Out of the carriage. He was grown so thin,
His cheek so delicate sallow, and his eyes
Had such a dim and rakish hollowness;

And when he came to shake me by the hand
And spoke as kindly to me as he used,

I hardly knew the voice.

GREGORY.

On all our merriment.

That smoak'd before us,

It struck a damp

'Twas a noble Ox

and the old October

Went merrily in overflowing cans;

But 'twas a skin-deep merriment. My heart
Seem'd as it took no share. And when we drank
His health, the thought came over me what cause
We had for wishing that, and spoilt the draught.
Poor Gentleman! to think ten months ago
He came of age, and now!

JAMES.

I fear'd it then,

He look'd to me as one that was not long

For this world's business.

GREGORY.

When the Doctor sent him

Abroad to try the air, it made me certain

That all was over.

There's but little hope

Methinks that foreign parts can help a man
When his own mother-country will not do.
The last time he came down, these bells rung so
I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple down;
And now that dismal toll! I would have staid
Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty,
I am an old tenant of the family,

Born on the estate, and now that I've out-lived it, . .
Why 'tis but right to see it to the grave.

Have you heard aught of the new Squire ?

JAMES.

But little,

And that not well. But be he what he may
Matters not much to me. The love I bore
To the good family will not easily fix

Upon a stranger. What's on the opposite hill?
Is it not the funeral?

GREGORY.

'Tis I think, some horsemen.

Aye! there are the black cloaks; and now I see

The white plumes on the herse.

JAMES.

'Tis hid behind them now.

Between the trees ;

When youth is summon'd what must age expect!

God make us ready Gregory! when it comes.

THE WEDDING.

TRAVELLER.

I pray you wherefore are the village bells

Ringing so merrily?

WOMAN.

A wedding Sir,

Two of the village folk. And they are right
To make a merry time on't while they may.
Come twelve-months hence, I warrant them they'd go
To church again more willingly than now
So all might be undone.

TRAVELLER.

An ill-match'd pair

So I conceive you. Youth perhaps and age?

WOMAN.

No,.. both are young enough.

TRAVELLER.

Perhaps the man then,

A lazy idler, one who better likes

The alehouse than his work?

WOMAN.

Why Sir, for that

He always was a well-conditioned lad,

One who'd work hard and well; and as for drink, Save now and then mayhap at Christmas time, Sober as wife could wish.

TRAVELLER.

Then is the girl

A shrew, or else untidy. One who'd welcome
Her husband with a rude unruly tongue,

Or drive him from a foul and wretched home
To look elsewhere for comfort. Is it so?

WOMAN.

She's notable enough, and as for temper

The best good-humour'd girl! d'ye see that house?
There by the aspin tree whose grey leaves shine
In the wind? she lived a servant at the farm,
And often as I came to weeding here,
I've heard her singing as she milk'd her cows
So chearfully,.. I did not like to hear her,