It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen Her Christmas kitchen,-how the blazing fire Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs So chearful red,-and as for misseltoe,

The finest bough that grew in the country round
Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,

And 'twas a noble one! God help me Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.

STRANGER.

Things may be better yet than you suppose
And you should hope the best.

OLD MAN.

It don't look well

These alterations Sir! I'm an old man
And love the good old fashions; we don't find
Old bounty in new houses. They've destroyed
All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk
Grubb'd up, and they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top

They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think

To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps

A comfort I shan't live to see it long.

STRANGER.

But sure all changes are not needs for the worse
My friend.

OLD MAN.

May-hap they mayn't Sir;-for all that

I like what I've been us'd to. I remember
All this from a child up, and now to lose it,
'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left
As 'twas ;-I go abroad and only meet

With men whose fathers I remember boys;

The brook hat used to run

before my

door

That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt
To climb are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of 'd times, except the stones
In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope
Have many year in store,-but pray to God
You mayn't be the last of all your friends.

STRANGER.

Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of,
If the Squire's taste don't suit with your's, I warrant
That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste
His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady

E'er broached a better cask.

But we're acquainted now.

You did not know me,

'Twould not be easy

To make you like the outside; but within

That is not changed my friend! you'll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.

N

ECLOGUE II.

THE GRANDMOTHER'S TALE.

JANE.

Harry! I'm tired of playing. We'll draw round The fire, and Grandmamma perhaps will tell us One of her stories.

HARRY.

Aye-dear Grandmamma!

A pretty story! something dismal now;

A bloody murder.

JANE.

Or about a ghost.

GRANDMOTHER.

Nay, nay, I should but frighten you. You know

The other night when I was telling you

About the light in the church-yard, how you trembled

Because the screech-owl hooted at the window,

And would not go to bed.

JANE.

Why Grandmamma

You said yourself you did not like to hear him.

Pray now we wo'nt be frightened.

GRANDMOTHER.

Well, well, children!

But you've heard all my stories. Let me see,-
Did I never tell you how the smuggler murdered
The woman down at Pill?

HARRY,

No-never! never!

GRANDMOTHER,

Not how he cut her head off in the stable?

HARRY.

Oh-now do tell us that!