‘My dear Friends,—You’ll excuse coarse paper, and coarse writing in every sense, I’m afraid, “in matter, form, and style,” according to Milton’s divisions, when you know that I sit down to this delectable epistle in a City coffee-house, in the midst of Bob-wigs and worsted stocking knaves, Turks, Jews, and brokers, infidels, and merchants. Nunquam, si quid mihi credis, amavi Hos homines. O dialect of Babel! "Who calls for coffee?"—"This policy, sir"—"Strong convoy, a very good thing"—"Pen, ink, and wafer"—"I’sh would be rejoished to do for you, shur"—"Was Mr. Shylock here this morning?"—“Yesh, just gone to Jerusalem.” O blessed race! I wish you were all there, with all your adopted brethren of Jewish Christians from this holy land.

‘I have continued in much disappointment—at least, suspense—since I wrote to you last, when I hinted the sudden occurrence of some business preventing the pleasure of my proposed trip. Depending on the pleasures not only of some three or four different persons, but of great ones, too, who think themselves personages, you will not wonder that the said business has been like Sisyphus’s Stone, or Ixion’s Cloud, or Tantalus’s Apple, or anything else that’s infernally troublesome. But it may, and, notwithstanding their greatness, probably it will, be very consequential. In the meantime I must deny myself both Suffolk and Cambridge. The former, indeed, is the self-denial; for Cam. I had more at head than at heart. Besides, wishing to establish my Mastery of Arts by a little residence near them, I had a little reading and writing also in contemplation, near the walks locally—perlongo intervallo in every other sense—of old Erasmus.

‘I should have been happy in being at Bradfield Hall; I long to hear my friend refute himself, to complain with good spirits, and to demonstrate, with much wit, that he was extremely dull. But I dare say you have too much genuine vivacity, as well as good taste, to enter much into the bastard sort of alacrity—the intoxicated bustle that rages in empty heads and full pockets, by Royal proclamation. I should not object if the cui bono? could be answered. But in the present desperate size of power and depopulation of spirit, so much and so expensive pains seem little better than a curious folly. If a man’s brains must be blown out, why need he gild his pocket pistol, much less purchase a great gun—unless it be a Scotch canonade, which, it must be confessed, will do the business, con amore, for England or Ireland?

‘Yours ever,

‘H. Boyd.’

I continued farming at Bradfield, and also reading and writing with much attention, as about this time I had formed the intention of delivering lectures on agriculture, and had prepared several. The original hint came from Mr. Wedderburn,[[70]] who persuaded me to persevere in this plan; but the lectures never took place. I was highly honoured by the commendation and partiality of a friend, Dr. Watson,[[71]] the celebrated Professor at Cambridge, afterwards Bishop of Llandaff, who wrote thus: ‘We owe to the agricultural societies, and to the patriotic exertions of one deserving citizen (Arthur Young, Esq.), the present flourishing condition of our husbandry’ (‘Chemical Mag.’ vol. 4).

I find from an application of my friend, Arbuthnot, that the Bishop of Chester was at this time collecting materials for a work on population by the Rev. Mr. Howlett,[[72]] and had desired Arbuthnot to apply to me for assistance. I was myself meditating such a work, but complied with the request, and transmitted the collections I had made to the Bishop, who wrote me a most obliging letter.

‘Your facts are clear and decisive, and the conclusions you draw from them, unanswerable. The only difficulty I am apprehensive of is that as his work is now pretty far advanced, and is already larger than I could wish he will not be able to take in the whole of your papers, especially as I observe that he has in some part of his pamphlet fallen into the same train of reasoning as yourself. If, therefore, you would allow him to take only your two general tables of baptism before and after the Revolution, and the two more recent periods of thirty years each, which is the very method he has himself adopted, subjoining such of your observations as are the most important and are not in some measure anticipated by him, he will be most exceedingly obliged to you, and will, I am sure, be very ready to acknowledge in proper terms the sense he has of your goodness to him.’

I had also a sad letter from my friend Arbuthnot on his return from France, but it was written in so melancholy a strain on his own situation and that of his wife and family, that it has often made my heart ache to read it. By Lord Loughborough’s interest he got an appointment in Ireland under the Linen Board,[[73]] which carried him to that country, where he lived but a few years. I lost in him by far the most agreeable friend I was ever connected with.

At this time I was much engaged in making a variety of experiments in expelling gaseous fluids from specimens of soils, the results of which were afterwards published in ‘The Annals of Agriculture.’ As I met with some difficulties I wrote to Dr. Priestley, stating them, and begging information. He very liberally and politely answered all my enquiries, encouraging me to proceed with my trials, and I received several interesting letters from him.