Mr. Smith got his lease, and paid for it tolerably stiffly, for at that period all agricultural prices were inflated—­from the price of a lease to that of a calf.  He covenanted to pay a certain fixed rental for so many acres of arable and a small proportion of grass for a fixed time.  He covenanted to cultivate the soil by a fixed rotation; not to sow this nor that, nor to be guided by the change of the markets, or the character of the seasons, or the appearance of powerful foreign competitors.  There was the parchment prepared with all the niceties of wording that so many generations of lawyers had polished to the highest pitch; not a loophole, not so much as a t left uncrossed, or a doubtful interlineation.  But although the parchment did not alter a jot, the times and seasons did.  Wheat fell in price, vast shipments came even from India, cattle and sheep from America, wool from Australia, horses from France; tinned provisions and meats poured in by the ton, and cheese, and butter, and bacon by the thousand tons.  Labour at the same time rose.  His expenditure increased, his income decreased; his rent remained the same, and rent audit came round with the utmost regularity.

Mr. Smith began to think about his lease, and question whether it was such an unmixed blessing.  There was no getting out of it, that was certain.  The seasons grew worse and worse.  Smith asked for a reduction of rent.  He got, like others, ten per cent, returned, which, he said looked very liberal to those who knew nothing of farming, and was in reality about as useful as a dry biscuit flung at a man who has eaten nothing for a week.  Besides which, it was only a gracious condescension, and might not be repeated next year, unless he kept on his good behaviour, and paid court to the clergyman and the steward.  Unable to get at what he wanted in a direct way, Smith tried an indirect one.  He went at game, and insisted on its being reduced in number.  This he could do according to the usual terms of agreement; but when it came to the point he found that the person called in to assess the damage put it at a much lower figure than he had himself; and who was to decide what was or was not a reasonable head of game?  This attack of his on the game did him no good whatever, and was not unnaturally borne in mind—­let us not say resented.

He next tried to get permission to sell straw—­a permission that he saw granted to others in moderation.  But he was then reminded of a speech he had made at a club, when, in a moment of temper (and sherry), he had let out a piece of his mind, which piece of his mind was duly published in the local papers, and caused a sensation.  Somebody called the landlord’s attention to it, and he did not like it.  Nor can he be blamed; we none of us like to be abused in public, the more especially when, looking at precedents, we do not deserve it.  Smith next went to the assessment committee to get his taxes reduced, on the ground of a loss of revenue.  The committee sympathised with him, but found that they must assess him according to his rent.  At least so they were then advised, and only did their duty.