gh.

"Sourcrout gig goggles again, as if he was swallerin' shelled corn
whole. 'That trick of wettin' the hay,' says he, 'to make it weigh
heavy, warn't cleverly done; it ain't pretty to be caught; it's only
bunglers do that.'

"'He is so fond of temperance,' says Coldslaugh, 'he wanted to make his
hay jine society, and drink cold water, too.'

"Sourcrout gig goggles ag'in, till he takes a fit of the asmy, sets down
on a stump, claps both hands on his sides, and coughs, and coughs till
he finds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear convarted men, though
they won't larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes;
don't they?

"I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the
voluntary in this world, it would die a nateral death; not that _men
wouldn't support it_, but because it would be supported _under false
pretences_. Truth can't be long upheld by falsehood. Hypocrisy would
change its features, and intolerance its name; and religion would
soon degenerate into a cold, intriguing, onprincipled, marciless
superstition, that's a fact.

"Yes, on the whole, I rather like these plain, decent, onpretendin',
country churches here, although t'other ones remind me of old times,
when I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like an English church; but as
for Minister pretendin' for to come for to go for to preach agin that
beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for 'stealin' the
hearts of the people,' why it's rather takin' the rag off the bush,
ain't it?

"Tell you what, Squire; there ain't a man in their whole church here,
from Lord Canter Berry that preaches afore the Queen, to Parson Homily
that preached afore us, nor never was, nor never will be equal to Old
Minister hisself for 'stealin' the hearts of the people.'"

CHAPTER XIII. NATUR'.

In the course of our journey, the conversation turned upon the several
series of the "Clockmaker" I had published, and their relative merits.
Mr. Slick appeared to think they all owed their popularity mainly to the
freshness and originality of character incidental to a new country.

"You are in the wrong pew here, Squire," said he; "you are, upon my
soul. If you think to sketch the English in a way any one will stop to
look at, you have missed a figur', that's all. You can't do it nohow;
you can't fix it. There is no contrasts here, no variation of colours,
no light and shade, no nothin'. What sort of a pictur' would straight
lines of an