4 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



along the serpentine furrows, as if it never, never, 

 never would go again ! And the only wonder was 

 when or how, or by what bold amphibious being the 

 ridges had ever been raised, which it intersected, like 

 a sample series of Dutch canals and embankments. 



This was my Farm : 250 statute acres ! 



" Why did you take it ?" 



I didn't. It took me. That 'mysterious lady' 

 who is painted with a bandage on her eyes, (she can 

 see as well as you or I,) made it, Avith a pat on the 

 back, my property, and shortly afterwards, with a slap 

 in the face, my ' occupation.' It had been performing 

 for a series of years a sort of ( geometrical progression ' 

 downwards. Each incoming tenant took it at about 

 half the previous rent ; dabbled about for a year or 

 two like a duck, and retired ' lame.' It was but a 

 simple equation a very simple one to say when the 

 rent would come to zero. It looked on the Rental- 

 book like an annual sum in Reduction; facilis-de- 

 scensus Averni, literally translated into plain English. 

 What was to be done with it? This brings me to my 

 proposition No. 2 : which is in fact what is commonly 

 called ' No. 1 ' myself. If there was in the cata- 

 logue of human pursuits, one which I hated and 

 feared, dreaded and despised, didn't know, and didn't 



