s. These
cabins or hovels are built of logs, and are very low and small,
generally consisting of only one or two rooms. I saw none that were
whitewashed or painted, and nothing like order or regularity was
perceptible about them, all seeming to be huddled together as if they
happened there by accident, and were obliged to keep at close quarters
in order to avoid freezing during the terrible winters. Some of them
are not unlike the city of Eden in Martin Chuzzlewit. The entire
absence of every thing approaching taste, comfort, or rural beauty in
the appearance of these villages; the weird and desolate aspect of the
boggy and grass-grown streets; the utter want of interest in progress
or improvement on the part of the peasantry who inhabit them, are well
calculated to produce a melancholy impression of the condition of
these poor people. How can it be otherwise, held in bondage as they
have been for centuries, subject to be taxed at the discretion of
their owners; the results of their labors wrested from them; no
advance made by the most enterprising and intelligent of them without
in some way subjecting them to new burdens? Whatever may be the result
of the movement now made for their emancipation, it certainly can not
be more depressing than the existing system of serfage. Looking back
over the scenes of village life I had witnessed in France and
Germany--the neat vine-covered cottages, the little flower-gardens,
the orchards and green lanes, the festive days, when the air resounded
to the merry voices of laughing damsels and village beaux--

"The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made"--

the joyous dancers out on the village green, the flaunting banners and
wreaths of flowers hung in rich profusion over the cross-roads--with
such scenes as these flitting through my memory, I could well
understand that there is an absolute physical servitude to which men
can be reduced, that, in the progress of generations, must crush down
the human soul, and make life indeed a dreary struggle. In the
splendor of large cities, amid the glitter and magnificence of palaces
and churches, the varied paraphernalia of aristocracy and wealth, and
all the excitements, allurements, and novelties apparent to the
superficial eye, the real condition of the masses is not perceptible.
They must be seen in the country--in their far-off villages and homes
throughout the broad land; there you f