by which the hearts of those who lie under so smooth a surface and so fair an outside have been agitated.  The image of an unruffled sea has still remained; but my fancy has penetrated into the depths of that sea,—­with accompanying thoughts of shipwreck, of the destruction of the mariner’s hopes, the bones of drowned men heaped together, monsters of the deep, and all the hideous and confused sights which Clarence saw in his dream.

Nevertheless, I have been able to return (and who may not?) to a steady contemplation of the benign influence of such a favourable Register lying open to the eyes of all.  Without being so far lulled as to imagine I saw in a village church-yard the eye or central point of a rural Arcadia, I have felt that with all the vague and general expressions of love, gratitude, and praise, with which it is usually crowded, it is a far more faithful representation of homely life as existing among a community in which circumstances have not been untoward, than any report which might be made by a rigorous observer deficient in that spirit of forbearance and those kindly prepossessions, without which human life can in no condition be profitably looked at or described.  For we must remember that it is the nature of vice to force itself upon notice, both in the act and by its consequences.  Drunkenness, cruelty, brutal manners, sensuality and impiety, thoughtless prodigality and idleness, are obstreperous while they are in the height and heyday of their enjoyment; and when that is passed away, long and obtrusive is the train of misery which they draw after them.  But on the contrary, the virtues, especially those of humble life, are retired; and many of the highest must be sought for or they will be overlooked.  Industry, economy, temperance, and cleanliness, are indeed made obvious by flourishing fields, rosy complexions, and smiling countenances; but how few know anything of the trials to which men in a lonely condition are subject, or of the steady and triumphant manner in which those trials are often sustained, but they themselves?  The afflictions which peasants and rural citizens have to struggle with are for the most part secret; the tears which they wipe away, and the sighs which they stifle,—­this is all a labour of privacy.  In fact their victories are to themselves known only imperfectly; for it is inseparable from virtue, in the pure sense of the word, to be unconscious of the might of her own prowess.  This is true of minds the most enlightened by reflection; who have forecast what they may have to endure, and prepared themselves accordingly.  It is true even of these, when they are called into action, that they necessarily lose sight of their own accomplishments and support their conflicts in self-forgetfulness and humility.  That species of happy ignorance, which is the consequence of these noble qualities, must exist still more frequently, and in a greater degree, in those persons to whom duty has never been