‘I never was more in earnest in my life,’ said James Cheshire. It is true I do very well on this farm here, though it’s a cowdish situation; but from all I can learn, I can do much better in America. I can there farm a much better farm of my own. We can have a much finer climate than this Peak country, and our countrymen still about us. Now, I want to know what makes a man’s native land pleasant to him?—the kindness of his relations and friends. But then, if a man’s relations are not kind?—if they get a conceit into them, that because they are relations they are to choose a man’s wife for him, and sting him and snort at him because he has a will of his own?—why, then I say, God send a good big herring-pool between me and such relations! My relations, by way of showing their natural affection, spit spite and bitterness. You, dear wife and sister, have none of yourn to spite you. In the house we have peace and luv. Let us take the peace and luv, and leave the bitterness behind.’ There was a deep silence. ‘It is a serious proposal,’ at length said Jane, with tears in her eyes. ‘What says Nancy?’ asked James. ‘It is a serious proposal,’ said Nancy, ‘but it is good. I feel it so.’ There was another deep silence; and James Cheshire said, ‘Then it is decided.’ ‘Think of it,’ said Jane earnestly,—‘think well of it.’ ‘I have thought of it long and well, my dear. There are some of these chaps that call me relation that I shall not keep my hands off, if I stay amongst them,—and I fain would. But for the present I will say no more; but,’ added he, rising and bringing a book from his desk, ‘here is a book by one Morris Birkbeck, —read it, both of you, and then let me know your minds.’