CHAPTER VII .-- A DISCIPLE OF WILLIAM COBBETT--THE SCHOLAR ENCOUNTERS THE.
PRIEST.
The individual whom I supposed to be a radical, after a short pause, again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built fellow of about thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white hat on his head, a snuff-coloured coat on his back, and, when he was not speaking, a pipe in his mouth.

"Who would live in such a country as England ?" he shouted.
"There is no country like America," said his nearest neighbour, a man also in a white hat, and of a very ill-favoured countenance,--"there is no country like America," said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth.

"I think I shall"-- and here he took a draught from a jug, the contents of which he appeared to have in common with the other--"go to America one of these days myself." "Poor old England is not such a bad country, after all," said a third, a simple-looking man in a labouring dress, who sat smoking a pipe without anything before him.

"If there was but a little more work to be got I should have nothing to say against her.

I hope, however--" "You hope?
who cares what you hope ?" interrupted the first, in a savage tone; "you are one of those sneaking hounds who are satisfied with dog's wages, a bit of bread and a kick.