He can do nothing with those generous and delightful institutions of Old England,--the footpaths, that thread pasture, park, and field, seemingly permeating her whole green world with dusky veins for the circulation of human life.

To lose all the picturesque lanes and landscapes which these field- paths cross and command, is to lose the great distinctive charm of the country.

Then, neither from the coach-box nor the saddle can he make much conversation on the way.

He loses the chance of a thousand little talks and pleasant incidents.

He cannot say "Good morning" to the farmer at the stile, nor a word of greeting to the reapers over the hedge, nor see where they live, and the kind of children that play by their cottage doors; nor the little, antique churches, bearded to their eye-brows with ivy, covering the wrinkles of half a dozen centuries, nor the low and quiet villages clustering around, each like a family of bushy-headed children surrounding their venerable mother.
In addition to these considerations, there was another that moved me to this walk.