[To THE EDITOR OF THE " SPECTATOR:1
Sra,—I am a farmer and gardener by profession, so believe me this is not imagination, though possibly of no use to others.—I
"DEAR BLANIC,—S0 you would help on the land, and look forward very much to what you think it is like. I am delighted, because workers are needed. From a deep experience, though, let me explain how you'll feel. Feeling is the point of what one does, isn't it ? Well, then, in winter it is all coldness and mud, and in summer I think (but I'm not so sure of this) baking effort. Remember that everything you possess will be cold—your fingers cabmanly, your nose irritatingly, your feet excruciating, dreadful, impossible ! Even the apple you munch when you think you have time feeLs chilly. As to mud, you squelch, why not ? On farms it rains, and frosts, and you see thaws, and rains again, and cows must walk about a little, they like to. Quite several people think that gloves and gum-boots and aprons, or gaiters and clogs and breeches, smooth the way. All these arc splendid, but the mud remains, so come prepared to enjoy it. I won't talk much about summer. You know what tennis on a ninety-degrees-in-the-shade day is like ; alga possibly how life seems to you when you struggle with a wardrobe that sticks. Well, roll those two in one and you'll get near most June, July, August days between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. on farms. Don't be put off though, unless your ideas arc by now completely toppled over. Seriously, the beauties of before-breakfast worlds, summer or winter, are not to be talked of, too good. Then there is all we so constantly hear of 'Work well done.' This is a rather fitful joy, though, say Tuesdays and Fridays. I can, however, promise you appetite, so come and help, recollecting
'Scared is my heart, no doubt, but unsubdued ls and shall be my appetite for food:
—Yours most sincerely, 3. T."
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