Our tavern-keeper, who was a very respectable farmer, left a good farm near Baldock in Hertfordshire, guided by Mr. Birkbeck's book, to find health, wealth, and freedom at Boulton-house {114} Prairie: of the two first both himself and family were quickly getting rid, while they were absolutely working each day like horses without one comfort left.--"How came you," said I, "to leave so good a farm as you had in England?" His answer was, "Mr. Birkbeck's book."--"You would be glad now to return?" added I. "Sir," said he, "we must not think that way; we have buried our property in getting here, and must here remain!" Such facts as these are worth a thousand flattering theories on the other side; and another may be here added,--perhaps a salutary caution to Mr. B. if this should be the first intimation--that the angry feelings of the poor people who had been entrapped by the deceptious colouring of his writings, flashed out in true English threats of tossing him in a blanket! I abstain from comment upon this, my business being to state facts. I forbear too from respect for a man of good natural abilities; misled himself by a sanguine temper which has been the cause of his misleading others: I will be silent too upon the subject of private differences, conceiving that public acts alone are those in which the public are interested, and ought to be inquisitive. Mr. Flower followed up his seasonable supply of water, with a call and invitation to his house, {115} which was gladly accepted; being much disgusted at the deplorable state of ill health, anxious looks, despair and discontent, depicted in so many faces around,--to relieve or even alleviate which we possessed no means.