ges of good society. "What a charming picture," said Harry
Benson; "I swear it is sublime!" "Yes," said Ashburner, poetically,
"such a scene as that disgusts one with the noise and bustle and
confounded nonsense of city life." "True," said Karl, who suddenly
imagined himself for some reason a very wise and exemplary individual, a
sort of martyr for principle; "you fellows have no idea of the happiness
of a plain country gentleman, living without care or ceremony--having
none of the restraints of society, none of your artificial
wants--everything simple and unsophisticated. Why, if you knew what it
was, you'd give up all thoughts of town, and be living in the country
before another month is past."

This speech of Karl was all very fine, but unfortunately it was rather
long, and before Ashburner and Harry Benson could promise the simple,
unsophisticated, contented, happy country gentleman before them, that
they would follow his wise example, they had time to remember, one, that
about three hours before he had heard the same gentleman complain of the
difficulty of getting servants, shops, &c., in the (American) country;
and the other, that, "to tell the truth, the country was all very well
about sundown, but was deuced dull and uncomfortable on rainy days."
Ashburner, however, felt that the remarks of his host should not be
thrown away, at least before his face; so he looked around for a
subject, and politely began to talk of farming. On their right lay a
newly-ploughed field, over which a workman was passing with measured
stride, sowing some kind of grain on the fresh-turned soil, and close
behind him, anxious to cover the seed before finishing his day's work,
came another laborer with the harrow. Ashburner noticed this, and it
struck him that it was just the topic he wanted; so, turning to Karl, he
said, pointing to the workman, "You do not follow the classical rule of
agriculture, Mr. Benson; you remember Plautus: "_Nam semper occant,
prius, quam sarriunt, rustici._"

"Very good," said Karl, "but I did not remember it--where is it from?"

"From the Captives," replied Ashburner; "don't you remember the slave
Tyndavas uses it, when old Hegio tells him he is a sower and harvester
of crime?"

"Oh yes, I believe you are right; but to tell the truth, I'm not much of
an admirer of Plautus."

"Indeed," replied Ashburner; "why I thought you would admire him
extremely; for my part I like his bold unpolished comedies; if it w