And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng; That the rude Village-inmates now disdain Those homely ties which rul'd their fathers long. Alas, your fathers did by other arts Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts. And led in other paths their ductile will; By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, Won them their ancient manners to revere, To prize their countries peace and heaven's due rites fulfil. My friend saw enough of this change in its progress to excite in him many melancholy forebodings in the latter part of his life. He knew how much local attachment was strengthened by the recollection of youthful sports and old customs; and he well understood how little men can be expected to love their country, who have no particular affection for any part of it. Holidays he knew attached people to the Church, which enjoined their observance; but he very much doubted whether Sunday Schools would have the same effect. In Beaumont and Fletcher's Play of the Prophetess, the countrymen discourse concerning the abdicated Emperor who has come to reside among them. One says to the other, Do you think this great man will continue here? the answer is Continue here? what else? he has bought the great farm; A great man[2] with a great inheritance And all the ground about it, all the woods too And stock'd it like an Emperor. Now all our sports again And all our merry gambols, our May Ladies, Our evening dances on the green, our songs, Our holiday good cheer; our bagpipes now, boys, Shall make the wanton lasses skip again, Our sheep-shearings and all our knacks. [Footnote 2: Southey has inserted a query here. “Qy Manor or Mansion.” It is usually printed as in the text.—See Act v. Sc. iii.]