This old market town has been noted for generations as a great cheese centre.  It is not, perhaps, the most convenient situation for such a market, and its population is inconsiderable; but the trade is, somehow or other, a tradition of the place, and traditions are hard to shake.  Efforts have been made to establish rival markets in towns nearer to the modern resorts of commerce, but in vain.  The attempt has always proved a failure, and to this day the prices quoted at this place rule those of the adjoining counties, and are watched in distant cities.  The depression made itself felt here in a very practical manner, for prices fell to such an extent that the manufacture of the old style of cheese became almost a dead loss.  Some farmers abandoned it, and at much trouble and expense changed their system, and began to produce Cheddar and Stilton.  But when the Stilton was at last ready, there was no demand for it.  Almost suddenly, however, and quite recently, a demand sprang up, and the price of that cheese rose.  They say here in the bar that this probably saved many from difficulties; large stocks that had been lying on hand unsaleable for months going off at a good price.  They hope that it is an omen of returning prosperity, and do not fail to observe the remarkable illustration it affords of the close connection between trade and agriculture.  For no sooner did the iron trade revive than the price of cheese responded.  The elder men cannot refrain from chuckling over the altered tone of the inhabitants of cities towards the farmers.  ’Years ago,’ they say, ’we were held up to scorn, and told that we were quite useless; there was nothing so contemptible as the British farmer.  Now they have discovered that, after all, we are some good, and even Manchester sympathises with us.’

It is now hoped that the forthcoming local show—­largely patronised and promoted by the chief of the hunting field—­will be better than was at one time anticipated.  Those who would like to see the real working of an agricultural show such as this should contrive to visit the yard early in the morning of the opening day, some few hours before the public are admitted.  The bustle, the crash of excited exhibitors, the cries of men in charge of cattle, the apparently inextricable confusion, as if everything had been put off to the last moment—­the whole scene is intensely agricultural.  Every one is calling for the secretary.  A drover wants to know where to put his fat cattle; a carter wants to ask where a great cart-horse is to stand—­he and his horse together are hopelessly floundering about in the crowd.  The agent of a firm of implement manufacturers has a telegram that another machine is coming, and is anxious for extra space; the representative of an artificial manure factory is vainly seeking a parcel that has got mislaid.  The seedsman requires permission to somewhat shift his stall; wherever is the secretary?