e third. I observed another
phenomenon in the crescent moon of that region, the cause of
which I less understood. That appearance which Shakespear
describes as "the new moon, with the old moon in her lap," and
which I have heard ingeniously explained as the effect of _earth
light_, was less visible there than here.

Cuyp's clearest landscapes have an atmosphere that approaches
nearer to that of America than any I remember on canvas; but even
Cuyp's _air_ cannot reach the lungs, and, therefore, can only
give an idea of half the enjoyment; for it makes itself felt as
well as seen, and is indeed a constant source of pleasure.

Our walks were, however, curtailed in several directions by my
old Cincinnati enemies, the pigs; immense droves of them were
continually arriving from the country by the road that led to
most of our favourite walks; they were often fed and lodged in
the prettiest valleys,and worse still, were slaughtered beside
the prettiest streams. Another evil threatened us from the same
quarter, that was yet heavier. Our cottage had an ample piazza,
(a luxury almost universal in the country houses of America),
which, shaded by a group of acacias, made a delightful sitting-
room; from this favourite spot we one day perceived symptoms of
building in a field close to it; with much anxiety we hastened to
the spot, and asked what building was to be erected there.

"'Tis to be a slaughter house for hogs," was the dreadful reply.
As there were several gentlemen's houses in the neighbourhood, I
asked if such an erection might not be indicted as a nuisance.

"A what?"

"A nuisance," I repeated, and explained what I meant.

"No, no," was the reply, "that may do very well for your
tyrannical country, where a rich man's nose is more thought
of than a poor man's mouth; but hogs be profitable produce here,
and we be too free for such a law as that, I guess."

During my residence in America, little circumstances like the
foregoing often recalled to my mind a conversation I once held in
France with an old gentleman on the subject of their active
police, and its omnipresent gens d'armerie; "Croyez moi, Madame,
il n'y a que ceux, a qui ils ont a faire, qui les trouvent de
trop." And the old gentleman was right, not only in speaking of
France, but of the whole human family, as philosophers call us.
The well disposed, those whose own feeling of justice would
prevent their annoying others, will never complain of the
r