CONCLUSION. 



therefore, on this important occasion, I address 

 myself to you. 



172. I have, in the first place, to remind you, 

 that the Morning Chronicle, some time ago, pub- 

 lished a letter of a person under the name of 

 " Corn Planter," who asserted in the most 

 positive manner that my corn would not ripen. 

 I said then that the envious and malignant beast 

 was some tax-eating Scotchman. Doctor Black 

 did not know, or pretended not to know, who the 

 real author was ; but I do not believe Doctor 

 Black. This very day (21st November) I have 

 finished my harvest. Let the base Scotchman 

 split with envy. The Farmer's Journal, that 

 advocate for Corn Bills, that pupil of Webb 

 Hall, that lick-spittle of the Landlords, that 

 prosing preceptor of the " Agriculturists," that 

 •most stupid and malignant of all the shuffle- 

 breeches crew that ever practised farming in a 

 stinking garret of the wen; that fungus of the copses, 

 that toadstool of the meadows, that smut in the 

 corn-fields, that stout in the back of the cow, 

 that bott in the bowels of the horse, that maggot 

 beneath the tail of the sheep ; that nasty and 

 despicable thing, hardly fit to be touched with 

 the point of the prong, or to be tossed away by 

 the edge of the shovel, had the impudence, as 

 well as the foil)-, to curl up its odious-looking 

 nose and to assert, that my corn would not ripen; 



