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hereditary lord of the soil. The family always come to church en prince.* They were rolled majestically along in a carriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver radiance from every part of the harness, where a crest could possibly be placed.

5. A fat coachman in a three-cornered hat, richly laced, and a flaxen wig, curling close round his rosy face, was seated on the box, with a sleek Danish dog beside him. Two footmen, in gorgeous liveries, with huge bouquets, and gold-headed canes, lolled behind. The carriage rose and sunk on its long springs with peculiar stateliness of motion. The very horses champed their bits, arched their necks, and glanced their eyes more proudly than common horses; either because they had got a little of the family feeling, or were reined up more tightly than ordinary.

6. I could not but admire the style with which this splendid pageant was brought up to the gate of the churchyard. There was a vast effect produced at the turning of an angle of the wall;-a great smacking of the whip; straining and scrambling of the horses; glistening of harness, and flashing of wheels through gravel. This was the moment of triumph and vainglory to the coachman. The horses were urged and checked until they were fretted into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing trot, dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of villagers, sauntering quietly to church, opened precipitately to the right and left, gaping in vacant admiration. On reaching the gate the horses were pulled up with a suddenness that produced an immediate stop, and almost threw them on their haunches.

7. There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to alight, open the door, pull down the steps, and prepare everything for the descent on earth of this august family. The old citizen first emerged his round red face from out the door, looking about him with the pompous air of a man accustomed to rule on 'Change, and shake the Stock Market with a nod.

*In princely style.

His consort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess, but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of a broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with her; and she liked the world. She had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, fine children, everything was fine about her; it was nothing but driving about, and visiting and feasting. Life was to her a perpetual revel; it was one long Lord Mayor's day.

8. Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They certainly were handsome; but had a supercilious air, that chilled admiration, and disposed the spectator to be critical. They were ultra-fashionable in dress; and, though no one could deny the richness of their decorations, yet their appropriateness might be questioned amidst the simplicity of a country church. They descended loftily from the carriage, and moved up the line of peasantry with a step that seemed dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an excursive glance around, that passed coldly over the burly faces of the peasantry, until they met the eyes of the nobleman's family, when their countenances immediately brightened into smiles, and they made the most profound and elegant courtesies; which were returned in a manner that showed they were but slight acquaintances.

9. I must not forget the two sons of this aspiring citizen, who came to church in a dashing curricle, with outriders. They were arrayed in the extremity of the mode, with all that pedantry of dress which marks the man of questionable pretensions to style. They kept entirely by themselves, eyeing every one askance that came near them, as if measuring his claims to respectability; yet they were without conversation, except the exchange of an occasional cant phrase. They even moved artificially; for their bodies, in compliance with the caprice of the day, had been disciplined into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art had done everything to accomplish them as men of fashion, but nature had denied them the nameless grace.

10. I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures of these two families, because I considered them specimens of what is often to be met with in this country-the unpretending great, and the arrogant little. I have no respect for titled rank, unless it be accompanied with true nobility of soul; but I have remarked in all countries where artificial distinctions exist, that the very highest classes are always the most courteous and unassuming. Those who are well assured of their own standing, are least apt to trespass on that of others; whereas, nothing is so offensive as the aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself by humiliating its neighbor.

11. As I have brought these families into contrast, I must notice their behavior in church. That of the nobleman's family was quiet, serious, and attentive. Not that they appeared to have any fervor of devotion, but rather a respect for sacred things, and sacred places, inseparable from good breeding. The others, on the contrary, were in a perpetual flutter and whisper; they betrayed a continual consciousness of finery, and a sorry ambition of being the wonders of a rural congregation.

12. The old gentleman was the only one really attentive to the service. He took the whole burden of family devotion upon himself, standing bolt upright and uttering the responses with a loud voice, that he might be heard all over the church. It was evident that he was one of those thorough church and king men, who connect the idea of devotion and loyalty; who consider the Deity, somehow or other, of the government party, and religion a very excellent sort of thing, that ought to be countenanced and kept up."

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13. When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more by way of example to the lower orders, to show them, that, though so great and wealthy, he was not above being religious as I have seen a turtle-fed Alderman swallow publicly a basin of charity soup, smacking his lips at every mouthful, and pronouncing it "excellent food for the poor."

14. When the service was at an end, I was curious to wit

ness the several exits of my groups. The young noblemen and their sisters, as the day was fine, preferred strolling home across the fields, chatting with the country people as they went. The others departed as they came, in grand parade. Again were the equipages wheeled up to the gate. There was again the smacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, and the glittering of harness. The horses started off almost at a bound; the villagers again hurried to right and left; the wheels threw up a cloud of dust; and the aspiring family was wrapt out of sight in a whirlwind,

LIKING AND DISLIKING.

1. YE who know the reason, tell me
How it is that instinct still
Prompts the heart to like- -or like not-
At its own capricious will!
Tell me by what hidden magic
Our impressions first are led

Into liking or disliking

Oft before a word be said?

2. Why should smiles sometimes repel us?
Bright eyes turn our feelings cold?
What is that which comes to tell us
All that glitters is not gold?
Oh-no feature, plain or striking,
But a power we cannot shun
Prompts our liking, or disliking,
Ere acquaintance hath begun!

3. Is it instinct-or some spirit

Which protects us-and controls
Every impulse we inherit,
By some sympathy of souls?

Is it instinct ?-is it nature?

Or some freak, or fault of chance,
Which our liking-or disliking-
Limits to a single glance?

4. Like presentiment of danger,

Through the sky no shadow flings;
Or that inner sense, still stranger,
Of unseen-unutter'd things!

Is it-oh, can no one tell me,
No one show sufficient cause,
Why our likings-and dislikings-
Have their own instinctive laws?

LIFE IS SWEET.

1. "OH, life is sweet!" said a merry child;
"And I love, I love to roam

In the meadows green, 'neath the sky serene-
Oh! the world is a fairy home.

There are trees hung thick with blossoms fair,
And flowers gay and bright;

There's the moon's clear ray, and the sun-lit day-
Oh, the world is a world of light!"

2. "Oh, life is sweet!" said a gallant youth,
As he conned the storied page;
And he pondered on the days by-gone,
And the fame of a former age.
There was hope in his bright and beaming eye,
And he longed for riper years;

He clung to life-he dared its strife

He felt, nor dread, nor fears.

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