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 and pleasing nobody; and besides (says Simpkins) the great folks are too aristocratical for me, and endeavour to oppress their countrymen. This, I believe, is not true. Simpkins, and better folks than he, need not come here, if they are unwilling to put their shoulders to the yoke. I walked round Albion. It contains one house only, and about ten or twelve log-cabins, full of degenerating English mechanics, too idle to work, and above every thing, but eating, drinking, brawling, and fighting. The streets and paths are almost impassable with roots and stumps, and in front of every door is a stinking puddle, formed by throwing out wash and dirty water. A good market-house, and a public library, is at the end, in which a kind of Unitarian worship is held on a Sunday, when a sermon and the church service purified is read by any one who pleases. The books are donations from the Flower family and their friends in England. By sending donations, people become honorary members, and Mrs. Flower has, by all legal means, secured perpetuity to this institution, which few expect to find in this distant wilderness.

Mr. and Mrs. Doctor Pugsley, late of London, live in the only house, which, if it had a servant, {270} would boast of English comforts, politeness, and hospitality. She sighs to revisit England, where she might see her friends, and rest her delicate hands, now destined to all kind of drudgery. He has purchased land largely, on speculation, without intending to cultivate any, and offers it at three dollars an acre, or at a corn rent. Much of the land has been thus purchased by capitalists here, and is offered again on these terms, because the Kentucky speculators, it is said, would otherwise have bought all up and charged more for it, and because the profit demanded, is thought to be rea