"DEAREST JULIA,—Since that very unpleasant affair of pa's bankruptcy,
which made it so disagreeable to stop in town, I have really not had a
moment to spare. I take the first opportunity to tell you that our
farming goes on quite as well as might be expected; and I hope in a few
years we shall be able to hold up our heads again in our dear native
Tooley Street, and among our friends at dear No. 29½.
"Haymaking is just over, and such fun! Oh, how I wished for you, dear
Julia! you would so have liked it!—tedding, and windrowing, and
staddle-rowing, and quilling, and above all, being rolled about and
tumbled to bits by the young Browns, our handsome neighbours, who kindly
offered their assistance on this occasion. Young Edwin, who paid
particular attention to me, and squeezed my best transparent muslin
bonnet to a mummy, and tore my green silk frock all to rags, is one of
the nicest young men in these parts, and a great favourite with us all.
Pa and ma sat on a bank directing our proceedings out of a book pa's
got, which tells you all about farming, and agriculture, and everything.
I am head shepherdess, and go out every morning with my crook and
Spanish guitar, and sit all day long on a bank playing to the sheep and
lambs; young Edwin Brown generally coming and keeping me company with
his German flute, which makes it very pleasant. Besides having the care
of the flocks, I am put in charge of the eggs and poultry; but, though I
have every reason to believe that our hens lay regularly, I cannot for
the life of me find their nests: and I assure you I have searched over
and over again in all the trees about the premises. The only eggs I have
been able to get were some brought in by pa the other day, and which I
immediately set under a Bantam hen; but, unfortunately, they turned out
nothing but snakes. Also a second lot, picked up by brother John in one
of his walks, which unluckily proving to be pheasants, poor John has
been informed against by a neighbouring gamekeeper, and will have to pay
goodness knows what penalty, and has got the character of a poacher into
the bargain. What a fuss is here about poaching a few eggs!
"My geese also have been very disappointing, though we have had the tank
in front of the house carefully covered in with invisible wire for their
accommodation, where they are kept night and day, and have fresh water
given them every morning. Ducks likewise don't go on very swimmingly;
and as to our horned cattle, things have gone very crooked. Pa bought a
lot of cows, and thereby hangs a tale, for on bringing them up to milk
we couldn't get a drop; and on inquiry found that he ought to have
bought milch cows, and not feeding cows, which are only used for making
beef of. But he soon bought others, and we have now a very good dairy,
and Lucy is quite pat at making butter, but mamma is rather green at
making cheese.
"Brother John attends the markets—not that we have anything to sell—but
it is considered regular; and indeed he makes a regular thing of it by
getting tipsy every market day. Emily, who, you know, was always very
fond of birds, bought a lot of pigeons, and a tame hawk, and a jackdaw;
but, unfortunately, the hawk got one day into the dovecot, and killed
every one of the pigeons; and the jackdaw has stolen all our silver
forks and spoons. Brother John purchased a lot more pigeons at the
market, which flew away the next morning; and pa, in his rage, wrung the
jackdaw's neck, so that we are safe to see no more of our forks and
spoons.
"Ma undertook to manage the bees, and has had a glass hive fixed at her
bed-room window. The first night she was very unlucky; for, getting up
in the dark to open the window, she forgot the bees, and smashed one of
the hives, whereupon the little savages flew at her and almost stung her
to death; and pa, who heard her cries and jumped out of bed to her
assistance, got as roughly handled as ma. Only fancy, Julia dear, being
in nothing but your chemise, and two hundred thousand bees stinging at
you like mad! not pleasant, is it?
"Our pig-sties, I am sorry to say, are quite empty, the pigs having
strayed and got into the parish pound (unknown to us, of course), where
they were at last sold to pay their expenses. Susan, however, has been
very successful in rearing a litter of Guinea pigs, and Emily has got a
most delightful lot of little peacocks. Also John, who has bought a
hunter and means to follow the hounds, has had wonderful luck with his
foxes, for whose accommodation he has planted two of our largest fields
full of gorse bushes. A singular thing occurred the other day with
regard to one of these creatures: he was seen retreating to the gorse
covert, closely pursued by one of the turkeys; and, more singular still,
the turkey has never since been heard of, and it is generally supposed
that it followed the fox into one of its holes and got suffocated.
Several of the chickens have also disappeared in a very mysterious way,
and we can only account for it in the same manner.
"Our health is capital—except ma, who has got the lumbago by sitting
without her shawl in the hay-field—and pa, who is laid up with a cold
and sore throat from standing in the draught of a winnowing machine—and
Emily, who has got a face as big as two with running to fetch the young
ducks out of the rain—and Abraham, who has almost cut his hand off with
pruning the damson trees—and John, who, I am afraid, has lamed himself
for life in trying to jump his horse over a five-barred gate with spikes
on it—and your humble servant, who has put out one of her wrists, and
sprained one of her ancles, and fractured one of her ribs in climbing up
a tree after a hen's nest—or rather, a magpie's. My wrist is so bad at
this moment that you must excuse my abruptly signing myself,
"Dearest Julia, your most affectionate
"AMELIA.
"P.S. Wrist or no wrist, I must tell you of the perfidy of that villain,
Edwin Brown. Ma has just been in to say that he has run away with his
father's dairymaid. A perjured wretch! and a dairymaid too! I have
for-sworn love for ever, and made over my sheep to Emily. Oh, Julia!
"P.S. I open this sheet to tell you of the shocking fire that happened
here last night. We might have all been burnt to death in our beds. The
barns, stables, and other out-buildings are reduced to cinders; and all
owing to William's fine rick of hay, which it seems was put up too
green, and took fire of its own accord. Very odd—pa's book never said a
word about it. We are all very miserable.
"Your doubly afflicted
"AMELIA."