But,
strong as such an one is in his fortress, there are still the
means of fighting him. The farmers around him, if they be hunting
men, make the place too hot to hold him. To them he is a thing
accursed, a man to be spoken of with all evil language, as one
who desires to get more out of his land than Providence, that
is, than an English Providence, has intended. Their own wheat is
exposed, and it is abominable to them that the wheat of another
man should be more sacred than theirs.
All this is not sufficiently remembered by some of us when the
period of the year comes which is trying to the farmer's
heart, when the young clover is growing, and the barley has been
just sown. Farmers, as a rule, do not think very much of their
wheat. When such riding is practicable, of course they like to
see men take the headlands and furrows; but their hearts are not
broken by the tracks of horses across their wheat-fields. I
doubt, indeed, whether wheat is ever much injured by such usage.
But let the thoughtful rider avoid the new-sown barley; and,
above all things, let him give a wide berth to the new-laid
meadows of artificial grasses. They are never large, and may
always be shunned. To them the poaching of numerous horses is
absolute destruction. The surface of such enclosures should be as
smooth as a billiard-table, so that no water may lie in holes;
and, moreover, any young plant cut by a horse's foot is trodden
out of existence.
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