dependent village, every one of whom was of the Roman Catholic creed.

I have stood, not long ago, upon a beautiful elevation in that demesne,
and, on looking around me, I saw nothing but a deserted and gloomy
country. The happy village was gone--razed to the very foundations--the
demesne was a solitude--the songs of the reapers and mowers had
vanished, as it were, into the recesses of memory, and the magnificent
palace, dull and lonely, lay as if it were situated in some land of the
dead, where human voice or footstep had not been heard for years.

The stranger, who had gone out to view the town, found, during that
survey, little of this absence of employment, and its consequent
destitution, to disturb him. Many things, it is true, both in the town
and suburbs, were liable to objection.

Abundance there was; but, in too many instances, he could see, at a
glance, that it was accompanied by unclean and slovenly habits, and that
the processes of husbandry and tillage were disfigured by old
usages, that were not only painful to contemplate, but disgraceful to
civilization.

The stranger was proceeding down the town, when he came in contact with
a ragged, dissipated-looking young man, who had, however, about him the
evidences of having seen better days. The latter touched his hat to him,
and observed, "You seem to be examining our town, sir?"

"Pray, what is your name?" inquired the stranger, without seeming to
notice the question.

"Why, for the present, sir," he replied, "I beg to insinuate that I am