“Have you always,” he asked, “had the same number of acres in grain and grass under your new and old system?”

“Pretty nearly,” says the other.  “My new breed, however, though fewer, consume more than their predecessors.”

“How many head did you formerly sell in a year?”

“About thirty.”

“How many do you now sell?”

“Though for some years I have not sold more than nine or ten, I expect to exceed that number in another year.”

“Which you expect will yield you more than the thirty did formerly?”

“Certainly; because such meat as mine commands an extraordinary price.”

“So long,” replied the Brahmin, “as this is novelty, you may receive a part of the price which men are ever ready to pay for it; but as soon as others profit by your example, your meat falls to the ordinary rate, and then, if I understand you aright, as you will have somewhat less in quantity than you formerly had, your gross receipts will be less, to say nothing of your additional labour and expense.”

“But who has the skill,” quickly rejoined the other, “of which I can boast? and who would take the same trouble, although they had the skill?”

“But stop here a moment,” said our host, “till I go to see how my last improved oil-cake is relished by my cattle.”

The Brahmin then turning to me, said,—­“This gentleman may, indeed, improve his fortune by the business of a grazier; but the same pains and unremitting attention would always be sure of a liberal reward, though the system on which they were exerted was not among the best.  Nothing, my dear Atterley, is more true than the saying of your wise book—­that all flesh is grass; and it always takes the same quantity of one to make a given quantity of the other, whether that given quantity may be in the form of a single individual, or two or three.  But in the former case, great labour is required to force nature beyond her ordinary limits, and the same labour must be unceasingly kept up, or she will certainly relapse to her original dimensions.  This system may do, as our host here tells us it actually does, for the moon, but it is not suited to our earth.  If, however, you are ambitious of a name among the speculative men of your country, this little stone,” added he, stooping, and picking up a small stone from the ground, “will answer your purpose quite as well as any improvement in husbandry.  It is precisely of the same species as those which we threw over in our aerial voyages, and which, though correctly called moon-stones by the vulgar, (who are oftener right than the learned suppose,) some of the western philosophers declared to have been gravitated in the atmosphere.”

“And is this really the origin,” said I, “of that strange phenomenon, which has furnished so much matter of speculation to the sages both of Europe and America?”