Yet for all this, he is perhaps the best Grecian of the party, if we except Mr.Baird, the young man on his left.
Mr.Baird has since gained considerable celebrity as an original writer and metropolitan lecturer, but at that time he used to preach in a little church something like a barn, to a congregation consisting of three rich farmers and their servants, about fifteen labourers, and the due proportion of women and children.

The rich farmers understood him to be 'very high learnt;' but if you had interrogated them for a more precise description, they would have said that he was 'a thinnish-faced man, with a sort o' cast in his eye, like'.
Seven, altogether: a delightful number for a dinner-party, supposing the units to be delightful, but everything depends on that.

During dinner Mr.
Fellowes took the lead in the conversation, which set strongly in the direction of mangold-wurzel and the rotation of crops; for Mr.Fellowes and Mr.Cleves cultivated their own glebes.

Mr.Ely, too, had some agricultural notions, and even the Rev.Archibald Duke was made alive to that class of mundane subjects by the possession of some potato-ground.
The two young curates talked a little aside during these discussions, which had imperfect interest for their unbeneficed minds; and the transcendental and near-sighted Mr.Baird seemed to listen somewhat abstractedly, knowing little more of potatoes and mangold-wurzel than that they were some form of the 'Conditioned'.
'What a hobby farming is with Lord Watling!' said Mr.Fellowes, when the cloth was being drawn.

'I went over his farm at Tetterley with him last summer.