Two different farms skirt the separate sides of the turnpike, one of which is rented by a farmer who cultivates his land according to the most advanced system of agriculture, and the other of which is farmed by a gentleman of the old school.

Our informant met the latter worthy at the side of the turnpike opposite his neighbour's farm, and seeing a fine crop of wheat upon what appeared to be [and really was] very thin and poor land, asked, 'When was that wheat sown ?' 'O I dinna ken,' replied the gentleman of the old school, with a sort of half-indifference, half-contempt.

'But isn't it strange that such a fine crop should be reared on such bad land ?' asked our informant.

'O, na--nae at a'-- deevil thank it; a gravesteen wad gie guid bree[164] gin ye gied it plenty o' butter!'" But perhaps the best anecdote illustrative of the keen shrewdness of the Scottish farmer is related by Mr.Boyd[165] in one of his charming series of papers, reprinted from _Fraser's Magazine_.

"A friend of mine, a country parson, on first going to his parish, resolved to farm his glebe for himself.