‘Dear Sir,—It was but the other day that I became master of a complete series of your “Annals of Agriculture;” accept my confession and record my penitence. Having on my return from my long peregrination on the Continent lent to a friend—who had lent to another friend, whom we neither of us could recollect—the twenty-five or thirty numbers which I had taken in before that period, I postponed from time to time the completion of the series in hopes of recovering the commencement of it. When at last shame and necessity got the better of procrastination, what a treasure of information burst upon me. No—so long as power without ——— and without ——— shall have left an annual guinea in my pocket (blanks are better here than words) not a number of the “Annals” shall ever be wanting to my shelves. Hold—don’t take me for a Jacobin now, nor even for a croaker. What I allude to is not any _common_ burden, such as you land-owners and land-holders grunt under, but my own ten thousand pound tax—my privilegium—a thing as new to English language as it is to English practice—sole and peculiar fruit of the very particular notice with which I have been honoured by ———. ‘This waits upon you with a proof of a blank pauper population table, framed for the purpose of collecting an account of them in as many parishes as I can. Knowing so well your zeal for all zeal-worthy objects, and mindful of your often experienced kindness, I cannot on this occasion harbour a doubt of your assistance. Is it worth while to give the table the indiscriminate circulation of your "Annals"? At any rate your editorial Majesty will, I hope, be pleased graciously to grant unto me your royal letters, _patent_ or _close_, or both, addressed to _all_, and if need be, _singular_, your loving subjects my fellow correspondents; charging and exhorting them, each in his parish—and as many other parishes as may be—to fill my tables and send in their contributions.