthful handling can impart to it a fine fattening flavour , the crop of that Held was one to be well looked after by persons who have ill-conditioned or vicious horses to feed . Where now was

Squelcher ' s Alley ! It was a remote region —a long journey over seas and oceans for all we knew or cared . Perhaps there was magic in it . Nothing short of magic could account for wan little faces glowing so suddenly with a healthy flush , for young eyes that hitherto were never known

to be anything but dull lighting up as though the sun itself had kindled themfor weak and small bodies and feeble legs all at once becoming nimble and active , and eager for the hot fun of smothering their neighbours and being themselves

smothered . It became alarming . As everybody knows , there is such a thing as hay fever . Who knew but that there might lurk in the fragrant heaps hay insanity , which , taking hold on lads of the Squelcher ' s Alley typewould lead them

, to rave for billycocks and leather leggings , and the society of reapers and mowers for evermore 1 A nervous person mi ght have imagined that he already detected symptoms of the madness in question developing itself

in some of the elder boys , and perhaps on the whole it was quite as well after an hour that the whistles were sounded , and the beaming breathless two hundred , with hay in their hair , in their shoes , in every chink and crevice of then- raiment where it might find lodgmentdriven laughing

, and hilarious back to the vans again . The sport in the hayfield made us late for dinner , but that did not so much matter , since in enormous drum-like cool zinc cylinders we carried our provisions with us—the mighty rounds of boiled beef

, the ribs of roast , the twenty score of crust y little loaves , and the necessary plates and knives and forks . As for the salad—the lettuces and watercresses , they grew in the market ground close by where by previous

arrangement our tent was pitched , and as there was a clear running brook at hand also available for washing the greenstuff , we were all right on that score . It was just at the verge of the forest where we halted , and some dined under the tent ,

while others formed amicable picnic parties , and took their plentiful meal on the shady grass and beneath the trees where the birds were singing , and the harmless small ale wetting the whistles of the bigger boys ( there was milk galore for

the youngsters ) , we sang songs after dinner , and tiring of that " went in " for cricket or rounders , or any other pastime that as free rovers suggested itself to us—Squelchers Alley having no nearer existence than Timbuctoo at the most moderate computation .

And so until dusk of evening we enjoyed ourselves to our heart ' s content without cessation , and then came the boiling oi kettles gipsy fashion , and tea in the tent . And by the time that was over the foreman van driver appeared with an intimation that if we wished to get home comfortabl

y by ten o ' clock we had best be stirring . And stir we did , pretty well tired , but in as gay good humour as when we started , and good for no end of vocal and instrumental miisic . I am afraid that we flanged a little when the truth was forced

on us that Squelcher ' s Alley was not exactly at Timbuctoo , but only three streets off ; but we plucked up heart again , and drove up to the Mission Hall in full song , and as much huzzaing as filled the narrow street from end to end , and caused