Harf. Did you think I could ever forget you? John. O no-I knew you betterbut what a long while it is since we parted! Mary. Fifteen years come Whitsuntide! Harf. The first time I set foot in England all this long interval was three weeks ago. John. How good you were to come to us so soon. Mary. What a tall strong man you are grown!—but you have the same sweet smile as ever. John. I wish I could see him plainbut what signifies! he's here, and I hold him by the hand. other good gentleman? Where's the Beaum. Here-very happy to see such worthy people made so. Harf. He has been my dearest friend for a great many years, and I am be. holden to him almost as much as to you two. Mary. Has he? God bless him and reward him! Harf. I am grieved to think what you must have suffered from hardship and poverty. But that is all at an end-no workhouse now! John. God bless you! then I shall be happy still. But we must not be burdensome to you. Harf. Don't talk of that-As long as I have a shilling, it is my duty to give you sixpence of it. Did you not take care of me when all the world forsook me-and treated me as your own child when I had no other parent-and shall I ever forsake you in your old age! Oh never-never! Mary. Ay, you had always a kind heart of your own. I always used to think our dear Ned would some time or other prove a blessing to us. VOL. II. Harf. You must leave this poor hut, that is not fit to keep out the weather, and we must get you a snug cottage either in this village or some other. John. Pray, my dear Sir, let us die in this town, as we have always lived in it. And as to a house, I believe that where old Richard Carpenter used to live in is empty, if it would not be too good for us. Harf. What, the white cottage on the green? I remember it-it is just the thing. You shall remove there this very week. Mary. This is beyond all my hopes and wishes. Harf. There you shall have a little close to keep a cow-and a girl to milk her, and take care of you both-and a garden well stocked with herbs and roots-and a little yard for pigs and poultry and some good new furniture for your house. John. O too much-too much! Mary. What makes me cry so, when so many good things are coming to us? Harf. Who is the landlord of that house? John. Our next neighbour, Mr. Wheatfield. Harf. I'll go and speak about it directly, and then come to you again. Come, Beaumont. God bless you both! John. God in heaven bless you! Mary. O happy day-O happy day! THE SWALLOW AND TORTOISE. A Tortoise in a garden's bound, An ancient inmate of the place, Had left his winter quarters under ground, And with a sober pace Was crawling o'er a sunny bed, And thrusting from his shell his pretty toad-like head. Just come from sea, a Swallow, As to and fro he nimbly flew, Beat our old racer hollow: At length he stopp'd direct in point of view, "Thank you," (reply'd the close house-keeper) "Since you and I last autumn parted, I've been a precious sleeper, And never stirr'd nor started, But in my hole I lay as snug, As fleas within a rug; Nor did I put my head abroad Till all the snow and ice were thaw'd. "But I," (rejoin'd the bird) Who love cold weather just as well as you, Soon as the warning blasts I heard, Away I flew, And mounting in the wind, Left gloomy winter far behind. Directed, by the mid-day sun, O'er sea and land my vent'rous course I steer'd, Nor was my distant journey done Till Afric's verdant coast appeared. |