The arable agriculturist, indeed, has a double weight upon his mind.  He has money invested in the soil itself, seed lying awaiting the genial warm rain that shall cause it to germinate, capital in every furrow traced by the plough.  He has money, on the other hand, in his stock, sheep, and cattle.  A double anxiety is his; first that his crops may prosper, next that his stock may flourish.  He requires men to labour in the field, men to attend to the sheep, men to feed the bullocks; a crowd of labourers are supported by him, with their wives and families.  In addition to these he needs other labour—­the inanimate assistance of the steam-engine, and the semi-intelligent co-operation of the horse.  These, again, must be directed by men.  Thus it is that the corn village has become populous.

The original idea was that the introduction of machinery would reduce all this labour.  In point of fact, it has, if anything, increased it.  The steam-plough will not work itself; each of the two engines requires two men to attend to it; one, and often two, ride on the plough itself; another goes with the water-cart to feed the boiler:  others with the waggon for coal.  The drill must have men—­and experienced men—­with it, besides horses to draw it, and these again want men The threshing-machine employs quite a little troop to feed it; and, turning to the stock in the stalls, roots will not pulp or slice themselves, nor will water pump itself up into the troughs, nor chaff cut itself.  The chaff-cutter and pump, and so on, all depend on human hands to keep them going.  Such is but a very brief outline of the innumerable ways in which arable agriculture gives employment.  So the labourer and the labourer’s family flourish exceedingly in the corn tillage.  Wages rise; he waxes fat and strong and masterful, thinking that he holds the farmer and the golden grain in the hollow of his hand.

But now a cloud arises and casts its shadow over the cottage.  If the farmer depends upon his men, so do the men in equal degree depend upon the farmer.  This they overlooked, but are now learning again.  The farmer, too, is not independent and self-sustained, but is at the mercy of many masters.  The weather and the seasons are one master; the foreign producer is another; the markets, which are further influenced by the condition of trade at large, form a third master.  He is, indeed, very much more in the position of a servant than his labourer.  Of late almost all these masters have combined against the corn-growing farmer.  Wheat is not only low but seems likely to remain so.  Foreign meat also competes with the dearly-made meat of the stalls.  The markets are dull and trade depressed everywhere.  Finally a fresh master starts up in the shape of the labourer himself, and demands higher wages.

For some length of time the corn-grower puts a courageous face on the difficulties which beset him, and struggles on, hoping for better days.  After awhile, however, seeing that his capital is diminishing, because he has been, as it were, eating it, seeing that there is no prospect of immediate relief, whatever may happen in the future, he is driven to one of two courses.  He must quit the occupation or he must reduce his expenditure.  He must not only ask the labourer to accept a reduction, but he must, wherever practicable, avoid employing labour at all.