My old vicar was somewhat scandalized at this Sunday work, and some of
my neighbours fancied themselves shocked, but a day or two later I
happened to meet another clergyman friend, who farmed a little
himself. "I was _so_ pleased," he said, "to hear that you were
carrying wheat last Sunday; when I was preaching I was strongly
disposed to conclude by telling my people--'Now you have been to
church, go home to your dinners, and then off with your jackets and
carry wheat for the rest of the day.'" Next Sunday all my neighbours
were busy with their wheat, but I had managed to complete my harvest
during the previous week, on the 8th of October, quite a month or six
weeks later than usual, and an extraordinary contrast to the very dry
year 1868, when all the corn on the farm, I was told, was carried
before the last day of July.

I attended a neighbour's sale that autumn; the wet seasons and the low
prices had been too much for him, and he was leaving for the United
States; his rick-yard was empty, all the corn sold, and nothing but
straw left. I heard him remark, "Folks are saying that I'm very
backward with my payments, but I'm very forward with my thrashing,
anyway!" Before the following spring nearly all the rick-yards were
empty, and wheat-ricks, it was said, were as scarce as churches--one
in each parish. The situation was summed up later in a phrase which
passed into a proverb: "In 1879 farmers lived on faith, in 1880 they
are living on hope, and in 1881 they will have to live on charity."

The attitude of the towns was one of apathy and indifference, like
that of the General in _Bracebridge Hall_, which, published in 1822,
proves how history repeats itself in agricultural as in other matters:

"He is amazingly well-contented with the present state of things, and