"Our condition is a most enviable one. The history of the world has no example to offer of such noble disinterestedness and such liberal rule, as that exhibited by Great Britain to her colonies. If the policy of the Colonial Office is not always good (which I fear is too much to say) it is ever liberal; and if we do not mutually derive all the benefit we might from the connexion, we, at least, reap more solid advantages than we have a right to expect, and more, I am afraid, than our conduct always deserves. I hope the Secretary for the Colonies may have the advantage of making your acquaintance, Sir. Your experience is so great, you might give him a vast deal of useful information, which he could obtain from no one else.

"Minister," said Mr. Slick, who had just mounted the companion-ladder, "will your honour," touching his hat, "jist look at your honour's plunder, and see it's all right; remember me, Sir; thank your honour. This way, Sir; let me help your honour down. Remember me again, Sir. Thank your honour. Now you may go and break your neck, your honour, as soon as you please; for I've got all out of you I can squeeze, that's a fact. That's English, Squire—that's English servility, which they call civility, and English meanness and beggin', which they call parquisite. Who was that you wanted to see the Minister, that I heerd you a talkin' of when I come on deck?"

"The Secretary of the Colonies," I said.

"Oh for goodness sake don't send that crittur to him," said he, "or minister will have to pay him for his visit, more, p'raps, than he can afford. John Russell, that had the ribbons afore him, appointed a settler as a member of Legislative Council to Prince Edward's Island, a berth that has no pay, that takes a feller three months a year from home, and has a horrid sight to do; and what do you think he did? Now jist guess. You give it up, do you? Well, you might as well, for if you was five Yankees biled down to one, you wouldn't guess it. 'Remember Secretary's clerk,' says he, a touchin' of his hat, 'give him a little tip of thirty pound sterling, your honour.' Well, colonist had a drop of Yankee blood in him, which was about one third molasses, and, of course, one third more of a man than they commonly is, and so he jist ups and says, 'I'll see you and your clerk to Jericho beyond Jordan fust. The office ain't worth the fee. Take it and sell it to some one else that has more money nor wit.' He did, upon my soul."

"No, don't send State-Secretary to Minister, send him to me at eleven o'clock to-night, for I shall be the toploftiest feller about that time you've seen this while past, I tell you. Stop till I touch land once more, that's all; the way I'll stretch my legs ain't no matter."

He then uttered the negro ejaculation "chah!—chah!" and putting his arms a-kimbo, danced in a most extraordinary style to the music of a song, which he gave with great expression:

"Oh hab you nebber heerd ob de battle ob Orleens, Where de dandy Yankee lads gave de Britishers de beans; Oh de Louisiana boys dey did it pretty slick, When dey cotch ole Packenham and rode him up a creek. Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey, Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey.

"Oh yes, send Secretary to me at eleven or twelve to-night, I'll be in tune then, jist about up to concart pitch. I'll smoke with him, or drink with him, or swap stories with him, or wrastle with him, or make a fool of him, or lick him, or any thing he likes; and when I've done, I'll rise up, tweak the fore-top-knot of my head by the nose, bow pretty, and say 'Remember me, your honour? Don't forget the tip?' Lord, how I long to walk into some o' these chaps, and give 'em the beans! and I will yet afore I'm many days older, hang me if I don't. I shall bust, I do expect; and if I do, them that ain't drownded will be scalded, I know. Chah!—chah!

"Oh de British name is Bull, and de French name is Frog, And noisy critters too, when a braggin' on a log,— But I is an alligator, a floatin' down stream. And I'll chaw both the bullies up, as I would an ice-cream: Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dee, Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dee.

"Yes, I've been pent up in that drawer-like lookin' berth, till I've growed like a pine-tree with its branches off—straight up and down. My legs is like a pair of compasses that's got wet; they are rusty on the hinges, and won't work. I'll play leapfrog up the street, over every feller's head, till I get to the Liners' Hotel; I hope I may be shot if I don't. Jube, you villain, stand still there on the deck, and hold up stiff, you nigger. Warny once—warny twice—warny three times; now I come."

And he ran forward, and putting a hand on each shoulder, jumped over him.

"Turn round agin, you young sucking Satan, you; and don't give one mite or morsel, or you might 'break massa's precious neck,' p'raps. Warny once—warny twice—warny three times."

And he repeated the feat again.

"That's the way I'll shin it up street, with a hop, skip and a jump. Won't I make Old Bull stare, when he finds his head under my coat tails, and me jist makin' a lever of him? He'll think he has run foul of a snag, I know. Lord, I'll shack right over their heads, as they do over a colonist; only when they do, they never say warny wunst, cuss 'em, they arn't civil enough for that. They arn't paid for it—there is no parquisite to be got by it. Won't I tuck in the Champaine to-night, that's all, till I get the steam up right, and make the paddles work? Won't I have a lark of the rael Kentuck breed? Won't I trip up a policeman's heels, thunder the knockers of the street doors, and ring the bells and leave no card? Won't I have a shy at a lamp, and then off hot foot to the hotel? Won't I say, 'Waiter, how dare you do that?'

"'What, Sir?'

"'Tread on my foot.'

"'I didn't, Sir.'

"'You did, Sir. Take that!' knock him down like wink, and help him up on his feet agin with a kick on his western eend. Kiss the barmaid, about the quickest and wickedest she ever heerd tell of, and then off to bed as sober as a judge. 'Chambermaid, bring a pan of coals and air my bed.' 'Yes, Sir.' Foller close at her heels, jist put a hand on each short rib, tickle her till she spills the red hot coals all over the floor, and begins to cry over 'em to put 'em out, whip the candle out of her hand, leave her to her lamentations, and then off to roost in no time. And when I get there, won't I strike out all abroad—take up the room of three men with their clothes on—lay all over and over the bed, and feel once more I am a free man and a 'Gentleman at large.'"



CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL.

On looking back to any given period of our life, we generally find that the intervening time appears much shorter than it really is. We see at once the starting-post and the terminus, and the mind takes in at one view the entire space.

But this observation is more peculiarly applicable to a short passage across the Atlantic. Knowing how great the distance is, and accustomed to consider the voyage as the work of many weeks, we are so astonished at finding ourselves transported in a few days, from one continent to another, that we can hardly credit the evidence of our own senses.

Who is there that on landing has not asked himself the question, "Is it possible that I am in England? It seems but as yesterday that I was in America, to-day I am in Europe. Is it a dream, or a reality?"

The river and the docks—the country and the town—the people and their accent—the verdure and the climate are all new to me. I have not been prepared for this; I have not been led on imperceptibly, by travelling mile after mile by land from my own home, to accustom my senses to the gradual change of country. There has been no border to pass, where the language, the dress, the habits, and outward appearances assimilate. There has been no blending of colours—no dissolving views in the retrospect—no opening or expanding ones in prospect. I have no difficulty in ascertaining the point where one terminates and the other begins.

The change is sudden and startling. The last time I slept on shore, was in America—to-night I sleep in England. The effect is magical—one country is withdrawn from view, and another is suddenly presented to my astonished gaze. I am bewildered; I rouse myself, and rubbing my eyes, again ask whether I am awake? Is this England? that great country, that world of itself; Old England, that place I was taught to call home par excellence, the home of other homes, whose flag, I called our flag? (no, I am wrong, I have been accustomed to call our flag, the flag of England; our church, not the Church of Nova Scotia, nor the Colonial nor the Episcopal, nor the Established, but the Church of England.) Is it then that England, whose language I speak, whose subject I am, the mistress of the world, the country of Kings and Queens, and nobles and prelates, and sages and heroes?

I have read of it, so have I read of old Rome; but the sight of Rome, Caesar and the senate would not astonish me more than that of London, the Queen and the Parliament. Both are yet ideal; the imagination has sketched them, but when were its sketches ever true to nature? I have a veneration for both, but, gentle reader, excuse the confessions of an old man, for I have a soft spot in the heart yet, I love Old England. I love its institutions, its literature, its people. I love its law, because, while it protects property, it ensures liberty. I love its church, not only because I believe it is the true church, but because though armed with power, it is tolerant in practice. I love its constitution, because it combines the stability of a monarchy, with the most valuable peculiarities of a republic, and without violating nature by attempting to make men equal, wisely follow its dictates, by securing freedom to all.

I like the people, though not all in the same degree. They are not what they were. Dissent, reform and agitation have altered their character. It is necessary to distinguish. A real Englishman is generous, loyal and brave, manly in his conduct and gentlemanly in his feeling. When I meet such a man as this, I cannot but respect him; but when I find that in addition to these good qualities, he has the further recommendation of being a churchman in his religion and a tory in his politics, I know then that his heart is in the right place, and I love him.

The drafts of these chapters were read to Mr. Slick, at his particular request, that he might be assured they contained nothing that would injure his election as President of the United States, in the event of the Slickville ticket becoming hereafter the favourite one. This, he said, was on the cards, strange as it might seem, for making a fool of John Bull and turning the laugh on him, would be sure to take and be popular. The last paragraphs, he said, he affectioned and approbated with all his heart.

"It is rather tall talkin' that," said he; "I like its patronisin' tone. There is sunthin' goodish in a colonist patronisin' a Britisher. It's turnin' the tables on 'em; it's sarvin' 'em out in their own way. Lord, I think I see old Bull put his eye-glass up and look at you, with a dead aim, and hear him say, 'Come, this is cuttin' it rather fat.' Or, as the feller said to his second wife, when she tapped him on the shoulder, 'Marm, my first wife was a Pursy, and she never presumed to take that liberty.' Yes, that's good, Squire. Go it, my shirt-tails! you'll win if you get in fust, see if you don't. Patronizin' a Britisher!!! A critter that has Lucifer's pride, Arkwright's wealth, and Bedlam's sense, ain't it rich? Oh, wake snakes and walk your chalks, will you! Give me your figgery-four Squire, I'll go in up to the handle for you. Hit or miss, rough or tumble, claw or mud-scraper, any way, you damn please, I'm your man."

But to return to my narrative. I was under the necessity of devoting the day next after our landing at Liverpool, to writing letters announcing my safe arrival to my anxious friends in Nova Scotia, and in different parts of England; and also some few on matters of business. Mr. Slick was very urgent in his request, that I should defer this work till the evening, and accompany him in a stroll about the town, and at last became quite peevish at my reiterated refusal.

"You remind me, Squire," said he, "of Rufus Dodge, our great ile marchant of Boston, and as you won't walk, p'raps you'll talk, so I'll jist tell you the story.

"I was once at the Cataract House to Niagara. It is jist a short distance above the Falls. Out of the winders, you have a view of the splendid white waters, or the rapids of foam, afore the river takes its everlastin' leap over the cliff.

"Well, Rufus come all the way from Boston to see the Falls: he said he didn't care much about them hisself, seein' that he warn't in the mill business; but, as he was a goin' to England, he didn't like to say he hadn't been there, especially as all the English knowed about America was, that there was a great big waterfall called Niagara, an everlastin' Almighty big river called Mississippi, and a parfect pictur of a wappin' big man called Kentuckian there. Both t'other ones he'd seen over and over agin, but Niagara he'd never sot eyes on.

"So as soon as he arrives, he goes into the public room, and looks at the white waters, and, sais he, 'Waiter,' sais he, 'is them the falls down there?' a-pintin' by accident in the direction where the Falls actilly was.

"'Yes, Sir,' sais the waiter.

"'Hem!' sais Rufe, 'them's the Falls of Niagara, eh! So I've seen the Falls at last, eh! Well it's pretty too: they ain't bad, that's a fact. So them's the Falls of Niagara! How long is it afore the stage starts?'

"'An hour, Sir.'

"'Go and book me for Boston, and then bring me a paper.'

"'Yes, Sir.'

"Well he got his paper and sot there a readin' of it, and every now and then, he'd look out of the winder and say: 'So them's the Falls of Niagara, eh? Well, it's a pretty little mill privilege that too, ain't it; but it ain't just altogether worth comin' so far to see. So I've seen the Falls at last!'

"Arter a while in comes a Britisher.

"'Waiter,' says he, 'how far is it to the Falls?'

"'Little over a half a mile, Sir.'

"'Which way do you get there?'

"'Turn to the right, and then to the left, and then go a-head.'

"Rufe heard all this, and it kinder seemed dark to him; so arter cypherin' it over in his head a bit, 'Waiter,' says he, 'ain't them the Falls of Niagara, I see there?'

"'No, Sir.'

"'Well, that's tarnation all over now. Not the Falls?'

"'No, Sir.'

"'Why, you don't mean to say, that them are ain't the Falls?'

"'Yes, I do, Sir.'

"'Heaven and airth! I've come hundreds of miles a puppus to see 'em, and nothin' else; not a bit of trade, or speckelation, or any airthly thing but to see them cussed Falls, and come as near as 100 cents to a dollar, startin' off without sein' 'em arter all. If it hadn't a been for that are Britisher I was sold, that's a fact. Can I run down there and back in half an hour in time for the stage?'

"'Yes, Sir, but you will have no time to see them.'

"'See 'em, cuss 'em, I don't want to see 'em, I tell you. I want to look at 'em, I want to say I was to the Falls, that's all. Give me my hat, quick! So them ain't the Falls! I ha'n't see'd the Falls of Niagara arter all. What a devil of a take-in that is, ain't it?' And he dove down stairs like a Newfoundland dog into a pond arter a stone, and out of sight in no time.

"Now, you are as like Rufe, as two peas, Squire. You want to say, you was to Liverpool, but you don't want to see nothin'.'

"Waiter."

"Sir."

"Is this Liverpool, I see out of the Winder?"

"Yes, sir."

"Guess I have seen Liverpool then. So this is the great city of Liverpool, eh? When does the train start for London?"

"In half an hour, Sir?"

"Book me for London then, for I have been to Liverpool and seen the city. Oh, take your place, Squire, you have seen Liverpool; and if you see as much of all other places, as you have of this here one, afore you return home, you will know most as much of England as them do that never was there at all.

"I am sorry too, you won't go, Squire," added he, "for minister seems kinder dull."

"Don't say another word, Mr. Slick," said I; "every thing shall give way to him." And locking up my writing-desk I said: "I am ready."

"Stop, Squire," said he, "I've got a favour to ask of you. Don't for gracious sake, say nothin' before Mr. Hopewell about that 'ere lark I had last night arter landin', it would sorter worry him, and set him off a-preachin', and I'd rather he'd strike me any time amost than lectur, for he does it so tender and kindly, it hurts my feelins like, a considerable sum. I've had a pretty how-do-ye-do about it this mornin', and have had to plank down handsum', and do the thing genteel; but Mister Landlord found, I reckon, he had no fool to deal with, nother. He comes to me, as soon as I was cleverly up this mornin', lookin' as full of importance, as Jube Japan did when I put the Legation button on him.

"'Bad business this, Sir,' says he; 'never had such a scene in my house before, Sir; have had great difficulty to prevent my sarvants takin' the law of you.'

"'Ah,' sais I to myself, 'I see how the cat jumps; here's a little tid bit of extortion now; but you won't find that no go, I don't think.'

"'You will have to satisfy them, Sir,' says he, 'or take the consequences.'

"'Sartainly,' said I, 'any thin' you please: I leave it entirely to you; jist name what you think proper, and I will liquidate it.'

"'I said, I knew you would behave like a gentleman, Sir,' sais he, 'for, sais I, don't talk to me of law, name it to the gentleman, and he'll do what is right; he'll behave liberal, you may depend.'

"'You said right,' sais I, 'and now, Sir, what's the damage?'

"'Fifty pounds, I should think about the thing, Sir,' said he.

"'Certainly,' said I, 'you shall have the fifty pounds, but you must give me a receipt in full for it.'

"'By all means,' said he, and he was a cuttin' off full chisel to get a stamp, when I sais, 'Stop,' sais I, 'uncle, mind and put in the receipt, the bill of items, and charge 'em separate?'

"'Bill of items? sais he.

"'Yes,' sais I, 'let me see what each is to get. Well, there's the waiter, now. Say to knockin' down the waiter and kicking him, so much; then there's the barmaid so much, and so on. I make no objection, I am willin' to pay all you ask, but I want to include all, for I intend to post a copy of it in the elegant cabins of each of our splendid New York Liners. This house convenes the Americans—they all know me. I want them to know how their Attache was imposed on, and if any American ever sets foot in this cussed house agin I will pay his bill, and post that up too, as a letter of credit for him.'

"'You wouldn't take that advantage of me, Sir?' said he.

"'I take no advantage,' sais I. 'I'll pay you what you ask, but you shall never take advantage agin of another free and enlightened American citizen, I can tell you.'

"'You must keep your money then, Sir,' said he, 'but this is not a fair deal; no gentleman would do it.'

"'What's fair, I am willin' to do,' sais I; 'what's onfair, is what you want to do. Now, look here: I knocked the waiter down; here is two sovereigns for him; I won't pay him nothin' for the kickin', for that I give him out of contempt, for not defendin' of himself. Here's three sovereigns for the bar-maid; she don't ought to have nothin', for she never got so innocent a kiss afore, in all her born days I know, for I didn't mean no harm, and she never got so good a one afore nother, that's a fact; but then I ought to pay, I do suppose, because I hadn't ought to treat a lady that way; it was onhansum', that's fact; and besides, it tante right to give the galls a taste for such things. They come fast enough in the nateral way, do kisses, without inokilatin' folks for 'em. And here's a sovereign for the scoldin' and siscerarin' you gave the maid, that spilt the coals and that's an eend of the matter, and I don't want no receipt.'

"Well, he bowed and walked off, without sayin' of a word."

Here Mr. Hopewell joined us, and we descended to the street, to commence our perambulation of the city; but it had begun to rain, and we were compelled to defer it until the next day.

"Well, it ain't much matter, Squire," said Mr. Slick: "ain't that Liverpool, I see out of the winder? Well, then I've been to Liverpool. Book me for London. So I have seen Liverpool at last, eh! or, as Rufus said, I have felt it too, for this wet day reminds me of the rest of his story.

"In about a half hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, back he comes as hard as he could tear, a-puffing and a blowin' like a sizeable grampus. You never seed such a figure as he was, he was wet through and through, and the dry dust stickin' to his clothes, made him look like a dog, that had jumped into the water, and then took a roll in the road to dry hisself; he was a caution to look at, that's a fact.

"'Well,' sais I, 'Stranger, did you see the Falls?'

"'Yes,' sais he, 'I have see'd 'em and felt 'em too; them's very wet Falls, that's a fact. I hante a dry rag on me; if it hadn't a been for that ere Britisher, I wouldn't have see'd 'em at all, and yet a thought I had been there all the time. It's a pity too, that that winder don't bear on it, for then you could see it without the trouble of goin' there, or gettin' ducked, or gettin' skeered so. I got an awful fright there—I shall never forget it, if I live as long as Merusalem. You know I hadn't much time left, when. I found out I hadn't been there arter all, so I ran all the way, right down as hard as I could clip; and, seein' some folks comin' out from onder the Fall, I pushed strait in, but the noise actilly stunned me, and the spray wet me through and through like a piece of sponged cloth; and the great pourin', bilin' flood, blinded me so I couldn't see a bit; and I hadn't gone far in, afore a cold, wet, clammy, dead hand, felt my face all over. I believe in my soul, it was the Indian squaw that went over the Falls in the canoe, or the crazy Englisher, that tried to jump across it.

"'Oh creation, how cold it was! The moment that spirit rose, mine fell, and I actilly thought I should have dropt lumpus, I was so skeered. Give me your hand, said Ghost, for I didn't see nothin' but a kinder dark shadow. Give me your hand. I think it must ha' been the squaw, for it begged for all the world, jist like an Indgian. I'd see you hanged fust, said I; I wouldn't touch that are dead tacky hand o' yourn' for half a million o' hard dollars, cash down without any ragged eends; and with that, I turned to run out, but Lord love you I couldn't run. The stones was all wet and slimy, and onnateral slippy, and I expected every minute, I should heels up and go for it: atween them two critters the Ghost and the juicy ledge, I felt awful skeered I tell you. So I begins to say my catechism; what's your name, sais I? Rufus Dodge. Who gave you that name? Godfather and godmother granny Eells. What did they promise for you? That I should renounce the devil and all his works—works—works—I couldn't get no farther, I stuck fast there, for I had forgot it.

"'The moment I stopt, ghost kinder jumped forward, and seized me by my mustn't-mention'ems, and most pulled the seat out. Oh dear! my heart most went out along with it, for I thought my time had come. You black she-sinner of a heathen Indgian! sais I; let me go this blessed minite, for I renounce the devil and all his works, the devil and all his works—so there now; and I let go a kick behind, the wickedest you ever see, and took it right in the bread basket. Oh, it yelled and howled and screached like a wounded hyaena, till my ears fairly cracked agin. I renounce you, Satan, sais I; I renounce you, and the world, and the flesh and the devil. And now, sais I, a jumpin' on terry firm once more, and turnin' round and facin' the enemy, I'll promise a little dust more for myself, and that is to renounce Niagara, and Indgian squaws, and dead Britishers, and the whole seed, breed and generation of 'em from this time forth, for evermore. Amen.

"'Oh blazes! how cold my face is yet. Waiter, half a pint of clear cocktail; somethin' to warm me. Oh, that cold hand! Did you ever touch a dead man's hand? it's awful cold, you may depend. Is there any marks on my face? do you see the tracks of the fingers there?'

"'No, Sir,' sais I,' I can't say I do.'

"'Well, then I feel them there,' sais he, 'as plain as any thing.'

"'Stranger,' sais I, 'it was nothin' but some poor no-souled critter, like yourself, that was skeered a'most to death, and wanted to be helped out that's all."

"'Skeered!' said he, 'sarves him right then; he might have knowed how to feel for other folks, and not funkify them so peskily; I don't keer if he never gets out; but I have my doubts about its bein' a livin' human, I tell you. If I hadn't a renounced the devil and all his works that time, I don't know what the upshot would have been, for Old Scratch was there too. I saw him as plain as I see you; he ran out afore me, and couldn't stop or look back, as long as I said catekism. He was in his old shape of the sarpent; he was the matter of a yard long, and as thick round as my arm and travelled belly-flounder fashion; when I touched land, he dodged into an eddy, and out of sight in no time. Oh, there is no mistake, I'll take my oath of it; I see him, I did upon my soul. It was the old gentleman hisself; he come there to cool hisself. Oh, it was the devil, that's a fact.'

"'It was nothin' but a fresh water eel,' sais I; 'I have seen thousands of 'em there; for the crevices of them rocks are chock full of 'em. How can you come for to go, for to talk arter that fashion; you are a disgrace to our great nation, you great lummokin coward, you. An American citizen is afeerd of nothin', but a bad spekilation, or bein' found oat.'

"Well, that posed him, he seemed kinder bothered, and looked down.

"'An eel, eh! well, it mought be an eel,' sais be, 'that's a fact. I didn't think of that; but then if it was, it was god-mother granny Eells, that promised I should renounce the devil and all his works, that took that shape, and come to keep me to my bargain. She died fifty years ago, poor old soul, and never kept company with Indgians, or niggers, or any such trash. Heavens and airth! I don't wonder the Falls wakes the dead, it makes such an everlastin' almighty noise, does Niagara. Waiter, more cocktail, that last was as weak as water.'

"'Yes, Sir,' and he swallered it like wink.

"'The stage is ready, Sir.'

"'Is it?' said he, and he jumped in all wet as he was; for time is money and he didn't want to waste neither. As it drove off, I heerd him say, 'Well them's the Falls, eh! So I have seen the Falls of Niagara and felt 'em too, eh!'

"Now, we are better off than Rufus Dodge was, Squire; for we hante got wet, and we hante got frightened, but we can look out o' the winder and say, 'Well, that's Liverpool, eh! so I have—seen Liverpool.'"



CHAPTER IX. CHANGING A NAME.

The rain having confined us to the house this afternoon, we sat over our wine after dinner longer than usual. Among the different topics that were discussed, the most prominent was the state of the political parties in this country. Mr. Slick, who paid great deference to the opinions of Mr. Hopewell, was anxious to ascertain from him what he thought upon the subject, in order to regulate his conduct and conversation by it hereafter.

"Minister," said he, "what do you think of the politics of the British?"

"I don't think about them at all, Sam. I hear so much of such matters at home, that I am heartily tired of them; our political world is divided into two classes, the knaves and the dupes. Don't let us talk of such exciting, things."

"But, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "holdin' the high and dignified station I do, as Attache, they will be a-pumpin' me for everlastinly, will the great men here, and they think a plaguy sight more of our opinion than you are aware on; we have tried all them things they are a jawin' about here, and they naterally want to know the results. Cooper says not one Tory called on him when he was to England, but Walter Scott; and that I take it, was more lest folks should think he was jealous of him, than any thing else; they jist cut him as dead as a skunk; but among the Whigs, he was quite an oracle on ballot, univarsal suffrage, and all other democratic institutions."

"Well, he was a ninny then, was Cooper, to go and blart it all out to the world that way; for if no Tory visited him, I should like you to ask him the next time you see him, how many gentlemen called upon him? Jist ask him that, and it will stop him from writing such stuff any more."

"But, Minister, jist tell us now, here you are, as a body might say in England, now what are you?"

"I am a man, Sam; Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto."

"Well, what's all that when it's fried?"

"Why, that when away from home, I am a citizen of the world. I belong to no party, but take an interest in the whole human family."

"Well, Minister, if you choose to sing dumb, you can, but I should like to have you answer me one question now, and if you won't, why you must jist do t'other thing, that's all. Are you a Consarvative?"

"No."

"Are you a Whig?"

"No."

"A Radical?"

"God forbid!"

"What in natur' are you then?"

"A Tory."

"A Tory! well, I thought that a Tory and a Consarvative, were as the Indgians say, "all same one brudder." Where is the difference?"

"You will soon find that out, Sam; go and talk to a Consarvative as a Tory, and you will find he is a Whig: go and talk to him again as a Whig, and you will find he is a Tory. They are, for all the world, like a sturgeon. There is very good beef steaks in a sturgeon, and very good fish too, and yet it tante either fish or flesh. I don't like taking a new name, it looks amazing like taking new principles, or, at all events, like loosenin' old ones, and I hante seen the creed of this new sect yet—I don't know what its tenets are, nor where to go and look for 'em. It strikes me they don't accord with the Tories, and yet arn't in tune with the Whigs, but are half a note lower than the one, and half a note higher than t'other. Now, changes in the body politic are always necessary more or less, in order to meet the changes of time, and the changes in the condition of man. When they are necessary, make 'em, and ha' done with 'em. Make 'em like men, not when you are forced to do so, and nobody thanks you, but when you see they are wanted, and are proper; but don't alter your name.

"My wardens wanted me to do that; they came to me, and said 'Minister,' says they, 'we don't want you to change, we don't ask it; jist let us call you a Unitarian, and you can remain Episcopalian still. We are tired of that old fashioned name, it's generally thought unsuited to the times, and behind the enlightment of the age; it's only fit for benighted Europeans. Change the name, you needn't change any thing else. What is a name?'

"'Every thing,' says I, 'every thing, my brethren; one name belongs to a Christian, and the other don't; that's the difference. I'd die before I surrendered my name; for in surrenderin' that, I surrender my principles.'"

"Exactly," said Mr. Slick, "that's what Brother Eldad used to say. 'Sam,' said he, 'a man with an alias is the worst character in the world; for takin' a new name, shows he is ashamed of his old one; and havin' an old one, shows his new one is a cheat.'"

"No," said Mr. Hopewell, "I don't like that word Consarvative. Them folks may be good kind of people, and I guess they be, seein' that the Tories support 'em, which is the best thing I see about them; but I don't like changin' a name."

"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Slick, "p'raps their old name was so infarnal dry rotted, they wanted to change it for a sound new one. You recollect when that super-superior villain, Expected Thorne, brought an action of defamation agin' me, to Slickville, for takin' away his character, about stealing the watch to Nova Scotia; well, I jist pleaded my own case, and I ups and sais, 'Gentlemen of the Jury,' sais I, "Expected's character, every soul knows, is about the wust in all Slickville. If I have taken it away, I have done him a great sarvice, for he has a smart chance of gettin' a better one; and if he don't find a swap to his mind, why no character is better nor a bad one.'

"Well, the old judge and the whole court larfed right out like any thin'; and the jury, without stirrin' from the box, returned a vardict for the defendant. P'raps now, that mought be the case with the Tories."

"The difference," said Mr. Hopewell, is jist this:—your friend, Mr. Expected Thorne, had a name he had ought to have been ashamed of, and the Tories one that the whole nation had very great reason to be proud of. There is some little difference, you must admit. My English politics, (mind you, I say English, for they hare no reference to America,) are Tory, and I don't want to go to Sir Robert Peel, or Lord John Russell either."

"As for Johnny Russell," said Mr. Slick, "he is a clever little chap that; he—"

"Don't call him Johnny Russell," said Mr. Hopewell, "or a little chap, or such flippant names, I don't like to hear you talk that way. It neither becomes you as a Christian nor a gentleman. St. Luke and St. Paul, when addressing people of rank, use the word '[Greek text]' which, as nearly as possible, answers to the title of 'your Excellency.' Honour, we are told, should be given to those to whom honour is due; and if we had no such authority on the subject, the omission of titles, where they are usual and legal, is, to say the least of it, a vulgar familiarity, ill becoming an Attache of our embassy. But as I was saying, I do not require to go to either of those statesmen to be instructed in my politics. I take mine where I take my religion, from the Bible. 'Fear God, honour the King, and meddle not with those that are given to change.'"

"Oh, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "you mis't a figur at our glorious Revolution, you had ought to have held on to the British; they would have made a bishop of you, and shoved you into the House of Lords, black apron, lawn sleeves, shovel hat and all, as sure as rates. 'The right reverend, the Lord Bishop of Slickville:' wouldn't it look well on the back of a letter, eh? or your signature to one sent to me, signed 'Joshua Slickville.' It sounds better, that, than 'Old Minister,' don't it?"

"Oh, if you go for to talk that way, Sam, I am done; but I will shew you that the Tories are the men to govern this great nation. A Tory I may say 'noscitur a sociis.'"

"What in natur is that, when it's biled and the skin took off?" asked Mr. Slick.

"Why is it possible you don't know that? Have you forgotten that common schoolboy phrase?"

"Guess I do know; but it don't tally jist altogether nohow, as it were. Known as a Socialist, isn't it?"

"If, Sir," said Mr. Hopewell, with much earnestness, "if instead of ornamenting your conversation with cant terms, and miserable slang, picked up from the lowest refuse of our population, both east and west, you had cultivated your mind, and enriched it with quotations from classical writers, you would have been more like an Attache, and less like a peddling clockmaker than you are."

"Minister," said Mr. Slick, "I was only in jeest, but you are in airnest. What you have said is too true for a joke, and I feel it. I was only a sparrin'; but you took off the gloves, and felt my short ribs in a way that has given me a stitch in the side. It tante fair to kick that way afore you are spurred. You've hurt me considerable."

"Sam, I am old, narvous, and irritable. I was wrong to speak unkindly to you, very wrong indeed, and I am sorry for it; but don't teaze me no more, that's a good lad; for I feel worse than you do about it. I beg your pardon, I—"

"Well," said Mr. Slick, "to get back to what we was a sayin', for you do talk like a book, that's a fact; 'noscitur a sociis,' says you."

"Ay, 'Birds of a feather flock together,' as the old maxim goes. Now, Sam, who supported the Whigs?"

"Why, let me see; a few of the lords, a few of the gentry, the repealers, the manufacturin' folks, the independents, the baptists, the dissentin' Scotch, the socialists, the radicals, the discontented, and most of the lower orders, and so on."

"Well, who supported the Tories?"

"Why, the majority of the lords, the great body of landed gentry, the univarsities, the whole of the Church of England, the whole of the methodists, amost the principal part of the kirk, the great marchants, capitalists, bankers, lawyers, army and navy officers, and soon."

"Now don't take your politics from me, Sam, for I am no politician; but as an American citizen, judge for yourself, which of those two parties is most likely to be right, or which would you like to belong to."

"Well, I must say," replied he, "I do think that the larnin', piety, property, and respectability, is on the Tory side; and where all them things is united, right most commonly is found a-joggin' along in company."

"Well now, Sam, you know we are a calculatin' people, a commercial people, a practical people. Europe laughs at us for it. Perhaps if they attended better to their own financial affairs, they would be in a better situation to laugh. But still we must look to facts and results. How did the Tories, when they went out of office, leave the kingdom?—At peace?"

"Yes, with all the world."

"How did the Whigs leave it?"

"With three wars on hand, and one in the vat a-brewin' with America. Every great interest injured, some ruined, and all alarmed at the impendin' danger—of national bankruptcy."

"Well, now for dollars and cents. How did the Tories leave the treasury?"

"With a surplus revenue of millions."

"How did the Whigs?"

"With a deficiency that made the nation scratch their head, and stare agin."

"I could go through the details with you, as far as my imperfect information extends, or more imperfect memory would let me; but it is all the same, and always will be, here, in France, with us, in the colonies, and everywhere else. Whenever property, talent, and virtue are all on one side, and only ignorant numbers, with a mere sprinkling of property and talent to agitate 'em and make use of 'em, or misinformed or mistaken virtue to sanction 'em on the other side, no honest man can take long to deliberate which side he will choose.

"As to those conservatives, I don't know what to say, Sam; I should like to put you right if I could. But I'll tell you what puzzles me. I ask myself what is a Tory? I find he is a man who goes the whole figur' for the support of the monarchy, in its three orders, of king, lords, and commons, as by law established; that he is for the connexion of Church and State and so on; and that as the wealthiest man in England, he offers to prove his sincerity, by paying the greatest part of the taxes to uphold these things. Well, then I ask what is Consarvitism? I am told that it means, what it imports, a conservation of things as they are. Where, then, is the difference? If there is no difference, it is a mere juggle to change the name: if there is a difference, the word is worse than a juggle, for it don't import any."

"Tell you what," said Mr. Slick, "I heerd an old critter to Halifax once describe 'em beautiful. He said he could tell a man's politicks by his shirt. 'A Tory, Sir,' said he, for he was a pompious old boy was old Blue-Nose; 'a Tory, Sir,' said he, 'is a gentleman every inch of him, stock, lock, and barrel; and he puts a clean frill shirt on every day. A Whig, Sir,' says he, 'is a gentleman every other inch of him, and he puts an onfrilled one on every other day. A Radical, Sir, ain't no gentleman at all, and he only puts one on of a Sunday. But a Chartist, Sir, is a loafer; he never puts one on till the old one won't hold together no longer, and drops off in, pieces.'"

"Pooh!" said Mr. Hopewell, "now don't talk nonsense; but as I was a-goin' to say, I am a plain man, and a straightforward man, Sam; what I say, I mean; and what I mean, I say. Private and public life are subject to the same rules; and truth and manliness are two qualities that will carry you through this world much better than policy, or tact, or expediency, or any other word that ever was devised to conceal, or mystify a deviation from the straight line. They have a sartificate of character, these consarvitives, in having the support of the Tories; but that don't quite satisfy me. It may, perhaps, mean no more than this, arter all—they are the best sarvants we have; but not as good as we want. However, I shall know more about it soon; and when I do, I will give you my opinion candidly. One thing, however, is certain, a change in the institutions of a country I could accede to, approve, and support, if necessary and good; but I never can approve of either an individual or a party—'changing a name.'"



CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT.

The following day being dry, we walked out to view the wonders of this great commercial city of England, Liverpool. The side-paths were filled with an active and busy population, and the main streets thronged with heavily-laden waggons, conveying to the docks the manufactures of the country, or carrying inward the productions of foreign nations. It was an animating and busy scene.

"This," said Mr. Hopewell, "is solitude. It is in a place like this, that you feel yourself to be an isolated being, when you are surrounded by multitudes who have no sympathy with you, to whom you are not only wholly unknown, but not one of whom you have ever seen before.

"The solitude of the vast American forest is not equal to this. Encompassed by the great objects of nature, you recognise nature's God every where; you feel his presence, and rely on his protection. Every thing in a city is artificial, the predominant idea is man; and man, under circumstances like the present, is neither your friend nor protector. You form no part of the social system here. Gregarious by nature, you cannot associate; dependent, you cannot attach yourself; a rational being, you cannot interchange ideas. In seeking the wilderness you enter the abode of solitude, and are naturally and voluntarily alone. On visiting a city, on the contrary, you enter the residence of man, and if you are forced into isolation there, to you it is worse than a desert.

"I know of nothing so depressing as this feeling of unconnected individuality, amidst a dense population like this. But, my friend, there is One who never forsakes us either in the throng or the wilderness, whose ear is always open to our petitions, and who has invited us to rely on his goodness and mercy."

"You hadn't ought to feel lonely here, Minister," said Mr. Slick. "It's a place we have a right to boast of is Liverpool; we built it, and I'll tell you what it is, to build two such cities as New York and Liverpool in the short time we did, is sunthin' to brag of. If there had been no New York, there would have been no Liverpool; but if there had been no Liverpool, there would have been a New York though. They couldn't do nothin' without us. We had to build them elegant line-packets for 'em; they couldn't build one that could sail, and if she sail'd she couldn't steer, and if she sail'd and steer'd, she upsot; there was always a screw loose somewhere.

"It cost us a great deal too to build them ere great docks. They cover about seventy acres, I reckon. We have to pay heavy port dues to keep 'em up, and pay interest on capital. The worst of it is, too, while we pay for all this, we hante got the direction of the works."

"If you have paid for all these things," said I, "you had better lay claim to Liverpool. Like the disputed territory (to which it now appears, you knew you had no legal or equitable claim), it is probable you will have half of it ceded to you, for the purpose of conciliation. I admire this boast of yours uncommonly. It reminds me of the conversation we had some years ago, about the device on your "naval button," of the eagle holding an anchor in its claws—that national emblem of ill-directed ambition and vulgar pretension."

"I thank you for that hint," said Mr. Slick, "I was in jeest like; but there is more in it, for all that, than you'd think. It ain't literal fact, but it is figurative truth. But now I'll shew you sunthin' in this town, that's as false as parjury, sunthin that's a disgrace to this country and an insult to our great nation, and there is no jeest in it nother, but a downright lie; and, since you go for to throw up to me our naval button with its 'eagle and anchor,' I'll point out to you sunthin' a hundred thousand million times wus. What was the name o' that English admiral folks made such a touss about; that cripple-gaited, one-eyed, one-armed little naval critter?"

"Do you mean Lord Nelson?"

"I do," said he, and pointing to his monument, he continued, "There he is as big as life, five feet nothin', with his shoes on. Now examine that monument, and tell me if the English don't know how to brag, as well as some other folks, and whether they don't brag too sumtimes, when they hante got no right to. There is four figures there a representing the four quarters of the globe in chains, and among them America, a crouchin' down, and a-beggin' for life, like a mean heathen Ingin. Well, jist do the civil now, and tell me when that little braggin' feller ever whipped us, will you? Just tell me the day of the year he was ever able to do it, since his mammy cut the apron string and let him run to seek his fortin'. Heavens and airth, we'd a chawed him right up!

"No, there never was an officer among you, that had any thing to brag of about us but one, and he wasn't a Britisher—he was a despisable Blue-nose colonist boy of Halifax. When his captain was took below wounded, he was leftenant, so he jist ups and takes command o' the Shannon, and fit like a tiger and took our splendid frigate the Chesapeake, and that was sumthing to brag on. And what did he get for it? Why colony sarce, half-pay, and leave to make room for Englishers to go over his head; and here is a lyin' false monument, erected to this man that never even see'd one of our national ships, much less smelt thunder and lightning out of one, that English like, has got this for what he didn't do.

"I am sorry Mr. Lett [Footnote: This was the man that blew up the Brock monument in Canada. He was a Patriot.] is dead to Canada, or I'd give him a hint about this. I'd say, 'I hope none of our free and enlightened citizens will blow this lyin', swaggerin', bullyin' monument up? I should be sorry for 'em to take notice of such vulgar insolence as this; for bullies will brag.' He'd wink and say, 'I won't non-concur with you, Mr. Slick. I hope it won't be blowed up; but wishes like dreams come contrary ways sometimes, and I shouldn't much wonder if it bragged till it bust some night.' It would go for it, that's a fact. For Mr. Lett has a kind of nateral genius for blowin' up of monuments.

"Now you talk of our Eagle takin' an anchor in its claws as bad taste. I won't say it isn't; but it is a nation sight better nor this. See what the little admiral critter is about! why he is a stampin' and a jabbin' of the iron heel of his boot into the lifeless body of a fallen foe! It's horrid disgustin', and ain't overly brave nother; and to make matters wus, as if this warn't bad enough, them four emblem figures, have great heavy iron chains on 'em, and a great enormous sneezer of a lion has one part o' the chain in its mouth, and is a-growlin' and a-grinnin' and a-snarling at 'em like mad, as much as to say, 'if you dare to move the sixteen hundredth part of an inch, I will fall to and make mincemeat of you, in less than half no time. I don't think there never was nothin' so bad as this, ever seen since the days of old daddy Adam down to this present blessed day, I don't indeed. So don't come for to go, Squire, to tarnt me with the Eagle and the anchor no more, for I don't like it a bit; you'd better look to your 'Nelson monument' and let us alone. So come now!"

Amidst much that was coarse, and more that was exaggerated, there was still some foundation for the remarks of the Attache.

"You arrogate a little too much to yourselves," I observed, "in considering the United States as all America. At the time these brilliant deeds were achieved, which this monument is intended to commemorate, the Spaniards owned a very much greater portion of the transatlantic continent than you now do, and their navy composed a part of the hostile fleets which were destroyed by Lord Nelson. At that time, also, you had no navy, or at all events, so few ships, as scarcely to deserve the name of one; nor had you won for yourselves that high character, which you now so justly enjoy, for skill and gallantry. I agree with you, however, in thinking the monument is in bad taste. The name of Lord Nelson is its own monument. It will survive when these perishable structures, which the pride or the gratitude of his countrymen have erected to perpetuate his fame, shall have mouldered into dust, and been forgotten for ever. If visible objects are thought necessary to suggest the mention of his name oftener that it would otherwise occur to the mind, they should be such as to improve the taste, as well as awaken the patriotism of the beholder. As an American, there is nothing to which you have a right to object, but as a critic, I admit that there is much that you cannot approve in the 'Nelson Monument.'"



CHAPTER XI. COTTAGES.

On the tenth day after we landed at Liverpool, we arrived in London and settled ourselves very comfortably in lodgings at No. 202, Piccadilly, where every possible attention was paid to us by our landlord and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. We performed the journey in a post-chaise, fearing that the rapid motion of a rail car might have an unpleasant effect upon the health of Mr. Hope well.

Of the little incidents of travel that occurred to us, or of the various objects of attraction on the route, it is not my intention to give any account. Our journey was doubtless much like the journeys of other people, and every thing of local interest is to be found in Guide Books, or topographical works, which are within the reach of every body.

This book, however imperfect its execution may be, is altogether of another kind. I shall therefore pass over this and other subsequent journeys, with no other remark, than that they were performed, until something shall occur illustrative of the objects I have in view.

On this occasion I shall select from my diary a description of the labourer's cottage, and the parish church; because the one shews the habits, tastes, and condition of the poor of this country, in contrast with that of America—and the other, the relative means of religious instruction, and its effect on the lower orders.

On the Saturday morning, while preparing to resume our journey, which was now nearly half completed, Mr. Hopewell expressed a desire to remain at the inn where we were, until the following Monday. As the day was fine, he said he should like to ramble about the neighbourhood, and enjoy the fresh air. His attention was soon drawn to some very beautiful new cottages.

"These," said he, "are no doubt erected at the expense, and for the gratification of some great landed proprietor. They are not the abodes of ordinary labourers, but designed for some favoured dependant or aged servant. They are expensive toys, but still they are not without their use. They diffuse a taste among the peasantry—they present them with models, which, though they cannot imitate in costliness of material or finish, they can copy in arrangement, and in that sort of decoration, which flowers, and vines, and culture, and care can give. Let us seek one which is peculiarly the poor man's cottage, and let us go in and see who and what they are, how they live, and above all, how they think and talk. Here is a lane, let us follow it, till we come to a habitation."

We turned into a grass road, bounded on either side by a high straggling thorn hedge. At its termination was an irregular cottage with a thatched roof, which projected over the windows in front. The latter were latticed with diamond-shaped panes of glass, and were four in number, one on each side of the door and two just under the roof. The door was made of two transverse parts, the upper half of which was open. On one side was a basket-like cage containing a magpie, and on the other, a cat lay extended on a bench, dozing in the warmth of the sun. The blue smoke, curling upwards from a crooked chimney, afforded proof of some one being within.

We therefore opened a little gate, and proceeded through a neat garden, in which flowers and vegetables were intermixed. It had a gay appearance from the pear, apple, thorn and cherry being all in full bloom. We were received at the door by a middle-aged woman, with the ruddy glow of health on her cheeks, and dressed in coarse, plain, but remarkably neat and suitable, attire. As this was a cottage selected at random, and visited without previous intimation of our intention, I took particular notice of every thing I saw, because I regarded its appearance as a fair specimen of its constant and daily state.

Mr. Hopewell needed no introduction. His appearance told what he was. His great stature and erect bearing, his intelligent and amiable face, his noble forehead, his beautiful snow-white locks, his precise and antique dress, his simplicity of manner, every thing, in short, about him, at once attracted attention and conciliated favour.

Mrs. Hodgins, for such was her name, received us with that mixture of respect and ease, which shewed she was accustomed to converse with her superiors. She was dressed in a blue homespun gown, (the sleeves of which were drawn up to her elbows and the lower part tucked through her pocket-hole,) a black stuff petticoat, black stockings and shoes with the soles more than half an inch thick. She wore also, a large white apron, and a neat and by no means unbecoming cap. She informed us her husband was a gardener's labourer, that supported his family by his daily work, and by the proceeds of the little garden attached to the house, and invited us to come in and sit down.

The apartment into which the door opened, was a kitchen or common room. On one side, was a large fire-place, the mantel-piece or shelf, of which was filled with brass candlesticks, large and small, some queer old-fashioned lamps, snuffers and trays, polished to a degree of brightness, that was dazzling. A dresser was carried round the wall, filled with plates and dishes, and underneath were exhibited the ordinary culinary utensils, in excellent order. A small table stood before the fire, with a cloth of spotless whiteness spread upon it, as if in preparation for a meal. A few stools completed the furniture.

Passing through this place, we were shewn into the parlour, a small room with a sanded floor. Against the sides were placed some old, dark, and highly polished chairs, of antique form and rude workmanship. The walls were decorated with several coloured prints, illustrative of the Pilgrim's Progress and hung in small red frames of about six inches square. The fire-place was filled with moss, and its mantel-shelf had its china sheep and sheperdesses, and a small looking-glass, the whole being surmounted by a gun hung transversely. The Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments worked in worsted, were suspended in a wooden frame between the windows, which had white muslin blinds, and opened on hinges, like a door. A cupboard made to fit the corner, in a manner to economise room, was filled with china mugs, cups and saucers of different sizes and patterns, some old tea-spoons and a plated tea-pot.

There was a small table opposite to the window, which Contained half a dozen books. One of these was large, handsomely bound, and decorated with gilt edged paper. Mr. Hopewell opened it, and expressed great satisfaction at finding such an edition of a bible in such a house. Mrs. Hodgins explained that this was a present from her eldest son, who had thus appropriated his first earnings to the gratification of his mother.

"Creditable to you both, dear," said Mr. Hopewell: "to you, because it is a proof how well you have instructed him; and to him, that he so well appreciated and so faithfully remembered those lessons of duty."

He then inquired into the state of her family, whether the boy who was training a peach-tree against the end of the house was her son, and many other matters not necessary to record with the same precision that I have enumerated the furniture.

"Oh, here is a pretty little child!" said he. "Come here, dear, and shake hands along with me. What beautiful hair she has! and she looks so clean and nice, too. Every thing and every body here is so neat, so tidy, and so appropriate. Kiss me, dear; and then talk to me; for I love little children. 'Suffer them to come unto me,' said our Master, 'for of such is the kingdom of Heaven:' that is, that we should resemble these little ones in our innocence."

He then took her on his knee. "Can you say the Lord's Prayer, dear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very good. And the ten Commandments?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Who taught you?"

"My mother, Sir; and the parson taught me the Catechism."

"Why, Sam, this child can say the Lord's Prayer, the ten Commandments, and the Catechism. Ain't this beautiful? Tell me the fifth, dear."

And the child repeated it distinctly and accurately.

"Right. Now, dear, always bear that in mind, especially towards your mother. You have an excellent mother; her cares and her toils are many; and amidst them all, how well she has done her duty to you. The only way she can be repaid, is to find that you are what she desires you to be, a good girl. God commands this return to be made, and offers you the reward of length of days. Here is a piece of money for you. And now, dear," placing her again upon her feet, "you never saw so old a man as me, and never will again; and one, too, that came from a far-off country, three thousand miles off; it would take you a long time to count three thousand; it is so far. Whenever you do what you ought not, think of the advice of the 'old Minister.'"

Here Mr. Slick beckoned the mother to the door, and whispered something to her, of which, the only words that met my ear were "a trump," "a brick," "the other man like him ain't made yet," "do it, he'll talk, then."

To which she replied, "I have—oh yes, Sir—by all means."

She then advanced to Mr. Hopewell, and asked him if he would like to smoke.

"Indeed I would, dear, but I have no pipe here."

She said her old man smoked of an evening, after his work was done, and that she could give him a pipe and some tobacco, if he would condescend to use them; and going to the cupboard, she produced a long white clay pipe and some cut tobacco.

Having filled and lighted his pipe, Mr. Hopewell said, "What church do you go to, dear?"

"The parish church, Sir."

"Right; you will hear Sound doctrine and good morals preached there. Oh this a fortunate country, Sam, for the state provides for the religious instruction of the poor. Where the voluntary system prevails, the poor have to give from their poverty, or go without; and their gifts are so small, that they can purchase but little. It's a beautiful system, a charitable system, a Christian system. Who is your landlord?"

"Squire Merton, Sir; and one of the kindest masters, too, that ever was. He is so good to the poor; and the ladies. Sir, they are so kind, also. When my poor daughter Mary was so ill with the lever, I do think she would have died but for the attentions of those young ladies; and when she grew better, they sent her wine and nourishing things from their own table. They will be so glad to see you. Sir, at the Priory. Oh, I wish you could see them!"

"There it is, Sam," he continued "That illustrates what I always told you of their social system here. We may boast of our independence, but that independence produces isolation. There is an individuality about every man and every family in America, that gives no right of inquiry, and imposes no duty of relief on any one. Sickness, and sorrow, and trouble, are not divulged; joy, success, and happiness are not imparted. If we are independent in our thoughts and actions, so are we left to sustain the burden of our own ills. How applicable to our state is that passage of Scripture, 'The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.'

"Now, look at this poor family; here is a clergyman provided for them, whom they do not, and are not even expected to pay; their spiritual wants are ministered to, faithfully and zealously, as we see by the instruction of that little child. Here is a friend upon whom they can rely in their hour of trouble, as the bereaved mother did on Elisha. 'And she went up and laid her child that was dead on the bed of the man of God, and shut the door on him, and went out.' And when a long train of agitation, mis-government, and ill-digested changes have deranged this happy country, as has recently been the case, here is an indulgent landlord, disposed to lower his rent or give further time for payment, or if sickness invades any of these cottages, to seek out the sufferer, to afford the remedies, and by his countenance, his kindness, and advice, to alleviate their trouble. Here it is, a positive duty arising from their relative situations of landlord and tenant. The tenants support the owner, the landlord protects the tenants: the duties are reciprocal.

"With us the duties, as far as Christian duties can be said to be optional, are voluntary; and the voluntary discharge of duties, like the voluntary support of religion, we know, from sad experience, to be sometimes imperfectly performed, at others intermitted, and often wholly neglected. Oh! it is a happy country this, a great and a good country; and how base, how wicked, how diabolical it is to try to set such a family as this against their best friends, their pastor and their landlord; to instil dissatisfaction and distrust into their simple minds, and to teach them to loathe the hand, that proffers nothing but regard or relief. It is shocking, isn't it?"

"That's what I often say, Sir," said Mrs. Hodgins, "to my old man, to keep away from them Chartists."

"Chartists! dear, who are they? I never heard of them."

"Why, Sir, they are the men that want the five pints."

"Five pints! why you don't say so; oh! they are bad men, have nothing to do with them. Five pints! why that is two quarts and a half; that is too much to drink if it was water; and if any thing else, it is beastly drunkenness. Have nothing to do with them."

"Oh! no, Sir, it is five points of law."

"Tut—tut—tut! what have you got to do with law, my dear?"

"By gosh, Aunty," said Mr. Slick, "you had better not cut that pie: you will find it rather sour in the apple sarce, and tough in the paste, I tell you."

"Yes, Sir," she replied, "but they are a unsettling of his mind. What shall I do? for I don't like these night meetings, and he always comes home from 'em cross and sour-like."

"Well, I am sorry to hear that," said Mr. Hopewell, "I wish I could see him; but I can't, for I am bound on a journey. I am sorry to hear it, dear. Sam, this country is so beautiful, so highly cultivated, so adorned by nature and art, and contains so much comfort and happiness, that it resembles almost the garden of Eden. But, Sam, the Serpent is here, the Serpent is here beyond a doubt. It changes its shape, and alters its name, and takes a new colour, but still it is the Serpent, and it ought to be crushed. Sometimes it calls itself liberal, then radical, then chartist, then agitator, then repealer, then political dissenter, then anti-corn leaguer, and so on. Sometimes it stings the clergy, and coils round them, and almost strangles them, for it knows the Church is its greatest enemy, and it is furious against it. Then it attacks the peers, and covers them with its froth and slaver, and then it bites the landlord. Then it changes form, and shoots at the Queen, or her ministers, and sets fire to buildings, and burns up corn to increase distress; and, when hunted away, it dives down into the collieries, or visits the manufactories, and maddens the people, and urges them on to plunder and destruction. It's a melancholy thing to think of; but he is as of old, alive and active, seeing whom he can allure and deceive, and whoever listens is ruined for ever.

"Stay, dear, I'll tell you what I will do for you. I'll inquire about these Chartists; and when I go to London, I will write a little tract so plain that any child may read it and understand it; and call it The Chartist, and get it printed, and I will send you one for your husband, and two or three others, to give to those whom they may benefit.

"And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet again in this world; but I shall often think of you, and often speak of you. I shall tell my people of the comforts, of the neatness, of the beauty of an English cottage. May God bless you, and so regulate your mind as to preserve in you a reverence for his holy word, an obedience to the commands of your Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all that are placed in authority over you!"

"Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottage," said Mr. Slick, as we strolled back to the inn, "but the handsumestest thing is to hear that good old soul talk dictionary that way, aint it? How nateral he is! Guess they don't often see such a 'postle as that in these diggins. Yes, it's pretty is this cottage; but it's small, arter all. You feel like a squirrel in a cage, in it; you have to run round and round, and don't go forward none. What would a man do with a rifle here? For my part, I have a taste for the wild woods; it comes on me regular in the fall, like the lake fever, and I up gun, and off for a week or two, and camp out, and get a snuff of the spruce-wood air, and a good appetite, and a bit of fresh ven'son to sup on at night.

"I shall be off to the highlands this fall; but, cuss em, they hante got no woods there; nothin' but heather, and thats only high enough to tear your clothes. That's the reason the Scotch don't wear no breeches, they don't like to get 'em ragged up that way for everlastinly, they can't afford it; so they let em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow agin, and trowsers won't.

"Yes, it's a pretty cottage that, and a nice tidy body that too, is Mrs. Hodgins. I've seen the time when I would have given a good deal to have been so well housed as that. There is some little difference atween that cottage and a log hut of a poor back emigrant settler, you and I know where. Did ever I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old Judge Sandford?"

"No, not that I recollect."

"Well, once upon a time I was a-goin' from Mill-bridge to Shadbrooke, on a little matter of bisness, and an awful bad and lonely road it was, too. There was scarcely no settlers in it, and the road was all made of sticks, stones, mud holes, and broken bridges. It was een amost onpassible, and who should I overtake on the way but the Judge, and his guide, on horseback, and Lawyer Traverse a-joggin' along in his gig, at the rate of two miles an hour at the fardest.

"'Mornin,' sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and had a kind word for every body, had the Judge. Few men 'know'd human natur' better nor he did, and what he used to call the philosophy of life. 'I am glad to see you on the road, Mr. Slick, sais he, 'for it is so bad I am afraid there are places that will require our united efforts to pass 'em.'

"Well, I felt kinder sorry for the delay too, for I know'd we should make a poor journey on't, on account of that lawyer critter's gig, that hadn't no more busness on that rough track than a steam engine had. But I see'd the Judge wanted me to stay company, and help him along, and so I did. He was fond of a joke, was the old Judge, and sais he,

"'I'm afraid we shall illustrate that passage o' Scriptur', Mr. Slick,' said he, '"And their judges shall be overthrown in stony places." It's jist a road for it, ain't it?'

"Well we chattered along the road this way a leetle, jist a leetle faster than we travelled, for we made a snail's gallop of it, that's a fact; and night overtook us, as I suspected it would, at Obi Rafuse's, at the Great Lake; and as it was the only public for fourteen miles, and dark was settin' in, we dismounted, but oh, what a house it was!

"Obi was an emigrant, and those emigrants are ginerally so fond of ownin' the soil, that like misers, they carry as much of it about 'em on their parsons, in a common way, as they cleverly can. Some on 'em are awful dirty folks, that's a fact, and Obi was one of them. He kept public, did Obi; the sign said it was a house of entertainment for man and beast. For critters that ain't human, I do suppose it spoke the truth, for it was enough to make a hoss larf, if he could understand it, that's a fact; but dirt, wretchedness and rags, don't have that effect on me.

"The house was built of rough spruce logs, (the only thing spruce about it), with the bark on, and the cracks and seams was stuffed with moss. The roof was made of coarse slabs, battened and not shingled, and the chimbly peeped out like a black pot, made of sticks and mud, the way a crow's nest is. The winders were half broke out, and stopped up with shingles and old clothes, and a great bank of mud and straw all round, reached half way up to the roof, to keep the frost out of the cellar. It looked like an old hat on a dung heap. I pitied the old Judge, because he was a man that took the world as he found it, and made no complaints. He know'd if you got the best, it was no use complainin' that the best warn't good.

"Well, the house stood alone in the middle of a clearin', without an outhouse of any sort or kind about it, or any fence or enclosure, but jist rose up as a toodstool grows, all alone in the field. Close behind it was a thick short second growth of young birches, about fifteen feet high, which was the only shelter it had, and that was on the wrong side, for it was towards the south.

"Well, when we alighted, and got the baggage off, away starts the guide with the Judge's traps, and ups a path through the woods to a settler's, and leaves us. Away down by the edge of the lake was a little barn, filled up to the roof with grain and hay, and there was no standin' room or shelter in it for the hosses. So the lawyer hitches his critter to a tree, and goes and fetches up some fodder for him, and leaves him for the night, to weather it as he could. As soon as he goes in, I takes Old Clay to the barn, for it's a maxim of mine always to look out arter number one, opens the door, and pulls out sheaf arter sheaf of grain as fast as I could, and throws it out, till I got a place big enough for him to crawl in.

"'Now,' sais I, 'old boy,' as I shot to the door arter him, 'if that hole ain't big enough for you, eat away till it is, that's all.'

"I had hardly got to the house afore the rain, that had threatened all day, came down like smoke, and the wind got up, and it blew like a young hurricane, and the lake roared dismal; it was an awful night, and it was hard to say which was wus, the Storm or the shelter.

"'Of two evils,' sais I to the lawyer, 'choose the least. It ain't a bad thing to be well housed in a night like this, is it?'

"The critter groaned, for both cases was so 'bad he didn't know which to take up to defend, so he grinned horrid and said nothin'; and it was enough to make him grin too, that's a fact. He looked as if he had got hold on a bill o' pains and penalties instead of a bill of costs that time, you may depend.

"Inside of the house was three rooms, the keepin' room, where we was all half circled round the fire, and two sleepin' rooms off of it. One of these Obi had, who was a-bed, groanin', coughin', and turnin' over and over all the time on the creakin' bedstead with pleurisy; t'other was for the judge. The loft was for the old woman, his mother, and the hearth, or any other soft place we could find, was allocated for lawyer and me.

"What a scarecrow lookin' critter old aunty was, warn't she? She was all in rags and tatters, and though she lived 'longside of the lake the best part of her emigrant life, had never used water since she was christened. Her eyes were so sunk in her head, they looked like two burnt holes in a blanket. Her hair was pushed back, and tied so tight with an eel-skin behind her head, it seemed to take the hide with it. I 'most wonder how she ever shot to her eyes to go to sleep. She had no stockins on her legs, and no heels to her shoes, so she couldn't lift her feet up, for fear of droppin' off her slippers; but she just shoved and slid about as if she was on ice. She had a small pipe in her mouth, with about an inch of a stem, to keep her nose warm, and her skin was so yaller and wrinkled, and hard and oily, she looked jist like a dried smoked red herrin', she did upon my soul.

"The floor of the room was blacker nor ink, because that is pale sometimes; and the utenshils, oh, if the fire didn't purify 'em now and ag'in, all the scrubbin' in the world wouldn't, they was past that. Whenever the door was opened, in run the pigs, and the old woman hobbled round arter them, bangin' them with a fryin' pan, till she seemed out o' breath. Every time she took less and less notice of 'em, for she was 'most beat out herself, and was busy a gettin' of the tea-kettle to bile, and it appeared to me she was a-goin' to give in and let 'em sleep with me and the lawyer, near the fire.

"So I jist puts the tongs in the sparklin' coals and heats the eends on 'em red hot, and the next time they comes in, I watches a chance, outs with the tongs, and seizes the old sow by the tail, and holds on till I singes it beautiful. The way she let go ain't no matter, but if she didn't yell it's a pity, that's all. She made right straight for the door, dashed in atween old aunty's legs, and carries her out on her back, ridin' straddle-legs like a man, and tumbles her head over heels in the duck pond of dirty water outside, and then lays down along side of her, to put the fire out in its tail and cool itself.

"Aunty took up the screamin' then, where the pig left off; but her voice warn't so good, poor thing! she was too old for that, it sounded like a cracked bell; it was loud enough, but it warn't jist so clear. She came in drippin' and cryin' and scoldin'; she hated water, and what was wus, this water made her dirtier. It ran off of her like a gutter. The way she let out agin pigs, travellers and houses of entertainment, was a caution to sinners. She vowed she'd stop public next mornin', and bile her kettle with the sign; folks might entertain themselves and be hanged to 'em, for all her, that they might. Then she mounted a ladder and goes up into the loft-to change.

"'Judge' sais I, 'I am sorry, too, I singed that pig's tail arter that fashion, for the smell of pork chops makes me feel kinder hungry, and if we had 'em, no soul could eat 'em here in such a stye as this. But, dear me,' sais I, 'You'd better move, Sir; that old woman is juicy, and I see it a comin' through the cracks of the floor above, like a streak of molasses.

"'Mr. Slick,' sais he, 'this is dreadful. I never saw any thing so bad before in all this country; but what can't be cured must be endured, I do suppose. We must only be good-natured and do the best we can, that's all. An emigrant house is no place to stop at, is it? There is a tin case,' sais he, 'containin' a cold tongue and some biscuits, in my portmanter; please to get them out. You must act as butler to-night, if you please; for I can't eat any thing that old woman touches.'

"So I spreads one of his napkins on the table, and gets out the eatables, and then he produced a pocket pistol, for he was a sensible man was the judge, and we made a small check, for there warn't enough for a feed.

"Arter that, he takes out a night-cap, and fits it on tight, and then puts on his cloak, and wraps the hood of it close over his head, and foldin' himself up in it, he went and laid down without ondressin'. The lawyer took a stretch for it on the bench, with his gig cushions for a pillar, and I makes up the fire, sits down on the chair, puts my legs up on the jamb, draws my hat over my eyes, and folds my arms for sleep.

"'But fust and foremost,' sais I, 'aunty, take a drop of the strong waters: arter goin' the whole hog that way, you must need some,' and I poured her out a stiff corker into one of her mugs, put some sugar and hot water to it, and she tossed it off as if she railly did like it.

"'Darn that pig,' said she, 'it is so poor, its back is as sharp as a knife. It hurt me properly, that's a fact, and has most broke my crupper bone.' And she put her hand behind her, and moaned piteous.

"'Pig skin,' sais I, 'aunty, is well enough when made into a saddle, but it ain't over pleasant to ride on bare back that way,' sais I, 'is it? And them bristles ain't quite so soft as feathers, I do suppose.'

"I thought I should a died a holdin' in of a haw haw that way. Stifling a larf a'most stifles oneself, that's a fact. I felt sorry for her, too, but sorrow won't always keep you from larfin', unless you be sorry for yourself. So as I didn't want to offend her I ups legs agin to the jam, and shot my eyes and tried to go to sleep.

"Well, I can snooze through most any thin', but I couldn't get much sleep that night. The pigs kept close to the door, a shovin' agin it every now and then, to see all was right for a dash in, if the bears came; and the geese kept sentry too agin the foxes; and one old feller would squake out "all's well" every five minuts, as he marched up and down and back agin on the bankin' of the house.

"But the turkeys was the wust. They was perched upon the lee side of the roof, and sometimes an eddy of wind would take a feller right slap off his legs, and send him floppin' and rollin' and sprawlin' and screamin' down to the ground, and then he'd make most as much fuss a-gettin' up into line agin. They are very fond of straight, lines is turkeys. I never see an old gobbler, with his gorget, that I don't think of a kernel of a marchin' regiment, and if you'll listen to him and watch him, he'll strut jist like one, and say, 'halt! dress!' oh, he is a military man is a turkey cock: he wears long spurs, carries a stiff neck, and charges at red cloth, like a trooper.

"Well then a little cowardly good natured cur, that lodged in an empty flour barrel, near the wood pile, gave out a long doleful howl, now and agin, to show these outside passengers, if he couldn't fight for 'em, he could at all events cry for 'em, and it ain't every goose has a mourner to her funeral, that's a fact, unless it be the owner.

"In the mornin' I wakes up, and looks round for lawyer, but he was gone. So I gathers up the brans, and makes up the fire, and walks out. The pigs didn't try to come in agin, you may depend, when they see'd me; they didn't like the curlin' tongs, as much as some folks do, and pigs' tails kinder curl naterally. But there was lawyer a-standin' up by the grove, lookin' as peeked and as forlorn, as an onmated loon.

"'What's the matter of you, Squire?' sais I. 'You look like a man that was ready to make a speech; but your witness hadn't come, or you hadn't got no jury.'

"'Somebody has stole my horse,' said he.

"Well, I know'd he was near-sighted, was lawyer, and couldn't see a pint clear of his nose, unless it was a pint o' law. So I looks all round and there was his hoss, a-standin' on the bridge, with his long tail hanging down straight at one eend, and his long neck and head a banging down straight at t'other eend, so that you couldn't tell one from t'other or which eend was towards you. It was a clear cold mornin'. The storm was over and the wind down, and there was a frost on the ground. The critter was cold I suppose, and had broke the rope and walked off to stretch his legs. It was a monstrous mean night to be out in, that's sartain.

"'There is your hoss,' sais I.

"'Where?' sais he.

"'Why on the bridge,' sais I; "he has got his head down and is a-lookin' atween his fore-legs to see where his tail is, for he is so cold, I do suppose he can't feel it.'

"Well, as soon as we could, we started; but afore we left, sais the Judge to me, 'Mr. Slick,' sais he, 'here is a plaister,' taking out a pound note, 'a plaister for the skin the pig rubbed off of the old woman. Give it to her, I hope it is big enough to cover it.' And he fell back on the bed, and larfed and coughed, and coughed and larfed, till the tears ran down his cheeks.

"Yes," said Mr. Slick, "yes, Squire, this is a pretty cottage of Marm Hodgins; but we have cottages quite as pretty as this, our side of the water, arter all. They are not all like Obi Rafuses, the immigrant. The natives have different guess places, where you might eat off the floor a'most, all's so clean. P'raps we hante the hedges, and flowers, and vines and fixin's, and what-nots."

"Which, alone," I said, "make a most important difference. No, Mr. Slick', there is nothing to be compared to this little cottage.

"I perfectly agree with you, Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, "it is quite unique. There is not only nothing equal to it, but nothing of its kind at all like—an English cottage."



CHAPTER XII. STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE.

Shortly after our return to the inn, a carriage drove up to the door, and the cards of Mr. Merton, and the Reverend Mr. Homily, which were presented by the servant, were soon followed by the gentlemen themselves.

Mr. Merton said he had been informed by Mrs. Hodgins of our visit to her cottage, and from her account of our conversation and persons, he was convinced we could be no other than the party described in the "Sayings and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick," as about to visit England with the Attache. He expressed great pleasure in having the opportunity of making our acquaintance, and entreated us to spend a few days with him at the Priory. This invitation we were unfortunately compelled to decline, in consequence of urgent business in London, where our immediate presence was indispensable.

The rector then pressed Mr. Hopewell to preach for him, on the following day at the parish church, which he also declined. He said, that he had no sermons with him, and that he had very great objections to extemporaneous preaching, which he thought should never be resorted to except in cases of absolute necessity. He, however, at last consented to do so, on condition that Mrs. Hodgins and her husband attended, and upon being assured that it was their invariable custom to be present, he said, he thought it not impossible, that he might make an impression upon him, and as it was his maxim never to omit an opportunity of doing good, he would with the blessing of God, make the attempt.

The next day was remarkably fine, and as the scene was new to me, and most probably will be so to most of my colonial readers, I shall endeavour to describe it with some minuteness.

We walked to the church by a path over the hills, and heard the bells of a number of little churches, summoning the surrounding population to the House of God. The roads and the paths were crowded with the peasantry and their children, approaching the church-yard in different directions. The church and the rectory were contiguous to each other, and situated in a deep dell.

The former was a long and rather low structure, originally built of light coloured stone, which had grown grey with time. It had a large square steeple, with pointed corners, like turrets, each of which was furnished with a vane, but some of these ornaments were loose and turned round in a circle, while others stood still and appeared to be examining with true rustic curiosity, the condition of their neighbours.

The old rectory stood close to the church and was very irregularly built, one part looking as if it had stepped forward to take a peep at us, and another as if endeavouring to conceal itself from view, behind a screen of ivy. The windows which were constructed of diamond-shaped glass, were almost square, and opened on hinges. Nearly half of the house was covered by a rose-tree, from which the lattices peered very inquisitively upon the assembled congregation. Altogether it looked like the residence of a vigilant man, who could both see and be unseen if he pleased.

Near the door of the church were groups of men in their clean smock-frocks and straw hats, and of women in their tidy dark dresses and white aprons. The children all looked clean, healthy, and cheerful.

The interior of the church was so unlike that of an American one, that my attention was irresistibly drawn to its peculiarities. It was low, and divided in the centre by an arch. The floor was of stone, and from long and constant use, very uneven in places. The pews were much higher on the sides than ours, and were unpainted and roughly put together; while the pulpit was a rude square box, and was placed in the corner. Near the door stood an ancient stone font, of rough workmanship, and much worn.

The windows were long and narrow, and placed very high in the walls. On the one over the altar was a very old painting, on stained glass, of the Virgin, with a hoop and yellow petticoat, crimson vest, a fly cap, and very thick shoes. The light of this window was still further subdued by a fine old yew-tree, which stood in the yard close behind it.

There was another window of beautifully stained glass, the light of which fell on a large monument, many feet square, of white marble. In the centre of this ancient and beautiful work of art, were two principal figures, with smaller ones kneeling on each side, having the hands raised in the attitude of prayer. They were intended to represent some of the ancestors of the Merton family. The date was as old as 1575. On various parts of the wall were other and ruder monuments of slate-stone, the inscriptions and dates of which were nearly effaced by time.

The roof was of a construction now never seen in America; and the old oak rafters, which were more numerous, than was requisite, either for strength or ornament, were massive and curiously put together, giving this part of the building a heavy and gloomy appearance.

As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected a text suitable to the times, and that he would endeavour to save the poor people in the neighbourhood from the delusions of the chartist demagogues, who, it appeared, were endeavouring to undermine the throne and the altar, and bring universal ruin upon the country.

When he ascended the pulpit to preach, his figure, his great age, and his sensible and benevolent countenance, attracted universal attention. I had never seen him officiate till this day; but if I was struck with his venerable appearance before, I was now lost in admiration of his rich and deep-toned voice, his peculiar manner, and simple style of eloquence.

He took for his text these words: "So Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel." He depicted, in a very striking manner, the arts of this intriguing and ungrateful man to ingratiate himself with the people, and render the government unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his standing at the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had deputed no one to hear and decide upon the controversies of the people, to his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant followers. He made a powerful application of the seditious words of Absalom: "Oh that I were a judge in the land, that every man which hath a suit or cause might come unto me, and I would do him justice." He showed the effect of these empty and wicked promises upon his followers, who in the holy record of this unnatural rebellion are described as "men who went out in their simplicity, and knew not anything."

He then said that similar arts were used in all ages for similar purposes; and that these professions of disinterested patriotism were the common pretences by which wicked men availed themselves of the animal force of those "who assemble in their simplicity, and know not any thing," to achieve their own personal aggrandisement, and warned them, to give no heed to such dishonest people. He then drew a picture of the real blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, though not without an admixture of evil, were as many and as great as the imperfect and unequal condition of man was capable either of imparting or receiving.