NOVE31BER. 313 



ness to know the bitterness of " the labour that is 

 done under the sun," there are none that I can 

 more feelingly sympathise with than the daily way- 

 farers ; especially at this season of shortening days, 

 frequent storms and growing cold. I do not mean 

 the wealthy, the lazy, and luxurious viatores that, in 

 carriage, or on steed, traverse the king's highways, 

 in great bodily comfort, and, after a few hours' 

 career, alight in elegant homes or well-garnished 

 inns, and stretching themselves at their ease, with 

 every requisite of viand, wine, and feather-bed at 

 command, 



Think themselves great travellers, 

 Invincible and bold : 



but I mean all those who, being of the poor, are 

 " never to cease from the land ;" and whom, whether 

 we be seated at our table, circling our fires in social 

 mirth, or quietly laid in our beds, we may be sure 

 are scattered in a thousand places on our great roads, 

 be it summer or winter, day or night, as plodding, 

 as full of trouble, as weary, and as picturesque as 

 ever. 



Poor honest souls ! their very misery, their age, 

 their poverty, their ruggedness, their stooping figures, 

 and ragged array, make pleasant pictures to the eye; 

 and if not for their suffering humanity, yet for the 

 variety they give to our journey ings, we ought to 

 spare them a little sympathy. I must confess, that 

 when I have been shut up in a great town for some 

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