hear no strains of country drollery,
and no characters of curious or eccentric humor; all is dull, plodding,
and lumpish.

But go forth, my masters, to a greater distance from the luminous
capital of England; get away into the Midland and more Northern
counties, where the pride of greatness is not so palpably before the
poor man's eyes--where the peasantry and villagers are numerous enough
to keep one another in countenance; and there you shall find the English
peasant a "happier and a wiser man." Sunday-schools, and village
day-schools, give him at least the ability to read the Bible. There, the
peasant feels that he is a man; he speaks in a broad dialect, indeed,
but he is "a fellow of infinite jest." Hear him in the hay-field, in the
corn-field, at the harvest-supper, or by the village ale-house fire, if
he be not very refined, he is, nevertheless, a very independent fellow.
Look at the man indeed! None of your long, lanky fellows, with a sleepy
visage; but a sturdy, square-built chap, propped on a pair of legs, that
have self-will, and the spirit of Hampden in them, as plain as the ribs
of the gray-worsted stockings that cover them. What thews, what sinews,
what a pair of _calves_! why, they more resemble a couple of full-grown
_bulls_! See to his salutation, as he passes any of his neighbors--hear
it. Does he touch his hat, and bow his head, and look down, as the great
man goes by in his carriage? No! he leaves that to the cowed bumpkin of
the south. He looks his rich-neighbor full in the face, with a fearless,
but respectful gaze, and bolts from his manly breast a hearty, "Good day
to ye, sir!" To his other neighbor, his equal in worldly matters, he
extends his broad hand, and gives him a shake that is felt to the bottom
of the heart. "Well, and how are you, John?--and how's Molly, and all
the little ankle-biters?--and how goes the pig on, and the garden--eh?"

Let me hear the dialogue of those two brave fellows; there is the soul
of England's brightest days in it. I am sick of slavish poverty on the
one hand, and callous pride on the other. I yearn for the sound of
language breathed from the lungs of humble independence, and the
cordial, earnest greetings of poor, but warm-hearted men, as I long for
the breeze of the mountains and the sea. Oh! I doubt much if this

Bold peasantry, a country's pride,

is lowered in its tone, both of heart-wholeness, boldness, and
affection, by the harsh times and harsh meas