When he appears, a clergyman at once pounces on him to apply for tickets for the dinner, and is followed by a farmer, who must have a form and an explanation how to fill it up.  One of his labourers has decided at the last minute to enter for a prize—­he has had a year to make up his mind in.  A crowd of members of the Society are pushing round for a private view, and watching the judges at their work.  They all turn to the secretary to ask where such and such an exhibit may be found, and demand why on earth the catalogues are not ready?  Mr. Secretary, a stout tenant farmer, in breeches and top-boots, whose broad face beams with good nature (selected, perhaps, for that very quality), pants and wipes his forehead, for, despite the cold, the exertion and the universal flurry have made him quiet hot.  He gives every inquirer a civil answer, and affably begs the eager folk that press upon him to come up into the committee-room.

At this a satisfied smile replaces the troubled expression upon their faces.  They feel that their difficulties are at an end; they have got hold of the right man at last—­there is something soothing in the very sound of the committee-room.  When they get up into this important apartment they find it quite empty.  There is a blazing fire in the grate, and littered on the long table is a mass of forms, letters, lists, and proofs of the catalogue waiting for the judges’ decision to be entered.  After half an hour or so their hopes begin to fall, and possibly some one goes down to try and haul the secretary up into his office.  The messenger finds that much-desired man in the midst of an excited group; one has him by the arm pulling him forward, another by the coat dragging him back, a third is bawling at him at the top of a powerful voice.

By-and-by, however, the secretary comes panting up into the committee-room with a letter in his hand and a pleased expression on his features.  He announces that he has just had a note from his Grace, who, with his party, will be here early, and who hopes that all is going on well.  Then to business, and it is surprising how quickly he disposes of it.  A farmer himself, he knows exactly what is wanted, and gives the right order without a moment’s hesitation.  It is no new experience to him, and despite all this apparent confusion, everything presently falls into its place.

After the opening of the show there is a meeting, at which certain prizes are distributed, among them rewards to the best ploughman in ’the juke’s country,’ and to those labourers who have remained longest in the service of one master.  For the graceful duty of presentation a marchioness has been selected, who, with other visitors of high social rank, has come over from that famous hunting mansion.  To meet that brilliant party the whole agricultural interest has assembled.  The room is crowded with tenant farmers, the entire hunting field is present.  Every clergyman in the district is here, together with the gentry, and many visitors for the hunting season.  Among them, shoulder to shoulder, are numbers of agricultural labourers, their wives, and daughters, dressed in their best for the occasion.  After some speeches, a name is called, and an aged labourer steps forward.