DOI issue:
September 7, 1867
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0106
94
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 7, ISC'7
THE CROPS AND HARVEST OF 1867.
To the Editor of Punch.
R, — Having just
concluded an agri-
cultural ramble
through Long
Acre and the rest
of the United
Kingdom, I feel
that I am in a
condition to re-
port to you upon
the aspect of the
crops, and the
prospects of the
harvest and of the
young people who
intend to get mar-
ried, broadcast,
when the busy
time is over.
And first I will
speak of the cereals (the Cornhill pre-eminently). If you strike the average of
the last quarter of a century—and you may do so with perfect safety, for it cannot
return the blow—you will be satisfied that the wheat crops (white wheats
especially) are not likely to prove so good as they were in 1844, but better than
those of 1855: in some places they are heavier than in others, and in. others
they are lighter than in some, but much depends on the sowing machine, an
assertion that must be taken cum grano in all quarters. The wheat-ears on the
Brighton Downs I ascertained were remarkably fine, and may be expected to alight
on the tops of the bathing-machines in dense flocks, enveloped in vine-leaves. In
many of the districts which I traversed, sometimes on foot sometimes in a jaunty
car, I found that rogues in grain still pursued their nefarious calling and chaffed
strangers unmercifully. One buffoon who called me a wiseacre, I was compelled to
knock down with the only weapon which was at hand—the staff of life. It goes
against the grain for me to comment with severity on any class of my fellow-
countrymen, but rusticus expectat a good dusting, and he shall not be disappointed.
As some compensation, however, I will admit that the corned beef I had for
luncheon at the “ Haycock” at Wheathampstead was very much above the average
of previous inns.
In some counties I was made uneasy by constant references to a “ strike ”
of corn, but I was assured that it had nothing to do with the measure adopted
by the Tailors. So I resumed my journey happier, playing on my oaten pipe
one of the Corn Law League Rhymes, with variations adapted to the present
abundant epoch, and thinking the while of Goldsmith and his German flute.
At intervals of ten minutes I went among the “stooks” and recited Hood’s
Ruth to the farmer and his household, who were very affable and offered me
refreshment, it might, be table-beer, it might be slightly acidulous cider. Thrash-
ing, I found, had not commenced, except in isolated cases of notoriously bad
husbandry, calling for magisterial interference. Grinding operations are expected
to be unusually energetic, particularly for the Civil Service and India. At the
town of Mansfield (Notts) I inquired for the celebrated “Miller”: he was not
known, but at an adjacent village the baker, who was loafing about, introduced
me to the Miller and his Men, who expressed themselves as open to an engage-
ment and reason; so I gave each of them a copy of Mill’s Logic, an instance, I
submit, of admirable presents of mind. Near a place called Cropredy I made
minute inquiries about the harvest, and was shown a crop ready, under a “ sickle
moon.”
“ All among the Barley ” I spent several days, and all my money, and I never
passed a pleasanter solstice, in a suit of Tweed which I procured at Berwick.
Constant mention of the “ Chevalier ” convinced me that the Stuarts still have
their adherents in these Isles. I got a little confused in some well-meant
attempts to distinguish between “bere” and “bigg” on the Sandy soils of
Scotland where, and notably in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, the Forthcoming
crops are unusually promising, even more so than in the Caledonian Road. I
had some intention of going into the brewing business, and went as a preliminary
step to Malton, but as my friends and creditors prophesied, or rather vaticinated,
that I should make a mash of it, I merely crossed over to Kent to look at a
brewing “plant” which I had heard of in the hop districts there.
“ Coming through the rye ” I met a body of opulent farmers (no other “corpus,”
I positively assure you) who made such wry faces when I asked them about the
probable yield, that auguring unfavourably from their looks, I did not bore them
with further painful questions. Generally, I was told that the clays were the best,
and so I found—on smoking them.
As to Oats I felt great disappointment at not finding any at Oatlands (lucus a
non lucendo, as we used to say at Whippingham), but in more oatlandish places
they looked pretty well, indeed they said that they felt pretty well. But I heard
sad complaints of the prevalence of the wild species, and the Tartarian Oats I
myself saw growing in dissipated profusion did not remind me of Grains of Paradise.
I regret to add that in Nottinghamshire the rural population were not so polite
as I could have wished, insisting that I did not know “ owt ” abont it, and not
seeming to care a straw for what I said. But their hospitality in the matter of
oat cake was lavish.
Some corn has been “ lodged,” but the farmers are hope
ful that this will not prevent them lodging something with
their bankers after harvest. On the whole I am of opinion
that Ceres (dressed in maize) may be expected this autumn
with her Cornucopia fairly full.
A few words about the root crops. If politics were not
rigorously excluded from this letter, radically speaking—
and all parties agreed with me on this point—I should say
that they—the root crops, not the politics—were above
the average, and the ground. A celebrated Sweden-
borgian in cords and turnip tops, who was good enough
to take me (in patent leather boots) over the whole of
his farm of nine hundred acres (how I suffered on those
arables ! my brow is prematurely furrowed) showed me
some of the finest Swedes I have ever met, but to Man-
golds he betrayed a rooted aversion. Carrots may be going
out in London, but they are certainly coming up again
in the country. The prospects of pea-soup appear to be
good, according to the latest despatches from Turin, kindly
favoured by Mr. Peabody. Beans (with bacon) may be
expected next summer as usual; and the potato flower
will be fashionable this winter, worn both in bonnets
and the hair. I intend to invest largely in potatoes, and
believe they will not prove a bad spec.
Everybody I discovered had made hay while the sun
shone, and the last load was carried on Hay Hill just
before sunset. Sweet Kitty Clover had married young
Meadows since I was last in the neighbourhood ; the seed
lands looked anything but seedy; and the cropping, par-
ticularly in the Millbank and Pentonville districts, was
as close as ever. Lucerne I could not look at without
visible emotion, reminding me as it did of Switzerland,
where I ought now to be, instead of in Islington, nego-
tiating for a Harvest Home on a scale of unexampled
splendour at the Agricultural Hall; and trefoil I con-
founded in some inexplicable way with tinfoil aud the
graceful necks of Champagne bottles. By a parity of
reasoning tares got mixed up, in my mind, with tare and
tret. I have only ink enough to add, that there will be
good stubbles for the 2nd of September. Yours, rurally,
Farm, Street, Aug. 31. Arthur Younger.
P.S. If anything further crops up, I will write to you
again. _
ECCLESIASTICAL NEWS.
More Bishops.—The next African Episcopos is to be a
black man. This is the first concession to the cry of Moor
Bishops.
Rural Beans.—The number is to be increased by ten who
are to have the superintendence of our cathedral choirs.
They are to be entitled Tooral-Rooral Beans.
Prebendaries.—It is a mistake to suppose that a Pre-
bendary is bound by his office to carry the Bishop on his
back to church whenever called upon so to do. A Pre-
bendary (in answer to a correspondent we state this) has
not necessarily two humps on his back. Our esteemed
correspondent is thinking of a Dromedary.
Cathedral Stalls.—These are the Church’s rewards, and
are always full. Early application is necessary. Ask at
Mr. Mitchell’s, or any Librarian in London, where
stalls are kept, and before taking one request to see a
plan of the cathedral.
The Mongers of the Borough.
We had not been aware of the tendency among pros-
perous tradesmen to commit suicide. But in a clever letter
in the Pall Mall Gazette, about Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar
School in Southwark (reform much wanted), the writer
says, “ The Borough is not a pleasant place, and the first
thing a shopkeeper does who is getting on in the world is to
get out of it!'
With the first proposition we agree. The Borough is
not a pleasant place. But we think a well-to-do trades-
man had better live even there than make himself a subject
for the coroner.
A LONG WAY REMOVED.
Old Singleton is constantly congratulating himself
that he has no near relatives. He has some distant
Cousins, but they are all in New Zealand.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 7, ISC'7
THE CROPS AND HARVEST OF 1867.
To the Editor of Punch.
R, — Having just
concluded an agri-
cultural ramble
through Long
Acre and the rest
of the United
Kingdom, I feel
that I am in a
condition to re-
port to you upon
the aspect of the
crops, and the
prospects of the
harvest and of the
young people who
intend to get mar-
ried, broadcast,
when the busy
time is over.
And first I will
speak of the cereals (the Cornhill pre-eminently). If you strike the average of
the last quarter of a century—and you may do so with perfect safety, for it cannot
return the blow—you will be satisfied that the wheat crops (white wheats
especially) are not likely to prove so good as they were in 1844, but better than
those of 1855: in some places they are heavier than in others, and in. others
they are lighter than in some, but much depends on the sowing machine, an
assertion that must be taken cum grano in all quarters. The wheat-ears on the
Brighton Downs I ascertained were remarkably fine, and may be expected to alight
on the tops of the bathing-machines in dense flocks, enveloped in vine-leaves. In
many of the districts which I traversed, sometimes on foot sometimes in a jaunty
car, I found that rogues in grain still pursued their nefarious calling and chaffed
strangers unmercifully. One buffoon who called me a wiseacre, I was compelled to
knock down with the only weapon which was at hand—the staff of life. It goes
against the grain for me to comment with severity on any class of my fellow-
countrymen, but rusticus expectat a good dusting, and he shall not be disappointed.
As some compensation, however, I will admit that the corned beef I had for
luncheon at the “ Haycock” at Wheathampstead was very much above the average
of previous inns.
In some counties I was made uneasy by constant references to a “ strike ”
of corn, but I was assured that it had nothing to do with the measure adopted
by the Tailors. So I resumed my journey happier, playing on my oaten pipe
one of the Corn Law League Rhymes, with variations adapted to the present
abundant epoch, and thinking the while of Goldsmith and his German flute.
At intervals of ten minutes I went among the “stooks” and recited Hood’s
Ruth to the farmer and his household, who were very affable and offered me
refreshment, it might, be table-beer, it might be slightly acidulous cider. Thrash-
ing, I found, had not commenced, except in isolated cases of notoriously bad
husbandry, calling for magisterial interference. Grinding operations are expected
to be unusually energetic, particularly for the Civil Service and India. At the
town of Mansfield (Notts) I inquired for the celebrated “Miller”: he was not
known, but at an adjacent village the baker, who was loafing about, introduced
me to the Miller and his Men, who expressed themselves as open to an engage-
ment and reason; so I gave each of them a copy of Mill’s Logic, an instance, I
submit, of admirable presents of mind. Near a place called Cropredy I made
minute inquiries about the harvest, and was shown a crop ready, under a “ sickle
moon.”
“ All among the Barley ” I spent several days, and all my money, and I never
passed a pleasanter solstice, in a suit of Tweed which I procured at Berwick.
Constant mention of the “ Chevalier ” convinced me that the Stuarts still have
their adherents in these Isles. I got a little confused in some well-meant
attempts to distinguish between “bere” and “bigg” on the Sandy soils of
Scotland where, and notably in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, the Forthcoming
crops are unusually promising, even more so than in the Caledonian Road. I
had some intention of going into the brewing business, and went as a preliminary
step to Malton, but as my friends and creditors prophesied, or rather vaticinated,
that I should make a mash of it, I merely crossed over to Kent to look at a
brewing “plant” which I had heard of in the hop districts there.
“ Coming through the rye ” I met a body of opulent farmers (no other “corpus,”
I positively assure you) who made such wry faces when I asked them about the
probable yield, that auguring unfavourably from their looks, I did not bore them
with further painful questions. Generally, I was told that the clays were the best,
and so I found—on smoking them.
As to Oats I felt great disappointment at not finding any at Oatlands (lucus a
non lucendo, as we used to say at Whippingham), but in more oatlandish places
they looked pretty well, indeed they said that they felt pretty well. But I heard
sad complaints of the prevalence of the wild species, and the Tartarian Oats I
myself saw growing in dissipated profusion did not remind me of Grains of Paradise.
I regret to add that in Nottinghamshire the rural population were not so polite
as I could have wished, insisting that I did not know “ owt ” abont it, and not
seeming to care a straw for what I said. But their hospitality in the matter of
oat cake was lavish.
Some corn has been “ lodged,” but the farmers are hope
ful that this will not prevent them lodging something with
their bankers after harvest. On the whole I am of opinion
that Ceres (dressed in maize) may be expected this autumn
with her Cornucopia fairly full.
A few words about the root crops. If politics were not
rigorously excluded from this letter, radically speaking—
and all parties agreed with me on this point—I should say
that they—the root crops, not the politics—were above
the average, and the ground. A celebrated Sweden-
borgian in cords and turnip tops, who was good enough
to take me (in patent leather boots) over the whole of
his farm of nine hundred acres (how I suffered on those
arables ! my brow is prematurely furrowed) showed me
some of the finest Swedes I have ever met, but to Man-
golds he betrayed a rooted aversion. Carrots may be going
out in London, but they are certainly coming up again
in the country. The prospects of pea-soup appear to be
good, according to the latest despatches from Turin, kindly
favoured by Mr. Peabody. Beans (with bacon) may be
expected next summer as usual; and the potato flower
will be fashionable this winter, worn both in bonnets
and the hair. I intend to invest largely in potatoes, and
believe they will not prove a bad spec.
Everybody I discovered had made hay while the sun
shone, and the last load was carried on Hay Hill just
before sunset. Sweet Kitty Clover had married young
Meadows since I was last in the neighbourhood ; the seed
lands looked anything but seedy; and the cropping, par-
ticularly in the Millbank and Pentonville districts, was
as close as ever. Lucerne I could not look at without
visible emotion, reminding me as it did of Switzerland,
where I ought now to be, instead of in Islington, nego-
tiating for a Harvest Home on a scale of unexampled
splendour at the Agricultural Hall; and trefoil I con-
founded in some inexplicable way with tinfoil aud the
graceful necks of Champagne bottles. By a parity of
reasoning tares got mixed up, in my mind, with tare and
tret. I have only ink enough to add, that there will be
good stubbles for the 2nd of September. Yours, rurally,
Farm, Street, Aug. 31. Arthur Younger.
P.S. If anything further crops up, I will write to you
again. _
ECCLESIASTICAL NEWS.
More Bishops.—The next African Episcopos is to be a
black man. This is the first concession to the cry of Moor
Bishops.
Rural Beans.—The number is to be increased by ten who
are to have the superintendence of our cathedral choirs.
They are to be entitled Tooral-Rooral Beans.
Prebendaries.—It is a mistake to suppose that a Pre-
bendary is bound by his office to carry the Bishop on his
back to church whenever called upon so to do. A Pre-
bendary (in answer to a correspondent we state this) has
not necessarily two humps on his back. Our esteemed
correspondent is thinking of a Dromedary.
Cathedral Stalls.—These are the Church’s rewards, and
are always full. Early application is necessary. Ask at
Mr. Mitchell’s, or any Librarian in London, where
stalls are kept, and before taking one request to see a
plan of the cathedral.
The Mongers of the Borough.
We had not been aware of the tendency among pros-
perous tradesmen to commit suicide. But in a clever letter
in the Pall Mall Gazette, about Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar
School in Southwark (reform much wanted), the writer
says, “ The Borough is not a pleasant place, and the first
thing a shopkeeper does who is getting on in the world is to
get out of it!'
With the first proposition we agree. The Borough is
not a pleasant place. But we think a well-to-do trades-
man had better live even there than make himself a subject
for the coroner.
A LONG WAY REMOVED.
Old Singleton is constantly congratulating himself
that he has no near relatives. He has some distant
Cousins, but they are all in New Zealand.