THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. 



she added, lowering her voice almost to a whis- 

 per * Now, go leave me,"* she for the first time 

 addressed the strangers, ' you remind me of days 



* gone by. I have not seen such as you since the 

 ' time when I had all. And I hate ye, for ye are 

 ' not miserable. Aye, aye, when ye have left this 



* roof of wretchedness, ye will jest and laugh as if 

 ' old Judith did not live on the lone rock where ye 



* came to amuse yourselves with a sight of her woe. 

 4 Go, ye trouble my wearied spirit/ And she waved 

 her hand as one accustomed to command, and to 

 be obeyed. Her unwelcome visitors hastened to 

 comply. There was something in the air and 

 manner of the old woman which forbade reply, and 

 they silently left her. One look, after they had 

 gained some distance from the cottage, shewed them 

 that she had retained her position in the porch, 

 having in all probability already forgotten the brief 

 variety which the presence of strangers had caused 

 in the monotony of her daily life. 



The party had not proceeded far on their home- 

 ward path, when they met a fair young girl fresh 

 as early spring. So light was her step, that it was 

 unheard as she approached, and it seemed the 

 buoyancy of a happy heart that bore her along, 

 apparently scarcely conscious that she trod on 

 earth. Walking in a contrary direction was ano- 

 ther figure one who evidently had just quitted 

 the young female with regret, for he oft times 



