canopy erected, open on all sides, in which was laid a charming banquet; a military band from Stockington barracks playing during the time.  Here Sir Simon made a speech as rapturously received as that to the farmers.  It was to the effect, that all the old privileges of wandering in the grove, and angling, and boating on the river were restored.  The inn was already rebuilt in a handsome Elizabethan style, larger than before, and to prevent it ever becoming a fane of intemperance, he had there posted as landlord, he hoped for many years to come, his old friend and benefactor, William Watson.  William Watson should protect the inn from riot, and they themselves the groves and river banks from injury.

Long and loud were the applauses which this announcement occasioned.  The young people turned out upon the green for a dance, and in the evening, after an excellent tea, the whole company descended the river to Stockington in boats and barges decorated with boughs and flowers, and singing a song made by William Watson for the occasion, called “The Health of Sir Simon, last and first of his Line!”

Years have rolled on.  The groves and river banks and islands of Rockville are still greatly frequented, but are never known to be injured:  poachers are never known there, for four reasons.  First, nobody would like to annoy the good Sir Simon; secondly, game is not very numerous there; thirdly, there is no fun in killing it, where there is no resistance; and fourthly, it is vastly more abundant in other proprietors’ demesnes, and it is fun to kill it there, where it is jealously watched, and there is a chance of a good spree with the keepers.

And with what different feelings does the good Sir Simon look down from his lofty eyrie, over the princely expanse of meadows, and over the glittering river, and over the stately woods to where Great Stockington still stretches farther and farther its red brick walls, its red-tiled roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting chimneys.  There he sees no haunts of crowded enemies to himself or any man.  No upstarts, nor envious opponents, but a past family of human beings, all toiling for the good of their families and their country.  All advancing, some faster, some slower, to a better education, a better social condition, a better conception of the principles of art and commerce, and a clearer recognition of their rights and duties, and a more cheering faith in the upward tendency of humanity.

Looking on this interesting scene from his distant and quiet home, Sir Simon sees what blessings flow—­and how deeply he feels them in his own case—­from a free circulation, not only of trade, but of human relations.  How this corrects the mischiefs, moral and physical, of false systems and rusty prejudices;—­and he ponders on schemes of no ordinary beauty and beneficence yet to reach his beloved town through them.  He sees lecture halls and academies, means of sanitary purification, and delicious recreation, in which baths,