THE FARMER'S MAGAZINE. 



367 



A NATIONAL AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY FOR WALES. 



The Eisteddfod is doomed. Like the Donny-brook 

 Fair of Ould Ireland, the Lord Mayor's Show of Old 

 England, and other such national celebrations, it can- 

 not but grow gradually out of date. With one roll of 

 its mighty thunder The Times has said it. " Why do 

 you not take more notice of the great festival of the 

 Principality ?" asks an indignant Welshman. And the 

 very next morning the favour is granted. It is fit 

 season such mummeries were done away with. They 

 do no good, and the people themselves have but little 

 sympathy with the performances. Quondam tradesmen 

 playing at Princes, and country clergymen acting as 

 showmen, scarcely tell in an age like this. It is a 

 question whether " Ar hyd y nos " would not be quite 

 as much respected as " Poor Mary Ann," while it is 

 very certain Jenny Jones would never have achieved 

 half her present popularity had Mr. Matthews sung 

 of her in the language of the Native Bards. Unfor- 

 tunately, we live in very utilitarian times, and that 

 awkward question — What is the object of all this? is 

 sure to arise. Will Davy Morgan singing " down" 

 Humphrey Owen, or the village school-master being 

 tempted to make nonsense verses in an unknown 

 tongue, do any of them any good ? And public opinion 

 shakes its Hydra head dubiously, and I'ather thinks not. 



But the Welsh are an ancient people— a race whose 

 very country may of itself tend to preserve somewhat 

 primitive and peculiar habits. Shall, then, all oppor- 

 tunity be denied them of meeting to enjoy and 

 improve them.selves? Shall we pay uo defer- 

 ence to the old families and customs ? Is there 

 not a chance even of our arriving at some 

 good in so doing ? Let Wales still have 

 her own national holiday. Let her sons yet strive in 

 friendly contest with each other. But in doing this, 

 let it be more in the spirit of the days we live in. Let 

 there be a real aim in our assembling together, and let 

 no man go home again, ere he has learnt in some way 

 to benefit himself and his neighbours. It is after all 

 but the clever trick of the Good Genius in the panto- 

 mime. The scene opens as usual with the celebration 

 of the Eisteddfod — with the Druids in their robes and 

 crowns— with the Harpers all duly ranged on one side, 

 and their brother Bards on the other. They declaim — 

 they sing — they prophesy — and then, just in the midst 

 of their mystic rites, on comes the good fairy from the 

 wing. It is Ceres sitting in her Boydell Traction cha- 

 riot. With one wave of her wand, on which are scrolled, 

 in curious character, " Reports," " Essays," and " Prize 

 Lists" — and Presto ! the whole scene changes ! The 

 Druids whisk off their crowns and gowns, and are well- 

 to-do gentlemen, each bearing on his breast a little 

 badge of ofBce which proclaims him a "Steward of the 

 Yard" or a " Judge of Stock." The Harpers at the 

 same moment have dropped their lyres, and are 

 grinding away at patent chaff-cutters, or clearing the 



corn from improved reapers. The very Bards, that we 

 rather guessed to be clergymen from the first, are cler- 

 gymen still, but of a very different order— such as Mr. 

 Beever and his brethren — either reciting prize papers 

 from Agricultural Journals — careering up and down on 

 famous hobby-horses, with Suffolk heads, and red to 

 the hoof; or going through wondrous feats of horse- 

 manshiji on well trained ponies of the old Riig strain. 

 And then, Ceres is handed down from her chariot 

 by an attendant spirit, known in the bills as " Mont- 

 gomery Traherne," and coming forward to the foot- 

 lights, she makes just such a little speech as an 

 Agricultural Deity should do. She craves the sympa- 

 thy and support of the audience, and she commands it 

 in an instant ; retires amidst " immense applause," 

 and the curtain falls on a " great success." After thia 

 Mr. Traherne, who is in reality the stage-manager in 

 disguise, comes on with a neat speech of his own, which 

 goes to say that the entertainment *' will be repeated 

 every year until further notice." 



In sober seriousness, a strong effort is now being 

 made to start another agricultural society. It is 

 not enough even that we have so many doing 

 so well, or that the local feed so successfully 

 the more national associations. It is, indeed, another 

 national society that is asked for, England, Ireland, 

 and Scotland have already each its own especial organ. 

 For many years now it has been our pleasant duty to 

 attend the anniversary meetings of all these, and for 

 the good effected by all can we alike answer. We know 

 of nothing that of late years has done so much for 

 the country as these associations. It would be idle, of 

 course, to look to one grand agent for every thing. 

 It has been proved, too, long ere this, how much the 

 shows of our own Royal English have been aug- 

 mented by the smaller institutions with the same 

 good intent, that now almost everywhere abound. 

 It is the same both in Scotland and Ireland. 

 During this autumn you could not take up a 

 country paper from either of these parts of the 

 kingdom without finding in it the report of some 

 agricultural gathering. The benefit, however, all 

 these are manifestly doing would be comparatively 

 little without the directing influence of the National 

 Society. By this means the good men are brought out 

 of their own homes, while others as good come 

 to them. Look, for example, at our most renowned 

 breeders of stock, or great implement-manufacturers. 

 It would not pay for them to enter at any local ex- 

 hibition out of their own beat. But they are always 

 ready at the word of a General of an army, 

 when they might not be so attentive to the sum- 

 mons of a mere Captain of his company. Mr. Douglas 

 will send his Shorthorns from the Lothians to Salisbury 

 or Chester, and Mr. Wetherell his bull from the North 

 of England to the North of Scotland. Mr. Beale 



