old; and the road, though running along Watling Street, is also modern. But the ancient Watling Street is still traceable in part, for that great people made their roads as if they were to be as durable as they believed their empire would be. Of the four great Roman ways, we shall cross three in our journey by the Avon-Watling Street, where we now are, Ickneld Street, and the Fosse-way.

Here we will quit our river, and proceed up Watling Street, and across some fields to Lutterworth, which stands on a hill beside the Swift, a tributary of our river. These is nothing to call for notice on our way to Lutterworth, some three miles; and therefore we will strike across the fields the nearest way, taking the opportunity of having a little general gossip till we reach it. These fields will in themselves afford little more that is interesting or striking than any we have passed over. There are a few broad prospects, and some tracts of country that are pleasing in character, but on the whole the traveller will have considerable calls on his patience. And this he must learn to endure if he wishes to enjoy country scenery, and country life, wherever he bends his steps. A pedestrian, especially if he rambles alone, as every pedestrian must or ought to do sometimes, should "In solitary places be

Unto himself good company."

If he does thus learn to depend on himself for society, he will soon care little for the want of any other; but, to parody a saying of Montaigne's,you must for yourself, to be company to yourself, prepare yourself to entertain yourself. And this is best done by learning to draw all the enjoyment

that is possible out of present scenes and circumstances. It is surprising how much pleasure and instruction too the most commonplace neighbourhood will yield to those who know how to draw instruction from it. To the eye of a painter the dullest spot will afford some beauty: and where there is human life there need never be wanting matter to interest any one. It only requires a constant openness of heart and understanding to receive pleasure, and it will come. Dr. Burney calls a certain song "of the rogue Autolycus"nonsensical; yet it contains in fact a truth far deeper than many transcendentalisms. Not however to go beyond our text, we may venture to say that it imparts the best advice that was ever given to a pedestrian within the same limits :

This is true wisdom, in spite of the Doctor: and, happily, it is practicable to some extent. Black care, we know, often sits behind the horseman ; but the footman is to blame who lets her mount his knapsack. A country ramble should be as free as possible from care-it is a little break in our serious employments, a diversion from the stern business of the world, and all thought of them should be laid aside. To do so is both needful and wholesome. The more thoroughly we use the present hour the more fit shall we be for work when we get back to it, and the more cheerfully shall we return to it. Work indeed is enjoyment after a well spent country holiday.

A cheerful temper will in every way smooth the rambler's path. It should be his object in passing through a district to become as thoroughly acquainted with it as time will permit. The scenery, the antiquities, or the natural history, should not alone occupy our thoughts. The inhabitants are at least as much deserving of our observation and regard; and they will repay our best attention. The peasantry of the several counties of England have not been fairly compared and understood. It is not easy to know them; to their wealthy neighbours they are reserved and inaccessible in their genuine state; to strangers they are shy; and when they thus stand on their "manners they are exceedingly unnatural. Perhaps no one has a better chance of seeing them as they are than a pedestrian, who will meet them frankly and cheerfully. He falls in with them on the road; he often finds an excuse for looking into their cottages; and he may see as much as he pleases of their social habits by the fire-side of the village inn. Nor should any of these means be neglected, or any other that may occur. The wanderer should beware, if he really wishes to know them, of haughtiness or inquisitiveness. Undue familiarity he need not fear from them, as there is always respect and good feeling enough about the English peasant to prevent that. The secret of gaining the confidence of the countryman, as it is of every one else, is to respect his ways of thoughts and expression; and, if there be candour, that feeling will not be wanting. The surest way to shut out knowledge, as well as happiness, is to let the heart and the lip carry an everlasting sneer. Better by far like too much than

too little. And it ought never to be forgotten that every man, however humble or ignorant he may be, has feelings, affections, sympathies, and these should ever be treated with respect as holy things. He who cannot in his heart respond to the joys and sorrows of a poor man, had better avoid intercourse with him.

The leisurely rambler, and all rambling should be leisurely, Horace's maxim is as much for the pedestrian as for any one, "festina lente,”—the leisurely rambler will often be surprised at the curious information he will gather; the relics of old customs he will catch sight of; the clear thought, and original "mother wit," as well as the marvellous stupidity, and desperate ignorance, of those he encounters; the kindness, self-denial, and various virtues; with, alas, but too many opposing vices. One thing he will not fail to have -an intense and overpowering feeling of the need of some effort being made to enlighten (a word but too applicable, morally and mentally) our peasantry and to improve their condition. And he will inquire, in bitterness of heart, why those who alone can with hope of success adventure on the task let the paltry jealousies and the unholy strifes of party prevent them from earnest, anxious, and steady co-operation for so pure an object.

But I am plunging into most unreasonable depths, and therefore quit the subject, lest you quit me. I only meant, gentle reader, to point out what a large store of information, of pleasure, and of matter for serious thought, lay a little out of sight, perhaps, but to be found for the seeking, even in the dullest route; and how a cheerful

temper and an open heart would "make a sunshine in the shadiest place." And to illustrate this, I thought of saying sonfething about villagers, and village inns, and wakes, and gipsies, and so on, when I slipt almost at starting into that deep But you will be spared some weariness by

water.

it perhaps.