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Who will pretend to &longs;ay that early ri&longs;ing does
not afford us many plea&longs;ures, and contribute to our
health?—how charming to &longs;ee the beauteous orb of
day, ri&longs;ing &longs;upremely bright, to enliven nature, and
tinge with gold the lofty mountains' tops.—The
country is the place to enjoy the&longs;e beauties; but even
near London we may find plea&longs;ant walks.—I had
a&longs;cended a hill—how charming was the pro&longs;pect—
fields crowned with ri&longs;ing plenty; the pea&longs;ants
blithly &longs;inging as they labour.—The&longs;e people &longs;eem
happy, but they are not to be envied; they work
hard for their bread, and if their rude, unpoli&longs;hed
minds are callous and unfeeling in di&longs;tre&longs;s, they are
likewi&longs;e in&longs;en&longs;ible to many of the plea&longs;ures that await
them; the works of nature afford them no
&longs;atisfaction, becau&longs;e they cannot contemplate their
beauties; yet their minds are &longs;uited to their &longs;tation;
refinement would be no ble&longs;&longs;ing to them, and the
be&longs;t &longs;ecurity the pea&longs;ant has for happine&longs;s, is ignorance.

The&longs;e were my reflections, as I rambled towards
Hamp&longs;tead.

Give me a draught of milk, my dear, &longs;aid I, to
a ro&longs;y dam&longs;el.—She blu&longs;hed, curt&longs;ied aukwardly,
and complied—&longs;he trembled as &longs;he pre&longs;ented it.

Were you ever in love? &longs;aid I, as I took the milk.

Never but once, and plea&longs;e your honor.

And are you not in love now?

No.

No! and how happens that?

I am going to be married to-morrow.

And you don't think love nece&longs;&longs;ary in matrimony?

Father &longs;ays I &longs;hall love my hu&longs;band as &longs;oon as I
am married,

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And pray who was you in love with?

Colin; his cottage was clo&longs;e by ours; we were
born on the &longs;ame day, and when we were children
we u&longs;ed to play together. If Colin had &longs;ome fruit
he would &longs;ave a part for me; and when &longs;trange gentlemen
or ladies gave him half-pence, he &longs;hared them
with me: when we grew older, he would tend my
&longs;heep, watch my young lambs, and bring home my
cows; and if I'd had a brother, your honor, he
could not have been kinder, nor, I am &longs;ure, I could
not have loved him better; &longs;o he axed father to let
us be married; but Colin was but a &longs;hepherd's boy,
and I was father's only child, &longs;o he &longs;aid he could
give me fifty pounds, and I might have a match better
than Colin—&longs;o we ki&longs;&longs;ed and parted—and to-morrow
I am to be married to farmer Will&longs;on, who
is old and lame, but he &longs;ays I &longs;hall have a mort of
fine things—tho', to tell the truth, I had rather
wear my own lin&longs;ey jacket, and be married to Colin.

And &longs;o you &longs;hall, my &longs;weet &longs;imple ru&longs;tic, &longs;aid I—
Her father was one of my tenants—I took out my
pocket-book, wrote a line or two on my tablet, and
bade her give it to her father.

What a cur&longs;e this pride is, &longs;aid I, as I directed
my &longs;teps towards London—but that this haughty
dame &longs;hould &longs;toop to inhabit a cottage, is wondrous
&longs;trange—Why a peer of the realm could but have
made his daughter mi&longs;erable, to pre&longs;erve the dignity
of his hou&longs;e, but in the name of common &longs;en&longs;e,
what has a pea&longs;ant to do with pride of family?