COUNTRY LIFE.

It is most undeniably true, "that there is no place like England,"
for men who are in "easy circumstances," and who therefore think no
more of direct or indirect taxation, and of those multitudinous
burthens which highly-civilized life imposes, than a besom-maker's
ass does of the load under which it daily journeys. But how many
thousands are there (children of sad parents -- Toil and Sorrow) who
find their utmost efforts scarcely sufficient to keep them out of the
debtor's prison! Continual gloom fills the chambers of their hearts;
the sun bestows its cheering rays in vain; and all the gay and
beautiful influences of the bright world of Nature fail to inspirit
him whose every energy is directed to the task of raising his family
beyond the threatening grasp of Want. In his few moments of
relaxation, when those whom he loves -- for whom he is toiling unto
death -- hang around him with gentle fondness; in those sweet
moments, when love unutterable beams through the glistening eye, and
tender solicitude watches the care-worn face, seeking to win one
happy smile -- even then, he dare not give himself up to joy. The
thought is never absent from him that life perhaps is ebbing fast;
the very labours to which his only hope of income is attached, are
gradually wearing him down to the grave; and when he is no more, what
shall be the lot of those whose beaming faces smile so sweetly? What
struggles, what miseries are in store for the beloved wife, and those
young and innocent daughters whose hearts are full of him! No! he
dare not give himself up to joy; he smiles in answer to their
endearments -- but it is rather a shadow than a sunbeam that passes
across his countenance.

How many thousands are there in England so circumstanced, who curse