exclamations, particularly at the mention of poor-rates, tithes, county-
rates, mortgages, and poachers, here pushed the bottle to Uncle Jack,
and said, civilly: "There's a great deal of truth in what you say, Mr.
Tibbets. The agricultural interest is going to ruin; and when it does,
I would not give that for Old England!" and Mr. Rollick snapped his
finger and thumb. "But what is to be done,--done for the county?
There's the rub."

"I was just coming to that," quoth Uncle Jack. "You say that you have
not a county paper that upholds your cause and denounces your enemies."

"Not since the Whigs bought the '--shire Mercury.'"

"Why, good heavens! Mr. Rollick, how can you suppose that you will have
justice done you if at this time of day you neglect the Press? The
Press, sir--there it is--air we breathe! What you want is a great
national--no, not a national--A Provincial proprietary weekly journal,
supported liberally and steadily by that mighty party whose very
existence is at stake. Without such a paper you are gone, you are
dead,--extinct, defunct, buried alive; with such a paper,--well
conducted, well edited by a man of the world, of education, of practical
experience in agriculture and human nature, mines, corn, manure,
insurances, Acts of Parliament, cattle-shows, the state of parties, and
the best interests of society,--with such a man and such a paper, you
will carry all before you. But it must be done by subscription, by
association, by co-operation,--by a Grand Provincial Benevolent
Agricultural Anti-innovating Society."

"Egad, sir, you are right!" said Mr. Rollick, slapping his thigh; "and
I'll ride over to our Lord-Lieutenant to-morrow. His eldest son ought