A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE COUNTRY. 47 



through his mangolds with his gun the day after, 

 while the roots are spoiling and frost is near. We 

 all know that British farming is ruined ; and watch- 

 ing its practitioners at Arnington Fair, big, red-faced, 

 gross men, full of beef and beer and tobacco, driving 

 very fair nags in tolerable traps, dressing well enough 

 in country cut and solid materials, one begins at 

 last to divine that great mystery of Agricultural 

 Depression which so concerns Editors and Reviewers 

 and writers upon statistics in the morning papers. 



Halfway down the street I found a little group 

 before a mixed lot of steers ; a tall gentleman-farmer, 

 lean, Jewish-featured, black-moustached, in neat 

 riding breeches and a tail-coat ; next him a dealer, 

 a large man, with a heavy puffed face and orange 

 whiskers, in a top-coat and muddy trousers ; in the 

 rear an old fellow in a ragged frock, the Damoetas to 

 the hawk-nosed ^Egon, a heap of patches and clouts 

 surmounted by a wonderful head, broken-nosed, 

 blear-eyed, toothless, hair and beard a tangle of 

 grizzled curls, the mahogany skin puckered with a 

 thousand wrinkles. These three, as the farmer and 

 the dealer wrangled, and the drover leaned on his 

 stick, impassively chewing, very well represented 

 some several orders in the agricultural interest. 

 They contrive to live, not ill, I judge, according to 



