gall with water; adds saltness to their bitter
bread; cloathing them in rags, and strewing ashes on their bare heads. To
our irremediable distress every small and pelting inconvenience came with
added force; we had strung our frames to endure the Atlean weight thrown on
us; we sank beneath the added feather chance threw on us, "the grasshopper
was a burthen." Many of the survivors had been bred in luxury--their
servants were gone, their powers of command vanished like unreal shadows:
the poor even suffered various privations; and the idea of another winter
like the last, brought affright to our minds. Was it not enough that we
must die, but toil must be added?--must we prepare our funeral repast
with labour, and with unseemly drudgery heap fuel on our deserted hearths
--must we with servile hands fabricate the garments, soon to be our
shroud?

Not so! We are presently to die, let us then enjoy to its full relish the
remnant of our lives. Sordid care, avaunt! menial labours, and pains,
slight in themselves, but too gigantic for our exhausted strength, shall
make no part of our ephemeral existences. In the beginning of time, when,
as now, man lived by families, and not by tribes or nations, they were
placed in a genial clime, where earth fed them untilled, and the balmy air
enwrapt their reposing limbs with warmth more pleasant than beds of down.
The south is the native place of the human race; the land of fruits, more
grateful to man than the hard-earned Ceres of the north,--of trees, whose
boughs are as a palace-roof, of couches of roses, and of the
thirst-appeasing grape. We need not there fear cold and hunger.

Look at England! the grass shoots up high in the meadows; but they are dank
and cold, unfit bed for us. Corn we have none, and the crude fruits cannot
support us. We must seek firing in the bowels of the earth, or the unkind
atmosphere will fill us with rheums and aches. The labour of hundreds of
thousands alone could make this inclement nook fit habitation for one man.
To the south then, to the sun!--where nature is kind, where Jove has
showered forth the contents of Amalthea's horn, and earth is garden.

England, late birth-place of excellence and school of the wise, thy
children are gone, thy glory faded! Thou, England, wert the triumph of man!
Small favour was shewn thee by thy Creator, thou Isle of the North; a
ragged canvas naturally, painted by man with alien colours; but the hues he
gave are faded, ne