204: CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



talk of it so long, that I hardly know whether I'm 

 glad or sorry. But, lor' blesh ye, you go too fast : 

 the Plow's too old a stager to be got rid of that 

 way. Steam I do suppose it will be some day : 

 there I suppose you're right enough. But if 

 we're to wait till this what d'ye call it, French 

 revolution sort of thing well I beg pardon 

 this merry-go-round Conundrum o' yours [Well, 

 well! whatever it is, then] is brought to pass 

 why, it's like waiting for two things instead o' 

 one. No, no ! plowing it must be : it ', however, 

 already! for I hear talk o' one or two people as 

 are trying it on. There's some lord, I forget his 

 name, has written a book all about it, with a picture 

 a yard long, where it 's all at work as nice as can 

 be ; an engine at each end, and the plows a-drawing 

 away in the middle. He 's afore you, entirely ; for 

 there it is, actshally a-plowing with common plows 

 in the book." 



" Listen to me, you old perversity. I have seen 

 that ' book ' as you call it. The pamphlet reached 

 me long before you saw it ; but not till long after 

 the idea it portrays had been as familiar as an old 

 family-picture to my mind's eye, and banished, in 

 its turn, before ever the engraver's tool had given it 

 outward form and semblance. If plowing were ever 



