112 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



at the door that ended a late chapter of our 

 chronicle ; and it was ushered in (as what plague is 

 not?) in the most pleasing and attractive form 

 imaginable. 



A very young and fresh-looking little personage, 

 very smartly dressed, having sat himself down, and 

 got pretty well at ease in the course of a preliminary 

 announcement that he had ridden over thus early in 

 consequence of a visit to Messrs. Penn and Debbitt 

 on the previous day ; without giving much occasion 

 of reply, proceeded to deliver himself of a little 

 harangue of which the world at large having already 

 been delayed the benefit, some ten or fifteen years, 

 must now content itself with an abstract. 



It appeared from this discourse that Agricul- 

 ture was a most interesting hart but quite in its 

 hinfancy quite entirely so. The farmers were a 

 very hignorant class, and knew nothing whatever 

 about it nothing what-hever. The land did not 

 produce enough by arf not a quarter what it 

 bought to deu. Summer fallering was a shocking 

 waste of time and expense : a pair of 'orses were 

 enough to plough the stiffest land to any depth. 

 Farm-yard dung was good for nothing. Go-anner 

 was the thing ; and the four-course system, which no 



