My old neighbour, HENRY HOPE, is an instance of the good effect of a timely retreat into the country. After working many years at the hatter's trade, he began to show signs of primitive decay. He had contracted a stoop in the shoulders, and his complexion was of a dirty yellow. Without entirely giving up his business, he invested some of his savings in a little property four miles out of town. Every year found him more and more of a farmer, until last spring he sold out his whole mechanical establishment, and betook himself to the green fields. I lately visited him, and was entertained with the complacency of his air, as he took me over his grounds. "There,"

said he, "are my stacks of wheat; not more, perhaps, than six hundred bushels; but then my own, in every sense. There, on the right, you see I am putting up a new barn, and cover for my cattle. That spring-house of white stone is as cool as winter; the clear water trickles over the brick floor at all seasons. Near by, you may see my meadow, with the brook running through the midst of it. The double row of willows is to protect a causeway I have been making through that newly-drained swamp. But, come, I must not let you go till I have showed you my orchard, and explained my plans of grafting." So he ran on, descanting now on his stock, now on his poultry, exhibiting improved ploughs, and young hedges, until I was almost persuaded to turn farmer myself.

It is more than eighteen centuries since a Latin poet described, with enthusiasm, the lot of the husbandman:

"O happy, if he knew his happy state,

The swain who, free from business and debate,
Receives the easy food from nature's hand,
And just returns of cultivated land.

Unvex'd with quarrels, undisturb'd with noise,
The country king his peaceful realm enjoys—
Cool grots, and living lakes, the flowing pride
Of meads, and streams that through the valley glide,
And shady groves that easy sleep invite,

And, after toilsome days, a soft repose at night."*

A country where agriculture is the great pursuit, is always a country advancing in civilization. Our own land still spreads out before the enterprising young man so many millions of untilled acres, that it would seem to be a plain indication of Providence, that for some time to come we should be an agricultural people. There can be no serious comparison between the health, physical and moral, of men in a thriving, rural district, and any equal number pent up in manufacturing towns. In order to succeed in husbandry, great farms are by no means necessary. It has grown into a proverb, that men grow poor on large farms, and rich on small ones. But if a man wishes to do these things upon the widest scale, the West is all open before him, and he may sit down among thousands of acres.

* Virgil.

XXXIX.

THE WORKING-MAN'S SATURDAY EVENING.

"Come, evening, once again, season of peace;
Return, sweet evening, and continue long.
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west,
With matron step slow moving, while the night
Treads on thy sweeping train! one hand employ'd
In letting fall the curtain of repose

On bird and beast, the other charged for man
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day."

COWPER.

No one familiar with the aspect of towns inhabited by artisans, needs to be informed that the close of the week is marked by very striking peculiarities. As the ponderous engine of human labour slackens its revolutions, and at length stands still, and gentle rest begins to spread her wing over the haunts of toil, there is at once an addition made to the happiness of man, which no enthusiasm can well overvalue. In a few moments we may apply to the great capital or manufacturing town, the expressive verse from Wordsworth's famous sonnet on London Bridge.

"And all that mighty heart is lying still!"

The forge and the smithy are ceasing to smoke. The mighty arms and shafts moved by steam, are dropping into repose. The quick report of millions of manual utensils has terminated. Jaded animals, bowing their necks, are set free from the yoke; while innumerable sons and daughters of toil, released from the necessity of further work, are ready for rest or pleasure, for improvement or vice. The thought is pleasing. As I survey the crowded city, and allow my imagination to picture the details of the scene, I behold a thousand delightful images of domestic comfort.

Now, according to an extensively prevalent usage, the well-earned reward of labour is received. Now the anxieties of the tedious week are suspended. Families, separated during the preceding days, come together, better prepared than at other times to aid one another, and to enjoy one another's company. One unbroken day between two nights of unaccustomed repose, is a golden prize in expectation. The meeting of parents, brothers, sisters, children, sometimes of husband and wife, who have been kept apart by the stress of labour, is not without some points which deserve the poetic touch of a Crabbe or an Elliot. It is, with the virtuous, a season of hallowed affections.

Happy is that working-man who, when, at the week's end, he throws off, in the bath, the soils

of labour, can with equal ease lay aside the wrong emotions or evil habits of the same period, and with a clear conscience prepare for the day of rest! Happy is the youth who, when he comes home to greet his aged parents, and the sister of whom he is proud, feels that no tarnish has come over his heart! Happy the blooming girl, however lowly her calling, who enters the humble dwelling with the elastic tread of conscious innoBlessed family, where the call to rest is but the signal for the renewal of every kindly affection!

cence !

I know that with some, even in early life, the end of the week is the beginning of a frolic. The time when wages are received is apt to be a season of merriment if not of vice. In summer, multitudes, in every sort of hired vehicle, stream forth out of the various avenues of our cities and towns. In winter the streets resound till a late hour with the tread of idlers and debauchees. And in every season, Saturday night fills the taverns, oyster-houses, porter-cellars, and other resorts, with a double allowance of hale fellows. There is a triple consumption of tobacco and strong drink on these occasions. So that there is a dark side to the picture, as there is, indeed, to most pictures of human life. But even here, I find an illustration of some of my favourite positions about the conservative influence of the domestic institution. The worst men, I will con