of experience.  They are the fancies of a stranger—­of one who knows more of theory than practice.  Had you lived longer among us, you would have known that your ingenious project could never be carried into execution.  If I observed it, Bulderent would not; and if he observed it, I verily believe I could not—­and thus, you see, the thing is altogether impracticable.”  As one soon tires of preaching to the winds, the Brahmin contented himself with asking his new acquaintance to think more on the subject at his leisure; and we proceeded on our walk.

CHAPTER X.

The travellers visit a gentleman farmer, who is a great projector:  his breed of cattle:  his apparatus for cooking:  he is taken dangerously ill.

After we had gone about half a mile farther, our attention was arrested by a gate of very singular character.  It was extremely ingenious in its structure, and, among other peculiarities, it had three or four latches, for children, for grown persons, for those who were tall and those who were short, and for the right hand as well as the left.  In the act of opening, it was made to crush certain berries, and the oil they yielded, was carried by a small duct to the hinge, which was thus made to turn easily, and was prevented from creaking.  While we were admiring its mechanism, an elderly man, rather plainly dressed, on a zebra in low condition, rode up, and showed that he was the owner of the mansion to which the gate belonged, and that he was not displeased with the curiosity we manifested.  We found him both intelligent and obliging.  He informed us that he was an experimental farmer; and when he learnt that we were strangers, and anxious to inform ourselves of the state of agriculture in the country, he very civilly invited us to take our next meal with him.  Our walk having now made us hungry and fatigued, we gladly accepted of his hospitality; whereupon he alighted, and walked with us to his lodgings.

He was very communicative of his modes of cultivation and management, but chiefly prided himself on his success in improving the size of his cattle.  He informed us that he had devoted sixteen years of his life to this object, and had then in his farm-yard a buffalo nearly as heavy as three of the ordinary size.  His practice was to kill all the young animals which were not uncommonly large and thrifty; to cram those he kept, with as much food as they would eat, and to tempt their appetites by the variety of their nourishment, as well as of the modes of preparing it.

“All this,” said he, “costs a great deal, it is true; but I am paid for it by the additional price.”  I was struck with this notable triumph of industry and skill in the goodly art of husbandry—­that art which I venerate above every other; and I was all anxiety to receive from him some instructions which I might, in case I should have the good fortune to get safely back, communicate to my friends on Long-Island, who had never been able even to double the common size, and who boasted greatly of that:  but a hesitating look, and a few inquiries on the part of my sly friend, checked my enthusiasm.