I am conservative enough strenuously to
desire the retention of the Landlord as an
institution.

FEUDAL FETTERS FOR FARMERS.

IN the north of England dwells the Duke of
Norman Land, possessor of an historic name,
and of estates almost equal in joint extent
to a moderate-sized county.  This duke has
always borne the character of a kind landlord,
more intelligent, too, in the management
of his estates than dukes generally are; for,
to tell the plain truth, it is very difficult for a
great peer, who seldom hears a disagreeable
truth, who is surrounded by narrow-minded
lawyers, subservient agents, and humble
tenants, to learn what is both his real interest
and his duty in the management of his
property.

A too common landlord-like feeling was
put in words by a lordly lawyer agent when
he exclaimed, in a moment of candour, after an
agricultural dinner at which some tenants had
spoken out in a fashion becoming daily more
common—"I hate your intelligent farmers;
they are so deuced independent."  This sentiment
was actually brazened out the other day,
by a military and landed earl, who dismissed a
gentleman and brother officer from his
stewardship for not treating him with "proper
respect."  We may imagine how a farmer
would have fared if he had dared to
remonstrate against any agricultural ukase,
however foolish and unjust, of this haughty
landlord.

But our duke was less spoiled by the perpetual
kou tou prostrations of his dependents
than might have been expected.  He had,
among his thousand tenants, one of whom he
was proud; and not without reason, for he
was an admirable farmer, an example to the
whole estate, and a farmer, also, whose name
was quoted, through the district wherein he
dwelt, with honour by brother farmers.  The
duke, like a good man and wise landlord,
gives a prize for the best farm, to be awarded
by first-class agricultural judges.  In one
thousand eight hundred and fifty-five, our
model farmer—Netherwell we will call him
—gained the prize; and his crops of roots
received special commendation.  With the
prize came a letter from the duke, written
in very handsome terms: a letter, which
the Netherwell family will, perhaps, treasure
and prize almost as much as a letter
from their sovereign.  Indeed the duke is
almost a king in the north.

But mark what follows:—The duke,
or his agents, or his lawyers, prepared
a new form of lease for the tenants
of the Norman Land estate.  Netherwell
the model farmer's term being out, he has a
copy sent him—not for his consideration or
suggestions—not to learn his opinions, or to
obtain the advantage of his large experience
and scientific knowledge of the subject the
lease was meant to regulate; but to sign
without note or comment, absolutely, positively,
or to leave his farm; the farm that he had
brought to the perfection that won him the
duke's prize and letter.

When the tenant came to read the duke's
lease, he found it was, in effect, a bond
giving himself up to be ruined whenever the
duke, or the duke's successor, or the duke's
agent, or the duke's any one else who had
the duke's ear, chose to enforce the rules and
penalties there set down.  He was bound to
a course of cultivation that was most
unprofitable; he was forbidden to do that
which was essential if he continued to grow
first-rate root crops; he was hedged in with
pains and penalties; and, finally, was bound to
submit all doubts, disputes, and objections on
final appeal, to the great man's great man
the duke's agent.

Mr. Netherwell made a first experiment
and appealed to the duke's agent.  That
of course proved vain, and he then wrote to
the duke a very closely-reasoned, logical, and
yet pathetic letter; protesting against putting
his ruin under his own hand and seal in any
man's hands, and begging for an interview.
The interview was granted; but the great
duke had only one word—Sign!  and one
alternative,—Sign or leave!

Under these circumstances, Mr. Netherwell,
as lawyers say, threw himself upon
the country, and appealed to the opinion of
his fellow tenant-farmers.  They answered his
appeal by a subscription, a testimonial; a
golden protest against the folly of landlords
teaching such farmers as Netherwell their
business.  There the matter for the present
ends; but we hear a rumour, which we trust
for the duke's sake may be true, that he has
yielded to common sense; that the offensive
clauses have been struck out; that the
lawyers and agents are to eat humble-pie;
and the farmer is to keep his land.

We hope he will have the hearty sympathy
of the beef and bread eaters, the housekeepers
of England, in any case.  Town-dwellers,
who get meat from the butcher's, or
bread from the baker's, take very little interest
in the tenants of the soil, and sometimes,
for want of knowing better, talk of the
farmer as a sort of wild animal, preserved
for the pleasure and dignity of the lords
of the land, and of no more substantial
value to the state than so many gamekeepers.
At least, that is the only rational construction
which can be put upon the speeches of
distinguished orators a few years ago, when
they talked with favour of England becoming
a sort of manufacturing Heligoland, dependent
on neighbouring states for every grain of
corn and ounce of meat.  Although those
who ever think about the question now know
better, still apathy so far prevails, that
the tenant-farm population; the beef and
mutton, the bread and butter manufacturers
—have less sympathy and assistance than