I continued in the same spot for half an hour, vaguely, and
by fits, contemplating the image of this wanderer, and drawing,
from outward appearances, those inferences with respect to the
intellectual history of this person, which experience affords
us. I reflected on the alliance which commonly subsists between
ignorance and the practice of agriculture, and indulged myself
in airy speculations as to the influence of progressive
knowledge in dissolving this alliance, and embodying the dreams
of the poets. I asked why the plough and the hoe might not
become the trade of every human being, and how this trade might
be made conducive to, or, at least, consistent with the
acquisition of wisdom and eloquence.

Weary with these reflections, I returned to the kitchen to
perform some household office. I had usually but one servant,
and she was a girl about my own age. I was busy near the
chimney, and she was employed near the door of the apartment,
when some one knocked. The door was opened by her, and she was
immediately addressed with "Pry'thee, good girl, canst thou
supply a thirsty man with a glass of buttermilk?" She answered
that there was none in the house. "Aye, but there is some in
the dairy yonder. Thou knowest as well as I, though Hermes
never taught thee, that though every dairy be an house, every
house is not a dairy." To this speech, though she understood
only a part of it, she replied by repeating her assurances, that
she had none to give. "Well then," rejoined the stranger, "for
charity's sweet sake, hand me forth a cup of cold water." The
girl said she would go to the spring and fetch it. "Nay, give
me the cup, and suffer me to help myself. Neither manacled nor