Ed. And might not the natives drive them out again, if they were able?
Mr. B. I am sure I do not know why they might not; for force can never give right. Now, Harry, tell me what you think of the story.
Harry. I think it very strange that people should want to go back to such a cold dismal place as Greenland.
Mr. B. Why what country do you love best in the world?
Har. England, to be sure!
Mr. B. But England is by no means the warmest and finest country. Here are no grapes growing in the fields, nor oranges in the woods and hedges, as there are in more southern climates.
Har. I should like them very well, to be sure—but then England is my own native country, where you and mamma and all my friends live. Besides it is a very pleasant country, too.
Mr. B. As to your first reason, you must be sensible that the Greenlander can say just the same; and the poor fellow who left a wife and children behind, must have had the strongest of all ties to make him wish to return. Do you think I should be easy to be separated from all of you?
Har. No; and I am sure we should not be easy, neither.
Mr. B. Home, my dear, wherever it is, is the spot toward which a good heart is the most strongly drawn. Then, as for the pleasantness of a place, that all depends upon habit. The Greenlander, being accustomed to the way of living, and all the objects of his own country, could not relish any other so well. He loved whale-fat and seal as well as you can do pudding and beef. He thought rowing his little boat amid the boisterous waves pleasanter employment than driving a plough or a cart. He fenced himself against the winter’s cold by warm clothing; and the long night of many weeks, which you would think so gloomy, was to him a season of ease and festivity in his habitation underground. It is a very kind and wise dispensation of Providence, that every part of the world is rendered most agreeable to those who live in it.