e commanding officer, his office is a
garrison, dominating the surrounding district. He is able, in most
cases, to defy the confessional and the altar; because he wields
an engine of terror generally more powerful over the mind of the
peasantry than the terrors of the world to come. Armed with the 'rules
of the estate' and with a notice to quit, the agent may have almost
anything he demands, short of possession of the farm and the home of
the tenant. The notice to quit is like a death warrant to the family.
It makes every member of it tremble and agonise, from the grey-headed
grandfather and grandmother, to the bright little children, who read
the advent of some impending calamity in the gloomy countenances and
bitter words of their parents. The passion for the possession of land
is the chord on which the agent plays, and at his touch it vibrates
with 'the deepest notes of woe.' By the agent of an improving landlord
it is generally touched so cunningly, that its most exquisite torture
cannot easily be proved to be a grievance. He presents an alternative
to the tenant; he does less than the law allows. He could strike a
mortal blow, but he lends a helping hand. Resistance entails ruin;
compliance secures friendship. Give up the old _status_, and accept
a new one: cease to stand upon _right_, consent to hang upon _mercy_,
and all may be well.

Passing a cottage by the road-side, one of the kindest and best of
those agents said to me, 'See with what infatuation these people cling
to their old places! There is a man in that dilapidated cabin, with
only one acre of ground. It is an eyesore. I have offered him a nice
new slated cottage with ten acres, within a short distance, and he
obstinately refuses to quit.'

Why did he refuse? I suppose, because the place was _his own_. The
house was probably built by his father; it is the house in which he
was born, endeared to him, no doubt, by many powerful associations,
little appreciated by those who never condescend to read the 'simple
annals of the poor.' He felt, that if, like his neighbours, he moved
into a house built by the landlord, he would cease to be a free man,
and would pass under the yoke of a _master._ I was with some visitors
in one of the new cottages. The wife of the cottier with smiles
assented to all that was said as to the neatness and comfort of the
place. I thought the smiles were forced. I was last in going out, and
I heard her heave a heavy sigh. Perhaps sh