374 THE JOURNEYMAN. 



the want of the higher faculties, and (a still more im- 

 portant matter) some of the better affections of our 

 nature, love and compassion, and sorrow for the loss or 

 absence of those who have been kind to him. It is 

 interesting to find these so ruddy Bet; they seem 

 bestowed upon him to awaken a sympathy for him in 

 the breasts of those to whom he attaches himself. He 

 is present, sitting beside me, babbling in an uncouth 

 imperfect dialect, which I can only partially understand, 

 about himself and me. I am to get leave to sleep with 

 him, and he is to give me sugar and a dram, and two 

 eggs. Only a few days ago he lost his father; but 

 until the day of his funeral he could not be made to 

 understand that he would have to part with him. He 

 was sleeping, he said, and would be well when he awoke. 

 When he saw the corpse placed in the coffin, however, 

 and people gathering for the funeral, some faint idea of 

 what had happened seemed to cross him, for he became 

 silent and melancholy ; and stealing out of the house to 

 where I was employed in the churchyard, he laid hold 

 of me with an ' Oh, come, oh, come, father sleeping, 

 no waken, no waken at all, oh, come.' I went with 

 him and followed the funeral, partly to satisfy him, partly 

 out of curiosity to see the workings of nature in a mind 

 so uninformed and imperfect. He squatted down at 

 the head of the grave, and watched, with an expression 

 indescribably affecting, and in which grief, astonishment, 

 and terror seemed equally blended, every motion of the 

 sexton and the bearers; and when the grave was filled, 

 and the sod placed over it, he seemed uncertain whether 

 to return home or remain where he was. He is even 

 now telling me that he is to keep part of his morning 

 piece for his father, who is to come out of his grave to- 

 morrow. I have remarked, though without well knowing 



