"Meat!  Well, we sometimes get a little bit
of rusty bacon, just to grease the potatoes with;
bacon that shopkeepers, or clerks, or servant
girls would not look at, but which we manage
to relish. I suppose because we are hungry."

"Is the Sunday's dinner no better than the
week day one?"

"Well, yes, we buy the offal, as the butchers
call it, when it is cheap, as it generally is in
the hot weather when it will not keep long."

"What do you mean by offal?"

"I mean the heart, liver, and entrails. The
wife can cook a little, and chops up these
things with onions and salt, to make them
savoury, and hide the taste of putrefaction when
the things are cheap and not over fresh. When
I was a young man, I did not much mind the
stale flavour. I had a stomach and an appetite
like an ostrich then; but now that I am growing
old, I am getting particular, and prefer cheese
to meat. Bread and cheese and onions is
not bad fare, after all, if a man gets enough of it."

"I see you manage to spare a little out of
your earnings for tobacco. Surely you could
do without that."

"I cannot do without 'baccy,' but I spend
very little—next to nothing, I may say—on this
article. I find almost all that I need, upon the
road. The gentlemen that smoke so much
throw away tiie cigar ends, and I pick up sufficient
during the day, to cut or untwist, to
supply my pipe. If you stopped my 'baccy'
I should lose the best friend I have in the world
—next to my wife."

"You seem a strong man. Do you drink
beer?"

"I am a strong man, thank God; and I
hope there is no harm in liking a glass of good
ale or beer."

"Not the least. I know I like it, if it be
good, and shall have much pleasure in treating
you to a pint."

"Thank you kindly. I never begged a glass
of beer in my life, and would scorn to do it, but
I never refused one if offered. People are
pretty good to me, and I get two or three
pints in a week, or more than that, from
acquaintances on the road, and from strangers
who see me working in the hot sun. But the
beer gets awfully bad now-a-days. The publicans
are not honest. They put water in their beer
first, and that makes it weak; and then they
put drugs into it, to make it strong again, I
think such men ought to be punished. It's
worse than poaching, in my opinion."

"And in mine, too; and if I could have my
way, I would make such an example of some of
the poisoners of the poor man's beer, as would
create a talk in the world."

"Yes, sir, it's cruel; and the more cruel
because it is the poor, who can't help themselves,
who are made to suffer."

"Do you earn daily wages all the year
round?"

"No. Whenever there is a hard frost, or
the snow lies upon the ground, I have to shut
up. In those times I earn nothing, though
they are just the times when a man requires
most. Coals are dear, but we get them at half
price at a place in the village, where the gentry
subscribe to let us have them. And then I
have the privilege of gathering sticks and wind-
falls, which helps a little."

"And when you are too old to work, what
then?" I asked, suggestively.

"Well, there is but one place, the
workhouse, and that other place, the grave. If it
were not for the workhouse, I sometimes think
that the squires and great people would not
have such a nice time of it as they have. I
don't want to go there however. I should like
to work on, and earn my wages to the last.
England's a poor place for such as I am, at the best.
There are too many of us. That's the truth."

"Did you never think of going to America?"

"Many and many a time; but I never could
save enough to pay my own passage over, let
alone that of the wife and children. And I'm
too old now."

"You can read?"

"Ay, well enough; and I like reading too,
especially the newspapers."

"Can you afford to take in a penny paper?"

"No, indeed, but I borrow one, when it's a
week old, from the grocer or the butcher. I
get the news stale, as I do my victuals, but
contrive to learn what is going on in the world."

"Do you read in the evening, after your
work's done?"

"Well, sometimes, not always. I like to have
a talk with other people, and hear the news of
the place. Sunday's my day for reading."

"Do you attend church?"

"Not oflener than I can help, for I fall
asleep, and I don't like to set such a bad example
—and to be nudged by somebody as if I was
committing a sin. Besides, I snore sometimes.
I wish I could keep awake at church, but I
can't. So I stay away and read the
newspaper, and sometimes lie in bed half the day,
and bless it as a day of rest."

"Do you study the politics or the news?"

"I don't care much about politics. I have
no vote. I'm nobody. But if I had a vote, I'd
vote for any gentleman who'd abolish the game
laws, and punish those wretches who put drugs
into the beer. And I should like to vote for
any one who'd bring mutton from Australia or
South America, so that I could get meat instead
of offal, and live as well as a footman or a house-
maid. But this won't be in my time, I suppose."

"I'm afraid not, though it's not impossible.
There's food enough in the world for all
mankind, if we could but bring the food to the
mouths that require it. Do none of your
children go to school?"

"Yes, the two eldest, boys of nine and ten,
go to school in the winter; but in the summer
they get a job now and then as crow boys and
sparrow boys, to frighten the birds from the
corn, and earn a few shillings to buy clothes
with. They'll be able to read and write, and
do a little cyphering, I suppose, by the time
they are fourteen or fifteen."