CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



the land ; but the land measures the same. Acres 

 don't grow. New in closure eases the pressure for 

 awhile ; and like the rising water-mark of a flood, 

 the plough-line steals up the mountain-side higher 

 and higher yet, it grates upon the bare rock 

 and stops. But what has happened meanwhile in 

 the rich valley ? Industry, skill, perseverance, 

 prudence, self-denial, far-sightedness, all, some, or 

 one of these qualities have made individuals or 

 their lucky heirs ow r ners of more than they can 

 cultivate themselves. The last bit of moor or 

 mountain-side was the measure of the extreme 

 point at which cultivation would pay : that bit 

 hanging between earth and heaven in more than 

 one sense, was the balancing-point, the test of cul- 

 Uvability. It just pays for tillage ; and nothing 

 more. A man perchance may ask your leave to 

 dig or plough it : but for that leave he offers you no 

 return no Reddendum in modern English, no 

 KENT. 



Here, then, is the origin of that curious thing 

 whose definition has sorely puzzled the Political 

 Economists. And well may it have puzzled : for it 

 is the basis of one of the most complicate and 

 peculiar relations that has come to exist between 

 man arid man. Mutuality of object, antagonism of 



