LOW PRICES AND LONG FACES. 153 



of this Chronicle had fallen into something more 

 than summer since the Wetlandshire Mercury 

 had typified to the world at large that a certain 



farm was to be let, at a certain time. "Fourteen" 





 applications by the first post, duly forwarded by the 



prompt firm of Penn and Debbitt (and how many 

 more by the next and the next what boots it to 

 particularize?) had been forwarded in vain. For a 

 Wight had fallen the strangest of blights! the 

 blight of Plenty, over the sons of the soil, and be- 

 fore September had crisped the morning air, and 

 the partridge-chick had found cool midday covert 

 under the young turnip-leaf, every country journal 

 had its broad page of "Sales of Farming-stock" set 

 'in types in which he who ran might read some- 

 thing more than met the eye. 



"Fallen upon bad times! all up with 



farming, I doubt, Sir!" said a muffled voice, out 

 of a red-striped neck-warmer joggingly for the 

 utterer of the sentiment was on a rough nag, not a 

 "good'un to look at," but he went as an old clock 

 does, by habit with an ash stick steadily going, 

 for pendulum, on one side, and a spur, peeping 

 under the left gaiter, and steadily going too, on the 

 other, for regulator. 



"All up with farming, I doubt!" 



7* 



