48 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



a running nest of robbers, like earthworks of the 

 enemy, through the fair fields of human skill and la- 

 bour, and sacrifice at once the food of man and the 

 profit of the grower. 



It is the eye of Prejudice, not of Taste, that sees 

 Beauty absent from Utility. Even in the flattest 

 districts, even upon 'the Clay Farm ' itself, there is 

 an undulating outline, a morsel of the varied profile 

 of our mother earth which never revealed itself to 

 the eye until those impediments were abolished, 

 which like Ignorance make us mistake for a dull 

 straight line that which is only a part of THE GREAT 

 CIRCLE. 



or* - 



' Down went the Fences, notwithstanding.' 



