Memoirs of a Surrey Labourer

his one of the year 1900-when he joined an excursion for his annual day's holiday, and made a long trip to Weymouth. Need it be said that

teamer to Portland, and there got a drive to the prison and seen the convicts, and had a joke and a laugh with the driver of the brake, and a drink with a party of excursionists from Birmingham, who appreciated his society, and called him "uncle," and whose unfamiliar speech he imi

se eight months is but faintly illuminated-and that, it may be, for me only-by two memoranda mentioning Bettesworth as present at certain affairs, and by one

ief work with Irishmen as Englishmen.... I remember once when I was at work on a buildin' for Knight, a Irishman come for me with his shovel like this." Bettesworth turned his shovel edgeways, raising it high. "He'd ha' split me if he'd ha' hit me; and as soon as he

the daily conversation was of the usual kind, about being forward

ack vividly the whole scene: the glowing Sunday afternoon, the blue loveliness of the distant hills, the look of the grass, and all the tingling sense of the far-spread summer life surrounding the dying animal. But the narrative

rs." He has come, like the present writer, in the expectation of hearing some "spouting," as he said afterwards. But though he is disappointed, and finds himself,-he, the least fanatic of men-the witness only of excited efforts to arrange for canvassing the district in readiness fo