Note 1 — (RE-PRINTED BY DESIRE.)

The feasten day, Betty was up in the morning early. The morning work was soon done; the great crock put on with the beef, calf’s head, and dumpling; not more water than just enough to cover them, as Betty said “She wouldn’t make dish-wash for Feasten broth; no not she;” rabbit pie, veal and parsley pies, with the figgy-puddings, all were put to bake, and the chimney full of turfey-fire, all in a glow from end to end, when a poor half-witted fellow called Bucca,1 who thought himself Betty’s sweetheart, came in to watch the cooking, that Betty might dress in time to go to church to shew her new gown.