without it. The amount of hard grain which passes undigested is a serious consideration in the best times; and the practice of presenting the food in the most digestible state is fast superseding the flinging away of good barley to make mere manure.
In such a year as this the landlords ought to provide for a free sale of their rabbits. Every year the rabbits do the farmers more mischief than almost any amount of bad weather; and every year certain gamekeepers are understood to make two, three, or four hundred pounds each by the sale of this particular perquisite. We may believe this from the fact of one landowner having sold 40,000 rabbits in one year, after taking a farm into his own hands,—his tenant having thrown it up on account of the rabbits. The farmers ought, in such times as these, to use freely their right of taking the rabbits, wherever they have not foolishly parted with that right. There ought to be a sweep of the rabbits, whatever the gamekeepers may say,—both for the sake of present food and next year’s crops. It will be objected that there is no getting at the creatures when they choose to hide. Well; let us have all that can be got at. We know that one gentleman got at 40,000 in one year. Let us see how many more may be obtained by early watching in the mornings, and by all known methods.
As for game,—we shall have such a winter for poaching as has not been known since the great war, if the price of meat is what we may expect. Something may come out of it. One year of actual popular hunger, or of any severe pressure for food, would put an end to the preservation of game in England. Sportsmen would be plainly directed to the Scotch moors, and Norwegian rivers, and foreign or colonial hunting grounds for their amusement, while at home there would be a vast reduction of rural crime, and an important increase of food. The produce laid waste, over and above what is eaten, by game and rabbits, would feed herds of cattle and flocks of sheep; and it would never be allowed to lapse to the game when once a winter of hardship had driven our labourers into the covers for such food as could be got. Let us hope that the landowners generally are already turning over in their minds some such course as the Duke of Bedford and several others of their class took long ago,—not under the pressure of any scarcity, but from a sense of justice to the producers and consumers of food.
The duty is off cheese, happily. Cheese stands high in the scale of animal food, from its amount of concentrated nourishment. Let us, in short, consider what animal food of any sort may be imported at a popular price, and make known the facts.
There is another thing to be done;—and it is for our countrywomen to do it. It cannot be effectually done in a day, or a month, or a year; but it may be begun to-morrow. Let the people of England be taught to cook. If we could obviate the waste from mere bad cookery, the service would be equivalent to a vast grant of food. Every lady, every retired cook, every good-natured housekeeper of any rank, who shall enable three or four labourers’ wives or daughters to make the most of the food they have in the house, will be saving her country from a certain portion of calamity. Before the next batch of bad seasons, we ought to be secure from the disgraceful aggravation of ignorance about the treatment of our food.
I can now only just indicate what can be done in the direction of next season. It is clear that we must get, not only our corn, but our cattle-fodder from abroad, in proportion to our failures at home. Lord John Russell has promoted a system of inquiry of our consuls in countries which produce dates, carob-beans, and other nutritious products which are good for cattle, and relished by them. We must acquaint ourselves with all practicable resources of this kind, grains, meal, oilcakes, fruits, roots, &c. No less diligently must we look at home to make the most of every foot of ground, in compensation for the shortness of the hay crop, and the exhaustion of our reserve stores. Let us have winter vegetables for mankind, and the largest breadths of cabbages and early grasses ever seen, for the cattle, lest the roots should turn out ill in the winter, and the crisis of the spring ruin us again. It is not too early now to be preparing for the weeks which precede a late grass-springing. The walls which straggle over mountain-sides in Cumberland and Westmoreland were first built to enclose crofts in which the ash and holly were protected, to protect in their turn the sheep and cattle on the Fells. The young shoots and sprays of the holly and ash were, as they still are, a favourite food of cattle; and so are the tender sprouts of the gorse. We need not disdain these in hard seasons, if the cows themselves, in all seasons, seek them eagerly. We may now, too, learn to value the new condiments by which coarse food is improved up to a very good value, in the estimation of beasts and owners alike.
Such are some of the considerations suggested by the existing pressure. It seems to be the right course for all of us to look out all our resources, to communicate freely with one another, to understand the case before we blame anybody for it, to admit that demand, supply, and prices must hold their natural course; to be thankful that the conditions of our case are so much improved within the memory of one generation; and to be careful that they are improved still further by our own patriotism, and our regard for future generations.
THE BETRAYED.
She sat alone, on a cold grey stone,
Where the river made a desolate moan.
The sycamore trees stood white and bare,
Like sheeted ghosts in the dusky air.
A black cloud floated along the sky,
And a night-bird utter’d a dismal cry.
Sadly she thought of the innocent time,
Wildly she wept for her shame and crime.
Darker and deeper the shadows grow:
He promised to meet her an hour ago.
