APPENDIX. 567 



that I conceive your republic would be much better without an incor- 

 poration with Mexico. Conquer her if you please, and give her a 

 sound whipping ; but let that be all. Young Master Yankee has 

 now fairly passed the western Rubicon. Let him ponder well on the 

 heinous catalogue of political sins which his old, vicious, surly, and 

 manufacturing grandfather John presents to his view. The old 

 beast still sticks at nothing in order to open a market for his com- 

 merce. Steam drives him on to his utter ruin. He can now make 

 more goods than are enough for all the world. What is he to do ? 

 Notwithstanding the enormous telescope of Lord Rosse, he cannot 

 get any certain information that there are people in the moon in 

 want of manufactured goods. Could he ascertain that, I am con- 

 vinced he would manage to get up to the dear planet, set its rulers 

 at variance, and then cram down the throats of the people a new 

 constitutional charter, as he has done in Spain and Portugal. How- 

 ever, in the meantime, old Bull has certain indications that all his 

 sublunary splendour is not exactly made of the right stuff ; and a debt 

 of ^800,000,000 is no easy load to bear. His manufacturing dis- 

 tricts are just now in anything but a flourishing state, and the ope- 

 ratives begin to grumble. Ireland is in absolute famine ; and the 

 Highlands of Scotland are calling loud for food. 



Under all these revolting circumstances, I say then to grandson 

 Yankee, keep out of war ; have no national debt ; discourage steam 

 manufactories ; and bring your own lands into the highest possible 

 state of cultivation. 



Our winter is, and has been, most tremendous. Winter set in 

 about a month before Christmas, and the ice on my lake was nearly 

 a foot thick. A cold and pinching thaw then set in, and all the 

 snow disappeared ; and when the last of the ice on the lake had 

 broken up, a black frost succeeded without any snow, and at this 

 moment the ground is as hard as adamant. We have had a month 

 of fogs ; and here we have not had one glimpse of the sun for eighteen 

 days ! I don't know whether you are aware that, on the 2ist of 

 December we always give corn to the poor, in honour of St Thomas 

 the apostle. I have never failed to hear the wild and delightful song 

 of the stormcock (Mistletoe thrush) on that day. But this year not 



