the tempting prospect of
great returns impels even the obstinate peasantry out of the old
accustomed track. The wretched path becomes a good road, the marshy
ditch a canal. Wagons pass along from field to field, red-tiled roofs
rise in once desolate stations; the postman, who formerly came in twice
a week, appears daily now, his bag heavy with letters and newspapers,
and as he stops at some new house to bring the young wife, lately
settled there, a letter from her home, he gratefully accepts the glass
of milk she offers him in her delight, and tells her how long the way
used to be from village to village in the summer heat. Soon new wants
arise--the childish hangers on to all progress. The needle of the tailor
has many a new stuff to pierce, the small shopkeeper sets up his store
between the cottages, the village schoolmaster complains of the
multitude of his scholars; a second school is built, an adult class
established; the teacher keeps the first germ of the lending library in
a cupboard in his own room, and the bookseller in the next town sends
him books for sale; and thus the life of the prosperous agriculturist is
a blessing to the district, nay, to the whole country.

But woe to the landed proprietor when the ground he treads has fallen
into the power of strangers. He is lost if his crops fail to satisfy
their claims, and the genii of nature give their smiles to him only who
confronts them freely and securely--they revolt when they discern
weakness, precipitation, and half measures. No undertaking any longer
prospers. The yellow blossoms of the turnip and the blue flowers of the
flax wither without fruit. Rust and gangrene appear among the cattle,
the shriveled potato sickens and dies; all these, long accustomed to
obey skill, now cruelly avenge neglect. Then the daily walk through the
fields becomes a daily curse; the very lark that springs from the corn
reminds him that it is all sold as it stands; the yoke of oxen carrying
the clover to the barn suggests that the whole yield of the dairy
belongs to a creditor. Gloomy, morose, despairing, the man returns home.
It is natural that he should become a stranger to his farm, should seek
to escape from painful thoughts in change of scene, and his absence
precipitates his downfall. The one thing that might yet save him, a
complete surrender of himself to his avocations, is become intolerable.

Woe, threefold woe, to the landed proprietor who has precipitately
invoked