Much has been said, and much has been written, both against the farmers of the present day, and in their defence. Surely the condemnation and the approbation have both been too general. It is often urged that all the distress among that class of people is owing to their altered notions, their finery, and their ambition. It has also been urged with truth, that there is no reason why a large capitalist who invests his money in agricultural speculations should be condemned to eat bread and cheese, and to wear a smock-frock; and his wife to churn, bake, and feed her chickens. The fault appears to be that sufficient regard is not paid to the difference of capital requisite for a large and a small farm. The small shop-keeper in a narrow alley does not feel himself called upon to make the same appearance, or to indulge in the same luxuries, as the proprietor of one of the brilliant magazines in Regent Street, or Bond Street; but the small farmer strives to vie with the large one, and would be ashamed to see his family appear at church less well dressed, than that of a man whom he considers in the same rank of life as himself. Dame Foster was, as usual, one afternoon sitting at her cottage window, whence she commanded a view down the village street, which enabled her to beguile the tedious hours by reporting to her blind companions each little village incident. She saw Mrs. Otley draw near, accompanied by her children, and a girl who attended upon them. Old Sarah could not help remarking that Mrs. Otley was more dressed out than ever Mrs. Mowbray used to be. "It is a pity folks do not know their own places. I remember the time when Mr. Otley's mother--old Mrs. Otley that's dead and gone--used to wear her black satin bonnet and her red cloak just as I did; only her cloak was handsomer, and the satin was a richer satin, and she was never forced to wear them till they were shabby. She looked respectable at all times; and she kept as warm a house as anybody in the parish--plenty for her own family and for anybody who was in want. When you were courting me, Nicholas, you used to work with old Farmer Otley, and I dare say, if you had gone on with him, you would not have married for some years longer. I don't justly mind how it was, but you and he came to words, and you went off to Farmer Lightfoot, and he did not board nor lodge his men; and I remember well you said 'twas all so different from old Mrs. Otley's comfortable hot suppers, and her good clean bed, and her warm fire-side to sit by of an evening, that you resolved you would have a home of your own, and you said it would not cost you much more to have a cottage to yourself than to hire a single room. Ah! it was all very well, and we got on pretty middling; but it was a good while before we gathered things comfortable about us. We often used to say that if we had waited another two or three years we should have begun quite before-hand with the world. Do you remember,