Not a pinch of manure laid on the ground for years.

I must say that a greater contrast could never have been presented than that between Harding's farm and the next fields--fences in perfect order, rotation crops, sheep eating down the turnips on the waste lands--everything that could be desired." "Whose farm is that ?" asked my lady.
"Why, I am sorry to say, it was on none of your ladyship's that I saw such good methods adopted.

I hoped it was, I stopped my horse to inquire.

A queer-looking man, sitting on his horse like a tailor, watching his men with a couple of the sharpest eyes I ever saw, and dropping his h's at every word, answered my question, and told me it was his.

I could not go on asking him who he was; but I fell into conversation with him, and I gathered that he had earned some money in trade in Birmingham, and had bought the estate (five hundred acres, I think he said,) on which he was born, and now was setting himself to cultivate it in downright earnest, going to Holkham and Woburn, and half the country over, to get himself up on the subject." "It would be Brooke, that dissenting baker from Birmingham," said my lady in her most icy tone.