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by its discrimination. The surgeon and parson are permitted and suffered an over-bred tenant shown off as a happy specimen of country gentility-an under-bred hanger-on encouraged as a safe

butt.

"If you don't like this dull work," said a gentleman to me, as we met for an instant by ourselves, in the breakfast-room of one of these last mentioned places, "put yourself into my gig to-morrow, "and come down to Liberty Hall!”

"Where is Liberty Hall?" asked I.

"Oh! it's a little box I have in these parts," said he. "We call "it Liberty Hall, and so will you. Will you come?"

I had a curiosity to visit a Liberty Hall, so I agreed-sent his servant in my chaise, and took his seat in the gig.

"Harriet will like you," said my new friend, eyeing me rather attentively as I jumped in; and then breaking off, he began with a loud voice--

"Is not the sea, made for the free?"

"We sing that to her," cried he, cracking his whip and driving off. "Who is Harriet ?" I enquired.

"Oh!" said he, singing the words over again," Oh! she's my "wife. Don't you know her?"

A few minutes after, he asked me if I were of age, and told me that my cousin had been a great friend of his. "Ah!" continued he," poor fellow! I thought he'd go; and so you are in for it."

I could not help observing to him in reply, that if his place only deserved its name, it could not have a fitter representative. He took to me amazingly on this, and declared, with a flourish of his whip, that he foresaw I should be its worthiest inmate.

Since the beginning of my tour, I had been puzzling my brains with plans of freedom. This new and pleasant acquaintance seemed to be plunging me, all of a sudden, into the very realities of my own air-built projects. Every thing promised well---liberty promised to be genuine, and I spun along the road in the highest spirits possible. We smoked cigars and sang songs all the way down. We talked too -my companion was a great talker; and I either answered or listened, as I chose. We had started late, but on my accidentally observing that this part of the country was entirely new to me, my good-natured friend took me a two hours drive out of his way, to see a view, which he pronounced to be the finest in the universe; so it was eight o'clock before we reached our destination, and quite dark of course, for it was in the month of December. The entrance door was open, and we rang twice before the servant made his appearance. "Where's your lady?" said his master.

"Out skaiting, my lord," was the reply.

"Hang her," cried he, walking carelessly up stairs," she'll "drown herself to a certainty!"

Past eight o'clock, and out skaiting on a cold December night, pitch dark! the thing seemed to me impossible. I could not refrain

from just stating to her husband these circumstances, but they did not appear to strike him; he merely observed that it was just like her. To come to the point at once, for otherwise I could make a long tale of it, after I had spent an hour in my room, on my return to the drawing-room, ready adorned for the evening, I found my friend roasting in a large easy chair in front of the fire, fast asleep, and still in his travelling dress. My entrance roused him, and starting up, he pulled the bell violently, said dinner should be on table in a second, and that he would be back with me in less. I waited, however, many seconds without either he or dinner making their appearance. At length the door opened, and a lady in a Turkish roquelaure entered the room, followed by several gentlemen, loaded with skaits and other skaiting appurtenances. In short, it was considerably past ten before we sat down to dinner.

I had meant to occupy some space in my account of this visit, and I even believe I could describe some good scenes here, but I am careful both of fatiguing myself and others, and I shall be content merely to detail some of the evils of liberty.---Our privileges were certainly unbounded; how then is it that to this I trace every cause of grievance which made one and all of the guests dissatisfied? Yet I remained here six weeks; and six months was, I believe, the very shortest period of the other gentlemen's visits. I could never discover what it was that gave life an interest here, but it was an interest that was subject to most dreary fits of ennui. Never was time wasted more completely or more systematically. We were given the freedom of the house, and we used and abused it accordingly-disregarded my lord, who disregarded us-made love to my lady, who, not to speak it profanely, made love to us-criticised her dress, her table, her establishment---railed at the servants, and the hours, and the irregularities, and ourselves mistimed their mistimings. We were capricious, and insolent, and ungrateful; were soothed out of humor, and soothed into humor; were made unfit for any other society, and impatient, yet pertinacious, of our own. We smoked every room in the house with our cigars, and complained of the nuisance---invaded the drawing-room with our dogs---broke the china---shot all the old family ancestors through the head for targets---spoiled the children, and then cursed their squalling.

I was myself a spoiled child when I quitted Liberty Hall, and was perhaps unequal to value fairly the enjoyments of a snug establishment. But no person or persons have a right to imagine their acquaintance will be satisfied with a mere snug establishment. Every man has his peculiar snuggeries; there is no other word for them, and no man in his senses, who makes these his pleasure, would consent to stir from his own fire side, where he can have them after his own heart. I was, therefore, quite unable to partake of the methodical luxuries of two excellent people, who were very solicitous to make their enjoyments mine. The whole house moved by clock-work. Every pursuit had its appointed period of the day. There were even drives and walks for the different seasons of the year: a dry path

through the plantation for a snowy day---the avenue for wet weather ---the high-road for sunshine.

I had a great respect for this well-regulated family, but I found it impossible to live on thus minuting out existence. From the first moment I entered, and found the good lady measuring out the lengths of her threads of colored worsteds for the flowers of her carpet work, I felt that my residence among them would be impertinent. It seems to me a degradation of our faculties to be thus addicted to mechanism, and swayed by the influence of a machine. My spirits were oppressed by this servility to form; I was in a constant terror of inadvertently infringing some of the sacred ordinances of the household. I dared never touch a book or newspaper, from a fear of disturbing some of the time immemorial arrangements of the apartments, nor even ask for a glass of water, lest I should shock some prejudice in favor of regularity.

This was the last house I visited at, and in taking leave of my reader I feel certain, that profiting by my experience, he will determine, like me, for the future to visit at no place but his own in the country.

WEEP NOT MY BRIDE!

Weep not my Bride, to be my Bride,
Say not that love is o'er,

That joy with maidenhood has died,
And I will love no more.

I'll love thee still, my bonny Bride,
Still love thee like a lover!

The roebuck loves the mountain-steep,
The cushat loves the glen,
The eagle loves his craggy keep,
Her russet hedge the wren---

So I love thee, my bonny Bride,
Still love thee like a lover!

The wild bee loves the heather-bell,
The blossom loves the tree,
The daisy loves the spring-tide well,
But not as I love thee!

As I love thee, my bonny Bride,
Still love thee like a lover!

When willows love to sigh no more,
And cypresses to pine,

When lovers love to die no more

For beauty such as thine,

I'll love no more my bonny Bride,
Love her not like a lover!

SELF-TRANSPORTATION, CALLED EMIGRATING.

Although our main objects in this work are nothing like politics or political economy, yet we mean to adhere to our expressed intention of occasionally calling the attention of our readers to the great points of national and domestic policy, as they may arise. We shall always aim rather at discussing the principles, than the details, of any proposed measure. There are many better channels for conveying detailed and minute information, than such a work as ours affords; but the weighing of the principles of any measure, and examining their scope and tendency, seems to us to be quite consistent, and in harmony with our main design. It is under this impression, that we are about to offer a few brief remarks upon a topic that has lately been brought before the public in different forms, and with various recommendations---we mean that of emigration. Proposals have been made by persons high in authority, and for whose opinions we must naturally entertain great respect, to cause our laborers to seek, by emigration, a better condition of life than this country, at present, is capable of affording; the whole of this scheme, bad in its principle as we think, proceeding upon the assumption that in England, Scotland, and Ireland especially, the laboring population is greatly redundant.

Into the details of this proposed attempt we have no design, as we have already hinted, to enter. Before we engage ourselves in considering its practicability, in what manner the emigrants are to be selected, or calculate the probabilities of the subsequent repayment of their out-fit, we should like, first of all, to be satisfied that our laborers actually are in the numerically redundant condition supposed, and then to consider in what manner the exportation of this live stock would operate upon the home markets. For our parts, we have come to the conclusion, that in no sense of the word can it be said, that in proportion to the actual quantity of the necessaries of life raised in England or Ireland, we have, to use the hateful phrase of the economists, a surplus population.

That the aspect of our domestic affairs, at the present moment, in Great Britain, is of the most singular and unprecedented nature, every body is ready to allow. Events of the most extraordinary and contradictory nature are every day springing up. The most extraordinary thing of all is, that every class of producers is complaining of the want of a market, that is, of the opportunity of barter. The manufacturer is starved for want of the corn of the agriculturist, and the farmer and his laborers poverty-stricken from the want of a remunerative price for the produce of the land---the warehouses at Manchester are loaded with clothing, which obtains no market at the most reduced prices; at the same time the weavers are perishing from nakedness and exposure, and begging for the means to cover them and their children. Every circumstance which we see, every statement which is made, goes to this; that whatever may be the causes for all these derangements in

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our affairs, nothing at all like dearth or scarcity is alleged to exist. And if this cannot be said, any scheme of emigration must be in the place first unnecessary, as there does not exist a greater number of persons than can be amply provided for; and in the second, that such a plan carried into any thing like extensive operation, must tend in the same degree to the disadvantage of those they leave behind. If there is abundance of food and clothing for all, while existing circumstances, whatever they may be, prevent their natural distribution, how will the matter be mended by sending away any portion of the consumers? What hope can be entertained that affairs would flow in a more regular channel in a population of ten than one of fifteen millions? If we have now bales of goods rotting in warehouses, and corn wasting in granaries, for want of proper channels of dispersion, why may not the people remain hungry and naked---why may not all the same causes of disorder continue in operation with a reduced population?

The history of the condition of our laborers, particularly our farm laborers, for the last century, has been one of gradual impoverishment and degradation. Every body who has enquired into the subject, has been struck by the fact, of the gradually increasing disproportion of the price of labor, to the price of necessaries. The laborer, who, a century ago, earned a subsistence which placed him very far above the pressure of want, and enabled him to obtain those comforts which procured for this country the almost proverbial character for good living, is, at the present, even when in full employ, reduced by the excessively low rate of his wages, to starvation and pauperism. We do not, now, refer to those violent depreciations and changes which have lately occurred, and which may be supposed to have operated to the disadvantage of the laborer, by the ruin of the capitalist---his employer; we leave these changes for the present out of the question, and allude only to the gradual and destructive alterations which have been made in the condition of the laborer, by causes which have been working slowly, though surely to produce these effects, for a long series of years. has not been any sudden operation which has caused these changes, but a permanent, enduring, and universal agency, which has reduced our agricultural laborers from their former almost enviable condition, to their present state of abject want, privation, and wretchedness.

Many curious and impressive statements have lately been before the public to establish this fact, that by a comparison of the prices of labor with the necessaries of life, the condition of our laborers has been gradually retrograding. High prices or low prices, war or peace, commerce or no commerce, they have been gradually sinking. The increasing burthens of the country, or some concurrent causes, seem to have worked in a certain and destructive manner to the annihilation of every degree of their comfort and former independence. We have been almost tempted to put in a tabular form the demonstrative proofs of this often repeated and melancholy assertion. A comparison of the rates and wages, with the prices of necessaries at different periods, would be conclusive. We shall content ourselves with the following:

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