134: CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



The stupid old chronicler meanwhile (the wearer 

 of the shooting jacket before-mentioned) during his 

 eloquent outpouring, seemed somehow to have got 

 into the clouds. During the first half of it, he 

 had never taken eyes or ears off the speaker; 

 when at length he did, it was only to put his 

 hand and handkerchief over the former, so that 

 they were quite buried, though once or twice a 

 keen observer, not himself oratorically engaged, 

 might have just perceived a very slight spasm 

 or convulsion of the figure, and a sudden redness 

 of the temples over the edge of the kerchief; but 

 the momentary cough, or sneeze, or whatever it 

 was that ailed or choked him, passed away ; 

 and when the address was over that had been 

 charming so long and wisely, he looked slowly 

 up, like a person whose thoughts had been wan- 

 dering far away, and must be recalled like a 

 lot of stray heifers, before he could put the 

 question 



" Have you farmed extensively, Mr. " 



" !No, Sir ; not exactly at least not myself as 

 yet ; but I 've seen a good deal of agriculture ; that 

 is, I've been over some of the most celebrated 

 agricultural establishments, that of Mr Speedwell in 

 Netherlandshire the Kev. Mr. Forechalk's Farm 



