yet that made any thing worth speakin of.  Then, as for preachin, why church and dissenters are pretty much tarred with the same stick, they live in the same pastur with their flocks; and, between ’em, its fed down pretty close I tell you.  What would you advise me to do with him?  Well, says I, I’ll tell you if you won’t be miffy with me.  Miffy with you indeed, said he, I guess I’ll be very much obliged to you; it tante every day one gets a chance to consult with a person of your experience—­I count it quite a privilege to have the opinion of such an understandin man as you be.  Well, says I, take a stick and give him a real good quiltin, jist tantune him like blazes, and set him to work.—­What does the critter want? you have a good farm for him, let him go and airn his bread; and when he can raise that, let him get a wife to make butter for it; and when he has more of both than he wants, let him sell em and lay up his money, and he will soon have his bread buttered on both sides—­put him to, eh! why put him to the plough, the most nateral, the most happy, the most innocent, and the host healthy employment in the world.  But, said the old-man (and he did not look over half pleased) markets are so confounded dull, labor so high, and the banks and great folks a swallerin all up so, there don’t seem much encouragement for farmers, its hard rubbin, now-a-days, to live by the plough—­he’ll be a hard workin poor man all his days.  Oh! says I, if he wants to get rich by farmin, be can do that, too.  Let him sell his wheat, and eat his oatmeal and rye; send his beef, mutton and poultry to market, and eat his pork and potatoes; make his own cloth, weave his own linen, and keep out of shops, and he’ll soon grow rich—­there are more fortins got by savin than by makin, I guess, a plaguy sight—­he cant eat his cake and have it too, that’s a fact.  No, make a farmer of him, and you will have the satisfaction of seeing him an honest, an independent, and a respectable member of society—­more honest than traders, more independent than professional men, and more respectable than either.

Ahem! says Marm Drivvle, and she began to clear her throat for action; she slumped down her nittin, and clawed off her spectacles, and looked right straight at me, so as to take good aim.  I seed a regular norwester a bruin, I knew it would bust somewhere sartan, and make all smoke agin, so I cleared out and left old Drivvle to stand the squall.  I conceit he must have had a tempestical time of it, for she had get her Ebenezer up, and looked like a proper sneezer.  Make her Johnny a farmer, eh!  I guess that was too much for the like o’ her to stomach.

Pride, squire, continued the Clockmaker, (with such an air of concern, that, I verily believe, the man feels an interest in the welfare of a Province, in which he has spent so long a time,) Pride, Squire, and a false pride, too, is the ruin of this country, I hope I may be skinned if it tante.